Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

“Ba-y.” A firm tone. He never hesitated to battle wills with me. And he used his pet name, aware the way he called me baby, silencing the b, softened my stubbornness.

The stare down commenced. He’d win it with patience, a virtue ingrained through a lifetime passion in martial arts. I couldn’t fault him for it since he treated me to several years of self-defense tutelage. Though, indulging him meant that while my girlfriends’ husbands were pampering them with pedicures and dinner theater, Joel was grinding my face in sweaty wrestling mats and bruising more than my ego. Was the part of me that enjoyed those activities gone for good?

He hit the quick release on the vest and slid it off. His fatigues rasped at his thighs as he crossed the room.

Did he glance at the glass door? At our boy’s handprint? Nah, I was the only head case.

The mattress dipped. He scooted next to me and scooped a spoonful of corn. “Open.” The spoon floated an inch from my mouth. “We’re not doing this tonight.”

The heart-breaking look dampening his blue eyes made me wince. His face aged so much in two months. Wrinkles creased his forehead. Dark circles furrowed the tender skin around his lids and silver streaked the goatee under his scowl.

He was ruggedly handsome. Built like a wrestler, his strong neck and big legs intimidated lesser men. Thick brown hair curled on his shoulders, contrasting his graying facial hair. He reminded me of a mountain man. Fitting, given our living conditions.

He adopted survivalist ideals years prior. I used to tease him for his fascination with it. He consumed every book and documentary he found on the subject. A garage loaded with medical supplies, gloves and masks prepared us for the threat of bird flu. We caught rain water in barrels around the house. Supplemented electricity with solar panels on the roof. Self-sufficient and ready for world abolition. He’d claimed, “Lack of preparation can wound the strongest families.” I accused him of suffering from paranoia. Two months earlier, I ate my words.

“Evie.” His impatient tone snapped me back to the hovering spoon. “I’m not asking again.”

That was true. In a few moments, he’d be shoving the salty corn down my throat. I opened my mouth and swallowed the cold mush.

He handed me a glass of water. “Keep it down this time.” His eyes searched my face.

In the years I’d known him, I’d never seen him so sad, so detached. We met in high school. Together longer than apart, we both turned thirty-three that year. And I blamed myself for putting the pain in the stare that held me.

I surrendered and choked down the last of the corn, salad and black beans. The corner of his lips levitated as I ate. So loving, that smile. How long had it been since we kissed? Damn, I missed our passion and spontaneity.

The tiny handprint glinted on the glass behind him. Should I tell him about it? I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth. It would confirm his suspicions about my state of mind. He’d make me talk. About the nightmares. About everything.

“Thanks.” I rolled to my side and breathed through the nausea that came with eating.

“I pulled some mint from the garden this morning. You want hot tea?”

I nodded. We grew our own produce in our backyard greenhouse. Another convenience owed to his survivalist foresight.

He kissed the crown of my head and stalked to the kitchen with my dishes. I grated my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t understand his drive. How could he keep going through the motions every day? He did everything essential to keep the two of us alive while I lay in bed and aimed for the contrary. I died the day our children died. And I committed to dying every day since.

The covers tangled around my legs as I fought sleep and the awaiting nightmare. My nightmares didn’t kill me. They just reminded me why I wanted to die.

“Joel?”

His head poked in the doorway. “Going to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

He put his pistol on the side table. Slid off his boots. Dropped his fatigues with riggers belt still attached. Arranged the pants over the boots to ensure quick dress, fireman style. Then he settled behind me and pulled me close. His finger traced circles on my back.

I laid my cheek on his chest and paced my breaths with his. Within minutes, sleep took me.

I perched on the floor in Annie’s room and brushed her doll’s hair.

She bounced in her closet, picking out a dress to wear. “Round and round the garden. Like a teddy bear.” Her angelic voice pealed behind me. “One step…” Her feet rustled on the carpet. “Two steps…”

The corners of my mouth tugged up. I braced for the tickle.

“Tickle you under there.” Her tiny hands squirmed along my sides.