The demons were winning. No matter what he did or how hard he tried, David felt them writhing around inside his head, gnawing at his resolve to stay well like a dog on a bone. He went through the motions of being normal but could not combat the feeling that at any moment he might crack wide open and be revealed as the imposter he was. Still, he forced himself to do what he knew was expected of him. The impulses were there, of course. They throbbed in his body like a second heartbeat. They snipped and snapped at his heels, trying to get him to trip up. He knew it was only a matter of time before he stumbled. So he kept quiet. He kept his movements small and measured so they wouldn’t spin him out of control. He helped around the house and spent time with his daughter. He kept the angst he felt a secret from his family, just like the pills he pretended to take. He was smarter about that this time, making sure to flush them instead of stockpiling them away as he had done before.
“How’s the new dosage?” Lydia asked one Saturday morning when Eden was still in bed.
“Fine,” he said. He knew the chemically induced lethargy the meds usually brought on so well it was easy to mimic. He made sure to speak slowly, as though his tongue was too thick for his mouth. He hated lying to his family but he hated what the pills did to him more. It was worth it to pretend.
“The car insurance is due,” she said.
David looked at her, this woman he’d promised to love, honor, and cherish for the rest of his days. How could he have made such a promise at eighteen? How could he have known what would happen to him? She was so beautiful. Too beautiful for the likes of him. She’d made it exceptionally clear since he got home from jail that there would be no physical affection between them. Not that there had been much of that in the past few years, but they would at least come together on occasion out of need for sheer physical release. But this morning, when he tried to caress one of her breasts after she got out of the shower, she slapped his hand away and blasted him with a look so cold he felt it inside his bones.
“I was planning on visiting Cerina today,” he said. “Maybe things have changed and she’ll want to buy a painting.”
“That would be great.” Lydia smiled, a tentative thing. She still didn’t trust him. David didn’t blame her. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t even trust himself.
“How much do we need?”
“Eight hundred.”
“I’ll have to sell more than one to get that.”
“Maybe you could get a job,” Lydia said.
“Doing what?” David didn’t want a job. He wanted to be free of this aching pressure in his head.
“Teaching, maybe? At the community college? Or private lessons? Any extra income would help.”
David nodded, but he knew he was in no shape to be out in the world. He could barely hold it together at home. How would he pull it off in front of a classroom? Broken thoughts twisted and howled in his head, desperate to be let out. He willed them to be silent and for a moment, they obeyed.
Lydia busied herself at the sink, scrubbing dishes from dinner the night before. David had made pepperoni lasagna with three kinds of cheese and Eden immediately claimed it as her new favorite meal.
Eden. She sensed all was not well with him. He was not that good an actor. He felt himself being pulled down again, spiraling into a darkness he knew better than the light. He was exhausted from all this. He couldn’t stand the thought of maintaining this charade another moment.
“What’s Eden doing today?” he asked Lydia.
She looked over her shoulder at him as she continued to scrub. “She has Tina Carpenter’s sleepover party.”
“What about you? What are your plans for the day?” David tried to sound bright and interested. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone. To wallow in the black mood hanging over him. He wanted to sleep, to escape. But first, he knew he would have to try to sell Cerina the painting. He’d promised himself and his family that he would be a different man. He had to maintain his front.
“I’m going in to work to catch up on the monthly billing. I need the overtime.” Lydia turned off the faucet and reached for a dish towel to dry her hands. “So you’ll go talk to Cerina while I’m gone?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” David snapped.
Lydia tensed, her hands gripping the striped yellow towel. “Don’t do that,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t you even start to do that.”
“Sorry.” David sighed. He was hanging on by a thread. But just barely. At any moment, he might just decide to let go.
The Wild Orchid Gallery was two blocks south of Bellevue Square Mall. David parked next to the small stucco building and took a deep breath before going inside. He needed to do this. He needed to sell the painting—maybe even all three in the study—and be on his way. That’s it. Nothing more. Then he could go home, find the bottle of vodka he’d stashed in the attic, and get on with his day. Eden wasn’t home and Lydia said she’d be working. He had enough time to drink and sober back up so neither of them would suspect what he’d done. He had earned this temporary reprieve. He planned to take it.
The bell above the door tinkled when he swung it open. Cerina stood at the reception desk, her black shiny hair cut in a reverse bob that exposed the tender nape of her neck. David had bitten that spot more than once when they had sex; Cerina liked to be handled a little roughly. She looked up and her mouth curled into a knowing smile.
“David,” she said. “How nice to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I thought I’d show you the work we discussed last month,” David said. “Just in case.”
Cerina raised an impeccably plucked eyebrow. “In case of what?”
“In case you’ve come to your senses and want to buy the series.”
Cerina threw her head back and laughed. “Cocky,” she said. “I love it.” She slithered around the desk and came over to embrace him. He felt himself stir at her touch. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t do it to Lydia. Not again. He was going to be a better man than this. He would fight his dysfunction and he would win.
“I’m happy to see you,” Cerina said breathily with her lips pressed against his ear. Shivers ran through his body and he fought the urge to bend her over right there. No, he told himself. You will not do this. He forced himself to pull away. She looked up at him in surprise. “No?”
“No,” David said shakily.
Cerina ran her hand up his thigh, brushing over his erection. “I don’t believe you.”
He stepped back, out of her reach. “Let me get the paintings.” His body was betraying him, just like his mind. He couldn’t control either of them. He couldn’t control a thing.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself, Romeo. I’ll take a look, but I can’t make any promises.” She gestured toward the walls, which displayed a collection of bright abstract murals. “As you can see, I’m all full up. He’s a fabulous artist. Willing to give me anything I want.” She looked at him pointedly.
So this is what she wanted. And probably why she wouldn’t see him the last time he called, the day he got out of jail. She felt slighted by him—how he didn’t pursue her after their first few encounters. He had spun off his meds and she thought his disappearance was about her. She had no idea what was wrong with him. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ll want these.”
David went back out to his car to retrieve the paintings. He was proud of this series he’d done of Eden sleeping. He’d managed to capture the innocence and vulnerability of the moment, illuminated by the warm glow of the sun streaming through the front window. He carried them back into the gallery, where Cerina looked them over.
“They’re excellent,” she said. “I love how her arm is flung over her face in this one, then off the couch in the next. I can almost see the movement in between the two poses.”
David smiled. “That’s because she wasn’t posing. I sketched her for a few hours while she napped, then retreated to my studio to paint.” He paused, daring to reach out and put his hand on Cerina’s lower back. He couldn’t help it. He wanted her. “So, you like them?”
Cerina arched her spine in response to his touch. “Yes.” She looked at him questioningly. “Can you give me what I want?”
Lydia wouldn’t have to know, David reasoned. It would be over quickly and he would bring home the money and Lydia would have no idea. He would make both of the women happy. He leaned down and kissed Cerina’s bloodred lips. They tasted like cigarettes. He could lose himself here, in the touch and taste of another woman. She pressed herself against him and he knew he would give in. He was too tired to fight. He was done pretending, done holding on to the hope he’d ever be the kind of man his family deserved. There was no turning back now.
Three hours later, David could not take a hot enough shower. His skin was red and pulsing and his heart jackhammered in his chest. The water rained down and down and down and still did nothing to cleanse him. He was done. There was nothing more he could do to save himself or his family. The voices roared in his head. He slammed back the vodka in order to drown them out but this time, the alcohol only seemed to fuel their determination to be heard. The shame rose in hard, angry waves inside him. Cerina had taken him into the back room and locked the door, telling her assistant to watch the front while she brokered the deal for his paintings. David left an hour later with cash in hand and any remaining self-worth shattered around his feet.
He was worthless, he decided as he turned off the shower, then stood naked and dripping in the bathroom. Totally and utterly worthless. He wasn’t meant for this life with a wife and a child. He couldn’t handle the responsibilities. He wasn’t built for it. Maybe he wasn’t built for any kind of life. Maybe the world would just be better off without him.
It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. The inviting pull of permanent oblivion had danced along the edges of his thoughts for years. When he first began to lose himself. When Lydia had him committed for the first time. And now, when he was so disgusted with his own behavior he couldn’t stand to look in the mirror. He knew when he was in jail that he needed to find a way to end his family’s misery. He thought he could white-knuckle his way through to normalcy. He thought he could do it without the meds. He couldn’t decide which was worse—life on the meds or life off of them. He concluded it was just life he couldn’t stand. The simple act of breathing had become too much to bear.
He was so tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of the lies. “I’m tired,” he said aloud to the empty room. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” His words echoed back at him. How much easier it would be to succumb to the darkness. He’d tried to do the right thing and he’d failed, just like every time before. His life was a pointless mess. There was really no reason to continue it.
There was Eden, he thought as he stumbled down the hall toward her room. He pushed open the door and looked inside at the ruffled lime-green bedspread she’d picked out because “pink is for sissies.” He smiled as he remembered her saying those words. His opinionated yet fragile young daughter standing in the aisle at Sears with her arms crossed over her tiny chest. Who would protect her if he left? And perhaps more relevant, who would protect her if he stayed? What was it that Lydia had said a few months ago? That she was worried Eden wouldn’t survive him? Well, there was only one thing to do then. But he’d have to be good and drunk to do it.
The bottle of vodka was still in the bathroom. He staggered back down the hall. Stepping onto the tiled floor, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. Who was that devil? It scared him to not recognize himself. Was he possessed? Had the evil spirits in his head taken him over so thoroughly that his outside appearance was forever changed? He had to end this. He had to end this now.
As he scrambled toward the bottle he’d left on the edge of the tub, David’s stomach bent in on itself and he feared he might vomit. He dropped to his knees, breathing hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. His hip bones stuck out in frightful knobs. He was disappearing anyway. His body was erasing itself. Why not speed up the process?
The air in the bathroom was muggy and thick. He outstretched his arm to reach the bottle, fumbling to get his fingers around its slippery neck. He stood back up, bracing himself with one hand against the wall. Putting the bottle to his lips, he let the hot liquid burn the back of his throat. When he finished swallowing, he opened his eyes and saw his reflection again. This time it was him. David West, failure as a man. Failure as a father and husband. A pitiful excuse for a human being, standing with a towel draped around his waist in the bathroom his wife worked to pay for. The two thousand dollars he’d earned today wouldn’t last long. Now she could use it to pay for his funeral.
With an angry howl, he launched the bottle he held at the mirror. Both shattered instantly and sprayed shards of glass all over the room. They sparkled in the light and for a moment, David had the urge to paint this. To capture the moment so it would not be forgotten. But who would want to remember it? Not his daughter. Not his wife. Once he was gone they would forget him and both would be the better for it.
He stooped down to pick up the largest shard of mirror by his feet. It was shaped like a diamond, jagged on one edge, smooth and clean on the other. Which would be better to use? It didn’t matter, he supposed. As long as it got the job done. This would all be over soon. He could feel the ache to escape inflating inside him. How sweet a relief it would be.
He put the shard to his left wrist, staring at the swollen river of blue veins beneath his pale skin. How long would it take? He didn’t know, nor did he care. All he wanted was for the end to come. He pressed the jagged edge into the base of his palm and pulled downward, releasing an animalistic screech as the pain seared through his body.
A huge rush of blood poured from the wound. He had opened the vein. Did he have it in him to finish this? He shook with pain, tears rushing out of his eyes, the sobs tearing at his lungs. “It’ll be over soon,” he cried. “It’ll all be over soon.”
He had just managed to shift the shard into his now injured hand and was pushing it into the flesh of his right wrist when the sound of the front door slamming burst through his concentration.
“Daddy?” he heard Eden call out. “Where are you?”
Eden. Jesus Christ, what was she doing home? She wasn’t supposed to see this. David swooned from the blood loss and stopped the second incision. The two inches he’d managed to slice downward bled anyway, though not as bad as his other wrist. Oh god, he was dizzy. He dug deep into himself to call out to his daughter. “Eden!” he tried to yell, but his voice was weak. “Don’t come up. Do you understand me? Do not come up those stairs!”
He fell to his knees again and then over onto his side. He curled fetal on the cold bathroom floor. His eyes closed. He felt numb, disconnected. He tasted metal in the back of his throat. This was the end, he thought. He could finally let everything go.
The door swung open and David’s eyes fluttered. There was his daughter, standing in the doorway. Her mouth was open like she was screaming but he couldn’t hear a sound. He blinked heavily, slowly, and there was his daughter rushing toward him, slipping in a puddle of his blood. His eyes closed again and the last thing he felt before everything went dark was his daughter’s arms around him, cradling his head, sobs racking her body as she began to watch him die.
