It is dark. I awaken suddenly with a pounding migraine. I turn to my side expecting to feel a warm body, his warm body, but I feel nothing. I open my eyes and see the empty space occupying my bed. I sit up, head still pounding, and walk across the cold carpet of the motel. Finding my way to the bathroom, I grab two Tylenols and swallow them dry. I reach for my cell phone and dial his number. Reluctantly waiting, I hear the click and then the clamor coming from his voice. He asks where I’ve been, thinking I had gone for a run. However, when I didn’t return he started to worry. I hear him catch his breath and rant about what a horrible headache he’s had. I then continue to tell him I have been at the motel all morning. A jolt suddenly shakes my head and I keel over in pain. My surroundings are quiet yet it all seems loud in my head. He is yelling now, claiming to be sitting on the edge of the bed and that I am still nowhere to be found. I walk out of the bathroom and like a deer in headlights I am face to face with nothing. Only a lamp and bed occupy the space in front of me. I see nothing else, not his shoes, not him, not anything. A loud crash runs through my head and I can hear the sound of glass breaking. This headache will not pass.
The phone goes dead and I throw it onto the ground, pieces fly everywhere. From the back door I walk, not fully understanding what is going on. I breathe in the fresh air and continue walking, trying to remember the night before without success. That is when I see it, the car; his car, and the bulky electrical post carelessly thrown on top of it. I see the shattered glass and I begin to run. With wild tears streaming down my eyes I attempt to jerk the driver’s door open. After many failed attempts I finally succeed and see him. His body is draped over the steering wheel without movement. I force him back in his seat and stop in my tracks. Lost for words, that’s when I see her. White, silk fabric is strewn across her body and the diamond ring perfectly placed upon her ring finger. With skin like porcelain and hair plastered against her face, I stare into her cold, dead eyes; my eyes.