I, Willhelm

She had forced herself to eat yesterday. Its had easily been four times the amount she usual ate, and almost immediately she felt as though a rat was trying to claw it’s way out of her stomach. It was 5:30, another half an hour before her husband would leave, but the baby had only just gone to sleep, and she didn’t trust that he would sleep a full half our once her husband had left. If she waited much longer it would be even more painful.

The evening before she had let her husband know that she had managed to eat three meals, hoping that just maybe he might smile at her, maybe even have a simple silly little conversation, anything to take her mind off the relentless hum of pain in her body. Instead he just shrugged and continued to quietly eat his own food.

Alice grabbed her phone, quietly locked herself in the downstairs toilet, her face white and shaking, and sat down on the toilet. She pulled the paint pot next to the toilet under her feet to raised them up and leaned forward, doing her best not to tense. That was the cardinal rule she had discovered; as little tension as possible, a LOT of water and something to distract her. She opened her phone and began to scroll her social media.

“It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Breath.” She whispered.

It didn’t work.

“Alice?”

She jumped, immediately tense. Tension was painful. “I’m in here!” She gritted her teeth, hoping her irritation wasn’t audible.

“Where’s the sandwich box?”

“I don’t know. Where did you put it yesterday?”

On the other side of the door she heard her husband loudly look for the tupperware, huffing as he did so. She could hear the mess he was making, every item moved like an out of control windmill. The tension in her chest built up as she listened, her hands balled into fists.

“I can’t find it.”

“Just fucking look!” Alice whispered into her hands.

She heard him pull out the aluminium foil and wrap his sandwiches up in a bundle. He did not put the foil back.

“Sorry. I need to go now.”

“I need the loo, I can’t come out now.”

“How long are you going to be?”

As long as I need!

“Just a few more minutes!” Alice grimaced.

He paused, walked away and closed the door, to Alice, it sounded like he slammed it.

She waited till she was sure he had driven away, un-tightened her hands and screamed a long, deep guttural howl. She hadn’t even made a sound that awful during the birth. She felt a searing hot line rip underneath her, followed by the intense need to vomit, her vision blurring and afraid she was about to hit the floor. Alice cried, her hands on the sink by the toilet and screamed her way through the rest of the bowl movement, praying that she wouldn’t pass out before she was finished.

When she eventually stood up and looked behind her all she could see was bright red blood in the bowl, everything else indistinguishable. Her hand shaking, she carefully patted between her legs, several wadded blood stains added to the bowl.

Without any warning a sob escaped, and she began to wail, shaking and dizzy as she cried into her hands, leaning against the wall for support.

“Fuck my life, Fuck my fucking life! How is this my life! I don’t understand. How is this my fucking life!”

Nadia listened, her hands over her mouth, horrified.

“Yea, you hear that?” Joan rolled over in her bed and lifted the headphones off her head. “That’s the slogan for marriage; How is this my life. Don’t get married, Nadia, it’s not worth it.”