The Death of My Juliette

"Where is the knife?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer right away, as if he was considering whether to trust me.

"In my pocket," he finally muttered.

"Give it to me," I demanded.

Robert silently pulled out the knife and handed it to me. His hands were shaking slightly, and for a moment it seemed like he didn't want to let go, as if it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

I took the knife carefully, trying not to look at his face, but I felt his gaze burning into me. The blade folded with a soft click, and I put the knife in my pocket.

"Have you calmed down?" I asked, trying not to betray my concern in my voice.

"Stop it," he said hoarsely, turning away.

There was so much pain and weariness in that simple phrase that I felt sorry for him. Robert, always so strong and stubborn, now seemed almost broken.

"Robert," I said softly, taking a step towards him.

"Don't," he raised his hand, as if trying to shield himself. "Don't pretend that everything is okay."

"I'm not pretending," I answered honestly.

He turned to me and I saw a mixture of anger and despair in his eyes.

"Then tell me: why all this? Why are we here? Why are we trying to find answers when there are none?"

His words hit me harder than I expected. I wanted to respond, to say something reassuring, but I realized I couldn't. I didn't know why we were here, I didn't know how this would end.

"I just want you to be safe," I said quietly.

Robert jerked out of my grip, took a step back, and glared at me, full of fury and pain.

"Safe?" he whispered, his voice shaking with suppressed emotion. "We're lost, Anton. We're trapped, and no one's coming for us.

I was about to answer, but he continued, raising his voice as if he could no longer restrain himself:

"No one but your dead wife!" he cried out in disgust, his face twisted into a grimace of pain.

These words hit me like a slap in the face. Everything inside froze.

"Robert..." I began, but he didn't let me finish.

"What? Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" he shouted, taking a step towards me. "You still keep her here, between us! This... this damn wife is you, it's your fault that she's still alive in your head!"

His voice was breaking, anger, hurt, and something akin to despair all mixed up in it. I stood there silently, trying to find words that would calm him down. But in that moment I knew: he wasn't just talking about her, he was talking about everything that had happened between us.

"It's not fair," I said finally, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm here. With you. Isn't that enough?"

Robert grinned, but there was no joy in his grin.

"To say that you are here, Anton, does not mean to be here. You are always somewhere there, in the past. Your heart... it is still in her hands."

"That's not true," I objected, although inside I felt that he was partly right.

"Then prove it," he said quietly, looking straight into her eyes. "Prove that she is not between us."

I came closer to him without looking away.

"I've already chosen you, Robert," I said, and my voice sounded as if the words had been torn from the depths of my soul. "Not her. You."

His face softened, but his gaze remained heavy.

"Then let her go, Anton," he whispered. "For real."

The words hung in the air like lightning, tearing through the silence. We were standing face to face, on the brink of something momentous, something that would determine the entire future.

I stepped forward and hugged him, feeling his tense body gradually relax.

"You're right," I said. "She's the past. You're my present."

Robert didn't answer. We were kneeling, pressed close together, looking up at where a bluish line was sliding across the endless darkness of the sky. It moved slowly, as if on purpose, so that we could see it.

"The flight of your dead wife's petty soul," Robert whispered, his voice a mixture of bitterness and strange irony.

I flinched, but didn't respond. That line seemed to really drag the past down with it, all the memories I'd tried so desperately to let go of. Robert, always sharp-tongued, had simply voiced what hung between us.

"Do you think this is a sign?" he asked after a moment, his voice softer, almost thoughtful.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

The bluish line gradually faded, dissolving into the sky's blackness. We were silent, unable to tear our eyes away, as if this was the last piece of the past, leaving forever.

"You loved her," Robert said without looking at me.

I turned to him, wanted to say something, but he raised his hand, silencing me.

"You loved her, and that's okay," he continued. "But she's not here anymore, Anton. And I am."

His words sounded simple, but they contained the whole meaning of our struggle. He pulled me to the present, to life, to myself.

"You're right," I said quietly.

Robert looked at me, his eyes glowing softly, reflecting the glimmer of a distant line that was disappearing over the horizon. And suddenly we both shouted in unison:

"Water! There is water!"

The glowing lights ahead suddenly became clear, revealing what had at first seemed like a mirage. Robert, ahead of me, rushed forward, his footsteps echoing in the silence around us. I ran after him.

We emerged from the shadow of the tall rock formation and found ourselves in front of a vast expanse of water surrounded by glowing boulders. The water shimmered softly, as if it were reflecting something unearthly.

Robert fell to his knees at the very shore, scooped up water with his palms and greedily drank it. I wanted to stop him, but it was too late. He drank, and then raised his head to me:

"She's real!"

I leaned forward carefully, letting the cold drops trickle down my fingers. It was indeed water - alive, cool, scaldingly refreshing. I brought it to my mouth and took a small sip. A long-awaited sense of relief spread through me.