I gulp a block of air, choking hard.
“Get off me!” I scream, writhing and twisting under her frame. I unhook her legs from around my waist and push her to the floor. She yelps and lies there, perfectly still. Her hair has fallen over her face and the knife is somewhere in the room but at least it’s not in her hand anymore.
My cheek feels warm and wet and slowly descends into numbness. I throw the duvet back and lower my feet to the ground. The carpet is scratchy and irritating under my feet.
My book lies strewn a few feet away from her face, opened the spine broken. I purse my lips. I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do next. I certainly don’t expect her to slowly pull herself up onto her knees and scrape her hair back away from her face; her eyes burning like hot coals.
The necklace falls out of the t-shirt and hangs around her navel swinging like a pendulum. It catches the light, shining like a beacon. Her fingers stroke it gently and her lips start to move again but making no noise this time. She gets to her feet and swallows. She’s crying.
“Can you please do something for me Joseph?”
I’m surprised, after all the crawling around with KILL JOSEPH stamped in her eyes, she has the nerve to ask me for help? I look at her and it tugs at my heart. She looks so depressed and young. Too young for that kind of anger. The kind that smoulders inside the belly’s of violent middle-aged men who need to assert authority in a world where they're not wanted.
“What do you want me to do?” my hands drift to my sides touching the soft cotton underneath me. It’s wrinkled and creased so I try to smooth it out with my fingers. She takes a step towards me and takes the hand that was smoothing out the creases.
“Can you die?”
Did I hear her correctly? Did she ask me to make her a sandwich? That’s what the tone implied.
Can you die?
I think I can but I don’t want to. I’m not ready to submerge myself into the unknown void of nothing. It’s too early, call back in sixty years or so.
But she’s pleading. But I don’t want to help her. I’d rather leave her. I never thought I’d miss Claudine so much. But I remember that she went funny too.
The world spins and I can’t tell who said that and I’m guessing it was probably me. All I can see is the ceiling and all I can hear is the absence of all noise even that god cursed silence.