He Came Back to Find Her Dead

"Neville, I had a little too much to drink tonight. Can you come pick me up?"

Neville said something in a low voice, but I couldn't make it out.

By the time he walked back into the room, he was fully dressed.

"Cat, something came up at work. Go ahead and sleep."

The excuse was pathetic.

Ever since the System bankrupted him, nearly every door had been slammed in Neville's face. To make money, he'd had no choice but to take a construction diver job doing manual labor on-site. That kind of work only required twelve hours during the day. No overtime. On top of that, I needed to be turned over every two hours at night, so Neville had never once gone out after dark.

By the time I came back to my senses, I had no idea how long he'd been gone.

I pulled the knife from under my pillow.

It was a System-issued product, after all. The blade looked razor-sharp. It should slice through my artery in no time.

When I'd had my car accident, I woke up to a diagnosis of spinal cord injury. I couldn't move anything except my head and my hands. After three years of rehab, I could barely sit up on my own and manage a wheelchair by myself.

I'd been planning to surprise Neville on his birthday with that progress. Now it didn't matter anymore.

Dying in bed would be messy. Neville would probably have to clean up for a long time.

I forced myself upright and into the wheelchair, then rolled into the bathroom.

I took out the knife, pressed it against my wrist, and cut.

The bathroom light flicked on, illuminating Neville's ashen face.

"Catherine, what are you doing?"

Before I could react, the knife was wrenched from my hand.

The next second, Neville's palm cracked hard across my face.

"You're insane! What did I ever do to you for you to do this to me?"

His voice was sharp as a blade, but his eyes were bloodshot.

He flew into a rage, smashing everything in the bathroom to pieces. When the fury finally drained out of him, he came to stand in front of me. He crouched down and looked into my eyes.

"Why?"

There was perfume on him. The exact same scent Polly had been wearing when she visited me earlier that day.

I thought about it for a moment, then spoke. "Did you go see Polly?"

Neville froze. After a long silence, he admitted it. "Is that what this is about?"

"Catherine, can you stop being jealous over nothing? I already told you there's nothing between us. I went to see her because—"

"Neville." I cut him off. "Just let me die. I want it to be over."

His face went rigid.

A few seconds passed. Then he said okay.

Just when I thought he agreed that this life was a kind of torture, he suddenly grabbed the knife off the floor, shoved it back into my hand, and pressed my grip against his chest, right over his heart.

"You want to die? I'll grant your wish. But only if you kill me first."

I was terrified. I tried to pull my hand back.

"Neville, let go."

"You're not the only one suffering, Catherine. You think taking care of you isn't hard on me?" His strength was frightening. I could feel the blade's tip breaking through his skin. "You want to die? Fine. We die together."

Something warm and wet soaked my hand.

My entire heart felt like it was being crushed in a fist.

Seconds later, I broke down sobbing. "I was wrong, Neville. I won't do it. I won't die. I won't."

The knife clattered to the floor. Blood seeped through the front of Neville's shirt.

A few minutes later, he seemed to regain his composure. He reached out and stroked my hair, and then, completely out of nowhere, said, "Cat, will you stay with me for one more birthday?"

Neville's birthday was three days away.

After that night, he gathered up every sharp object in the house. Even the plates and bowls were swapped out for plastic ones.

He still took care of me, same as before. But he rarely spoke to me anymore. Most of the time, he just sat there scrolling through his phone, typing away at conversations I wasn't part of.