When The Spirit Dies

Him

He quietly crawled into bed, hoping his movements didn't disturb her. It wouldn't be the first time she scolded him for disrupting her rest. He looked over at her silhouette, covered by the expensive purple and gold comforter that she insisted she needed. Her back faced him, as it usually did at night, in bed. She didn't show any sign she knew he was there, but then again, she rarely did.

The fan in the window hummed softly, blowing a cool, gentle breeze through the room. Burning wood from outdoor fireplaces wafted in the breeze. She needed the fan on every night, no matter the weather. She said she couldn't sleep without it.

Sounds of laughter and music from neighbors was surprisingly gentle as it infiltrated the room, adding more ambient noise to mix with the fan.

He thought she was asleep at first, but noticed flickering lights coming from the opposite side of her, where she faced the wall, and realized she was watching a show on her phone. Glancing at her ears, where her thick auburn hair lay spread out in waves, he noticed she had her ear buds in.

He watched her, hoping she sensed and responded to the emotions he was feeling tonight. He still loved her so much it hurt. But now it was a bad hurt.

He slid himself further into the bed, then picked up the hard cover book from his bedside table. He opened the book to the page he left off the night before and removed the book mark. No bended corners for him. He started reading, and realized he couldn't remember what he had read the night before. He flipped back a few pages until he recognized a part of the story, and picked up from there.

His eyes moved over the words, but their meaning failed to register. All he could think about was her. His body ached from lack of physical intimacy. His heart yearned for his wife's affection. Both had been missing now for years.

Noise from the bonus room slipped through the closed bedroom door. The boys were playing video games, waiting patiently for the New Year to hit the West Coast. It was only eight-thirty in the evening, but time will move swiftly for them as they get lost in their game.

After only a few minutes, he placed the book back on the table, jostling the lamp. He reached for it, steadied it, and turned out the light. The light from her phone shone brighter in the dark, the flickering images bouncing off the walls and through his closed eyelids. He sighed an involuntary deep sigh and willed himself to think of the times before their relationship began to fail. He remembered the intimacy and the affection they both craved from each other, and couldn't stop giving.

His breathing slowed and he finally drifted into a restless sleep. Reflexively, unknowingly in his sleep, he reached out his hand and placed it on her hip, something he used to do forever ago. Something she asked him to do so she could sleep. Something she said comforted her and made her feel safe.

He didn't realize he had done it this night. And that was a good thing. Because if he was aware that he had reached out for her, he would have been aware that she moved away from him, out of his reach, when he did.

Her

She knew he was there. She knew when he got into the bed. She knew he was watching her. She knew he knew she was awake. She had gotten so involved with her show that she didn't remember to shut it off and pretend to be asleep before he crawled into bed.

She involuntarily tensed, hoping he wouldn't touch her, or try to talk to her. She just wanted to watch her show and escape from this reality into that fantasy.

She knew he was reading because he read every night, ever since before they were married. He told her once that he learned to read himself to sleep because his parents never read to him. He said he couldn't go to sleep without it. The reading every night bothered her because, well, she didn't know. Maybe because it was a habit she couldn't break him of, and she envied the attention he gave his books.

She missed touch. She missed emotional intimacy. She missed him, but didn't want to receive his touch. She didn't think him capable of emotional intimacy, and she had told him so, many times. Nothing ever changed.

A tear slowly crawled down her cheek. It tickled her skin, but she couldn't wipe it away for fear of him thinking she was receptive to talk. So, she let it drop from her face to the pillow, where it slowly absorbed with the rest of her fallen tears.

She remembered how angry she had gotten earlier when he said he hadn't made plans for tonight. Another New Year's Eve trapped in the house. He reminded her that he had asked her to make the plans because he was at work all day. But she refused. It was his job.

He reminded her that it was her family they lived close to, not his. What family of his that was left alive lived out of state. She reminded him that her family didn't like him because he was too quiet and never wanted to stay long.

She knew he was like that before they married. He was always willing to go out dancing, and socialize, and to parties. But he always seemed to be somewhere else, even though he told her he was having a good time.

Her thumb moved slightly to the volume button on the phone, and pressed it to mute the show. She heard the boys in the next room. They were good kids. Old enough to stay up for the New Year, young enough they didn't care if they went out.

Sounds of neighbors having fun with family and friends seeped into the room, darkening her mood as she grew resentful of others having a life while she did not.

She was tempted to get up and go to the window and turn up the fan. But she knew as soon as she did, he would want to talk or. . .worse.

She heard him close his book and put it on the night stand. She heard him turn out the light and saw the light go out. She felt him slide into the bed and pull up the covers. She held her breath and waited. She heard his breaths slow and heard a deep sigh. Finally, she sensed him relax and heard him softly snore.

She turned off her phone and took out the ear buds and placed them on the table. Carefully, she raised up and glanced back at him. She saw a tear run down his cheek and heard a slight whimper.

She rolled back on her side, back to him, and closed her eyes, willing herself to not care about his nightmare. She drifted slowly to sleep, feeling a hand rest on her hip.

Reflexively, she moved out of his reach.