Short Stories

Sarah

If I had a million dollars for every time Sarah ignored me, I'd be a very rich man. She got into these moods, where everything was terrible and (naturally) my fault. Trying to talk to her when she was like that was suicide. She'd go off, screaming and breaking everything in sight. We'd lost at least three cups and two plates from her rampages.

When I got home from my dull office job, Sarah was nowhere to be found. I called her name, but the only thing that I heard was the creak of floorboards. I assumed she was in one of those moods and had shut herself up in our room like last time.

I cooked dinner, spaghetti for two. I ate alone, my optimistic act of putting out two plates seeming more ridiculous by the minute. The small pendant light flickered overhead as I sighed. Recently, this was happening more and more, up to four times a week. The leftovers went into the fridge, another reoccurring trend.

I walked upstairs and noted the locked bedroom door. It would be the couch for me again. I was just thankful there was clean laundry in the dryer. Last month, everything was put away when she got into her mood and I had to buy clean clothes from a secondhand store. Sarah was livid; she hated it when I spent money on unnecessary things and in her mind, most things fell into that category.

My phone's alarm woke me up the next day and I groaned. While Monday is the most publicly hated day of the week, Tuesday is far more irritating in my opinion. It's neither the start of a new week or closer to the end of it. It was also when the grocery store restocked, so I had to go there after work.

My aching body slowly rose and dragged me to the kitchen. The one box of cereal we had left was horrendously stale, but the bread was too moldy for toast. The milk was bad, too. Sarah had left it open on the counter. She was probably sleepwalking when she did it, something that only happened when she was in her mood.

Work was tedious and I had to take caffeine pills to stay awake. I had to stay late because I couldn't focus on anything; I just kept worrying about Sarah.

At the store, I bought things I knew she liked: cake, books, wine, and such. I had to get more food, but it was important that she was happy. We still had microwave meals at home, so that could get us through the week. Not that she would eat it; she hated cheap food.

The week trudged on, but she still hadn't left the room. I only knew she was still there because the gifts I put at the door kept disappearing. Every time I returned home, I hoped to see her look up from whatever book she was reading and smile at me. But she was never there.

The weekend was the hardest; I thought the silence would drive me crazy. I cleaned the entire house and washed and folded all the laundry I could find. I raked the leaves in the front and backyard, putting them into large garbage bags on the curb. I tried to draw a picture for Sarah (to cheer her up), but I realized that I had failed art in middle school for a reason.

When Tuesday rolled back around, I figured I should call someone. I called Sarah's therapist, but the receptionist said she was out of town. Her mom's number went straight to voicemail; she didn't care much for me. I tried my parents' landline, but they didn't pick up. We hadn't talked in a few years (some drama I'd rather not discuss), so I wasn't very surprised.

I tried looking on the internet for help, but I only found things about breaking up with a girlfriend. I loved her dearly, so that was less than helpful.

I knocked on the door, but she ignored it. I tried talking to her, but she only screamed and swore at me. I slipped a note under the door, but she tore it up and shoved it back.

I was starting to freak out now. I threw rocks at the window, but she hurled books at me. I bought a ladder online, but it never arrived, despite the status saying otherwise. I cried for her to come out, my knuckles bleeding as I beat against the door between sobs.

But the door stayed shut.

She stopped accepting the gifts at her door. She didn't say anything when I tried to talk to her. I couldn't hear her footsteps anymore. The house was silent. Had I scared her? Was this all my fault?

My neurotic state of mind kept me from working; I just kept calling in sick. I barely left the couch. My surroundings became as messy and chaotic as my thoughts.

I decided that I had had enough. I bought an axe and broke the door down. The room was almost exactly as I had last seen it, save for the open window. She had left. Left for good.

I looked out the window and tried to make sense of how she had done it. It was a long way down. But if she had left, that would be how.

I stretched further, peering warily at the now snow-dusted lawn. I tried to focus on what might have been footprints, but a shove knocked me out of the window.

I fell in slow motion, almost dreamlike. The last thing I saw was her emotionless face. She stared at me, but I died before I understood anything.