Author’s Note: This is the most experimental story I’ve made so far. Second person is pretty hard to do.

Equilibrium

“You can call me whenever you need me – anything for you.”

You try to shake your head. You are in your house, doing laundry on Tuesdays as usual. You hold your husband’s shirt in your hands (the navy blue pinstripe), the one you bought him for his birthday, the one you thought looked good on him. You ignore the red stains on the collar – it doesn’t bother you anymore. How strange.

You lay the colored clothes aside as you spin the whites in the washing machine. You watch them as they tumble about in the bubble world of theirs, and you remember wondering what that would feel like as a child, how sweet and wonderful the simple twisting and turning would be. You shake your head again. “You are twenty-five,” you say to yourself, “think like it.” You find that you don’t believe in what you just said.

You have a sudden urge to sit down. You get out of the laundry room and sit in one of the big couches just beside the door. You cannot get comfortable. The telephone rings. You stand to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Joanne, is that you?”

“Oh, hello Mike. How’s work?” You wonder why you even bother – you already know the answer.

“Sorry, hon. I’m caught up in overtime again. I think I can’t come home tonight.” The usual.

“That’s all right. I’ll try to keep myself occupied.”

“See you tomorrow then.” You hear giggles in the background – his secretary. You get a flashback of the time when you had to resist the urge to cringe. It does not come to you now – how strange.

“Okay.”

“I love you.” His voice is hollow.

“I love you, too.” Your voice is more so.

“Bye.” He puts the receiver down. You manage to do so as well. You stare in space for a few seconds.

Then you pick up the phone again.

“Zach?”

“Joanne?”

“Could you come here for a few minutes?” You shake your head – you think that this is so wrong.

“Of course, anything for you. Why…?”

“I just needed to ask you something. Face to face.”

“Sure. See you in two minutes.”

You sit down on the couch. Your hands are shaking – you try to stop them. It is no use.

The doorbell rings. You open it, and the warm face of Zach appears – the aquiline nose, the well-formed mouth, the jet-black hair, the bright eyes. You laugh; probably in hysteria, probably in relief.

“Joanne? What’s wrong?”

You just realized that you are crying. “Oh, Zach,” you say, and you hug him, that person who was there when you first cried from bullying, who was with you during your first graduation, who held your hand the night before the wedding.

You cry in the doorway, on his shoulder for a few minutes. He does not move; he stays there, just letting you cry on him, just stroking your hair, just waiting until you calm down.

“Thank you.” Your voice is different somehow, unusual. Sincere.

“No problem.” He squeezes your hand and turns to leave.

You cannot let that happen.

“Wait.” Please… Do not go. Please.

“What more do you need?” His eyes turn to look at you again. Those eyes – Zach’s eyes.

“You told me once that you loved me.” You cannot bear to look - you bury your face in your hands.

“Yes, I did. I still do, by the way.” You look at him. He is staring at the lamppost in front of your house. You regret calling him.

“Thank you. It’s nice to know. Well, see you.” You stop. You have nothing else to say. You look away and try to close the door. A hand stops you.

“Why do you ask?” His voice is rough. You do not remember hearing it that way before. Ever.

“Well…” You stammer.

“Why?”

“Because…” Your heart jumps in your throat. You cannot continue. You try to slam the door. You cannot.

“Why, Joanne? Why?” He is shouting now.

“Because… I just wanted to know that somebody still loved me.”

Your words hang lifeless in the air.

And then, all of a sudden, you feel lips on top of yours, fingers knotting in your hair. Your brain shouts in alarm – you try to wrench yourself away.

He looks at you, those bright eyes wondering. You stare at each other, both of your lungs straining to take in a breath. And in those moments of suspended animation, you make the decision you have wanted to make a long time ago.

You hold his hand, and, in the welcoming darkness, reach for a man whom you love and who loves you, remember the days when your heart was alive, and somehow, just somehow, achieve equilibrium.

Fin.

Thank you for reading. :) Advanced criticism is encouraged.