Fades To Black (Complete)

May- The Numbness

Camila

I sit at the whit, kitchen island and watch the red digits change from 1:03 am to 1:04.

I don't remember the last time I moved from this spot, I seem to remember the digits began with 23 but I don't know if that was last night, the night before or last week, all I know is it was dark... as it always is.

Black...

Black and silent and broken

'Mama...'

The word manages to slip past the barriers I have erected in my mind as it so often does at this time of night and I raise my pointer finger and tap it heavily on my forehead. Over and over again I tap whilst I close my eyes and beg my brain to forget that word.

That word...

That voice...

I jump up from the table and head to the sink, there's only the one cup I had my coffee in earlier to be washed but I start to fill the sink, counting to 5 ten times, the exact length of time it takes to fill to the level I like, I then add 5 squeezes of the washing up liquid before pushing my cup under the water, leaving it there until I count to 5 then pulling it out and and then dunking it back in and then counting to 5. I do this 5 times before I reach for a sponge.

I look at the red digits once more 1:07, I wait for it to change and then I begin scrubbing, knowing it takes exactly 5 minutes of scrubbing until I am satisfied it will be clean. 5 minutes of focusing on nothing other than making sure every single, tiny bit of the mug is sparkling.

5 minutes pass and as I inspect my handiwork I hear the front door click open and then slam shut.

1.13am and my husband is only now returning home from work.

I hear his car keys hit the hook and then the crash as they hit the floor. I hear him stumble to take off his shoes, cursing loudly and then a louder bang as he falls to the hallway floor

Work... he tells me but what he really means is work followed by a bar followed by as much alcohol as he can stand followed by an Uber home, 2 hours of tossing and turning next to me in bed and then up, showered, dressed and then repeat. Day after day the same routine. The same silence between us, the same dry kiss to my cheek to bid me farewell. The same rush of relief as the door shuts behind him and I return to my spot at the island, the same place I return to now and wait for him to make it from the front door to the kitchen

Eventually his brown curls appear in the doorway. His eyes are red, his face pale and drawn, his shirt collar has been pulled and his navy tie loosened

I look into his eyes wondering if in his current state he even knows that he is home or that I am his wife. He blankly gazes at me before stumbling forward and I stand from my seat, walk to the refrigerator, remove a bottle of water and then lift the first aid kit from the shelf next to it, popping two pain killers and then handing everything to him in silence

He doesn't respond.

Doesn't utter his thanks.

There's just blankness and silence

He takes the items and stumbles out of the kitchen, cursing once more as he shoulder barges the door frame and then lurches back out into the hallway before I hear his heavy steps moving him up the stairs towards the bedroom where he will fall into bed dressed as he is and achieve just moments of sleep before he subjects himself to it all over again.

I drop back down onto the stool and watch the red digits change

1:20 am and my eyes drop to the wooden flooring we had fitted just 2 months earlier. I remember how expensive it had been and how proud Shawn and I had been that now, aged 27 after years of struggling we could afford it.

The sound of toys being rolled over it, cups tipping over onto it and my own voice, harsh, reprimanding begin to consume my brain as shame flushes my cheeks

'Don't you know how expensive that was?'

'Why can't you be more careful?'

I move my pointer finger to my forehead and begin tapping trying to tap the thoughts back into the tightly sealed box I usually keep them in

'Sorry mama'

'Mama me made accident!'

I tap harder and harder, close my eyes and think of everything and anything other than that little voice... the scent of strawberry flavoured shampoo, the soft, warm skin, the gentle kisses...

"Stop..." my voice is low and scary in the darkness of the early hours.

The scent of milk on warm breath, the smell of baby lotion...

I screw my hand into a fist and bang my knuckles hard against my forehead

"STOP!" I spring up from the stool and grab a sponge and disinfectant spray before moving as quickly as I can into the hallway where I find Shawns shoes lying abandoned.

I move them to the shoe stand and then squirt the spray 5 times before rubbing a spot on the floor 5 times to the left, 5 times to the right and then move half an inch across before scrubbing 5 times to the left, 5 times to the right

5 times...

Always 5 times...

She would always be 5...