The faded wallpaper

The living room was left half- painted. It started on a burst of energy where I impulsively bought all the painting materials and dragged Ted to paint with me. It was a job for two. That was two months ago and we never finished it. Ted was your average guy, six foot one and wide. He was strong, athletic and was a generous man, both in manner and in size. Yet he was sometimes aloof and unpredictable especially when he was in a bad mood. In the kitchen area where I stood pondering what to cook for dinner, the walls were dark blue where shapes of moons and stars were supposed to go up after the paint dried. I had once told Ted that it was a romantic idea to be able to live under the stars without a care in the world, but all I got was a “whatever” followed by a manly grunt. The house stood bare, with all its furniture moved to the center, all of which would be removed tomorrow when the movers arrive. Everything seemed at a standstill, time itself and our love.

The lone wall that Ted sat against had old wallpaper that had begun peeling. The new paint was a cover-up for this ugly sight. Yet when Ted tore it down, a sense of despair overwhelmed me as I watched the wallpaper flutter sadly to the ground. Now, it seemed almost apt with our impending divorce. Yet from this angle, the fading wallpaper looked almost suitable as I watched Ted slumped comfortably on the couch, with his legs hooked over the sides of the chair. He seemed unreal, almost dreamlike against the flat and two-dimensional wall. He could sit there for hours – unchanged, unchanging, never changing. As I released my clasped hands, I rubbed the tan line around my fourth finger where my wedding band used to be. The setting sunlight filtered in through the half drawn shutters near the couch. Half of Ted’s face seemed hidden in the irregular shadows cast by furniture. For a moment, I felt I never knew him, a stranger to me. Maybe I never needed to get hurt, at least not in this way. All I needed now was faith and a chance.

As I stood there, in a semi-conscious stupor, a loud bang startled me. Ted had gone to the fridge and causally slammed the door against the wall before returning back to the couch. Unable to stop myself, I blurted out, “ sorry?” All I got in reply was a rude stare and a sinking heart. Wiping my hands against the kitchen towel as the chicken grilled, I mindlessly swept the top of the sink twice before retreating into the bedroom. Ted seemed to be having a heated conversation over his cell phone. From the room, I could see him wildly gesticulate as if to emphasize his point to his invisible listener. Maybe it was the lawyer; maybe he did not want the divorce. In my hand I still held the chopping knife, oily and wet. The only words that repeatedly flashed through my mind were, “why me?” Thinking of the lawyer’s words and Ted’s cold reaction, I knew then that the walls would remain unfinished and divided – just like us.

The sharp pain in my wrist made me heel over and scream. The drained feeling of blood gushing out of my body made me feel light and for the first time, in control. The room started whirling round as I tried to catch my breath. One second. I dropped the knife and took a deep breath. Two second. The smoke detector went off. Three second. I could hear the urgency of the wailing of the alarm and above it, shouts. Ted’s voice sounded high-pitched and strained. Resting my hand on the bed to steady myself, I looked around. There strewn on the bed was an abandoned cell phone, splattered with red blobs. Everything else around me became increasingly blurred and surreal. A cloth was being wrapped tightly around my wrist. I felt drunk and out of breathe as if the cloth was slowly strangling me with each passing moment. It was almost as if I were a child again, watching my father hit my mother, unable to help. The more I tried to get closer to her, the further I seemed to be. I could hardly scream or shout, choking repeatedly on my own breathlessness. I could no longer struggle as darkness slowly crept into my conscious. For now, I could sleep well.