He felt her warmth disappear. He stirred in bed not wanting to wake but knowing perhaps he should this time. She had been especially distant today. Well, this whole week actually, and he had found her secret stash a few days ago. He hadn't known what to do; didn't know how to approach her. He knew and felt that she was drowning but being who he was, he just couldn't understand how she could let herself get so down and sad. The sadness that was consuming her was slowly slithering its way into his heart. He sprung out of bed when he heard a loud thump coming from their bathroom. He pushed the door open and found her lying on the ground on her side, vomiting.
"What the hell, Sarah!" he rushed to her side and propped her up in his arms, fumbling for the trash can. He felt her shaking in his arms. "What are you doing!?" his head spun around as he took note of the bottle of pills, poured out on the counter top. He shook his head, looking away from the spewing in utter agony.
"I'm a baby killer. I'm a worthless piece of shitake mushroom," he heard her hoarsely whisper and he rolled his eyes.
"What the hell are you talking about? Because you had a couple miscarriages? So what, Sarah? We have Luke. We made Luke!! Isn't that enough? That's just like you. Always wanting more, wanting things you just can't have!" he was almost yelling. He couldn't help it. This was beyond what he felt capable of handling.
"John...I'm a woman. This is my job. To bring babies into this world. Babies, John. And I barely brought Luke into this world..." she began and then had to vomit more.
"This is such bullshit, Sarah. So you're going to bring Luke here and abandon him? That's worse than being a damn baby killer," he felt the disgust rise in his throat.
"So you do admit it. I am a baby killer," she said sadly. Her chin flopped onto her chest and her head rolled around flippantly. She felt the dizzying, sickening effects and wished she'd taken the whole bottle. She looked up and blonde was perched on the counter, shaking his head disdainfully, anger flashing in his eyes. Ha! She was was excellent at taking another's life but so very unsuccessful at terminating her own. More vomit.
John remained kneeling on the floor on one knee, supporting his wife with his arms and other leg; on the inside, he was wondering very seriously what he could do. What he was supposed to do. How he would deal with this. Dozens of thoughts flew around in him mind but one thought kept resurfacing, and it was a thought he couldn't risk spending too much time on: I can't do this anymore. Oh yes, there had been several of these episodes. And it seemed it was only getting worse. The self destruction and now to add to that was the alcohol. He just didn't know if he could take the drama anymore. She may have been literally trying to die herself, but little by little, he felt she was stabbing him and gradually killing him inadvertently.
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