Page 72 of Marry Lies
I shove the thoughts away as I walk up to her door and knock twice.
“Estelle,” I say, my voice a bit too hard and firm. “Open up.”
Nothing.
Silence.
“I’m coming in.”
I push the door open, and my eyes fall on her—awake, eyes open and vacant, body curled up in a fetal position.
“Estelle?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
Her eyes find mine, and goosebumps erupt along my skin, because I don’t see my wife in her eyes. The light is gone, and behind her normally bright, blue eyes is…nothing. Like she’s shuttered behind her irises, somehow.
“Go away,” she says, her voice monotone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
She turns and faces the other wall, her back to me. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, her legs pulled tightly to her chest.
“I said go away, Miles.”
I take a tentative step forward, reaching the edge of her bed. “Is this about last night?” I ask softly.
She twists around to look at me over her shoulder. “You really are so conceited,” she answers, her voice low and monotone. “No, this is not about last night.”
I look around her room for a clue, wondering if she’s sick, or just missing home…
“Estelle, you need to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”
“I don’t want your help.” I walk the perimeter of her room, arms crossed, watching as my wife pulls the covers over herself slowly. Fidgeting with my watch, I begin to pace.
“Just one of the bad days,” she explains a few minutes later. “I promise I’m not about to off myself, so you can leave now.”
One of the bad days.
Off myself.
My.
Wife.
It’s like someone pours cold water over me. “Estelle,” I growl.
She sits up and glares at me. “It’s called depression, you arsehole. I just so happen to have the kind that’s resistant to treatment, so when I have these kinds of days…or weeks…I sort of just have to weather it.” Her eyes are still closed off, but at least she’s sitting up now. Though, now that she’s facing the light of the window, I can see the purple bags underneath her eyes.
The sight of her looking so wearied and desolate…
I already know I’m not leaving her here like this.
“How can I help you?” I ask, removing my jacket and placing it on the sitting chair next to her window. My whole body is frantic and electric with worry, and I remove my tie in one quick motion, needing something to do with my hands.
She rolls her eyes, pulling her knees to her chest as she watches me. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do. Because despite ensuring I had a routine, despite my life changing so drastically, I’d stupidly hoped these days were over.”
I step out of my shoes. “This has happened before?” She nods. “How many times?” Shrugging, she rests her cheek on her knees as she looks at me with those haunted, hollow eyes. I don’t know what comes over me, because suddenly, I want to curl my body against her.
“After my grandmother died…I didn’t get out of bed for weeks. Since then, it happens every couple of months.”
