"Mourning Routine"

She had just stepped out of the shower. Droplets of water, colored pink from a few shaving cuts, rolled down her long legs creating a puddle on the tile floor. Reached for her towel and wrapped it around tightly, its grip loosened as she reached for the doorknob and dripped off to a dimly lit bedroom.

A man walks in. He is sipping a cooled mug of tea leaning against the threshold of their shared space. His face reflected back at her through her lit vanity mirror.

“You can turn the lights on if you’d like. I don’t mind.” Droplets still raced down her neck as she began applying her makeup.

“I poured too much water if you want some tea… or coffee… or whatever it is you take.” He stuttered out.

“You’re too kind, but I’m already running late.”

He sighed, “Big house. You can spread out a bit. No need for us to be on top of each other all the time.”

“You’re just dying to get rid of me aren’t you,” she paused as if trying to hold in her laughter, but laughed a little more.

“Alright,” he chuckled to himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She pulled out a hair dryer and plugged it in.

“It’s a bit chilly outside,” he shouted over the noise. “You may want to dress a little warmer.” He had grabbed the dress she had hanging by the doorway with his free hand, and traced the outlines of its flowers with his thumb.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” but she seemed disinterested in his chat about the weather and in him. Receiving the message, he walked out and took a seat in the living room. The hair dryer provided white noise, a distraction from the too cheery birds outside, as he tried making it through the final pages of Camus’ The Stranger. Eventually, the noise shut off and he was left with the plague of his own thoughts and the orchestra of warblers outside his window.

His own little bird had gotten dressed, grabbed her phone, her keys, fixed her hair in the parlour mirror and walked out the door. Not a single word. A beat later, she walked back in and, heading his warning, grabbed a coat.

“Oh, and John,” he lifted his gaze from the now cold tea resting in his lap. “Don’t kill yourself while I’m out. I’m having guests over tonight and won’t have enough time to clean up the mess.”

“Yes, my love.”

Once again, she embraced the cold air on her exposed skin. Locked the door behind her. As she began to button her coat and walk away, a gunshot from inside caused her knees to tremble and snagged her heart like a hook and pushed it race faster. A wicked laugh escaped her mouth. Her first thought that morning had been how hard it would be to clean blood out of shag carpet.