TWH: Word Prompt Challenges

Perfume

[preview of something yet to come: Blackforest]

He's planted himself on the hardwood floor of what once was our master bedroom – seated in such a way as to have his long legs flung out before him, he's half in-half out of the master bathroom. His back is to me, to the bedroom, and the hallway beyond - and as I feared, to the world itself. I've seen worse from him insofar as being disheveled - years of marriage will do that - but still, seeing him this way...

I wish I could fling my arms around him and take the pain away. There is no comfort I can offer.

"This isn't healthy." Should've started out differently. A hullo dear - but when you find the man you love teetering on the edge of danger you forget decorum. Besides, needling him was a favorite pasttime.

Tom's reaction is slow - by emotion, or drink, or something stronger - the thought of which renews my concerns. He'd expected an empty house for far longer, so he gives a jerk of shock which melds into anger, and then upon recognition, yearning. He doesn't make the effort to turn fully to face me, yet another warning sign, just gives a quarter turn twist to his torso so his shoulders are angled slightly towards me.

"Molls," he sighs, feelings flittering over his face in rapid fire sequence as he struggles with words. But then, he's never been one to stumble for too long, "Who the fuck cares about healthy?"

I frown at him, feeling the urge to stoop down to get closer to eye level. It'll pass. "I do. And our girls. They need you, Tom." Using them isn't quite fair but I need him to get his act in gear. He can't hide away like this. That isn't how life works.

He nods, his gaze falling to the floor. His attention drifts, following the decor of the room, sparse as it is now. The action causes him to shift further, the material of his trousers allowing him to slip around silently on the hardwood. He pauses, focusing on the closet in the far corner. "Your mum took all your clothes. Said sitting in there among your things wasn't healthy. Used to be strongest in there, the smell of your perfume, till then. Now..." he jerks himself to face forward again, an abrupt action that has him staring into the darkened bathroom once more. "Think it's in the grout work. Would've thought drywall would retain it better, or maybe carpet. But - maybe tile..."

He's lost. Babbling. Grief radiates from him and again I wish I could wrap him in my arms and tell him everything will be ok. But I vowed I would never lie to him. My husband pitches forward, releasing a sob, the sound echoing off the white marble we'd painstakingly selected when designing our dream home.

The next words spoken come muddled, "They want me to sell it."

They? Our families. Me, too, if my opinion counts for anything anymore. I can't tell him that right now. It was our dream home but now it's an extra expense, fueling the darkness that threatens to extinguish the light within him I thought would never waver, and keeping him from what matters most - our girls.

"Tom, honey, you need to get up."

He doesn't hear me, or chooses to ignore me. I watch him breathing, watch the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders, the few tears that escape and trail down to pool along his jawline, ultimately dripping to darken the material of his trousers.

We both turn to acknowledge the sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs. Someone's figured him out. His 'meeting' had been a ruse so he could come here unmolested. I don't have to continue to worry about him being alone here.

When I look back he's looking up at me, blue eyes bloodshot and rimmed in red. "This wasn't part of the plan, Molls."

"Yes, it was, Tom." Oh God it hurts to say it.... but I'd made him a promise, "Don't you remember? Till death do us part."