Clara stood in the middle of the kitchen, a knife in her right hand. She had been standing still in that spot of the kitchen for over five minutes and was starting to feel faint. Confused, she looked down at the knife she was holding and saw blood on its blade. There was a cutting board on the counter with a half-chopped onion on it, and Clara could make out a few red drops near the onion. She looked down at her empty hand hanging limp at her side. She saw a gash in her palm, large and seeping with the blood that now seemed to be everywhere.

“Jesus, what happened!?” Jonathan walked into the kitchen, yelling. Clara ignored him. “Clara, what happened? Come to the sink! Come here now!” She let him lead her to the sink by her elbow.

“Oh, I, um...” She wanted to tell him what was going on, not to panic. But that didn’t seem right so she closed her mouth.

“What?” Jonathan stopped and looked at her.

“Where were you?” He hadn’t come home until late that evening. Clara hadn’t intended to ask him that. She stood staring at him, her face pale and her slender frame shaking slightly from the loss of blood.

“I was working.” He avoided her eyes as he tried to clean her hand.

“You were really working? All night?”

“What do you mean? Of course I’m sure I was working. I know what I was doing.”

“You don’t need to be so defensive, I was just wondering because I talked to Phillip this afternoon, and he said Lynn was at your office today. But I’m sure that was business. Right, Jonathan?” Lynn and Phillip were their friends from college. Clara and Jonathan had been married first, almost a month after graduation. Lynn and Phillip married about a year later. Lynn and Clara had been each other’s maids of honor.

Clara bent her head to the left trying to make eye contact. Jonathan’s eyes were fixed on her wound and Clara thought she saw sweat forming on his brow.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to talk to me about my work right now. You’ve really got a bad cut here and need to go to the hospital.”

“Are you sure? We have gauze and tape in the bathroom. Won’t that work?”

“It looks pretty bad. You need to get this looked at by a doctor. I’m going to change my clothes. I’ll only be a minute. Do you want your tennis shoes?”

“Sure.” She felt disappointed. This was not the reaction she had been looking for from him, if she had been looking for a reaction at all. She figured after so many incidents such as tonight’s, it was becoming slightly routine for him.

“Ok, I’ll just be a couple minutes. Hold pressure on this with the towel and sit in the living room until I’m ready.” As he walked back to their bedroom, she sat on the recliner in the living room. His coat was laid on the arm of the chair and Clara saw the light from his cell phone flashing. She picked it up and looked at the screen which read 1 message received 12:47 am from Lynn M. Clara slipped the phone back into his coat pocket and wiped a tear from her face as Jonathan came back into the living room carrying a pair of white tennis shoes.

Clara slowly opened her eyes. She turned her head and saw Jonathan sleeping in a chair near her. Although she didn’t want him there, it seemed appropriate. He was there each time she woke up in a hospital bed, always trying to remember before he told her what had happened, like a game to see if she could be the first to say it.

Clara remembered getting out of bed around two in the morning, shivering in her nightgown. She pulled on one of Jonathan’s coats and slipped on sandals so she wouldn’t feel the cold floor. Going through each room of the house, she kept the lights off and stared in silence at the things they had accumulated over the last six years. She kept telling herself she was going to crawl back in bed and go to sleep. Instead, Clara walked around the house more, forcing herself to remember the happy memory of each object she stopped at.

Soon the feelings were flooding her head. She knew she should cry, but couldn’t. The tears would not come and she so desperately wanted to feel them roll over her cheeks. She went to the kitchen and got out the cutting board, the knife and the onion. Carefully peeling the skin off and cutting it in half, she started to chop it. Soon, she felt the stinging and burning from the cut onion, her eyes finally watering and spilling over onto her nightgown.

But now it wasn’t enough. She needed more, something more than tears. They were weak, just saline. She paused and brought the blade of the knife to her palm, feeling the cool metal and the resistance of her skin. She pressed harder and then pulled the knife away looking at the impression the tip of it had left. She brought the knife back up to her palm and turned her head to look away as she closed her hand around it, pressed down and pulled. She sighed as she felt a liquid sensation in the palm of her hand. She ignored the blood that dripped from her clenched fist as she cleared her mind through the pain, forgetting the good and bad memories. She forgot all of Jonathan’s shortcomings, she forgot that she was unhappy, and most of all, she forgot that she had just cut herself.

As Clara lay in the hospital bed, she wished he had told her instead of her remembering. He would have told her that she had gotten a silly late night craving for something. He would have told her she had gone to the kitchen to fix a snack and because of that balance disorder-- you know how you are--she had accidentally cut herself. Clara would have liked that story better than the truth she knew.

She turned her head away when she heard him waking up. It was dark outside and Clara couldn’t tell if it was morning darkness or evening darkness. All she knew was she wanted the black to reach forever and last forever.

“You awake Clara?”

“Yes, when can we leave?” She stared at a spot on the wall, right next to the door. Part of the stucco looked like tire, or maybe a donut, just something with a hole in it.

“The doctor wanted to speak with you before he would tell me that. Guy’s kind of a jerk.” Jonathan had picked up a newspaper and was shuffling through it.

“What makes him a jerk?”

“Nothing, he just asks a lot of questions.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, right?” She whispered this last comment but Jonathan looked up like he had heard her. The doctor walked in before Jonathan could say anything.

“Mrs. Haven, I’m Dr. Plessy.” Dr. Plessy shook Clara’s hand warmly as he introduced himself. “I treated you in the emergency room tonight. How are you feeling?” He smiled so constantly Clara had to avert her eyes; it hurt her jaw just to watch him.

“Much better. Thank you, Doctor.” Clara looked over at Jonathan, waiting for him to take control of the situation.

“My wife and I would like to know when she can go home.”

“Well, Mr. Haven, that’s what I would like to discuss with you. I reviewed your medical record, Clara and this isn’t the first time we’ve seen you in the emergency room for a laceration. In fact, you’ve been here five times in the last year. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but self mutilation is a very serious disorder. I am recommending a psychiatric evaluation before you go home.” He stopped and looked at Clara. She tried to remain calm, but her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to come out of her chest and land on the floor right in front of Dr. Plessy’s feet. She thought back to the last time this had happened.

Clara was a child then, barely twelve years old. She had been cutting herself for months before anyone noticed. Her mother had been angry and immediately taken her to a pediatrician. The doctor had recommended Clara see a therapist. Clara had been surprised when her mother actually did take her to see a psychiatrist. As she sat in the plush chair of his air conditioned office, he asked question after question. Only one stuck out in her memory now.

“Clara, what does it feel like when you make yourself bleed?” She had hesitated for a minute but remembered he had said everything they talked about in his office was private.

“You know when you’re washing your hands in the sink?”

“Yes.”

“When the water slides over your fingers and palms, when it’s nice and cool, not cold? For just a minute you want to dive into an entire pool of cool water and feel that sensation all over your whole body. It’s just an intense urge for a split second until you realize there’s no pool of water anywhere near. So you hold your hands under the water a little longer and resist the feeling. That’s what it feels like.”

After the first visit, Clara decided to stop. She had said too much and never wanted to see that man again. She convinced her parents it had all been a misunderstanding, and they didn’t make her go back to the doctor. She actually had tried to stop hurting herself, but by then she felt a need for it and had to do something to relieve the pressure. In high school, she gradually stopped, thinking she had outgrown it. She shamefully hid the scars. When she met Jonathan, she hadn’t even thought about the years she had cut herself.

Things had been strained between her and Jonathan for months, but she couldn’t figure out what was happening. They had everything they could need to make them happy, but things were slipping so fast Clara didn’t know what else to do. Jonathan had become sullen and wouldn’t tell her why. On Christmas, they had dinner with Lynn and Phillip and that was when Clara realized what was going on. There was something between Lynn and Jonathan, something Clara couldn’t pin down but recognized as an intimacy Clara hadn’t known with Jonathan since the earlier years of their marriage.

She thought she should be enraged or try to investigate and get hard evidence they were sleeping together. What shocked her was that she didn’t want to. That’s when she had started again, trying to remember how she had gotten away with it so well as a child. Now that she was in the hospital again, facing the threat of another doctor probing and asking for answers she didn’t have, she felt like jumping out the window just to escape. She looked around the room, trying to hide her panic. Finally, her eyes met Jonathan’s. She was searching for sympathy, but all she saw on his face was disappointment. He looked away and cleared his throat.

“Dr. Plessy, I’m sorry for the confusion. Clara developed an inner ear infection while scuba diving on a trip to Florida and has had troubles with her balance ever since. This is not the result of a mental instability.”

“I still think that your wife’s injuries and history warrant a referral. Maybe to a specialist for inner ear disorders.” Dr. Plessy was writing on his chart.

“Thank you, but Clara is already under the care of our family doctor. I appreciate your concern but it’s really not necessary.” Clara looked at the doctor, praying he would believe Jonathan and leave.

“Can I at least give you the name one of our psychiatrists here at the hospital? Dr. Shares is excellent and I really think just talking to him could help. I’m going to include this in your wife’s discharge papers.”

“Thank you, Dr. Plessy.” Clara spoke to the doctor directly, feeling the surge of fear subside.

After the doctor left, Clara didn’t say a word. She turned away from Jonathan and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look at him and have to thank him for rescuing her.

It had been a few days since she was released from the hospital. She hadn’t left the house since. When they had gotten home that night, Jonathan took all the papers the hospital had given him when they released Clara and threw them away, including the referral to Dr. Shares. She had looked up the doctor’s number in the phone book and considered calling him, but just seeing the name on the page had made her hands shake.

By the third day Clara started to feel the pressure building again. She didn’t call anyone, planning on leaving for a few hours without anyone knowing where she was. At the last minute she wrote a quick note to Jonathan. She had a few items in mind she had been wanting for a while but had never thought to buy for herself. As she shopped through the department stores, the bright, clean cases bothered her. She thought, He should be buying me jewelry and perfume. That’s what husbands do. She went and had dinner by herself and went home after not buying any of the things she had shopped for.

Clara was surprised when she came home to find Jonathan drinking alone. He never did that, saying anyone who drank alone or before sunset was an alcoholic. But that had been when he still tried to make her laugh. She was sure if she brought it up he wouldn’t even remember saying it. She had walked into the house, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen. Jonathan had turned on a light in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was dark. The tips of her shoes were just outside the rectangle of light coming from the kitchen entrance.

“Hi.” She stood staring at him, waiting.

“Hello.”

“Did you get my note?”

“Yes. Didn’t know you wanted to go out.”

“I didn’t know I needed your permission.” She hadn’t said this with anything intended. She really wasn’t aware he expected to keep tabs on her.

“My permission? No, I don’t care if you go out.”

“Of course. It must have worried you. I apologize. Next time I’ll be sure to call you.” She said this as if she were letting him know what was for dinner. She had no concern for her time anymore. She never did anything useful with it if she were at home or out anyways. Clara turned to leave the kitchen, but he stopped her.

“Do you hate me that much?” His voice was steadier than hers, except for the slight slur of his words from the alcohol.

“You’re drunk. Sleep it off on the couch and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She left him alone and went to wash her face. He let her go without protesting, so unlike he was in the early years of their marriage. She thought back to the night she had first met Jonathan. He had been so persistent. She was at one of the bars near the college; lots of students went there to avoid the books back in their dorm rooms. She was sitting in a booth with a couple friends, and Jonathan had walked over.

“Hi. I was just over there pointing out to my buddies that you are easily the most gorgeous girl in this place.” He smiled at her. She blushed and looked down at her drink. She felt one of her friends softly kick her under the table. “I just had to come over here and tell you that. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop it. You’re embarrassing me!” Clara had said, smiling in spite of herself

“Come on. I bet a girl as cute as you gets guys falling over themselves just to talk to you.” She looked up at him and saw how completely confident he was.

“Not really. What is it going to take for you to stop?” She felt another kick from under the table, harder this time but ignored it.

“Accept my compliment, that you really are gorgeous.”

“Fine. Thank you for the compliment.” She looked away from him, expecting him to leave.

“One more condition; give me your phone number.” He leaned on the table, close enough to her so that she could smell his cologne.

“Then will you stop it?” she said laughing.

“Maybe.” He smiled playfully as Clara wrote down her number. They had started dating shortly thereafter. The first time she had cut herself, he had cried and begged her to tell him why. She couldn’t give him an answer. He should have already known. She thought about this as she washed her face and got ready for bed, and it made her smile.

Jonathan tossed the glass he had been using in the sink. It bounced off the polished metal without breaking. He steadied himself against the kitchen counter. He was tired of her and wanted to let her know it.

“I’m not drunk.” Jonathan walked into the bedroom steady except for his lips that seemed to quiver slightly. “I’m not drunk,” he repeated, “and you never answered my question.” He remained in the doorway with one hand on the metal knob.

“What question was that?”

“You hate me, don’t you? That’s what this is all about. What it’s always been about in all these years. You hate me. Just say it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Clara put her hand up to her mouth quickly.

“Don’t flatter myself? I’m your husband!” He was shouting now and paused a moment, clenching his hands, trying to maintain control. In a quieter voice he said, “You think I don’t know who you are?”

“Who am I Jonathan?”

“Quit trying to be patronizing. You never could pull off superiority. Maybe the tortured soul bit. But I do know you. I know you had these problems way before I met you.” She knew that he felt sick, but couldn’t stop himself. She knew that he had wanted to say this for so long. Lynn had only been a temporary solution. He had to say these things to Clara.

“I really think you should stop.” Her voice stayed flat and she could tell he had started to get angry she wouldn’t even react.

“Or what? Oh no, don’t trouble sensitive Clara! How dare we simpletons disturb you? You never grew up from that neglected, little brat you were. You think the world revolves around you and if your husband, or your parents, can’t give you all their attention, by God you’ll make them sorry! Lynn told me how you would cut yourself when you were a kid. Just how self-indulgent are you Clara?” He looked as if he would laugh out loud.

“What are you talking to Lynn about any of this for?”

“Just because you live in this layer of denial doesn’t mean I have to play by the rules. And Lynn and I are friends too. I can talk about whatever I want with her. You should have been the one to tell me anyways.” That was the trick. She knew he could see her cheeks flush and her fists clench.

“So you’ll discuss the intimate details of your marriage with everyone else but your wife! I knew it, Jonathan, I knew it the whole time. You can’t hide things from me, especially something like this!” Her voice was raised.

“I have no idea what you’re even talking about. Did you take something?” He looked suddenly dizzy, like the room had started to move around him, but he kept going.

She knew he wanted to see how far he could push.

“I know what’s going on Jonathan! I’m not an idiot. Remember who wrote your damn English essays in your senior year? Now you tell me just what’s going on between you two right now.”

“What do you want to hear? That I’ve been having an affair? That way you could really feel sorry for yourself. Would that make you happy? Cause God knows I’ve given you everything else! Maybe all you wanted was someone to help you be as much a victim as possible, that way you can stab yourself until you bleed dry!” He screamed at her. Now he had lost control. He rushed out of the house, slamming the door behind him and getting in his car.

Jonathan idled his car at the end of their street, his fingers jumping on the steering wheel, his feet tapping the ground. He stared straight ahead, his mind racing. He felt triumphant, but that feeling was becoming harder to pin down by the minute. Seeing a car coming up behind him, he punched the gas and drove. He didn’t know where to go, but he wanted to sustain his victory as long as possible. He drove around the business district, thinking he might go to his office but he couldn’t figure out what he would do once he was in his of- fice. He pulled into the parking lot of the Circle K on Bryant and reached in his pocket for his cell phone.

“Dammit. I left it in my briefcase!” He looked around the car for two quarters, but all he found was a peppermint and a nickle. He walked into the convenience store.

“Do you have an ATM?” he asked the clerk behind the counter.

“Yes, over there by the lottery display.” The clerk was a big guy with a buzz cut and a look that said he didn’t really give a damn. Jonathan’s took out twenty dollars from his separate checking account, accepting the $2.75 transaction fee and walked back to the counter.

“Can you break this?”

“You have to purchase something for me to open the register.” The clerk hadn’t even looked up from his magazine.

“Fine.” Jonathan grabbed a pack of gum off the rack next to the register and tossed it on the counter in front of the clerk. “I’ll take this, and could I get a dollar in quarters too?” Jonathan waited while the clerk shuffled the change.

“There you go sir. Have a nice day.” The clerk mumbled the sentence together. Jonathan walked out the door without saying anything and went to the pay phone against the side of the building. He dropped two quarters into the machine and dialed.

“Hello?” The voice he heard on the other side of the line was so unlike Clara’s.

“Lynn.” Jonathan gripped the phone.

“Jon? Glad you called, I needed to ask if I should keep the reservations we have at Cheryl’s for lunch on Tuesday or if...”

“Lynn, I’m coming over, is Phillip there? I really need to see you.” There was a pause from her side of the line.

“No, he’s not here.”

“Ok, I’ll be there shortly.”

He drove through town towards Lynn and Phillip’s house, his mind a mix of anger and disgust. Husbands weren’t supposed to cheat on their wives, good husbands wouldn’t even think of doing that. But Lynn had been so perfect. And he had used her, telling her what she wanted to hear. After they had slept together the first time, he thought he would never do that again. The whole next day he felt like jumping in front of a truck. But the next week Lynn had come by his office. He tried to hide it from Clara, but he knew she had already figured it out. He couldn’t stop. Even now, as Clara was sitting at home most likely pressing a razor to her wrist he felt he couldn’t help her.

He parked his car far enough from her house so he wouldn’t be seen. He noticed the front porch light was on as well as the light from the living room. When he saw Lynn’s shadow pass in front of the living room window behind the curtains, his hands began to shake and he felt like his whole body was perspiring. This wasn’t lust. He had felt that for Lynn, it was loathing. Loathing of himself, of Clara, of Lynn, of the apathetic clerk in the Circle K. Now as he sat parked outside Lynn’s house, his stomach felt ill. If only Lynn hadn’t agreed, or if Clara wasn’t so emotional ...Jonathan thought. But he knew that wasn’t true. Jonathan turned the ignition and drove away, his tires squealing.

As he rushed home, the images of each time Clara had cut herself ran through his mind. He knew that he could have helped her, done more for her but had not wanted to. He needed to reassure Clara, tell her they could work on anything as long as they were together. By the time he got home he almost believed it himself. He rushed in the house from the garage, leaving his keys in the car.

“Clara! Clara, are you home? Clara, I need to tell you...” His words trailed off as he walked through the kitchen. Every knife, razor and pair of scissors in the house was laid out on the counters.

“Clara?” As he walked in the bedroom and saw her packing, his voice lowered to almost a whimper.

“I’m leaving.” She didn’t even look up at him.

“Clara, Clara, listen, we can...make this work. Forget the past.” He moved towards her and stopped.

“Maybe, but I have to go first. I need something. Time maybe. But alone. Do you understand?” She looked up at him.

“No.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me!” He couldn’t believe what was happening. “Just think about this for a minute! Do you really think you can be by yourself? You need me.”

“Follow me.” She took Jonathan by the hand and led him back to the kitchen where all the sharp blades were. She let go of his hand and picked one of the knives up.

“If I stay with you here, I will kill myself. I know you don’t understand now, and maybe you never will, but I’m trying to save myself. I thought I did this because I hated other people, but it’s worse than that and I need to figure it out.” Jonathan looked at her holding the knife. He wondered why he had never thought of locking them up.

“Will you come back?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at him and Jonathan saw kindness on her face.

“Can I call you?”

“No, it’s important you don’t.” She walked up to him and brushed the hair out of his eyes. He leaned his face against her hand, feeling its warmth. He kissed the inside of her palm before she brought her hand back down and left.