It wasn’t a bad way to die. Car smashed to the point of unrecognition by a big truck, an easy and simple death. From the amount of blood around him he must have lost a limb, but the blow to the head is what really killed him, fast and easy. He died before he even knew what was going on. That’s what the coroner’s report said at least. With the lack of a body a proper burial couldn’t be held but it didn’t matter, no one would have shown up.
Honestly, he didn’t really care that he was dead. Everyone dies one day, it made life worth living. He was, however, worried for his wife. He had made sure that if he ever died young and alone, while his wife lived on, she would be able to live comfortably, the only burden perhaps the grief of his passing. His hard work paid off! Yes, she cried and grieved, almost tore herself apart when she found out he was dead, but she was still alive and well and that’s all he cared about.
Then things started to go wrong. Late night pacing, locking herself into her room, talking to herself more and more frequently. He grew increasingly worried as each day passed. Too late he realized what she was planning to do. He watched his sun dim, slowly and painfully, and he could do nothing to stop it.
He had heard that when a person was experiencing grief it came in five stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Denial came quickly. Not even a second after the police had come to her door telling her the horrible news was she yelling that they were lying and threatening them with a lawsuit if they didn’t leave right then and there. He knew it would be hard on her when he was gone but it still hurt to see her so unhinged. Even after she had calmed down and invited the policeman inside she fervently denied all they were telling her, instead rambling over them how he was coming straight home from work and how she should probably put the chicken in the oven and asking how they liked their tea. Her denial stage never left.
Next was anger, an emotion that he knew she was well acquainted with. She wasn’t sure who she was angry at, but the burning feeling still grew in her chest, growing hotter and harder to ignore with every sentence the policeman spoke. It came to him in a sudden realization that she wanted to kill that policeman. She wanted to tear him apart for speaking of his death with such nonchalance like half her existence wasn’t in the car with him when he crashed. She was ready to seize him by the throat and watch the life leave his eyes if it meant he would stop talking about all the details of his crash. The rage she was experiencing swallowed up his own heart but he fought back against it, he refused to be bitter about his death and was going to do everything in his power to make sure that his wife accepted it too. A sun never shares warmth without burning the ones who come too close but he was not going to let her burn. Still, this stage also failed to leave her.
Bargaining. This stage developed differently, he noted. It festered silently in her skull, taking its time to plant the seeds of its revolt in her mind. She lived only in denial and anger for months all throughout his funeral and into the days after, refusing to believe he was really dead and threatening to gut anyone who said otherwise. Still, it didn’t take long for it all to come to a head. The habit started slowly, a night or two every week she’d disappear into their attic and not come out until it was morning. Then she started going up to the attic four or five nights a week until one day she went every night and never stopped. It was unclear to him what she did up there. His ghostly form was tied to the main and second floors so going to the attic was impossible, but from what he saw when she came down every morning–it was so wicked, so terrible, so repulsive he wouldn’t be able to explain the nausea he felt every time she came downstairs covered in blood and carvings she had etched into her skin with their own kitchen knife. She was bargaining with the Devil. He was sure of it. She would never hurt herself in such a way, never lock herself into a room for hours doing nothing but chanting and carving into her own flesh, everyday being ripped of her warmth and brightness and replaced with a person as hollow and cold as the moon. If only he could help her, if only he could make her stop. The bargaining stage persisted.
Depression had no mercy on his lover. He was quite sure that the depression started long before but he only started documenting it when he lost hope that the bargaining stage would stop. She was sad in the usual way of course, crying often, eating less, losing contact with friends and family, but the hollow tiredness she carried around with her was subtler, woven into the way she climbed the stairs, painting her face when she carved, covering her like a blanket if she slept, danced in her eyes if she looked to long at their balcony on the top floor. Never in his life had he seen someone so empty, so void of life. He would be willing to carve himself raw if a smile graced her face just one last time, ready to starve a whole continent if she ate a full plate again, wanted to stand by the Devil and watch worlds burn if only in the name of her happiness. While he understood now why she locked herself into the attic every night he refused to let her be this tired because of her love for him. Yet still he still couldn’t figure out a way to help her and it was eating him up inside. Depression had no mercy on her or him.
Acceptance was a fluke. Acceptance being the last stage of grief was a goddamn lie. Revenge was the true last stage he decided. You’re torn apart from the reason you breathe and thrust back into the world the next day, expected to function as if your heart isn’t lying six feet under with the corpse of your beloved and you expect that to end in acceptance? Unfortunately, though it was heartbreaking on both sides, for him the roles were switched. He had to watch as the love of his life, his sun, was sacrificing her humanity so that he could live.
She sat in the living room, a circle of unrecognizable writing the exact copies to the ones carved onto herself etched into the ground around her. A book splattered with her own blood lay in her lap. He tried in vain to get her attention, screaming, jumping up and down, even trying to pry the book from her hands though he knew he wouldn’t be able to. A crushing weight made home in his gut as she started the ritual. She was doing all this because of him. She was destroying herself just so he could come back to life.
He couldn’t let her do this to herself. He wasn’t going to let do this to herself. He was going to stop her and then he was going to hunt down the reason his wife was in so much pain. Luckily his plan for vengeance wasn’t with a faceless target, he knew exactly who to blame for this. Himself. If he hadn’t gotten into that accident she would be standing beside him happy and sane. He was to blame for all his wife was suffering right now, the sleepless nights, dark magic and mostly the grief that had cut out her warmth.
Acceptance might be a lie, a sorry attempt at acting like everything will turn out fine, just a word to cower behind and worship while your life falls apart around you from the anger and denial and depression and bargaining; but revenge? Revenge was sick and cruel and so, so, satisfying. It burned everything in its path making it the perfect tool for madmen, and lovers. Its greed knew no bounds but it was still graceful in the way it took more and more until you were nothing but the shadow of your dignity. He was going to get his revenge on the man that had torn apart his wife come hell or highwater. He wasn’t sure if his plan was really going to work but it had too, he had no other choice.
He waited quietly in the corner of the room right by the window overlooking their garden. It might not be high enough but if he threw himself with enough force it would surely end him, he mused.
The effect started small, an electric tingling in his fingers growing up his arms and spreading, coating his whole body in a tingling sensation. All the colors in the room became a little sharper and for the first time in months he could clearly see the gold in his wife’s eyes. She was looking straight at him. Her chanting grew frenzied and louder as she realized the ceremony was working. All too soon the exhilaration of coming back to life was over and his humanity was handed back to him quietly in the form of a hug from his beloved. He was alive!
Only faintly hearing the sobbing of his wife as she desperately clung to him he went over the plan again in his head. It was still perfect.
Slowly he put his hands on her shoulders and peeled her off of him. Her eyes were old, older than they should be for someone so young. It made his heart clench and breath catch. He was the reason for that, he was the reason the sun was burning out.
“I’m so sorry for hurting you, my dearest. I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m going to make sure I’m never able to come back so that way you can live in peace.” he grinned and his wife’s eyes widened.
Without a second thought he began to throw himself out the window, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t you dare.” she stated firmly. “You’re back. You’re back and if I let you die again I won’t be able to live with myself. Stay. You’re staying, okay?” she was pleading now, tears on the verge of escaping from her eyes. He felt the shame and vengeance that had been woven into his ribs so tightly only moments ago starting to loosen. He still didn’t fully understand or even believe her but the way she was looking at him was enough to make him fall to his knees.
He was right. Acceptance never came but revenge also wasn’t the full answer. Add in bargaining, however, and the combination was deadly. Give a man a tragedy and watch how he eluded destiny, he supposed. But all that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the way she sank down to the floor with him, her blood smearing his suit jacket and bony hands caressing his cheek. They held each other until the sun started to come up from the window behind them but he couldn’t care less, he had his own sun wrapped in his arms.
