bleeding on the rug?
“ Honey, you ’ re having a nightmare. C ’ mon, roll over. ”
“ He ’ s bleeding on the rug bleeding on the rug… ”
He shook her again, this time harder, hoping some subliminal part of her mind would sense it and she ’ d at least roll over angrily.
Still, Matti didn ’ t respond to his commanding nudge, which shook the hair from her face.
With his mind inherently doing math problems—three hours until I get up, I ’ ll never get back to sleep at this rate—Dane gave it a second while his eyes adjusted. Finally, her face swam into view.
He gasped.
Her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. Her skin, pasty white, shined with sweat.
The muscles in his body snapped to attention and he sat upright, a reserve of energy suddenly powering him. What the…?
Her mouth moved quickly as she spoke, like a mouse chewing on a bread crumb: “ He ’ s bleeding on the rug, on the rug on the rug… ”
“ Matti, what ’ s going on? Talk to me. Matti? Matti? ”
Letting her go for a moment, he leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. The room jumped to life, the shadows retreating in the wake of navy blue curtains, a pale green comforter, lilac walls, and boxes of clothes and accessories that sat in piles near the closet, ready for the morning ’ s move. She did not respond to the light, remaining consistent in her rapid decree that someone was bleeding on the rug.
Urgency welled up in his chest; he grabbed her head and shook it, said, “ You ’ re freaking me out. Wake up! Baby, c ’ mon! ”
“ He ’ s bleeding on the rug on the rug on the rug… ” Eyes still open. Staring through Dane as if he were made of glass.
A cold, crippling sense of helplessness rendered him immobile. What the hell was going on? Was it a seizure? Did she need medical attention? Oh God, please don ’ t let something be wrong , he thought . Not his wife. He ’ d have to be committed if something happened to her. The depth of his co-dependence came from left field and hit him hard. It was more than the feeling one gets when they lose something they never knew they had. He knew what he had in Matti; he just never figured he could lose it. Now he was flooded with doubt, and the frailty of life and love and marriage became something tangible, something breakable. Despite the fights and bickering, he loved her on a level too complicated to explain. She was simply a part that completed him, and here she was in a state of duress, scaring the living shit out of him.
Your wife is having a breakdown, Dane. She ’ s non-responsive. Just pick up the phone and dial 911. Yes, he thought, that ’ s something he could do, that was a plan, a way to break the iron grip of fear that now held him.
There was a phone on the small desk near the wardrobe. Throwing the covers off of his feet, he rushed to it and dialed 911. When he realized the only sound he could hear was the persistent voice of his wife, he figured he ’ d misdialed. He hung up and tried again. This time, he could tell the phone wasn ’ t working. The phone company was set to turn off service in two days; had they jumped the gun? But 911 was supposed to be accessible regardless of account status. He slammed the headset back in the carriage and swore.
“ He ’ s bleeding on the rug on the rug…. ” Matti was still on her back, still looking up at something only she could see.
Try the phone in the kitchen, he told himself. Hurry.
The hallway was dark and crowded with packing materials but he didn ’ t waste time with the lights; he knew this house by heart. Knew that just yesterday he and Matti had made love on the top stair to break the stress of boxing up their belongings. A pang of sentimentality hit him as he descended the steps and maneuvered between the boxes at the bottom, realizing he ’ d be leaving this place come morning. He and Matti had lived here since before they were married, had even held their intimate reception in the
“ Honey, you ’ re having a nightmare. C ’ mon, roll over. ”
“ He ’ s bleeding on the rug bleeding on the rug… ”
He shook her again, this time harder, hoping some subliminal part of her mind would sense it and she ’ d at least roll over angrily.
Still, Matti didn ’ t respond to his commanding nudge, which shook the hair from her face.
With his mind inherently doing math problems—three hours until I get up, I ’ ll never get back to sleep at this rate—Dane gave it a second while his eyes adjusted. Finally, her face swam into view.
He gasped.
Her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. Her skin, pasty white, shined with sweat.
The muscles in his body snapped to attention and he sat upright, a reserve of energy suddenly powering him. What the…?
Her mouth moved quickly as she spoke, like a mouse chewing on a bread crumb: “ He ’ s bleeding on the rug, on the rug on the rug… ”
“ Matti, what ’ s going on? Talk to me. Matti? Matti? ”
Letting her go for a moment, he leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. The room jumped to life, the shadows retreating in the wake of navy blue curtains, a pale green comforter, lilac walls, and boxes of clothes and accessories that sat in piles near the closet, ready for the morning ’ s move. She did not respond to the light, remaining consistent in her rapid decree that someone was bleeding on the rug.
Urgency welled up in his chest; he grabbed her head and shook it, said, “ You ’ re freaking me out. Wake up! Baby, c ’ mon! ”
“ He ’ s bleeding on the rug on the rug on the rug… ” Eyes still open. Staring through Dane as if he were made of glass.
A cold, crippling sense of helplessness rendered him immobile. What the hell was going on? Was it a seizure? Did she need medical attention? Oh God, please don ’ t let something be wrong , he thought . Not his wife. He ’ d have to be committed if something happened to her. The depth of his co-dependence came from left field and hit him hard. It was more than the feeling one gets when they lose something they never knew they had. He knew what he had in Matti; he just never figured he could lose it. Now he was flooded with doubt, and the frailty of life and love and marriage became something tangible, something breakable. Despite the fights and bickering, he loved her on a level too complicated to explain. She was simply a part that completed him, and here she was in a state of duress, scaring the living shit out of him.
Your wife is having a breakdown, Dane. She ’ s non-responsive. Just pick up the phone and dial 911. Yes, he thought, that ’ s something he could do, that was a plan, a way to break the iron grip of fear that now held him.
There was a phone on the small desk near the wardrobe. Throwing the covers off of his feet, he rushed to it and dialed 911. When he realized the only sound he could hear was the persistent voice of his wife, he figured he ’ d misdialed. He hung up and tried again. This time, he could tell the phone wasn ’ t working. The phone company was set to turn off service in two days; had they jumped the gun? But 911 was supposed to be accessible regardless of account status. He slammed the headset back in the carriage and swore.
“ He ’ s bleeding on the rug on the rug…. ” Matti was still on her back, still looking up at something only she could see.
Try the phone in the kitchen, he told himself. Hurry.
The hallway was dark and crowded with packing materials but he didn ’ t waste time with the lights; he knew this house by heart. Knew that just yesterday he and Matti had made love on the top stair to break the stress of boxing up their belongings. A pang of sentimentality hit him as he descended the steps and maneuvered between the boxes at the bottom, realizing he ’ d be leaving this place come morning. He and Matti had lived here since before they were married, had even held their intimate reception in the
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