Rational Compulsive Decision-Making Sufferer.
by
Daniele Marx
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The Calculation
listen whilst reading, please.
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Dana struggled to sit up, being so exhausted. What was wrong with her? The man beside her under the sheets must’ve worn her out more than she remembered. A smile tried to reach her lips but only fell as far as her eyes. A tickle in her throat kept the luxurious feeling of euphoria at bay. She was in love, there was hardly any point in lying to herself any further. Alan rested so peacefully, deeply. She didn’t really know that about him. He hardly even moved. Such a change from last night.
Her arm was a little moist, but it was too dark to tell anything but that Alan must’ve also drooled whilst lying partially atop her. That brought a smile to her lips at last. Then her headache, quietly lurking in the background, came full force and knocked her forward. Her trembling body pulled the covers off and yanked her to the dark bathroom, fumbling in the dark for the aspirin. She knew this place well enough that light wouldn’t have helped much. Dark was good.
After gulping down five or six--honestly, who counts anymore?--200mg, she stumbled back into bed but slid off the silk sheets to the floor. Boy, she loved silk sheets, and there was probably a lot of enjoyment on a regular Saturday afternoon for these babies with whom she secretly called ‘her man.’ Alas, it was Wednesday morning. This had to be atypical for a weekday, even, especially to those who worked customer service. And what a week it was for them. Valentine’s Day. She then decided, as the first one up, to make the complimentary coffee. Maybe the caffeine would help her pounding head. Something just lifted the hairs on her neck this morning, but that’d have to work itself out after a night of hardly any sleep.
She got up after much struggle and lost all control of her motor skills about halfway to the armoire. Her arms didn’t catch, but her legs began to ache as well, and she wondered why she was having any trouble at all. This was really starting to scare her. She jumped when Alan’s alarm went off, the morning news flooding the room like an ugly haze. Someone was blurring in her eardrums, but after a few moments it became more distinct. The voice was talking about people falling ill all over the metropolitan area, and the word ‘epidemic’ was thrown in a few times. This, she decided, was serious and much scarier than her headache. Then ‘airborne,’ ‘death toll,’ and ‘thousands’ struck a note.
Dana’s heart was pounding in her chest, and she scrambled for the light. She needed to know--Alan always said that was her worst flaw, the constant desire to know what was going on. Her hand found the dimmer and she fumbled for a second before the overhead came up in a rush. There, on the bed in a pool of his own blood, was her lover. He was dead, and the blood had come out from everywhere, eyes, fingertips, mouth, nose, ears, everywhere she could see, as far as she could see. Abrasions were all over his skin and then she torn her eyes from him to inspect herself, knowing there was hardly any use in going for help if the word airborne came into play.
First off, she was covered in blood. Alan’s, hers, whatever. Tears fell down her cheeks and she couldn’t stop herself. The pain all over her was just getting worse. Her feet carried her back to the bathroom, to the medicine cabinet. Ten, twenty, nobody counted anymore. She took them all, and went back into the room with her lover, her man. The Valentine’s Day Pandemic, Dana shakingly slid back into bed, and carefully positioned herself for as much comfort as she could muster. The horror, her mind was completely blank. She had no words, no thoughts. Her hand touched his slightly warm one, and pulled it to her lips, kissing his bloody fingers, and held it to her chest. The other hand rested on his soft hair, and she sat there, letting the tears fall.
