WHAT DID HE SAY?
By: Iryna Unguryan
Tags: Relationships, Self Discovery, Fiction Writing, Lovestory, Spirituality

What did he just say?

It felt like I was suddenly pulled out of a strange state of trance.

“All this is your fault!” He yelled, voice thick and unnaturally piercing.

I stared at him, but he just sent another shot down his throat.

“All this, this goddamn colony, these odd fucking jobs that I keep doing, all my fucking life, all this is your fault! Your idea. A freaking experiment that doesn’t work, over and over again.”

A shiver ran through me, uncontrollable, willful.

“Your life? I thought it was our life. Here at the colony, and before — I thought we were in this together. So now it’s just about you?” I found my voice finally, not recognizing the serenity in it. Was it really me who spoke?

“You are not listening, just as usual,” he growled, eyes bloodshot, bottle clutched firmly in his hand. “It’s not what I said. You never listen. You just hear what you wanna hear.”

He poured another shot, spilling the spirit on the dusty floor.

“You ruin everything. You are impossible to talk to. You said — you said — you’d fix it. That it’d be better here. That you’d take care of everything. It’s better there, you said. And you just keep having these stupid ideas. But none of it fucking works! If you could do anything, but nope, you can’t do shit. It all just gets worse, and worse, and worse.”

“You regret coming here with me?”

“That’s not what I said. See, you never listen!”

“Then what? You want to go back?”

“Are you kidding me? We can’t just go back! We don’t have a freaking home anymore. We’ll have to sell the spacebus if that’s ever gonna be enough. And what about everything else? Not gonna work.”

“We could try if you don’t like it here…”

He pointed to the insides of the room with the bottle, as if it contained the answer to the purpose of life, as if the gray of the walls held all the colors of the universe.

“Here!” — He breathed the spirit’s ugly flavor right into my face, finally managing to look me in the eye, — “You wanted this. Enjoy!”

Ungracefully, he turned on his heels and left, the bottle still with him.

I braced for pain. For the guilt to consume me, like it always did.

It was me who risked it all and brought us here. A new place with new rules, where it was hard to breathe and harder to live.

Culture shock. New biorhythms. Constant self-doubt. I had to think before I said something, and act before I thought about it. I’d made many mistakes before I gained anything, and lost a lot with a single misstep.

There were jobs here, though: in the mines, in the docks, anywhere. I worked a few at a time, just to make the ends meet, yet I couldn’t find what I was looking for. So I kept searching, and he kept bringing up our old life, and it always ended the same way…

What did he just say? It felt like I was pulled out of a strange state of trance.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

I turned to face him just in time to take the empty bottle out of his hands. He was swaying, blood-shot eyes unfocused.

He turned around and went into the depth of the spacebus.

When I entered the sleeping area, I heard him snore. Strange how some things never change.

He said sorry. Isn’t it easy? That’s what we’ve always done. That’s what I’ve always done. Just forgive, right?

And suddenly, I couldn’t.

I went to bed, I shut my eyes, I took a deep breath. I never felt more sure in my whole life.

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