jekyllandhyde

PLANETARY -- A Story

He doesnt look at her. Eyes cast down, narrowed, fixed upon a small red stain on the gray carpet he had never noticed before. His habit of projecting worst-case scenarios had played this scene out in his head countless times before, but somehow they always involved him finding out on his own, never her confessing to him through choked sobs and aborted attempts to reach out and touch his face with her shaking fingertips. His horrid fantasies never factor in the possibility of her unprompted remorse.

The silence is the worst part. She wants to touch his beautiful skin, cracked though it may be here and there. She wants to throw herself into his arms, force him to wrap them about her, but she cant even bring herself to make the slightest contact. She wishes he would say something. Does she, though? Would silent anticipation really be worse than the simple phrase, I never want to see you again?

He can taste the agony to which his silence gives birth within her, and he rolls it around the tip of his tongue. More bitter than sweet. Maybe ten different branches sprawl out before his minds eye, each representing a conversation path. The first words out of his mouth will set him down one and only one of those paths. They much be chosen carefully. Hes unable to pick just one, so he throws a dart and lands on, How many times?

Just once, I swear, she says, a dangerous spark of hope flaring inside her. He didnt cast her away thats enough to raise her a little higher. Which of course would only make the impact harder if he were to let her fall. I dont I dont even know why. It was the day after Corys birthday. He winces at the name, reflexively, like she used to do. I just couldnt stay here. I kept going up to his room.

I told you we should have renovated it.

No! she barks without thinking. More tears well up; she fights them off. No, Wes, please. I cant I cant let go, not now. You know this.

He does. He somehow finds the strength to hold back from saying, And look where it led you. Maybe he should say it hes supposed to be righteously angry right now, isnt that what a husband is supposed to be at this moment? But he cant. He wants to use Corys memory as an excuse, but the very thought makes him want to walk into the kitchen and slice a chunk out of his arm with the steak knife he left dangling over the edge of the sink. He cant he wont use him that way. So why this numb ache instead of rage? He already knows the answer: fear.

Shes trembling, terrified. Why wont he speak? Why cant he ever just speak? She wants to say, This is why I went out that night, Wes. Because youre a golem. Youre the only one who can know what Im going through, but you wont even give me the courtesy of acknowledging that. Your touch is hollow, like a ghosts, because thats what you are. You walk through this world like youre not a part of it anymore, and you think that maybe that will let you talk to our son again. And I know why, and not being able to help you or even let you know that I dont want to feel that way myself anymore is murdering me. You share some responsibility for this. But instead, she says simply, Please.

In that word is everything. He closes his eyes, filled with guilt himself now. She had gently played the tips of her fingernails along the back of his neck that night, the best come-hither smile she could muster tugging at her lips. His mouth had twitched he had meant for it to be a smile but he couldnt summon the muscle power to raise his arm and take her hand in his own. It was as though a weight had been placed on his shoulder, refusing him any motion. She had left then without a word and hadnt come back until the next morning. He wants to ask who the fucker was, where she had met him, was he better than me? Did he go down on you like I used to do? All these questions lie along the path he first chose, but instead he steps off that path, flounders for a moment in the netherworld between shifting inevitabilities, and arrives at a curious and unforeseen destination: the truth. He shifts on the couch and looks into her green eyes, somehow even more Goddamn beautiful when surrounded by the puffy red skin around her sockets. God, do you know how terrified I am right now? he says so softly hes not even sure the words left his mouth.

A quiver another jolt of hope? Oh God, please dont let this fall apart. Yes, she says, nodding. Im Im so sorry. Those words had felt so inadequate mere moments ago; now they were all she had.

Do you still want to be with me? he asks, trying not to sound like theyre back in high school.

Another wave of tears threatens her eyes. Yes, she says. You and me, were on our own planet, ever since. She wont say it. And were the only two who can live here.

Can you promise me and dont you dare lie to me, or yourself can you promise me it wont happen again?

I need some provisions from you before I can say that, she wants to reply. You need to be alive before I can make you a promise. But she only tells him, Yes.

He reaches up and touches her damp cheek with the back of his hand, slowly, like hes relearning the movement after many years.

She almost winces at his touch. His hands were always so strong but so smooth, even an accidental graze a caress. The back of his knuckles trace a tear streak back up the way it had come, and she closes her eyes. His touch reminds her of how smooth her own skin could be, how easily scratched and mended in the same instant.

I love you so Goddamn much, he whispers, and presses his dry lips against her

own. Theyre salty with the remnant of tears, but they havent tasted so sweet in years. Her lips were the only such set in the universe that could taste this way, because the same curses and wails and pleas had passed through them that had escaped his own words that anyone could speak, but no one else would understand the same way as he did.

His other hand runs up underneath her thin shirt, fingertips skipping along the strap of the lacy bra she still wears from last night. Another man may have run his hand along the exact same path, but that mans touch could never feel as electric as that of the man pressing his body into her now. This was a touch only she could understand, a touch born of need as much as desire, a touch that said, I understand Im just the same. She recoils in the dark green couch and directs his hand to her stomach and down between her legs, drawing his mouth into hers. This is love, she thinks to herself, a love that only grief could bear. She almost smiles.