"Another Stone to Swallow"

Note: Draft script from novel and graphic novel in progress:

"Theory of Constraints: The Uncertainty Principle" © Sarah Ottobre.

This is a sneak peak draft before the final prose.

Excuse any strange formatting or type-o's.

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Luciano:

I lay here, under these silky white sheets, wrapped in them like some sort of angelic cocoon, waiting to become something... anything other than this. I’m dressed in my favorite pajamas, the ones that always make me secretly hope for an intruder just so I can dash out looking like a real man, stoic and elegant as it squares my shoulders just right. Aria gives me those eyes when I wear this around her, I try not to wear it unless I’m feeling particularly insecure... That look she would give me, remind me I’m more than just a confused little bitch, I’m.. uh… Oh who am I kidding, I am not and never will be a real man.  Even in this armor of forced confidence disguised as sleeping attire, my thumbs, my stupid thumbs, are asking Vere, my AI assistant, why my wife doesn’t love me anymore. Large warm tears, welling up in my eyes, thumbs now tremble. Like a bitch.

I am so pathetic, have I no real friend in this world to reach out to about something so critical to me, the only light in my world, my wife, where has it gone? Why does she not read my sorrow, I lay here, weighed down by so many details and demands at work, even when my phone is silent, I am away from my desk, the mind continues to build and construct, obsessively. How can I finish this project? I am losing her, I am losing me, these equations scream into my ears like a demonic harmony, every day that passes mocking my failure like a demon incarnate. I swear it sits here with me, physically pressing me into this mattress like some kind of waking night terror. How can she not be aware of how miserable I am? How can she sit there, propped up with her book, delicately and quietly turning the pages, absolutely complete, while her husband lays here, fragmented like a dying phantom. How is she so disconnected from me that my misery isn’t palpable, just simply shaking her at her core, my soul is practically bleeding out on her! But despite this, I’m so afraid she will see my tears, I don’t have the energy to shield my words anymore, I can’t muster out polite and digestible ways to phrase “I hate everything about my life and myself” anymore. If she sees me, I will spill it out like a garbage bag full of broken glass. I am sharply and awkwardly, tearing at the seams, I can’t be seen like this.

My face tightens, and I feel that it’s beginning to turn slightly red, I can’t hide anymore. Turning the screen off my phone, and I get a quick glimpse of my face at just the right angle to make me mentally list everything I ate today. Place the damned thing on the end table, fuck you. Rolling to my side away from her… maybe she’ll notice my posture without seeing my tears. I can hide better this way. Aria sighs quietly and I hear the small clap as she closes her book, “Yeah I’m tired too.” She places the book on her end table and slides her long slim legs, into the bed. They don’t touch mine. She tugs the blankets towards her slightly, still no contact. The time between her sigh and laying down feels like 3 hours, I pray I don’t shake the bed from my quivering lip and small convulsions from these fucking choking tears. She turns out the light and it’s like an answered prayer, I allow the tears to stream down my face and my pillow, now wet, cradles my head.

“Goodnight” she says.

My voice breaks as I say “Goodnight” back to her. She hears it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I whisper through the only shred of energy I have, the reserves are needed to contain myself.

“What?”

My voice, my stupid voice was muffled, now I must lie to her a second time, and focus this time. “Nothing.” I say. She pauses and says, “are you sure?” in a way that I can tell she is annoyed. She doesn’t want to hear it, she wants to go to bed, not hear me drone on anymore. I think I’ve finally exhausted her to the end. I say back, “yes.” It’s all I can say.

“What’s wrong…” she twists the knife.

I’m horrified as I hear myself say, “Everything. Everything is wrong. Nothing is right. I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?” she says, monotone, like it’s a script she’s been forced to reread for the 13th time and she’s questioning her role in this series.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I say with my jaw tight, my pillow smells like my cologne now that it’s wet enough to reactivate the scent. I hate this cologne. She doesn’t press, or ask me to elaborate, I’m relieved and also just… continuously annoyed. I don’t know how I feel, all I know is she doesn’t give a shit and I wish I could just evaporate into the air right now. Not die, just never to have existed. Nothing is right. She’s getting into her comfortable sleeping position, knees up, on her left side, arm under the pillow. She’s seriously not going to keep asking until I break? She isn’t going to say I love you? Or reach out to put her hand on me, anything? No comfort at all?

“Goodnight. I love you.” She says. I die inside. How can she love me when she doesn’t even know I’m suffocated a mere arm-length away from her. My aberration of a body shares the same bed with her small frame, but she doesn’t feel the tension radiating from me. How. I can’t tell her I love her right now. “Goodnight.” I say, and I hate myself for not saying I love you back. What is wrong with me. I am a wicked horrible man. Why can’t I just tell her I’m miserable with my work, and open up.  But this is the only thing I’m good at, how can I walk away from that. Even if it’s destroying everything.

It’s only been 5 minutes, and I already hear her breath change to sleep. I am completely enraged that she can sleep after this. I have to get up, get out of this room.

Luciano leaves the bedroom, padding his footsteps carefully around the creaky spots on the floor he’s memorized, and opening and closing the bedroom door in a calculated way so precise, it should be illegal. Pull out to the side when opening, one click, lift up to the right when closing, two clicks, the second is the loud one, press down to stifle. He walks out to the living room and sits on the couch, never bothering to turn the light on. Absentmindedly, he takes out his phone and starts scrolling for escape, when he sees a notification, from…Diego?

My heart can’t take this right now. Why. Why now. Why at my weakest point. Oh Lord it’s a voice message??? A voice message! Fuck! Either he meant to send it to someone else, or he’s drunk messaging me. I haven’t seen him, or heard him…in… Oh… oh my brain, please stop.  Please auto-lobotomize so I can function.  UGH!! I have to listen, I can’t go to bed with this hanging in the back of my mind, and now it is perfect, she is in the other room, asleep, I can lose myself in his voice, drink it in at my pace. Ok, Diego. What is it I am drinking? Chilled white wine, Long Island iced tea, or just straight bleach. Am I being court marshaled into hell because of how I left you, or are you begging me to come back. I wish I was strong enough to ignore you.

Diego’s voice enters the room. “Well, here I go, finally.”

I immediately softens my grip on the phone, disarmed by the tone of his voice, he is not drunk. He is hurting.

“It’s been two years, no, three years since we talked, and I’m just going to shake shit up with a voice message out of the blue. Yeah, I’m a real piece of work, aren’t I. Sigh. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m even messaging you. I’m just… I’m not doing …well… anymore, and I don’t… I don’t know who else to talk to. No this isn’t a cry for help, this is just… me needing to have my friend again I guess. I don’t know what this message is supposed to be. I am just rambling at this point. I’d be lying if I said I was anything other than crushed into oblivion, even after all these years. I miss you… I hope you had a nice weekend with the family, I really hope you did. If you aren’t doing well… then I don’t know what to make of what happened to us. Please tell me you’re doing okay. Tell me this was worth throwing away. I hope it’s everything you wanted and more. Goddamn it. This was pointless. Cya.”

I stare at the number of seconds he filled my emptiness with, 53 seconds, 53 seconds is all that it took for me to doubt everything all over again, I miss you too, I miss our horrible old life, it was messy, it was poor, it was ridiculous, but we had life. We always found a way to smile and be authentic together, to ask what was wrong. To reach out when words couldn’t be spoken. And you contact me now, its like you knew.  I can’t send a voice message, what if she comes out, I can’t let him hear my sadness in return. I type. I must type.

“Despite the melancholy, it's nice to hear your voice. I don't just hear your words, I feel pain, I hear your heartache, your longing, the urgency and desperation. It clings to my ears like black smoke wavering on a cold guardrail. I feel you. I am drowning with you. Every day...is simply a new stone to swallow. No one dares to ask, how many days will it become one too many pebbles before I finally drown. My chest feels full of concrete today, but I can still breathe enough to hope and beg for a new stone. When that day comes, I just plead that we can get a good view of the sunset together before the waves close our eyes and we can finally be free again." God help me.