The Dead Saga: Odium 0.5 (Nina's Story)

by Riley, Claire C.

  I jogged down our drive and onto the street, passing house after house. The roads were quiet that night, with hardly any cars out. The lights were turning on in house windows and people were closing their curtains for the evening. It was peaceful and I felt my tense muscles relaxing as I jogged. In the background I could hear sirens blaring, but they were far off so they didn’t ruin the calm that had settled inside of me. By the time I had gone around the block and was standing at the foot of my driveway I felt much better, and my anger and resentment had been pushed aside.

  I stopped to catch my breath and stretch out my muscles again. Early evening had finally arrived and the soft glow of the moon and the streetlights hovered above me. I looked over at Emma’s house, seeing that her lights were all still off—even her porch light, which was always turned on at this time. She had acted strange today, asking me for advice; but then, when I thought back on the day’s events, the whole day had been strange, right down to my own messed-up emotions.

  Standing up straight, I stared at her darkened windows as I listened to the muted noise of glass smashing and a muffled yell sounding out from somewhere inside, and I wondered how many times she had listened to Ben and I arguing. Or how many times she had sat in her front room watching the shadows of us in our house—hands waving, voices raised—and she had sneered at our failing marriage. I glanced up and down the street, wondering if I should go over as anticipation clawed at my insides, but everything was still and silent now, so with one last look at Emma’s house I turned back around and went inside.

  Chapter Two.

  “Where did they come from?” Ben looked at me with a look somewhere between annoyance and disdain.

  “The shoe shop, obviously,” I said with another one of my trademark eye rolls. Sure, I knew what he was really asking, but who the hell was he to tell me how I could spend my money? Especially with how frivolous he was with his. He had stumbled upon my new shoes that morning—not that I had exactly been discreet with hiding them.

  “Nina, don’t be a bitch about it. You know what I’m saying. We were supposed to be saving.” He put down the shoe and looked at me seriously. I could tell that he was trying his hardest to contain his anger, but the fire in his eyes only made me want to prod him with a sharp stick all the more.

  “Saving? I didn’t see you saving when Call of Duty was released, Ben.” I push my brunette hair behind my ears.

  “That’s different.”

  “Why? Because your things are more important than mine?”

  “No, because well—it’s Call of Duty, and these are just fucking shoes! You have hundreds of shoes,” he spluttered. “And besides, I bet these cost ten times what my game cost.”

  “Probably more,” I said defiantly as I stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  He shook his head. “You can’t keep doing this—pushing me, Nina.”

  “You really have no idea, do you?” I murmured.

  He looked confused by my statement, which only annoyed me even further. Perhaps I did buy the shoes more to piss him off than for their aesthetic value, because I wanted to push him until he broke and ended the misery of this loveless marriage.

  Ben ran his hands through his blond hair and walked out of the room. I followed him, trailing down the stairs after him, still clutching one of the Jimmy Choos. He picked up his keys from the hook beside the door and looked at me.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, my voice sounded weaker than I wanted it to.

  He turned and looked at me with those beautiful sad blue eyes of his. “You’re right—”

  “You admit it finally!” I huffed.

  “I have no idea,” he continued. “I have no idea about who you are or what the hell we’re doing. I just know that I can’t do this anymore.” His voice was soft and full of hurt, and shame spread across my cheeks and neck in a hot flush. It wasn’t my fault we were at this point—that was a joint effort—but I’d forced this confrontation, so his hurt right then was down to me.

  “I thought we had moved past…this.” He opened his arms wide. “Another thing I got wrong, I guess.”

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I hated it when he played the injured party card. Like I was the bitch and he was the saint. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t true. He was as big an asshole as I was; he just hid it better.

  “Like so many other things you got wrong, hey, Ben. Like when you forgot our anniversary three years in a row, or when you didn’t bother to pay the water bill and we got cut off. Or what about when you forgot to defrost the freezer and we lost the entire contents because it broke down, or how about the damn back gate that’s still broken?”

  He stared at me incredulously, like this was all news to his ears, and it was like a red rag to a bull to me.

  “Seriously, what is your problem, anyway? Those shoes are gorgeous, they were on sale, and they are totally practical.”

  “Practical?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Yes.”

  “Well I’d like to see you do the food shopping in them, then.” He laughed humorlessly.

  I snorted back. “Challenge accepted.”

  He stared at me hard, his jaw moving its muscles slowly as he tried to contain his anger again. He took a deep breath. “I’m going to work, Nina. I can’t deal with this shit right now. Do the shopping in them and we’ll see how practical they are. Maybe I’m wrong. You have to wear the damn things, not me. I’m just a man, I hate shoes, so what the fuck do I know?” He opened the door and left, slamming it shut behind him.

  I hated it when he slammed doors.

  With him out of the house, it was like I could finally breathe. I was pulling the air in and out of my lungs so fast I thought I might hyperventilate. I hated this. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t us, and I couldn’t understand how we had gotten to this place, or how to get us out of it.

  Chapter Three.

  The store was ridiculously busy for a Wednesday afternoon. I should have been working from home on a new work proposal, not out doing the shopping. Certainly not in high heels. Definitely not in heels this expensive, but there it was.

  Bananas, apples, grapes.

  I sighed for the hundredth time since leaving the house and threw a packet of something-or-other in the cart. I hated food shopping. It was Ben’s domain; he loved cooking. Or, he used to love cooking for me before I got so picky with my food, or perhaps before he stopped caring. I wasn’t sure which had come first. The fluorescent tubing above me was too bright, giving an overly cheery appearance to the vegetable display and making me despise every fruit and vegetable I encountered.

  Broccoli, carrots, potatoes.

  A little old lady stopped right in front of me with her little pull-along cart, chattering away with another gray-haired old person, oblivious to the fact that she had created a traffic jam of bored housewives behind her. I would never understand how old people could be so oblivious to everyone around them.

  I cleared my throat to get their attention, but received no response, so I did it a little louder. They briefly glanced my way and then continued chatting and then my patience with them snapped. I huffed as I push past them, nudging their cart out of the way with mine, not caring how rude I was being.

  When did I get like this? All bitter, and twisted. This was not who I was; this was the woman I had slowly been turning into. The woman Ben was slowly turning me into.

  Beans, corn, tomatoes.

  It was time we stepped away from each other to decide what was best for the marriage and for ourselves. I had to do this for myself before I ended up truly hating him—or worse, he ended up hating me.

  Pasta, rice…

  Shit, I can’t do this anymore.

  I stopped walking, standing frozen in the middle of the aisle and forcing people to step around me impatiently, much like I had just done to the little old lady. I finally stepped to the side and then I slumped to the floor next to my cart, my back against the ‘World foods’ section, an
d ignored the blatant stares from the people that walked past me.

  The world could rot and go to hell for all I cared right then.

  I let my head sink into my hands and I tried not to cry, not to let the panic and sadness that were rippling up my throat slip out of my mouth in a choked cry. I slipped off my beautiful shoes and threw them into the cart with all of the hated food, and I finally let myself sob.

  God, I loved him so much but I couldn’t do this anymore. I just couldn’t do it.

  The horrible fluorescent tube blinked and flashed repeatedly above me before finally giving up altogether. A couple of people noticed, but most just continued on their way, oblivious to it. Yet for me, it was like a sign—like a death sentence for my marriage. I wiped my tears away and slowly stood back up, making a note to get painkillers: the flashing light had brought on a killer headache.

  I grudgingly went on with the shopping in my bare feet, knowing that tonight was the end. The end of everything in my world.

  Twenty minutes later, and with my feet killing me, I pushed the loaded cart through the exit of the supermarket, glad that it was finally over and done with. If only everything in my life was as simple and as quick as that.

  A short, sharp, scream inside the store made me flinch and I turned around to look and see what was happening. People were running over to help a woman who was on the floor by the escalator. I could make out a puddle of red underneath her right before the crowd of people moved closer and blocked out what was happening. There was yelling and pushing and a huge commotion with people—I presumed first aiders—who were pulling and tugging at her, but the prognosis couldn’t be good because I didn’t hear her crying anymore. Other people were slowly beginning to back away, and since I hated the sight of blood I turned back around and continued toward my car.

  It was a silly little silver sports car, and I wasn’t even sure how the hell everything was going to fit in it, but with a squash and a squeeze and some precarious balancing, I finally forced everything inside. Even though I knew somewhere beneath the heavy cans of beans and corn there were the bread and eggs, which would no doubt suffer the consequences, I still classed it as a success.

  I slipped my painful shoes back on as I climbed into my car, grabbed a bottle of water from one of the bags, and took a large gulp of it. I looked up as an ambulance came screeching around the corner before stopping right in front of the store. The paramedics jumped out, bags in hand, and ran inside, and I let out a breath of relief. I started the car, content that the person was in the best possible hands now, and I began to back my car out of its spot.

  It’s funny how you can worry about people you don’t even know. How seeing someone hurt or in pain can play on your mind and have you more concerned for them than you are for yourself. Another scream had me checking my rearview mirror, and seeing a small group of people running out from the store, I frowned but kept on driving.

  I stopped at the light and continued to watch through my rearview mirror in morbid fascination. Someone was covered in blood and another person was crying. People seemed to be in a frenzy, bumping into each other and falling over. It was a crazy scene unfolding right before my eyes, and I honestly didn’t know what to make of it.

  The light changed, but I stared transfixed with the scene behind me. There was a struggle between two or three people. They pushed and shoved at each other, hands grabbing at one another’s clothes. More people were running past them, but no one seemed to be attempting to stop the fight. More screams broke out and I turned in my seat to look out of the back window, my brown eyes narrowing into slits as I watched.

  A honk from the car behind me had me turning around and moving my ass, and I waved my apologies to the person in the other car and continued to drive. It felt wrong to leave the scene behind me, like perhaps I might be needed to be a witness to something, and yet my instincts were to get home, and quickly.

  I kept my radio off and my windows open as I drove home, finding the loud noises of the chaotic world disconcerting, and yet, even stranger, the streets were practically deserted. I stopped at another set of lights and took a moment to really look about me. The man in the car next to mine looked panicked; his eyes wide, his forehead sweaty, and on his face was a crazed expression that sent chills down my spine. He looked over at me, and for several seconds we looked at one another in silence. The lights changed and he made the sign of the cross and continued to drive, but I stayed where I was, my mouth hanging open as I watched after him in growing confusion.

  My feet were still throbbing with pain when I got home, and as soon as I got inside I put my shoes back in their pretty black box, where I knew they would more than likely stay forever. Ben was right: the stupid shoes were not practical.

  I sat on the edge of the sofa, rubbing the sole of my right foot, knowing that I still had to drag all the shopping into the house and put it all away—yet another great job that I wasn’t used to doing. Ben normally brought the shopping in and I put it away. I guess this was just another part of life that I was going to have to get used to if we did separate.

  I deftly tied my hair up into a high bun and with a huff I went back out to the car, still barefoot, and hastily grabbed a couple of the heavy bags. The neighbors next door were home; I could hear them arguing loudly. Ann screamed at her husband loud enough to make me flinch and something smashed. I paused for a moment, wondering if I should go and see if she was okay, but decided it was none of my business. There must have been something in the air, I decided as I thought back to the yelling coming from Emma’s house the night before. But whatever, it was somewhat comforting to know that it wasn’t just mine and Ben’s marriage that was a hot mess right now. That was selfish and cruel of me to think, but whatever. No one likes to feel like a failure, and that’s what my marriage felt like—a big fat failure.

  I dropped the bags in the kitchen and went back outside for some more. The sun was still high in the sky and I could feel a trickle of sweat sliding between my shoulder blades. I raised a hand to my eyes and watched one of the neighbors farther down the road pile some bags into his car before jumping in himself and screeching away in it like a madman.

  My eyes narrowed as I watched and I pursed my lips, knowing something was not right but not knowing what. Keeping my frown in place, I grabbed some more bags of groceries and headed back inside.

  By the time I was almost done, bags covered the kitchen floor, and it was depressing knowing that I still had to put it all away. I went back outside and grabbed the last bag from the trunk of the car and awkwardly slammed it shut. The heat was pouring down and making me sweat like a pig, which just made my day even more perfect. I was nearly inside the house when a can of tomatoes slipped out of a hole in the side of the bag and rolled down the driveway before hitting the curb.

  I dropped the bag and went after the MIA can of tomatoes. I was halfway down the drive when I heard more tires squealing my way. And I watched as Ben’s pickup pulled up to the curb in a screech of burnt rubber and smoke, narrowly missing the can of tomatoes. He dove out of his truck, slipped, and almost fell to his knees before correcting himself, and I would have laughed but the look on his face was anything but funny.

  Chapter Four.

  “Get inside, Nina. Now!” He pushed me inside and closed the door, leaving the final bag of shopping in the center of the driveway.

  I shrugged out of his grip. “What the hell is wrong with you? What’s happened?”

  He didn’t answer me. Instead he charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and I cautiously followed him. I’d never seen him like this. Ben was, well… he was Ben. Fearless, funny, happy-go-lucky, and lazy, of course. He wasn’t normally a drama queen—that was my domain—but right then his entire aura was screaming drama.

  “Ben, what’s going on?” I stood in the doorway of our bedroom, my arms wrapped around my body protectively.

  He grabbed his backpack from the bottom of the closet and began to fill it with clothes. I di
dn’t know whether he hadn’t heard me or if he chose not to answer me, but he suddenly stopped what he was doing and dove under the bed, pulling out his grandpa’s old gun box. I flinched as I watched him unlock the box, pull out the old Smith and Wesson .38, and load the bullets into it in quick succession. He slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans like it was an everyday thing to do.

  “Ben?” I couldn’t get the rest of my words out; they were stuck—lodged in my throat and refusing to move any further. The tears in my eyes stung and I blinked rapidly. I didn’t even know what the hell I was crying for, but I was. His look, his fear; his whole presence was scaring me now.

  “We need to pack, Nina.” He looked at me pleadingly, ignoring my questions again, and then he glanced to the open window.

  I hadn’t heard it until now, the whooshing of my blood drowning out everything else. But now I couldn’t unhear it…sirens were going off in the distance, much like last night after my run, but now they were closer, and worse than the noise…the sound of guns. The noise seemed to motivate him even more, and he picked up his half-full backpack and walked toward me.

  “There are… things that I don’t have the time to explain right now, but you have to trust me, Nina. Forget all your usual bullshit and just trust me, please.” His big rough hands covered my shoulders.

  I gave a little laugh and shrugged him off. “My bullshit?” I rolled my eyes at him, but he didn’t rise to the bait and I quickly backtracked from argumentative to scared shitless. “You’re scaring me, Ben. Stop it. Tell me what’s going on.” My voice trembled and the tears that had been forming in my eyes sprang free.