One last box to pack

The summer sun bathed the room in golden light. With it came the summer heat. The small fan worked at full speed to swirl around the stuffy air. Linda wiped her forehead.

Such a chaos!

Pulling a face, she tried to dry her hands on her jeans. The stickiness clung to her fingers.

“Tom! Where’s the tape?”

Her voice echoed in the half-empty room. There were boxes pushed toward the wall. Their contents neatly written on the side of each box.

“Tom! Tape!”

There was a faint rustling of plastic coming from outside the study. Linda waited to hear steps on the wooden floor. After waiting a few more moments, Linda frowned.

Did he leave?

“I told him to stay till we’re done. First the study. Then the basement.”

With a sigh, she got on her feet.

Breathe. Slowly.

Fighting back the black spots, her hand grabbed the backrest of the chair. She closed her eyes. After a few deep breaths, the rollercoaster in her head came to a stop.

I need to drink more.

When she opened her eyes again, she squinted her eyes. She straightened her back again, her hand still on the chair.

“TOM!”

Her voice toppled. She flinched as the echo of her shriek surrounded her. The only answer she got was the clicking sound from the hard-working fan.

“Better look for it myself then. Who knows when he’ll be back.”

Each step was calculated as she navigated her way through the half-packed boxes, the rolled-up carpet and the stacks of books. She scanned the floor until she reached the half-dismantled shelf next to the door. She frowned. There were a few dark spots on the floor.

Did he already start painting?

She made her way to the threshold, shaking her head.

“Ah!”

As if hit by a hammer pain shot through her head. One hand grabbed the doorframe. The other pressed against the forehead.

Definitely more water.

She blinked slowly. Then she stared at the dark spots on the floor. A groan escaped her throat.

I told him to be careful with the paint.

“Later. First drink something. Then tape.”

Pain still throbbing in the back of her skull she made her way to the kitchen. By the time she reached the sink, bile rose up her throat. Grabbing the cold metal rim, she gagged. She coughed. Blobs of spit landed in the sink. With tears in her eyes, she opened the tap. The water kept running. Linda’s insides kept cramping and convulsing.

White knuckles finally turned rosy. Splashing water into her face, Linda felt her headache subside. The water dripped down her face. She followed the drops with her eyes.

Huh? Paint?

The water vanishing in the drain carried a soft pink hue. Linda scanned the sink for its source. Before she could find it, it was washed away.

Why did he use pink? We need green.

She closed the tap. The kitchen was empty, except for the bottle of dish soap and a sponge. The sun was reflected on the smooth countertop.

As if we had never lived here at all.

“Maybe he brought the paint to the bedroom.”

Mumbling she tasted metal in her mouth again. Quickly, she spit in the sink before rummaging through the kitchen. Just like the surface, all cupboards and drawers were empty. The smell of vinegar mixed with the hint of citrus from the dish soap.

Ugh. This one.

She turned the tap on again. This time, she filled the former mustard glass with water. The colorful comic characters looked at her with round but empty eyes. Another glob of saliva landed in the sink. She closed her eyes and took a sip. Then she forced herself to take another one. The glass landed in the sink. The sound of metal against glass revived the pounding behind her temples. She opened her eyes, assessing the result of the drop.

Of course. Guess it’ll move with us as well.

“Right, the tape!”

Her hand trailed the counter and then the wall, leading toward the bedroom. The rollercoaster in her head was replaced by a marching band. Her heartbeat setting the pace, while the pain followed suit. Something wet was trickling down her neck, soaking the collar of her T-shirt.

Maybe we should’ve moved in winter.

She was still a few steps away from the bedroom when she heard something. Her steps faltered. A grin appeared on her face.

“Tom? You’re in the bedroom, right?”

There was no answer. But then she heard plastic rustling under heavy steps. The grin dropped slightly. A sigh escaped her mouth.

Guess he’s still angry.

“Bring the tape over, all right? I want to wrap it up in the study.”

Carefully, not to encourage the marching band any further, Linda turned around. Her hand steadily supporting her, she made her way back into the study. On the threshold she let her gaze wander again.

There were four stacks of books left. Four open boxes were waiting to be closed.

Manageable. By tomorrow we’ll be finished.

Suddenly, her vision blurred. Sweat dripped off her forehead on the floor. The back of her collar felt uncomfortable sticky. She reached out, to grab the chair. Her feet caught on something. She stumbled forward. Her stomach hit the chair. Clinging to it, they fell together.

“Agh!”

Her hands lost their hold. Hard corners poked her back. Pain. Black spots danced to the marching band’s rhythm.

No, the move! We have to finish the study!

Biting the inside of her cheek helped her to fight the darkness. Although the metallic taste made her gag again. Rolling over, she tore the rest of the box. She rested her hands on the floor. Carefully, she moved her shoulders. A hiss escaped her.

Okay. Head and shoulders. Ha, maybe knees and toes as well?

Her own joke made her snort. With a grim grin, she slowly pushed herself up, leaning heavily on the toppled over chair. Before she managed to stand up, her legs gave way. She slumped back on the floor. This time her back rested on one of the chair legs. Grey filled her vision again. Despite her breathing against the pain, it washed over her. Her gaze wandered over the half-empty room.

Why did I trip?

Desperately, Linda fought back the grey haze. The pain wanted her to close her eyes.

A hammer?