Blue Decay

CHAPTER FOUR

"No, Mom. I-I –" I shove my fist into my mouth, biting down hard. I don't know if I want to cry, or scream right now. "I can't go on like this."

"I know, sweetheart, but you must," murmurs my mother, sounding rather distant and uncaring. "Things will get better with time. You'll just have to trust me on this."

Really? "When?" I ask, choking back a sob.

"I don't know, but –" she pauses. "Look Hun, I've got to go. The kitchen timer just went off for the roast beef; and if I don't get to it now, before your father does, the members of my book club won't have much to snack on later tonight."

The line goes dead shortly thereafter, and for the next few hours I lie on my bed – the one I shared so many nights in with Dan. If I close my eyes, and concentrate hard enough, I can still catch the faint waft of honeydew and mint – his signature scent. It calms me, giving me some temporary respite from all my pain and suffering.

Somewhere along the way, I fall into a daze. In my daze, I'm taken back to a time where Dan was very much still alive. It's also takeout Thursday and, according to tradition, Dan's brought home with him some Chinese takeout after having just worked a double shift. From the smell of things, he's brought me my favorite – chicken on a stick, fried rice, and fresh spring rolls.

I glance up at him as he enters the room, trying my best not to stare at him too hard. If I do, and he notices, some choice words will be exchanged; and we'll wind up having an argument, which is something I don't need right now. So instead, I focus on this week's issue of People magazine.

I get halfway through the first article when Dan drops a few greasy bags of takeout in front of me. They fall onto the coffee table with a small splat, the force of the impact causing the degraded brown paper to crumple inward on itself. I nearly jump a little from the noise.

Tossing my magazine to the side, I look up at Dan just as he's shrugging off his thick work shirt; revealing a long torso layered with the perfect amount of muscle, chest hair, and sweat. If it weren't for the filthy undershirt encasing it all, I feel I might've lost my breath.

In an effort to distract myself from these troubling thoughts, I ask him, "So, Dan, how did your day go?"

"It went alright, I guess," he replies, sighing a big sigh of relief as he collapses next to me on the loveseat. "Yours?"

"It was... interesting."

"Really? Why?" he grunts as he tugs away at the strings of his grimy work boots. "What happened?"

I grit my teeth. "Oh, nothing important."

"Seriously?" he asks, looking at me with sheer discontent in his eyes as he shifts his focus from his half-untied shoes to me. "I thought we'd agreed to never lie to one another again."

"We did," I sigh, refusing to look him in the face. "It's just... your mother called earlier today, and I didn't want to –"

"What did she want?" he asks, his voice growing distant.

"She wanted to know if she could have lunch with you tomorrow."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her, 'No'."

"Good," he says, returning his attention to his shoes. "The Good Lord knows deep down that I love that woman, but I can't stand to be around her right now. Not after everything she's put us through."

That breaks my heart. Placing my hand on his back, I murmur, "I know, Dan. I know."

He lets it rest there for a minute or two while he finishes wrestling his shoes off. Once he's done with that, he shrugs them off along with his dingy workpants; giving me an up close, and very personal, view of his lower midsection. At least he decided to wear underwear today.