The End is Never Final

He’s lying in bed, cold and silky sheets pooled sensually around his waist. His wife’s head rests on his chest, fingers playing with the tiny hairs littered around his erect nipples. He sighs, contented with the fact that each gentle touch seems to be connected to his groin. One arm clasped around her shoulder, fingering her skin, bathing in his own afterglow.

“Ben?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, yet clearly audible in the privacy of their bedroom. “I don’t want to go back to the navy and I don’t want you to go back either.”

Something doesn’t sound right about that confession, doesn’t sound Katie. He pushes that idea out of his head, determined to enjoy their time together. “Oh?”

“I want to have a baby.” Her fingers softly circle his nipple. “Your baby.”

“I want that too, babe.”

He kisses her, mouth passionate and needy. Her tongue slips into his mouth at the same moment that the sheet slips down. She pushes herself onto him, wet and needy. They make love despite the nagging feeling that this shouldn’t be happening. Each thrust into her comes with that reminder, each flash of pink nipple escaping his mouth, each moan and each precious droplet of sweat. They aren’t finished before he can’t take it any longer.

He pulls out of her with a suddenness that leaves her feeling empty. The throb between her thighs pulses with dissatisfaction, “What’s wrong? Did I do something--”

“This shouldn’t be happening.” He shouts at her. “Katie, we divorced. Don’t you remember?”

“Stop it!” She scrambles to cover herself, as if bringing the cover up will mask the vulnerability that she suddenly feels inside. “You’re talking nonsense and you’re scaring me.”

He advances on her, the flimsy covering pushed out of the way. He watches the fear widen her eyes, “We are not married.”

She punches him in the chest and he moves her fist away with an irritation that leaves bruises. She tries to worm her way out from under him, but the fit is impossible. She’s a grown woman and he’s just too big. He’s pushing down on her and, for the first time, she is afraid of her own husband…Except, to listen to him, he’s not her husband, is he?

“Get off me. Please.” Her voice sounds weak to her own ears. “You’re hurting me.”

“I don’t know who you are or what exactly is going on, but you are not Kate.”

His hands, moving on their own, circle the delicate flesh of her neck. Far away, she is begging (Don’t do this Ben. Ben, listen to me, I love you but you’re sick). He pushes down on her throat. His weight pins her to the bed as her hands scratch and claw at his face and shoulders. The pressure in his hands increase and, eventually, her body slumps.

He hears himself breathe deeply, exhaling a cloud of relief. His arms give out and he collapses, falling on the body of his ex-wife. Underneath him, her eyes open. He looks into them unbelieving. How dare she be alive. Her arms move, struggling to reach him. One of her fingers gently traces a scratch mark on his cheek. His mouth wordlessly opens and closes under her attentions. How could she be alive? The marriage was over, your Honour, I killed her for myself.

A hysterical laugh escapes the confines of his mouth. His limbs, lying heavily under him, can’t move to force it back in so it comes out in one long high-pitched giggle. The giggle leaves him breathless, pain building in his abdomen.

“Can you breathe now?” Her voice is full of concern, a contrast to the emptiness of her eyes, “Ben, answer me!”

He closes his eyes, wondering where the hell that came from. Opening them, Katie stands above him, eyes wide with concern, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His throat hurts, but he forces the words out. “Just think that I’m losing my mind.”

“Oh, what a loss.”

“Shut up, Piccolo.” His eyes squeeze shut, but the words keep pouring out, “This may be important.”