She was alone. 

It was the first time she’d been away from the hospital; she was feeling both guilty for leaving and relieved to be away.  The nurses had told her to go home, get some fresh air, and try to rest.  She had reached the point of feeling useless and had to get away, even for a little while. Sitting at his bedside the past two days had been terrifying.  Exhausting.   She’d prayed and begged, pleaded and bargained for him to wake up, open his eyes, do anything – anything – to let her know he was there.  Still he remained lost to her.  There was nothing she could do but wait. There was nothing anyone could do.

And now she lay curled on the couch in their apartment, trying to bury herself in the familiarity of home. She’d showered and tried to rest but a rush of questions and worries pounded within her, keeping the dullness of sleep at bay. 

Why?  She’d asked that question over and over.  Why? Why had he done this?   What could pushed him to this? Why wouldn’t he have talked to her? To anyone at all? How could the man she’s loved – the man she made love to, poured herself into – and believed in for all these years chose to leave her like this? How can this be the man who used to seem so happy just to get up in the morning, or to hold her hand, or to lose himself in hours of creation at his studio be the same man she now begged to come back to her?

Something within her was collapsing, twisting her away from herself as the most devastating questions came.  What if I did this? Did I do something? Say something? How was my love for him not enough? 

She felt a tearing from within and, finally, she began to cry.

The tears came hot and fast, stinging her tired eyes and running down her cheeks.  Tears of exhaustion laced with sadness and fear.  Tears of anger, confusion, and helplessness, giving way to sobs and heaves, pushing the anguish and frustration of the past days to the surface, expelling them like bile into the emptiness of the apartment until every corner was washed with her pain.

The release was overwhelming, and yet it cleansed her somehow as well. She allowed sleep to take her, to own her, to steal her away.    

Part IV to follow

Previously:

Contrapposto II

Contrapposto I