On Thin Ice

A cut

The rich dark red pinot noir spilt over the edge of the crystal glass onto the beige carpet, as I was staggering across the living room. Frantically I tried to soak it up with a rag, until finally giving up and crumbling onto the floor.

It was 1am and I didn't know where he was. The fourth night in a row. Unlike before, I restrained myself and only texted him three times, last one about two hours ago. I looked in the phone, no reply. Drowning in desperation, my heart was physically aching.

Sipping down the second whisky, I looked down the window, pining to see him, feeling like the little 5yo girl locked in the room pining to see my mum coming back from work. I looked around, the little apartment of ours, in the grey ocean of concrete high-rises in Beijing. I used to see it as the most warm and safe place in the world – our place, that glimmered the cosy orange glow in the dark night of the gigantic city. I chuckled. I felt the lonely chilliness creeping up on my skin.

The car pulled in. My heart started pounding. He stumbled in and relaxed himself into the sofa, two meters away from me: "You have been drinking again." He said indifferently. This cold wall of his. It was unbearable.

"You haven't replied to my messages." I murmured.

"I told you not to. You know I am busy." He said quietly, monotone. I could see myself running up and shaking his shoulders, shouting, pleading. But I didn't. I couldn't move. Tears dribbled down my cheek.

He glanced at me, then looked away.

"I'm tired." He got up, making his way to the bedroom. So familiar...My step mum walking away whenever I was crying.

The image of myself lying in a pool of blood, with people keeping on walking past. I had had it so many times, whenever I was in this extreme pain, alone, and always alone. This agony that was bursting out to be seen.

My blood boiling, I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a fruit knife. The blade was catching the light. "Good enough to do the job." I thought.

I turned on the light in the bedroom. He sat straight up, staring at me, baffled. I threw myself next to him, kneeling on the floor, holding the knife against my wrist. He leaned back, startled. Without a thought, I sliced across. Red blood oozed out with joy. Finally!!! My body relaxed; the tension released. A faint smile came across my face.

Now everything slowed down. The colour drained from his face, turning white as a ghost. He snatched the knife and threw it across the room. "STOP! Why are you doing this!!!" He cried with anger and desperation. GOOD!

I watched him, with a strange sense of calm and satisfaction. He rummaged through the house, stumbling over a few times, and found a towel, which he clumsily wrapped around my wound. His cold slim hands were shivering. Tears welled up in his eyes. My heart softened.

Now I could feel my wrist hurting. I looked down. Blood was sipping through the white towel, growing into inflamed snowflakes right before my eyes...... Then everything went black.