Love, Death & Second-hand Furniture | Complete

A Small Sun

 "Clara!"

Bryan was shouting in my face.

Nothing was quite in focus. The dark had gone, but it must have lasted a lifetime. Maybe just a moment. A century contained in a second.

The sounds of New York rushed back in, overwhelmingly and all at once.

"Clara, what the fuck?"

His face was slowly becoming less blurry, and my head felt like I'd drunk a bottle of vodka all by myself. The light was blinding.

"I think this is what a migraine feels like."

Bryan didn't look amused at my attempt at humour. "Out with it. You've been having nightmares, you've been weird. Now this. Tell me what's on with you."

When I explained it, he went from intent listening to pure horror.

"You shouldn't be seeing none of that. How is that possible?" his voice was raising, almost to the point of shouting, and I flinched away. I've not seen Bryan angry before. He was scary, angry. Noticing I moved away he reached out to me and immediately snapped his hand back, as if burnt.

"It's alright," I tried to calm him, "just a couple nightmares. Nothing major. Maybe my iron is low. Will pick some up from the pharmacy."

"You're not getting it, Clara, yeah?" the look in his face – like I was an idiot, "that's not low iron, or a nightmare. That's dying, what you're seeing. That's what death is like."

He stood up from the couch, paced the room nervously. Was he serious? Of course not. That's preposterous. I wasn't dying. I was fine.

Then again – he did have a fair share of expertise when it came to death, which most people could not boast about.

"When did this start?"

"Couple months ago? Not sure," I shrugged him off, feigning nonchalance. No point to both of us panicking.

He stopped dead in the middle of the room. There was that look in his eyes, the one I will never forget. It was not the end, not yet – but at the same time, it was. That was the moment everything changed. We were never the same; he was never, ever the same. The words weren't needed anymore, and in that moment, in that split second when I knew (sixth sense, maybe, or maybe a women's intuition) I prayed to the deity I never believed in to take them back. Do not let him say it.

"It's me, that's doing that to you."

He said it.

I shook my head no, but he wouldn't listen. "It is. It's me, Clara. I fucking new this was too good to be true. Deals like this don't happen. You don't get to die, and suddenly get this new life, this woman who loves you, and there is no price. That shit doesn't happen, Clara."

"You should have told me. You should have fucking told me. This should have never happened," he continued. I started to walk towards him, to change it, to make it better again, but he stepped away and raised his hand to stop me. "Don't come near me. I fucking new it. Sitting there, watching fucking Netflix all night long, and all that time I'm literally seeping your life away."

He wouldn't let me change his mind, but it was becoming obvious that he was right.

Neither of us slept that night. We sat on the opposite sides of the room in silence, him on the sofa and me at the kitchen table. He wouldn't let me come closer. "I'm done talking 'bout this, Clara," was all he said when I pestered. Bryan's mind was set. It no longer mattered what I said, his face showed nothing but fury, and anguish. They battled for dominance throughout the night.