The Voice Underneath Prologue
“I’m trying to save you, Evan! I’m trying to help.”
Evan scoffed. “I don’t need saving. And I definitely don’t need therapy.”
It had started in the kitchen, like every other fight did. Come to think of it, all their fights seemed to end up there, between the humming fridge and the old clock that ticked loud enough to drown out reason. For some reason, all Evan could think about right now was getting rid of that clock. Maybe then the fights would end.
“You need to talk to someone,” said Chelsea for the third time that week. “A real therapist. Someone who can actually help you.”
“I’m fine, Chelsea. Just drop it, will you?” He often felt guilty for shouting at his wife, after all, she was just looking out for him. But he didn’t want to keep having this conversation. And he definitely did not want to go to see a therapist.
He could see the tears welling at the sides of Chelsea’s honest brown eyes, pooling in her crow’s feet, and he could almost feel the lump in her throat that she was trying to swallow down.
“You’re not fine.” Her voice cracked. “You haven’t slept more than three hours a night in weeks. You jump every time the phone rings. You talk to yourself at night.” She was growing hysterical now. “Do you think I don’t hear you?”
He froze, the mug he forgot he had been rinsing still under the running water.
“Those people need me,” he said quietly.
“What about me, Evan? What about us? When was the last time you needed anything from me? Except for me to shut up, of course.”
He shut off the sink. The room felt small, too small, like the walls had shifted closer when he wasn’t looking.
“Chelsea, the things I hear on those calls… You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like,” he was trying to watch his tone. “And when something goes wrong, it’s on me. It’s my fault. Therapy won’t fix that. Nothing will.”
“It might fix you.”
”I don’t need fixing, Chelsea, and I’m hurt that you, my wife, think that I do.”
“Then what do you need? Tell me, Evan!” She said exasperatedly. Then she sighed, feeling suddenly like the fight had been drained out of her. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you fade out. I just can’t.”
He almost told her the truth. He almost told her that some nights (no, every night) he heard the last breath of the woman he couldn’t save. That he played the call in his head on repeat, like a song he hated but couldn’t turn off.
But he swallowed it.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said instead.
The look Chelsea shot him hurt more than anything she could’ve yelled. He felt terrible. He really did. But he couldn’t tell her. He loved her too much to burden her.
“You won’t even let me understand, Evan, because you won’t tell me what’s going on.”
She grabbed her coat.
He didn’t stop her.
Not even when she turned around and looked at him with those huge brown eyes which he had loved so much.
He didn’t know how to stop her from leaving.
When she realised he would not say anything she opened the door and it shut behind her. He felt like the world had ended. But the clock kept ticking, loud enough to drown out the fact that she wasn’t coming back.
I sincerely hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!