by R.E. Bunch
“Sleeping Beauty” placed third in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2023 Fall Fiction Contest.
“I’m dying,” She croaked. The sing-song in her voice was strangled out in a hoarse wheeze.
“It’s the flu,” The back of my hand rested on her forehead. Her hair was matted to her skin with an oily sweat. She felt hot, but I’m not sure of what a high fever feels like. She was the one who took care of me when I was sick. “You’ll survive.”
“You’re going to look so stupid if I wake up dead.” Her coughing was getting worse. She was gasping between each ragged bark. She gags before hacking up crimson phlegm into a crumpled tissue.
“You’re being dramatic. You’ll feel better in the morning, promise.” My lips sizzled kissing her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” she grumbles, propping herself up right before dozing off.
Nothing felt the same in the morning.
Or the day after that.
And the day after that.
She just laid there. Cold, pale blue. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make the call. I didn’t even know who to tell. Calling anyone, saying what had happened to another person would cement this horrible dream into reality. The light of my life, the crazy, chaotic burning light had gone out without me even noticing. We were both frozen in that irreversible eternity. I sat on the bed holding her hand in silence the first day, half hoping she was playing with me. That if I rubbed her back or squeezed her hand hard enough she would wake up. She’d wake up, with that mischievous smirk, saying, “Made you worry. What’s for breakfast?”
For eight days life went on. Dusting the furniture. I have web meetings with my boss about whatever. Grocery shopping, folding laundry, the dishes. Nothing was real or important. Like all the pieces of my life were now unattached from what was holding it together. Every day she looked more rested. A peaceful sleep. Not the kind of grisly, slack-jaw expression of horror of a body in a ditch. Or, the waxy sheen of grandparent’s in caskets. The kind of sleep, like when you come home in the middle of the day to find your lover sleeping in bed. She was soft, relaxed, with a dull ashen pallor. She was Sleeping Beauty, but even true love can’t reverse death.
I left our bed as it was. Tidying up the tissues and making the bed around her. Spraying the room with Spring Renewal Fabreeze, the kind she liked best. I sat with her talking about the days while gently holding her cold hand. This new loneliness was insufferable, but it was becoming something I could carry with me. I was afraid. I was afraid for her being alone. I was afraid to be alone myself. Afraid that one day I would come in here and she would be dust. Afraid that someone would peek through the bedroom window to see her there.
On the ninth day, it was a Sunday because it was a new 90 Day Fiancé and the first one I watched without her, something fell down in the hall. It was heavy, landing with a hard thud that shook the picture frames on the walls. Frozen on the couch, a new wave of terror hit me. I had accepted being alone. Never really considered something would be in here with me. The hairs on my arm stood on end as shuffled steps echoed down the dark hallway.
My vision blurred. My head felt impossibly light and unattached from my body, unable to fully comprehend what I was seeing emerging into the living room.
A sweet odor of wet leaves churned my stomach. She was standing in the living room. Her thin arms gripping the door frame for support. Her long chocolate brown hair was a wild bird’s nest of knots. It was still here. The pale and shaking love of my life somehow returned. My thoughts were like gnats. A cloud of them all buzzy and flying into each other. Unable to do anything or go anywhere.
Her jaw clicked as she opened it. A rough growl exploded from her throat sending a dagger of fear into my heart. This isn’t possible. This can’t be real.
“You promised you wouldn’t watch it without me!” She stomped her feet, crossing her arms. She pursed her lips at me, “I don’t know why we watch shows together when you always watch ahead.”
All the frozen time of the past days sped up and collapsed in on itself. The blood stopped traveling in my veins, and my heart refused to beat as I watched her amble towards me. She dropped onto the couch, into her favorite spot, reclining onto her favorite throw pillow—the blue one with the long silver tassels.
“Start it from the beginning.” She half-sang in the way she always had. She threw her icy feet into my lap, and I jumped up.
“How—how… how are you feeling?” I said. My teeth chattered as I backed away.
“Hungry, really tired. Like when you sleep too much how tired you feel. I feel cold, so I think my fever finally broke. Are you feeling sick?”
I breathed deeply, trying to steady myself. Her hazel eyes are a bit dull, but she smiles like she always does. The crooked mischievous one that I can’t stop myself from smiling back. I wring my hands before raking them against my scalp. I’m going crazy.
“What’s wrong? You look awful. Did I get you sick?”
“No, honey. As long as you’re feeling better. Everything is fine.”
“Sit down, start the show. Better yet, play last week’s. I can’t seem to remember anything from the past few days.”
“Yes, honey.” Grabbing a throw blanket, I sat back down beside her. She grabs her pillow and nestles beside me like any ordinary night. She feels so much lighter than before, but her head is a block of ice in my lap. She cocoons herself into the black fleece blanket as I play the episode she asked for. My fingers gently work out the knots in her hair as she smiles.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you more.”
Category: Competition, Featured, Short Story, SNHU Student