She sat on her haunches between his legs. He smiled down at her. His wrist lay limply on the bed, a piece of tape holding the tube to the saline bag hanging above him. The room was dark – a child’s room with yellowing walls and a rocking horse in the corner.
She asked him, what can I do. He said, I need you to follow up on a few emails for me. Make a few phone calls.
She smiled up in confirmation. He needed her.
He curled his heels around her backside, pulling her toward the chair. She lifted up to create a 45 degree line to their meeting point. Eyes met new faces, being this close up.
His lips were slippery – impossibly new, like wet icing on a cake. Blood rushed.
She felt a presence behind her. She pulled her neck backwards against his free hand – a hand too weak to hold her.
It was her sister, sitting directly behind her.
She lowered back into haunches and assessed how dark the room really was. Was it dark enough? Did they make a sound?
And when she turned her gaze in acknowledgement of her sister, she was gone.
She walked the long, stone halls with a wavering voice. “Amy?” she called. “Amy?”
Her sister was in the kitchen, appearing as her younger self. Skin so smooth, almond eyes so innocent.
“But what about his wife and kids?”
She turned from her sister and walked down the hall. She knew of a room with a cold floor.
She pulled off her sweater and jeans. She lay face down on the tiles and inhaled with the shock of their iciness.
A dream I had last night. Dreams can give us a forewarning into emotional danger.