Dum Spiro, Spero
      Chapter 3  - Sunt Lacrimae Rerum
 

I don't know her name, nor can I remember where she heard about this place, I just want her to be gone from my sight. She gapes at Michelle, my Michelle, with such undisguised mockery, I feel like wiring her jaw shut with some pliers and barbed wire.

My wife is not a circus attraction.

"I'm sorry this is obviously a bad time. You'll have to come back another day, or maybe never again," I say with such venom, I can see the hairs stand at the end of her neck, as I forcefully elbow her to the door of the loft. She turns back for one last glance at Michelle, her stunned silence speaking volumes, before she finally exits.

"Who was that?" She tries for non chalance, coming up just a little too short on the non part of the equation.

I turn back towards her, slowly, amazed at how quickly she has managed to shift gears, back into accusatory positioning. I finally take a good, long glance at this strange figure before me. If I didn't know better I would say, she looks like a junkie, strung out or going through some major withdrawals. Her hair is a mess, her clothes are ill fitting and shabby, her eyes could sink in the bags underneath them. She is beautiful, still, my Michelle, no amount of hiding it, would change that fact. But she is just that much left of center, and something is not quite right.

"Glad to see all of this is agreeing with you so well. You look great," I comment, sarcastically. Try as I might, bitterness is still one of the strongest emotions I'm feeling, as of late.

"Oh I feel wonderful," her voice, chirps maniacally. "I'm overwhelmed by school, none of my friends seem to remember I exist, I don't sleep all that often, my mother is suffocating me, my baby is dead, my marriage is over, I have to look over my shoulder every ten seconds for a man with a gun, oh and before I forget my husband was about to sleep with a walking Barbie doll, in the same bed he had sex with my best friend. I'm feeling fabulous, yourself?"

Ouch.

I wave her off, indignantly, mentally slapping myself for ever feeling sympathy for her to begin with, as usual it all boiled down to being my fault, even if she was right. "You have no idea what you're talking about Michelle. You just automatically assume like always. For your information, that Barbie doll was looking to rent this place. I figured since it was empty, I may as well turn a profit, while it sat here and collected dust. But don't worry your pretty little head with details, or facts. Keep assuming, it's what you do best." On my better days, I could simply take it, for what it was, her need to lash out at me. Today was not one of my better days. Spending half the night, awake in the dark, wondering if she was sleeping alright without me, night after night, has left me a tired and cranky soon to be divorcee.

I don't dare look at her, before I turn away and collect myself, regretting the awful foot in mouth disease I suffered, that seemed to spread like wildfire anytime she was around. I take a few deep breaths, as I stare silently at the wall, praying for the strength I would no doubt need, for the next go round. I'm met with nothing but the sound of tears, deafening in their ability to drown out all the bitterness. She is hurt, and I hurt in return.

"I'm sorry, Danny," her voice carries, meekly to my welcoming ears.

Don't ever be sorry. Don't cry. Don't do this to yourself. This is killing me. Please... please... let's stop this. I'm sorry, for everything. I'm sorry. Please...

I turn, my mouth prepared to speak what my heart is bursting to say, but still I remain silent. There is too much that has been said and done, that sorry cannot change. There are not enough tears that can drown these sorrows, and simply wash them away.

My heart breaks, at the sight of my Michelle. So small and buried inside of herself, her posture fragile and hunched over. "I've never seen you wear that," I whisper, on the edge of my own tears.

Big brown, pleading eyes, stare back at me. "It's old, I don't even remember where it came from. It's just kind of always been there. I'm sorry, Danny," she sobs.

"For what?" I need to look away, the unsettling feeling, of my jaw giving way to a tremble, too much to bear, but I cannot.

"I should have shown you this before," she grabs her shirt, disgustedly. "You should have seen all of me and know what you were getting... all this mess." I am fascinated, but mostly I am scared. This is not my Michelle.

"Michelle, honey, why don't you sit down? Maybe you're not feeling well?" I ask cautiously, afraid to push.

"I'm not crazy Danny." She says it with such conviction, she frightens me even more.

"I really think you need to sit and take a few deep breaths, and calm down. I know this has all been hard on you, on both of us. I don't want you to make yourself sick over it." I lean towards her, stroking her hair, as I have so many times in the past, offering up whatever strength she could take from the healing affect, it always seemed to have.

"You think there's something wrong with me. I know you do. But I'm not crazy Danny, I'm not." I almost believe her.

"I don't think you're crazy, baby. I think you're hurting, right? That's what it is. I know... I know what the feels like." She is not crazy. All this talk is just making it feel worse than it is. That's exactly what it is.

"I just wanted to find Drew's bracelet, that's all, and I've looked all over the place, and then I saw that bed, and the woman and..." She inhales so deeply, I wonder if she's choking. I can feel her body trembling beneath my hand, and it is all I can do, to hold her steady on her feet. "I don't know what's wrong with me Danny. I'm not crazy."

"You're not making a lot of sense Michelle," I attempt to soothe her with my tone, "but that's okay, you don't have to say anything," I reassure her. "You know you can still come to me if you need a hug or something. At least I hope you feel like you can." I realize, for the first time, I no longer know the answer to that question and judging from her disenchanted gaze, neither does she.

She closes her eyes, a strange calm coming over her. I feel like I'm in a maze, unsure of which way to turn, in order to free us from these claustrophobic walls. My head is clouded with nothing but fear. "I can't..."

It's the last thing she says, before she slumps down on my chest, falling into the pitch black waters of her tears, drowning in them.

She does not even hear me scream her name, trying to shake her back into consciousness, she doesn't move an inch, she simply falls away...

My Michelle, lays lifeless in my arms, unaware that I wish nothing more than to take her place.

 
Sunt lacrimae rerum= There are tears for things