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“Anything to make you happy, Han,”he’d say.“If I have to sit through this for you, just to see you smile some more, then I will.”
Perfect.
Dead.
I don’t know how long it goes on – the feeling of emptiness and vacancy. Maybe it carries on forever and I’ll live in a vacuum of time that no one else is with me in. Just me. Alone. I stare at the continuing production, part of me enjoying the noise creeping in around me. It’s a distraction now I’m trying to focus on it, something that diverts me from the reality I’m in. The tears are coming again, though. They’re slowly dripping down my cheeks, falling one by one as if I’m incapable of controlling them. I dab again, pressing the tissue into the corner of my eyes in the hope they’ll die down. They won’t, not while I’m thinking of my perfect marriage and my perfect man and my perfect life that I’ve lost.
A long sigh falls from my lips, neck straightening so I can pull myself together again. This isn’t helping. I should leave. Go back to the apartment and start packing his things up. That’s what people do I suppose. Touch things for the last time before handing them over to charity. Clothes can go. His bathroom bits and pieces. Shoes. Books. There isn’t much else really. We lived from place to place. Only the boxes still full of things we brought with us. I’m not letting them go. They’re things we brought together, things that made a home out of the places we stayed in.
The tissue falls from my grasp as I stand and back into the dark recesses of the box to leave. I need those things now. I want to touch them, remember him with him in my grip. My unsteady steps ease me along the corridor, my hands lifting my dress and the heels beneath me finding their way somehow. Every step away from the sounds hurts, as if the entirety of my situation beds in with each footfall I make towards a barren apartment.
This was a diversion. A change of thought for a while. It’s not changing my reality, though, and it isn’t the same without him beside me. It was cold in the box, lonely. I always thought they were small spaces, but without him in it with me it feels cavernous.
The wide, red, elegant stairs loom up on me, as I keep moving slowly, gold rails lining the way out. I hover at the top, one hand reaching to the banister for support, and then I just feel lost. It suddenly floods me in a wave of gloom, making my heart clench and my breathing become winded.
I cling tighter to the banister hoping it might make the feeling disintegrate, or lessen, but it seems to escalate further with each breath I try for. Both hands grab for the rail, my body pulled towards it as I keep trying to pull in air. There’s nothing, though. My mouth only gasps in movement, endlessly attempting to breathe as if it’s an alien concept.
My legs give in under the torment, the little strength I’ve got left pulling me to the gold balustrade to keep me upright to some degree. My vision swims, body panting and quivering under whatever this is. I snatch at the choker I’m wearing, ripping it from my neck in the hope that it helps. It doesn’t. The feeling carries on and on, all of it filling me with anxiety and more panic. The gloves get dragged from my skin, too, and I end up leaning my head on the balustrade, desperately trying to draw air in slowly and calm my racing body back to normal.
I stare through the two supporting pillars, focusing on the lower ground floor entrance and waiting for someone to help me. There’s nothing down there but more red carpet and more extravagance and luxury. Gold doors. Doormen in gilded livery standing outside, three of them looking into the road instead of noticing me in my panicked state. And then movement.
Two men sweep the corridor, both with their hands at their ears. I gasp in a breath and try getting words from my lips. “Help me,” whimpers out. It’s not enough. Neither notice me, nor seem to care as they carry on swiftly. “HELP!”
One looks back, quickly surveying me, and then carries on moving as the other one walks backwards towards a corner. The second he arrives there he comes back out with another man, directing him towards the door. I’m about to shout again, about to try at least, when the man at the back tilts his head and looks up at me. The vision is enough to steal what little breath I have left. It sends a new sense of fear through me to counter the panic, this time filled with dread and foreboding rather than simple breath issues.
Everything in me stills, then tries to hide behind the balustrades, as he stares up towards me and keeps walking. I can only see the sharp angles of his cheeks in the shadows below as he goes, the low cut of his frown sitting so comfortably on his face. I turn and lean my back on the gold work, perhaps trying to avoid the intensity, as I keep pulling in short breaths. At least I’m breathing again.
I focus on the wall, running my gaze over the patterned wallpaper to try finding some calming influence, and eventually haul myself back to my feet. I need to go. No one’s helping me, and no one’s coming to my rescue either. I’ll get myself out of here and back to the safety of my apartment. Not that it is mine, but it’s better than this place and whatever this feeling is inside me. I take a hesitant look back at the ground floor, making sure those men have gone, and then fumble down the staircase down to the doors.
The moment I’m out into the fresh air I nearly collapse onto one of the doormen, my voice calling for a cab. He obliges and walks me forwards to the road, his hand aloft for one.
“Let it go, Barney,” a smooth yet grumbled voice says. “My driver will take her home.”
I lull in the doorman’s hold, eyes looking for where the voice came from. He’s leaning on the wall, one leg kicked back on it and smoke blowing out of his mouth. I stare at both him and the two men he’s with, wondering why he would offer help now when he gave me such a vile look inside.
“Of course, Mr Rothburg. Mam, shall we?” the doorman says, trying to move me.
I flick glances between the man and the blacked out car idling at the side of the road. Rothburg? As in Annox Pharma Rothburg? His bow tie’s draped around his open collar, the tux cut is sharp and tailored, but smoking? It can’t be him. No pharmaceutical company’s founder would let that poison inside him, surely? It can’t be Grayson Rothburg.
“It’s alright, Mrs Tanner. Take the car. It’ll come back for me after it’s taken you home.” My eyes widen at his recognition of me. We’ve never met as far as I’m aware. And from what I know of him hardly anyone ever meets him.
“You know me?” I stammer.
“Wife of my recently appointed head of finance, Richard Tanner. Freshly deceased. Interesting outing for a grieving widow,” he says resentfully, looking out into the night.
“I’m … I was …” I close my mouth, unsure why I suddenly feel the need to explain a damn thing to him. It’s enough to make me forget all form of pathetic interludes I was just in. I straighten myself, picking up my dress again. “I’ll take a cab. Barney, if you could please.”
“Yes, Mam.”
He goes to the road again, hand up in the air, as I walk with him. I’m not taking help from someone who thinks they can berate me for my situation. I might be in the pits of despair, might even be having some sort of breakdown, but I’m not having anyone question why I’m doing what I’m doing to cope with the loss.
It’s another few minutes of waiting before I hear the clatter of footsteps coming up behind me, the two men with him opening the door to the car and shielding him from the rest of the world. I try not to look, choosing anything but him and them, but he gets in front of my face, effortlessly turning his body to look me over. No words as he stands there taking his time to scrutinise me. He’s just large and looming, strange coloured eyes easing over my face.
I look away again and let the hem of my dress fall to the floor, my arms wrapping around me for some sort of protection against his cold stare.
“Are you sure, Mrs Tanner?” he rumbles.
“Yes. Very much so. Thank you.”
