Out of the Blue by RJ Jones Page A

work, or he would do a double shift. It seemed he would do anything to avoid being home with me. He stopped texting, not bothering to tell me what he was doing, and would often come home smelling of beer. He’d sleep late on his days off and then slink out of the apartment without speaking.
    I noticed everything changing about him. Cam’s face was now pale and gaunt, his eyes sunken. He was constantly tired and irritable, and when he spoke, which wasn’t often, he would snap at me and fly off the handle for little or no reason. We’d stopped sharing meals, so I didn’t know if he ate or not. I assumed he ate at the station or whenever he left the apartment, but I noticed the weight loss.
    Our lives, once combined in every way, became separate entities. One surviving without the other, but not living. We stopped making love. Stopped touching. Stopped talking.
    Everything I knew. Stopped.
    I didn’t know how long we could survive like that. The man had my heart, but whether or not he still wanted it was another question entirely.
    My frustration would build, threatening to overwhelm me with white-hot heat. I constantly screamed at myself why ? When Cam wasn’t home, I slammed doors and threw the dishes in the sink, not caring if anything broke. When he was home, I was quiet and tried to be invisible so he wouldn’t notice I was there. When I tried to talk to him, he would snap at me and tell me to mind my own business.
    He wasn’t the man I fell in love with all those years ago. He wasn’t charming or thoughtful, and his dazzling amber eyes were now filled with anger, frustration, and vulnerability. My hair stood on end, since I was forever pulling at it, and I would go through everything in my mind, every scenario, every possibility, as I tried to find the source of Cam’s problem. I came up empty handed every time. The only thing I knew for sure was that it started with that freeway accident.
    When my anger fled, I was left drained and wrung out. Defeated, I would sit at the bottom of the shower, my shoulders heaving with my sobs, and I would cry until the water ran cold over my already sensitive skin.
    And the cycle would start again: Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Depression.
    Constantly nauseous, my appetite fled with my anger and it left a gaping hole in my stomach. My muscles were stiff and sore no matter how much I ran, and my skin felt too tight for my body.
    Running was my way of clearing my head. It used to give me a new perspective on whatever bothered me at the time, but it wasn’t working now and I was alone with my thoughts with no clear way out.
    Late one night, I woke to Cam screaming from the living room. He slept on the couch most nights now and only slept in our bed when I was at work. The first time he’d slept on the couch had hurt and I’d fought the tears that burned my eyes. Now it was normal, accepted.
    “Jake. JAAAAAAKE!”
    The nightmares were constant and it broke my heart every time. He was clearly upset, as tears streamed down his face; he looked like he was in agony, but I knew better than to shake his shoulders or touch his face during one of those dreams. He’d knocked me across the face a couple of times when I had tried to wake him. The only thing that worked was a cold, wet cloth to his feet. I’d let the dream play out once, only to be traumatized by the event myself so much I didn’t sleep for two days, so it was cruel to let him suffer in his own head as well. I moved to the kitchen for a cloth and some water, my heart beating a constant tattoo in my chest as Cam’s screams continued. “Jake! No, no, no, no, NOOOOOO!”
    I couldn’t take it anymore; tears spilled from my eyes as I wrapped the cold towel around his feet and called his name.
    Cam jerked awake and sat up, confused and scared, until awareness crossed his features. When he saw me, he slumped against the sofa in relief. Kneeling in front of him, my hands on his thighs, I rubbed the tension from his muscles. It