Page 7 of Dying Flame

The west coast? Oh God, is he trying to get away from this area and start off fresh out there? Is he planning on killing me off and moving away to continue his life? My vision gets hazy and dim as I struggle to breathe.

Get it together, Emily. You can’t have a panic attack right now.

I take a deep breath and focus on one breath at a time; he doesn't seem to notice that I haven’t said a word. Or maybe he has noticed and it doesn’t bother him that I have nothing to say.

The room fills with the other people talking amongst themselves. Planning, hoping, and dreaming for their futures together. All the while, I’m sitting here trying not to have a panic attack in front of everyone else. My husband is making plans for himself, not for us. There is no us anymore.

I need to stop being afraid of him; if I let fear wash over me, he will win. I’ve thought about this for so long, and now is not the time to back down.

From here on out I have only one motive: to kill my husband.

NINE

DEVIN

God, I woke up with such a hangover this morning. I’m parched, and my head is splitting after last night. Fuck. I need to stop drinking so much, but it’s the only thing that keeps me from lashing out at Emily or finding another outlet. I won’t drink today; I’ll focus on how to get Emily to reveal her little secret.

Secret phone calls, private meetings, and going out at all hours of the night. I don’t remember her being in bed when I got here last night, and she’s not here now either. She’s been getting better at sneaking around, but I still know she’s found out something about me. It can’t be hidden forever.

It’s the day of our hiking trip, and I’m excited. Yesterday was frustrating, and it was hard to keep my composure. I couldn’t let the mask slip, but it’s been so long since I’ve had to pretend to be a good husband around other people that I almost fucked it up.

I’ve worked my ass off to provide an easy life for her, and instead of being grateful, she hates me. I can see it in the way she looks at me, acts around me, and has little to say anymore. When we first met, she was a chatterbox—even about the simplest and stupidest things, she always had something to say about it.

I’ve never yelled or raised my voice at her, even when she was disappointing. And I always celebrated her accomplishments, like a good husband should. There is something going on with her, and she can’t hide it very well.

Where the fuck is she? My temper flares as I throw the covers off of my body and discover I’m still in the same clothes I wore last night. Anything after dinner was a blur. Did we do anything? Or did I just keep drinking while sitting outside by the fire? It doesn’t matter; I have to find Emily and my phone.

As I sit up, the world spins around me. I can’t still be drunk; there’s no fucking way. I didn’t drink more than I usually do when I travel, so why do I feel like such shit? My neck is kinked too; this fucking bed is so damn stiff I can’t get a good night’s sleep in it. I can’t wait to go home and sleep in my own bed soon.

When I finally manage to get out of bed without falling backwards, I walk around the cabin in search of Emily. My vision is still hazy and foggy. This isn’t normal for me. I find her sitting at the kitchen table reading a book. She looks so relaxed and serene. All the while I feel like a bag of shit.

“Finally awake?” She asks with a shit-eating grin on her face. I don’t know why, but the way she’s looking at me is pissing me off.

“Yeah. I feel like shit. How much did I drink last night?”

“Plenty. It seemed like you needed it after our session in group therapy yesterday.” She looks back down at her book. “There’s some coffee if you need it.”

There it is. She’s changed. Before, she would have gotten up to get me a cup and brought some aspirin, knowing I felt like shit. Now, she couldn’t give a damn. There’s someone else, I know it. She’s giving all the attention she once gave me to someone else.

“I’ll get some later; I’m going to shower first,” I take one last look at her, and she doesn’t respond. It’s as if I said nothing at all.

After my shower I finally feel awake and clear-headed again. I put on some cargo pants, hiking boots, and a t-shirt. My phone is mixed in with the bedsheets; it’s almost dead, so I need to grab the battery pack. I’ll grab a protein bar on the way out and eat it while we’re on the trail. I don’t want to waste any more time here. The quicker she admits her wrongdoing, the better.

“Ready?” I ask while she’s in the kitchen packing some food for our hike.

“Mhmm…are you going to have anything to eat before we go?” Her back is still turned to me. I walk up behind her and reach over to grab a protein bar that’s on the counter in front of her.

“I’ll have this,” I whisper in her ear. The skin on her neck prickles knowing I’m close, and it brings a grin to my face. The tension in her shoulders does not ease as I walk away and grab my hiking bag. She clears her throat and packs up her own bag, and we start our way out the door and down to the trail.

It’s early yet; the firepits from last night's bonfires are smoldering, the embers glowing beneath the ash. Tents are filled with slumbering bodies still drunk from the evening before. I’m sure most will be waking up with such hangovers the campground will still be quiet by the time we arrive back. Or just me.

I let her take the lead this morning. My legs still feel a bit wobbly, but I’m sure once we get going that feeling will go away. The brisk morning breeze feels good, but my body is still fighting the booze running in my system.

I swear it has been years since I’ve felt this way after a night of drinking. Is it my age? Do I not handle my alcohol as well as I used to? Even the sounds of our boots crunching on the gravel and the birds chirping are making my head hurt worse. Emily seems completely unfazed, as if I’m not even here with her this morning.

The trail winds and becomes steeper as we get further in; no signs of others on the trail this morning either. The air must be thinning because it’s getting harder to breathe. My chest is tight, and I can only manage short breaths. Emily looks back for a moment and keeps moving forward.

Sweat beads on my forehead and runs down my face and back. I grab onto a nearby tree branch to brace myself. I can’t see straight anymore; my vision is wavy, and I feel like I might be sick. My legs shake and my knees buckle…the last thing I remember is falling to the ground face first.