The Game of Surrender

Thirty Years Earlier

He sees her nervousness, watching her quick movements as she puts on her robe and fixes her hair. The narrow closet, with the small crack in the door, gives him most of the view of the room. She had told him to stay there, saying she needed him to be a good boy, and that if he really loved her, he would stay inside the closet, in silence. He feels comfortable inside the tight wooden walls, where it’s silent, dark, and there’s nothing but him and the clothes on the hangers, sharing the space. Distant sounds of heavy footsteps and nervous breathing intensify the agony that is visible on her dark face, with her sweaty forehead, swollen lips, and red, tear-streaked eyes. He loves her, feels good making her happy, and she loves him even more for being her good boy. She always tells him he’s her good boy. Her eyes become shiny as she forces a smile for the visitor entering the room, quickly wiping the tears from her face.

“Darling, did you forget something? You caught me by surprise.” The visitor doesn’t respond to her cheerful greeting in her soft voice.

Only the continuous sound of heavy, rapid breathing echoes in the room, letting him know he’s there. When the visitor takes another step, he finally sees his face. Yes, it’s the visitor. He had given him that nickname because he was hardly ever around, only coming by to visit. His expression is furious, with clenched jaws, glazed eyes, as red as his bruised fist. The visitor rubs his fingers on his face, enraged, pacing like a caged animal. The suit that’s always impeccable is now disheveled on his body; he’s not like this, he’s never been like this, so out of control. He always preaches about control, how it will be an important trait for him when he becomes a man, but right now the visitor has no control.

“Reimond... What’s wrong?” She walks toward him, but her steps freeze when the visitor raises his arm.

He can see through the crack in the closet the glint of the automatic pistol in his hand. He recognizes it as the one kept in the garage.

“Darling, put that down... You’re scaring me.”

“How could you?” The visitor’s head tilts to the side, grinding his teeth in anger, pressing the pistol harder against her forehead. “I gave you everything, I gave you the world, and you destroyed our family!”

“Reimond, please, put it down. Please, I can explain... It’s not what you think.” She raises her hand in an attempt to calm him.

The visitor suffers, tears streaming down his face, trailing down his throat. He had never seen him cry before. He says that crying is a sign of weakness, and now he’s in tears. She embraces him, kissing his face tenderly. She’s always tender, which is why he loves her and does everything for her.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? Did you ever think about what you were doing?” The visitor’s other hand crushes her curly hair, squeezing it tightly. “I could forgive anything, any mistake of yours. Why did you do this?”

“For love. For love, Reimond. I love him more than I love myself.” Her small body slides down, clinging to the visitor’s body as she sobs uncontrollably.

Pulling away from her, the visitor walks away angrily, kicking anything in his path. He releases his anger in grotesque screams, like a wounded animal. She must have done something terrible to make him lose control because the visitor never loses control.

“Reimond...” She falls silent, not finishing the sentence. Her thin face turns toward the closet, resting her eyes on the crack. Black, calm, and tender eyes, that always smile at him, but this time they lack brightness and are not accompanied by a smile on her face.

It's as if she knows, as if she's already prepared for this. Her face turns back to the visitor. She breathes slowly, running her fingers over her honey-toned skin. No voices are heard, no footsteps. The small body inside the closet curls up, frozen, holding its breath when a shot is fired. Her shoulders slump to the side, falling onto the white carpet. A pool of blood forms near her head. From the centered hole in her forehead, a thick red liquid drips, staining her face. Her dark irises remain open, but there's no more light in her eyes.

And the only thing that crosses his mind as he looks at her lifeless body is how the closet is warm, dark, and silent.