The Drowning Room

She watched him in the bathroom mirror, toothpaste frothing at his mouth like a rabid dog, and wondered when they'd both become this—creatures moving through morning routines without recognition.

His hair had started thinning at thirty-two. She'd loved running her fingers through it then, thick and dark and promising. Now he kept it buzzed, military-short, as if preparing for a war that would never come. Her own hair, once blonde as summer wheat, she'd stopped coloring months ago. The gray at her temples felt like premature aging, though she was only thirty-six.

"The meeting ran late," he said, spitting into the sink. Water splashed the mirror, distorting both their faces. "The corporate bullshit—I mean, the new initiative—"

"You were going to say bullshit."

"I'm tired, Elena."

"You're always tired."

The bull at his father's ranch had died last week. He hadn't mentioned it until she asked why he was driving out there. Twenty years of breeding, and the old beast had just lay down in the pasture and given up. Sometimes she felt like that bull—sturdy, Useful, until one day she simply wouldn't get up again.

She turned on the faucet, letting water run over her hands. "Remember when we used to talk? Actually talk?"

"We're talking now."

"No. We're exchanging data packets. You say you're tired. I say I understand. We maintain the household machinery. But somewhere along the way we became..."

"Zombies?" he offered, almost smiling.

"I was going to say roommates who hate each other."

He dried his hands on the towel she'd washed that morning. The domesticity was suffocating—all this care rendered automatic, love distilled into chores. She thought about the bull again, how it must have felt to just stop.

"I still love you," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Prove it."

He stepped closer, and for a moment she thought he might touch her—really touch her, like he used to. Instead he turned off the faucet she'd left running. Water conservation. Another responsibility.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Let's try tomorrow."

She nodded, because what else was there? They would both lie down in their respective pastures and wait for something to change, though nothing ever did.