Read A Habit of Dying for Free Online Page B

into the corner of her bedroom beside the window. Always it seemed there was a part, sometimes a very tiny part, that was somewhere else, worrying about the marking she needed to do, or paying the rent or cleaning the bath. How I longed, still long, for her to commit completely, to lose herself in love and emotion and sensual arousal. Did she, does she, think that nice girls don’t? I have never asked her, I never dared risk a word that could break the spell.
    And then even when we married a few months later I never really knew if she was certain or really wanted to. Of course she said yes, eventually, when I asked her. And in the same breath said she still wanted to go away to a conference in the summer as it had been booked for ages and ages. Why did I not see the whole future there and then? Maybe I did not want to see it, maybe I believed in change, maybe I was in love, maybe I still am. And when we were to sleep together again the day after we agreed to marry, why did I not see the whole of my life stretching forward in every detail with every tiny agony like shards of metal in my eye? Why, when she said that she did not feel like it did I not say, ‘no, but then you never do’? All questions and not a single answer.
    And here we are today, a good day as days go, thinking like the rest of the world of signs of spring and life starting up again. Winter being pushed back into memory. We were happy today, a walk round the park in bright sunshine between the showers, once even holding hands briefly till she said it was too uncomfortable to walk like that. Out of synch, always out of synch. It is already better for writing this.
    2nd entry
    It is late and I cannot get off to sleep. S let me know today that she does not like me seeing her in the shower. This was not news to me. I have known this since the first time I barged in and ever since have always tried to avoid doing so. But today I needed something in the bathroom so went in, carefully averted my eyes. Even without looking I knew that she had turned round incase I should glimpse her nakedness. And now I cannot sleep for thinking about it, thinking about being denied, refused, excluded. And thinking about whether it is intentional, even malicious, or just unthinking, just how she is.
    It is just how she was on our wedding day, just how she was when we took the vows and the registrar said that we were married and that we could kiss if we wished. Just how she was when she accepted my lips and returned them with a pursed peck to satisfy the tiny audience. How I wanted a full public statement of a kiss, a kiss that said ‘I do’ more than the simple words could ever say. And then again later when our friends wanted those happy wedding snaps the kisses were just hollow poses, as meaningless as the photos themselves are now, collected in curling bundles in boxes at the back of wardrobes. Frozen slivers of Kodacolor time telling nothing of past or future.
    It was wrong to say that she has never completely given of herself. It feels as if she has never but it is not true. There was once, just once, long ago I think there was a moment, maybe longer, maybe an hour or so when another S, a different, wonderful, free as air S gave herself to me. Knowing that time, feeling that moment right now as if it had just happened only makes the rest all the more excruciating. It was me in the shower and she there with me, fixing her hair or cleaning her teeth. I asked her to pass me some soap or gel or something, half hoping that it might lead to something else but ever mindful that it wouldn’t. Without speaking she came to me and started soaping me down and massaging my body. Surprise and pure pleasure rolled over me in waves. She was getting splashed and I saw that her underwear was getting wet. And she didn’t seem to care. That was what was so exciting, so blissful – she didn’t care. She should have been saying, no I’m half dressed, no, my hair will get messed up, no I have