It had been hard to accept one of their deaths, but both of them had been smothering. She literally hadn’t been able to breathe for short amounts of time for weeks after her mother’s passing. Sara had had to force air into her lungs when all she’d wanted to do was not breathe. Breathing had hurt. Breathing had meant she’d lived while her parents no longer did. It was like her body had wanted to stop living because it couldn’t deal with the pain of losing them.
Sara had thrown herself into her schooling and her artwork and lived, but not like before, never the same as she’d lived before their deaths. She’d existed in a numb state for months. Sara closed her eyes. It was nothing like what she felt now. It hurt whether she breathed or not. And the one thing that stung the most was knowing her parents’ love had been so true and pure that one had not been able to live without the other, and yet, here she sat, without her love, still living, still breathing.
Though she’d kept to herself after her parents died, scared to give her heart to someone who could leave her as they had; scared to love; scared to be happy, he had pushed past her fears and into her heart and she hadn’t had a chance to be scared before he’d already owned her. She’d loved him and then she’d lost him. No matter how many times Sara loved, she lost.
She lurched to her feet, going still until a wave of dizziness passed. Only it didn’t. It amplified. Sara slumped back to the couch, wondering if she was going to pass out. Twice in her life she’d lost consciousness; both times when death had come calling to tear her world apart. Pretty soon there wouldn’t be any of Sara left to disintegrate. It was all leaving her, fading away, becoming lost as she lost everything that had ever meant anything to her; as she lost herself.
Sara clearly remembered how it happened; that third time death had stolen from her, though that was one of things she would like to fade away. It began with cramps, then blood, then the reality that had to be a lie and wasn’t. She remembered him holding her, crying with her, his grip painful, his arms the only thing keeping her upright. Sara remembered the hollowness, the disbelief, the hope that somehow, it was wrong, and somehow, everything was still okay. Then the blackness as consciousness left her and still the blackness when consciousness returned. The pain in her stomach, the pain in her heart; the pain that had never fully left her.
Her chest ached and she unconsciously rubbed a hand to it. Tears dropped to her lap as Sara cried for that little soul that hadn’t been given a chance at life. Sara cried for her parents, Sara cried for him. She cried for herself. It was too much. There was too much hurt in her life. Sara longed for it all to stop.
2
Every room in the house was spotless. It had a perpetual lemon and bleach smell to it Sara didn’t think would ever go away. The scent had seeped into the walls and carpet and floor of every room, a blaring testimony to Sara’s obsessive housework.
It was amazing how such menial work could distract one’s thoughts. Sara spent most of every day cleaning and when it was nice out, she did yard work. A look outside told her there would soon be snow on the ground and then the shoveling would begin. But for now, she occupied herself with a complete scrub down of the bathroom.
She was on her hands and knees, inhaling chemicals and sweating.
“That’s not good for you, ya know.”
Sara blinked and looked behind her. He stood in the doorway; one broad shoulder propped against it, grinning. She could have cried at the sight of his tall and lanky form, the rugged tan of his skin. His ice blue eyes were full of love and mischief, his lips turned up at the corners.
She frowned, confused. He couldn’t be here, could he? Not really.
“Did you hear me?”
Sara sat back on her heels and stared. “What?”
He took a step into the bathroom, his shoes almost touching her. She looked at his shoes, reached out to touch him, any part of him. “All those chemicals going into your pretty little head. It’s not good for you.”
“How?” she whispered.
He laughed; a wonderful sound Sara hadn’t heard in over a year. Her ears stung from the sweet sound of it. “Come on, babe, don’t you think the house is clean enough already? Let’s go have some fun. It’s a beautiful day out. You and me. The beach. And your sexy bikini.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.
Sara inhaled sharply, blinked, and came back to reality. It wasn’t beautiful out. It was cold and dark. She looked to the place he’d been standing. He wasn’t there. A memory or something her mind unconsciously manifested was all it had been. She swiped an arm across her face and went back to cleaning the bathroom, drops of sweat and tears mingling on the floor.