Conductors

The storm outside wasn't the only thing crackling. Elena sat at the kitchen island, methodically slicing the papaya Marcus had brought home yesterday—back when they were still speaking. The fruit's flesh yielded too easily under her knife, like something already halfway to rotting.

"You're going to let it sit there?" Marcus asked from the doorway. The TV was nothing but static since the cable went out an hour ago. Not that either of them had turned it on. Some silences didn't need background noise.

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten since Thursday."

"And you haven't slept in our bed since Tuesday."

Lightning fractured the kitchen, sudden and violent, illuminating the papaya's black seeds like scattered teeth. Somewhere in the house, their dog let out a low whine. The cat, typically indifferent to everything except mealtimes, had wedged itself beneath the sofa hours ago.

"Elena—"

"Don't. Please. Just don't."

She set down the knife. The papaya lay halved on the cutting board, an autopsy of something that had never had a chance to ripen properly. Just like them, really—purchased too early, placed on a shelf to mature, forgotten until it was already beginning to collapse under its own weight.

"You know what kills me?" she said finally. "You bought this fruit. You thought about us when you picked it out. And now you're standing there acting like the last six years never happened."

Marcus's laugh was hollow, bounced off the subway tile backsplash. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I made a mistake? That I still—"

Another lightning strike. Closer this time. The kitchen lights flickered, dimmed, steadied.

The dog padded into the room, nails clicking against the hardwood, and pressed his warm flank against Elena's leg. She buried her fingers in his fur, grounding herself. The cat emerged from the shadows, jumped onto the counter, and regarded the papaya with clinical interest before settling next to Marcus's hand.

"Animals know," Elena said quietly. "They know when something's over before we do."

"Elena..."

"The cable's out, Marcus. There's nothing left to watch."

He nodded once, a sharp, jerky motion, and walked toward the bedroom to pack. The cat watched him go. Elena sliced the papaya into quarters and ate one standing at the counter. It was sweet, cloying, everything she hated and needed right now.