Dancing with Time

This place, the abyss is mine

Dedicated to: anika_grey

"All the things that people do in order to show that they don't need anybody... meanwhile, all they really want to do is say, "Please keep me." We all want to be kept. The problem is we are too afraid to let anyone know about it. What are these fragile things in our hearts that have so much fear of being broken?" ― C. JoyBell C.

Two weeks later, the vibrant green of Juliet's eyes had dimmed to a dull jade. Their life had leeched away, replaced by a hollowness that mirrored the cavernous silence between her and Keith. The argument, a seemingly insignificant disagreement in the middle of nowhere fourteen days prior, had morphed into a suffocating weight that pressed down on the entire house. The air hung heavy, thick with unspoken words and the tension that crackled between them.

Memories of their passionate fights, where sparks flew and apologies were laced with heat, felt like a distant dream. Now, a cold war raged. The air that used to be filled with the easy comfort of shared laughter and whispered secrets was thick with a cold, suffocating silence. It was a silence so profound it felt tangible, a wall that neither dared to breach.

That fateful day, when Lucas had gotten under Keith's skin, Juliet had retreated, ready to seek solace in the solitude of the guest room. But Keith, his voice a hard edge, had demanded she stay. His tone, as always, brooked no argument. Since then, they hadn't spoken a word. Not a single "good morning," no casual inquiries about each other's day. The shared bed, once a haven of warmth and intimacy, was now a battlefield divided by an invisible line. Juliet would wait until she heard Keith's snores fill the room before stealing onto her side, the vast emptiness a constant reminder of his absence. Sleep, when it came, offered little solace, haunted by the ghost of his touch and the lingering scent of his cologne on the pillow next to hers.

Mornings were a stark contrast to the playful mornings they once shared. Maria, sensing the tension, now arrived early to prepare breakfast. The delicious meals Keith used to whip up, a silent expression of his love, were a painful reminder of what she'd lost. Gone were the lingering kisses, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the way his cologne would intoxicate her senses. Now, they performed a carefully choreographed dance of avoidance. Juliet, heavy-eyed from a restless night, would pick at breakfast, her stomach twisted with a mixture of grief and longing. Keith, a ghost at his own table, would grab a quick bite before disappearing into his office, leaving her alone with the deafening silence.

Evenings were no better. Dinner times were staggered affairs. Juliet, having slept most of the day away, would nibble on snacks while helping Maria with chores. By dinnertime, her appetite would be nonexistent. Keith, meanwhile, would bury himself in work, the glow of his computer screen the only sign of life in the cavernous living room. They were a parody of a married couple, existing in the same space but worlds apart. Sometimes, a desperate yearning for connection would gnaw at Juliet. She longed for him to break the silence, to say anything, even a harsh word, just to shatter the suffocating quiet.

Ironically, the walls she'd built around her heart, meant to shield her from further pain, had crumbled under Keith's relentless pursuit. Now, a different kind of fear gnawed at her. This intense attraction, this vulnerability, wasn't part of the plan. The plan had been to find a loophole, a way out of this marriage of convenience.

But somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. The resentment that fueled her desire for freedom was slowly being replaced by a different kind of longing. Now, the thought of a divorce felt like severing a vital connection, a terrifying prospect that filled her with a dread that eclipsed even the fear of being trapped.