Where the Blame Lies

Jack rolled over in bed, pretending couldn’t hear her soft choking sobs. His heart tightened more and more until he couldn’t inflate his lungs with enough air. He couldn’t give up yet, not yet. There had to be a shred of hope that everything would still be alright, despite it all, despite everything. I love her, don’t I? When I look her in the face and tell her I love her, I mean it, right? His own thoughts plagued him, and he swallowed, clenching his pillow as if pressing his head into it would force sleep upon him. In sleep he could forget about all their problems. About all my problems… It felt strange to admit for the first time that the problems may not have come from anything Jill had done. He’d always assumed it was a mutual issue, that they were both difficult to get along with because they both had so many personal issues. He’s always been, in his mind, the good guy or at least the “no worse than” guy. But he couldn’t deny it anymore. This time it really was his fault. Maybe it had always been his fault.

Guilt crept up on him until it evolved into insomnia, and when her sobs—the tears she only cried when she thought he wouldn’t know—died away into the soft sighs of sleep, Jack slipped from under the covers. He made his way to the kitchen, in the dark, and the light that spilled over him as he opened the fridge door sent a chill of panic down his bare back, hoping the gray green light wouldn’t wake Jill up from her peaceful sleep. She deserved to escape this, didn’t she? But would her dreams offer her any consolation?

He pulled out the orange juice carton and closed the door softly, only the faint suction of the seals around the door made any noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Over the stove, the digital clock beamed the time across him, giving him a faint green glow in the dark. Jack found himself staring absently at the numbers, not registering anything but the light. The faint hiss of bare feet walking across the tiled floor drew his attention as Jill walked into the kitchen, her face blank but at least calm. Her wavy, amber hair was tousled and danced around her cheeks down to her shoulders. It used to be shorter, but he’d given her such a hard time about it…

“You should be asleep,” he whispered after clearing his throat. He couldn’t look her in the face.

“You’re not asleep,” was the only reply he got as she opened the fridge herself, staring at the empty spot where the orange juice carton should have been. Then she turned and watched him lower the carton from his lips. Usually she got upset about stuff like that, but recently she’d been like a ghost, not protesting anything.

I’ve killed her. I’ve really done it this time. Jack felt his hand start shaking as he set the orange juice down on the counter. “Sorry,” he rasped, “I should use a cup.”

“Just- Don’t worry about it.” Jill waved off whatever else he wanted to say before it even formed in his mind. Instead, she turned and walked, silent and nearly lifeless, back to the bedroom. Jack watched her until the darkness consumed her ghostly figure.

The orange juice was put back in the fridge a moment later, and Jack stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall as he tried to rest his stinging eyes. He couldn’t sleep, but he wanted to so badly. He wanted to slip out of consciousness where he wouldn’t have to remember. One slip, just one… I don’t even know why… It’s not like I actually like Jane… she was just…

His eyes snapped open. For a moment, he had felt the other woman’s hands on his shoulders, felt her press her body against him and whisper things into his ear. Her nails were blood red, her skin was smooth and smelled like cinnamon. Jack shook his head and tried to forget about it, tried to forget it just like Jill was trying to. Neither of them could. I always said I wanted to be with Jill, only with Jill, for the rest of my life, he thought as he stared into the dark. Don’t I?