Make It That Far

My eyes opened. After wiping the debris away, I realised I was in our lounge.

Realised or remembered. Everything was hazy. I tried to rouse myself, but my skin felt… off. As I ran my hands through my greying hair, it didn’t feel quite right.

I drummed my fingers against my chin, cracking each joint. Even that felt wrong.

Then I heard her voice. An angel in the mire that was my life. Fiona. Though to me she was simply Fi.

“Daniel? Daniel, are you home?”

I had forgotten just how beautiful her voice was. It had healing powers—I’d tell her regularly. She dismissed my thoughts as charming nonsense. I would then laugh and argue it worked. Every single time.

I followed her voice to the kitchen. I didn’t answer at first. I guess because I wanted to take her by surprise.

She surprised me. The kitchen was empty when I walked in, but as I placed my hands on the island counter, her soft hands covered my eyes. She could hardly contain her laughter as she asked me to guess who it was.

“Jennifer Aniston?”

She then turned me round and our lips met.

“You wish. No—just funny little Fi.”

It was more than a simple kiss. It was certain. It was home.

As I pulled her in close against my chest, her hands felt cold. Colder than usual.

My head pulsed.

Then darkness.

We were sat in the lounge discussing our plans for summer. I remembered this conversation. We agreed on San Marino, with no argument, for a change.

I admired her cute little blonde bob as the light danced off her red tips. Then we lay back and, as I traced my fingers across the palm of her hand, imagined the sun, the sea, and the beach.

At peace, I closed my eyes and drifted a little. Calm descended from the top of my head to my toes. Then my head pulsed again and everything felt cold. It felt weak and numb.

When I opened my eyes, Fi was arguing about work. Again. It had become a regular thing. I didn’t resent her voicing her opinion, not really. But it felt like she was passing judgement on me.

The room felt thinner.

“I’m worried about your workload—and the work,” she said, tears in her eyes.

We were spent emotionally, but I just had to get the last word.

I gasped for breath, suddenly. Violently.

“It’s just one or two more contracts, then I can cut ties. I promise.”

Even as those words left my lips, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

“If you make it that far,” she said.

It hurt. I knew she was scared.

But no. My head hurt. More intensely than before. Pulsating and piercing, it made opening my eyes excruciating—like my head was caught in a vice.

After a few minutes, the pain subsided, but my breathing and heart were racing.

Fi was rolling two suitcases full of her stuff to the front door, in tears.

I barely registered the fear, anger, and love in her face as I tried, in vain, to stop her walking out.

“I can’t do this, Daniel. I don’t want to have to identify your body if things turn to shit,” she said, hesitating for a beat. Her hands scratched over the suitcase handles before she tipped them forward.

“Please, Fi…”

But it was too late.

As the door shut, it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Without Fi, I knew I was lost. Without Fi, was I even the Daniel I wanted to be anymore?

I tried to walk. Tried to move.

But the pulsing returned—my head felt like it was going to burst. Each breath was more laboured than the last as everything began to fade.

Then nothing.

For what felt like no time at all—or an eternity.

Then a sudden fear gripped me. Something deep in me. My heart raced as my breath hitched. As I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by darkness and couldn’t lift my arms or legs. I couldn’t move much at all.

Everything hurt and felt constricted.

As I stretched, I realised I was trapped. I could only move my arms up a few inches from my body before brushing against something cold, rough, and wooden.

I half expected—hoped—to wake up. After opening and closing my eyes a few times, frantically, I realised I was awake. Or too deep to wake.

As hard as I tried not to panic, I kicked at the wood and pushed at it with my fists. Nothing changed—apart from some dirt and soil, or sand, falling through a small hole in the wood.

One more contract and I could quit—that’s what I was told.

I tried to lend my voice to the barrage of dull noise my limbs made against the wooden surfaces.

It was in vain. Of course it was.

“Fi…” I called into the abyss.

I tried to shout again—but there wasn’t enough air left to make it that far.