“My mom and uncle came with me to the reading of the will,” you continued, confirming my thoughts. “Well, the house and all the possessions were left to me. Hell, even all the animals were, but I asked his sister if she could take them. My family had some very specific ideas of what should be done with his property.
“We got into it, right there in the lawyer’s office.” You gave a short, bitter laugh. “You know, my mom hit me first, but it was my uncle who I brawled with. Mr. Tournit called the police, and Sheriff Halstead held me overnight while they left town.”
I shook my head as the rage bubbled up inside of me. “First of all, screw your family. Neither one should have ever laid hands on you. Also, Mr. Tournit has seen his fair share of brawls. He used to break them up, but I guess he’s a little old to risk another elbow jab to the face.”
You nodded, but it was clear you were still upset about it. “Anyway, thank you.”
“For not being a selfish jerk?” I grinned. “Why, you’re very welcome. Now, let’s go eat.”
I knew before we stepped foot inside that we would be the center of attention. You were the mysterious newcomer and I was – well, I was me. They saw no reason for us to be there together. I was right, of course, and a rippled murmur flowed through the otherwise silent restaurant.
The server seated us. I took on a nonchalant expression, but you looked uncomfortable. You ordered an iced tea. Against my better judgment, I ordered a beer. It was the only way I knew to stave off the symptoms of withdrawal.
We chatted amicably, interrupted on occasion by someone coming by to say hi. Pike, being such a small place, people flocked to you. They all wanted the inside scoop on you. Hell, I was still trying to figure you out myself.
I drank a second beer as our dinner came. I think we both ordered burgers of some kind, though I kept drinking beer so it began to blur together. I knew better, but I couldn’t stop.
That’s the demon of addiction. Even if you want to stop, it’s not always that simple, and I never was any good at having any sort of willpower to speak of.
I still don’t know if you expected that already because you didn’t try to stop me. I’m not sure how long we were there. Hell, I don’t remember leaving. You had to have asked where I lived because I woke the next morning, clothes and shoes still on, in my bed.
I sat up in a panic. No one had been inside my house in years; no one had witnessed all my flaws in their full glory until you, in just the few moments I’d spent with you. I can only express in so many words the deep feeling of dread and shame I felt knowing that you’d seen my problems at their core.
I felt the harsh taste of stale beer combined with cotton mouth. I stumbled out of bed, over to the bathroom adjoining my room. I splashed cold water on my face and looked at my haggard expression in the mirror, groaning as I knew I’d have to face you.
Brushing my teeth, I stared at the wall, too ashamed to even face myself any more than I had to. I tried to fix my hair some, but it was a lost cause. The final step I took to make myself a little more human feeling was to change my clothes.
Once I was freshened up some, I took a deep breath and opened my bedroom door. Silence greeted me, not that I blamed you for leaving. Just as I was thinking I might not need to face you after all, I turned the corner and you were seated at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.
“I didn’t think people still got news this way,” you said with a small smile.
I gave a shrug as I sank into a chair opposite you.
You slid over a coffee in a paper cup. “You didn’t have coffee here.”
I nodded. “I’m not usually up this early.”
“You don’t really have any edible food either.”
Again, I nodded.
“Got a lot of booze, though.”
There it was. “I told you I had bad habits.”
You nodded this time. “I know.”
I took a drink of the coffee. “Thanks.”
You inclined your head, and we lapsed into a tense quiet. You continued to read the paper while I watched, unsure of where this left us. You weren’t trying to change me, tell me about rehab… You weren’t what I expected.
“How did you get me home last night anyway?”
“Your pal, Sheriff Halstead. He actually drove his truck and led the way, then helped me get you inside. Your house keys are on the counter.”
Panic swept through me. “Did he say anything about me?” I really wanted to know if he told you how I lost my spouse and children to a fire and how my whole life had slipped into simple, meaningless existence.
You shook your head, filling me with a sense of relief. It had only been five years, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to talk about it. I still don’t want to even admit it to myself, yet here it is.
I lost myself all those years ago, and I drowned myself in a sea of alcohol to keep the pain at bay. It didn’t work as well as I wanted it to, but I didn’t want to miss out on dulling my senses. It was easier than facing the harsh truth and painful memories.
We sat in silence a while longer. Inside, the panic was winning. It felt too domestic, sitting in my kitchen like that. I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up without a word and headed to my room.
Shutting the door, I leaned against it with my head against the wood grain. I heard you shift in your seat, but you didn’t follow me.
Not only was I unprepared for you to be in my house, I wasn’t prepared to deal with my undeniable attraction to you. I was so broken, so flawed, and you were dealing with issues of your own – but you were so put together in comparison.
Instead of facing you again, I decided to take a shower. I took my time too, putting off any interactions with you for as long as possible. The water felt good, and I could have stayed there longer if I’d had the hot water.
Unfortunately, I was forced from my sanctuary by an aging hot water tank that didn’t last as long as I wanted. I dressed slowly, combing through my hair. I donned another fresh set of clothes and took a deep breath.
My nerves no less calm, I exited the room and returned to the kitchen to find it vacant. I didn’t blame you for leaving, but it didn’t alleviate my alarm any. I didn’t know where I stood with you or if you still wanted my help.
I planned to drive out there, to confront my demons just enough to make you understand, but I found you sitting on the rickety old bench on the front porch. “Hey, stranger,” I said.
“Hey.”
“You still want my help?”
“If you still want to help, I do.”
I nodded. “I do.”
“One rule.”
“No drinking?”
You nodded. “What you do is your business, but most of my family is full of raging alcoholics, and I don’t want to be around it.”
“Fair enough.” I wanted to say more, to explain, but I found my courage leached from my body when I tried.
You nodded again. “Well, I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’m ready now.”
We set off for the Mueller place, not speaking. It was a tense situation, and as much as I wanted you to know what was going on with me, I knew better. I knew that I couldn't speak the words without losing that basic thread of control I had.
You seemed content to ride in silence, and by the time we arrived, I was ready to jump from the car and run as fast as I could. However, I kept my cool. Pulling down the long drive, I noticed another vehicle parked out front. "Friends?"
You shook your head. "Not even remotely."
The front doors of the sedan opened, and a man and woman exited. I asked if it was your mother and uncle, to which you gave a dissenting nod and your expression darkened. "We can just leave if you want," I said. "It's not too late to flip around and go."
"Yeah, but they won't go, so I'll have to deal with them sooner or later."
"True enough. Well, I'm here for you."
You looked a little relieved at that. "Thank you."
&nbs
p; I nodded as I pulled up behind your car and put it in park. We got out, and your mother smiled. "Oh, darling, we were going to leave but I couldn't do that! I know how much you need support in a time like this!"
"I found support, Mother."
She looked at me like I was lower than gum beneath her expensive shoes. "I see that."
"You're not stepping one foot inside that building," you said in a low tone, clear that you were done putting up with her.
She shook her head. "But honey, don't you want help assessing everything?"
"Like at the lawyer's office?"
Your uncle's look darkened at that. "That should be in the past. Plus, that's a family issue." He cast a look at me. "You shouldn't involve other people in our business like that."
"Well, you need to get off my property before I call the sheriff." You moved to walk past them, but your uncle pressed a hand to your arm to stop you.
I stepped in as well. "Trust me, I am good friends with the sheriff, and I can promise he won't be so lenient this time around. I don't mind going to jail again today, do you?"
He grudgingly dropped his hand and let you pass. "We'll be out here waiting if you need us," he said in threat.
"If you're not gone the next time I step outside on this porch, I'll make sure to call an ambulance before I come beat the notion of leaving out of both of your heads," I replied with what I felt was a patronizing grin.
I followed you inside, your face red as you fumbled the keys until we gained entry. "Thanks," you mumbled.
"Hey, my pleasure. It's been a while since I had to make threats on someone, and I'm glad I was able to brush up my skills."
You laughed and the tension eased. Outside, we could hear the car doors closing and the gravel crunching as the car pulled away. I was glad I hadn't had to make good on my promise since I wasn't entirely sure I could take both of them on.
We spent the day sorting, boxing, and hauling the items from the house. That evening, I went home alone and drank myself into oblivion. I hadn't done any work in two days, and I didn't particularly care.
It wasn't that I preferred drinking, but night was the time that my nightmares came true to remind me that I was alone and that I was never going to see my family again. I had been late from work that night - back when I didn't work from home. I'd been so late that they'd gone to bed before I even left the office.
By the time I got home, the whole house was consumed in flames, and the fire department was still fighting to spray it out. I tried to run forward, but Sheriff Halstead stopped me. He asked where my family was.
"They're inside!" I screamed, terror flooding my vision and making it difficult to see what I was doing.
"The firefighters are doing their job now, so you just wait and we'll see if they made it out, okay?"
The sheriff put me in the back of his truck and had me sit there, watching my home burn, not being able to do anything about it. I couldn't get out of the truck if I wanted since it locked automatically.
Deep in my gut, I knew they were gone. I knew they had gone to bed missing me and that if I had been home, I could have done something to stop it. I was always the light sleeper, and I'm sure I would have awoken in time to get everyone out.
The next days confirmed my fears. My family all died in their beds, never even aware that the fire was killing them. The fire chief ruled it as faulty wiring in the rental unit and was able to charge the landlord since he'd been fined multiple times for it but had never fixed it.
I didn't even care about the justice; it didn't bring my family back, and I didn't have any feelings left. I suspected that was why the sheriff never charged me whenever he arrested my drunk ass. He felt bad for me.
I didn't feel bad for myself; I just didn't feel anymore. The next day, we were back at the Mueller house, but you'd accomplished a lot after I left. I was pretty amazed that there were only a few rooms left to sort.
"I'm not sentimental," you said in explanation. "I didn't even know him, so it's hard to say that any of this really means anything to me at all."
I nodded, understanding how you felt. We continued our path until I came across a scrapbook. Pulling it open, I noticed newspaper clippings were the dominant trait. There were births, marriages, divorces, articles... All about the town.
I dreaded it. I flipped through the pages, seeing my name in marriages, in the new births when my children were born... and then the article from the fire. I hadn't realized you were standing beside me, looking at the same pages I was, until then.
"Oh my God," you said. "I am so –"
"Don't say that. You didn't know, and you didn't know them."
You nodded, gently taking the scrapbook from me and reading the article in full. I walked from the room to continue my task. I'd read the article what felt like a million times. I had it memorized and likely would for the rest of my life.
You came in a few moments later and laid a hand on my arm. I turned, my eyes still dry. I had cried them dry years ago, but the pain was still there.
You took a step forward and leaned in, wrapping your arms around me. "I know I didn't know them, but I know you. And I am sorry. I know loss, and I can see how much you loved them."
I nodded, a late reaction as I returned the embrace. I hadn't been hugged in years, and that brought the tears I'd sworn were no longer in existence. I got the feeling you genuinely cared about my grief, another experience I hadn't had much in recent years.
At the same time, I knew this would be temporary. You would be leaving, and I would still be caught up in the smoldering memories that remained of my life. I didn't know it at the time, but we were both drifting down the same path of being caught in the past despite making the motions in the present.
I dried my tears and took a step back. "Thank you. I didn't know I needed that, but I did."
"We all handle it differently. I got mad. You drink, right? That's why?"
I hesitated but nodded nonetheless.
"I understand. But at the end of the day, it doesn't help the pain any, does it?"
I didn't reply to that, but I knew you were right. I couldn't help but agree within the silence of my mind, but I was trapped within the knowledge that I was painfully addicted to this vice, this method I'd been using for so long to cope with their deaths.
I finally nodded to show that you were right. You also nodded, the look on your face mirroring one I'd seen so many times I could puke. You had pity for me, but there was something else in there that no one else had. Hope.
"You can't fix me," I said.
"No, but you can fix yourself. I know you can."
"You don't know me," I argued.
"Yes, I do. I know enough, anyway. I don't need to help you; you can do this all on your own, but you have to want it. You have to face your issues and not use drinking as an excuse or a reason to hide yourself away."
I nodded again, but I didn't actually believe you. I mean, sure, it sounded good when it was said, but when it came to actually doing it, that was a different thing altogether. I knew better than to believe that it was an easy fix or that the road wouldn't be paved with horrible nightmares.
Still, the conversation lapsed and for the first time, I felt comfortable in my own skin. That was a unique thing to feel for me. You knew my secrets and you didn't run away. I didn't run away. Hell, that was progress for me. I know it was for you, too.
"You stood up to your family really well back there," I said.
You smiled softly, and my heart melted. I was beginning to feel things I hadn't in a long time, since I had been married. I never thought I would feel anything again, let alone romantically.
Then, it happened. We both leaned in together, and our lips met. The kiss was short, but a jolt went through my system I had never felt before. It was like we clicked suddenly into place, both flawed and both perfectly damaged.
When we stepped away from one another, you glanced away shyly and I laughed.
"What?" You turned to look at m
e again, the flush in your face giving you away.
"Nothing, just that blush looks good on you."
You laughed as well.
The perfection didn't last long enough. I know that now. I would have given anything for a few moments longer in that memory, but we didn't take the time. That night, I went home alone again, but instead of drinking, I found myself energized and ready to get to work.
I wouldn't say the cravings ever went away, but they were tolerable when I thought about you. I worked through the nausea and the shakes, reminding myself that my body would adjust and slowly heal, as long as I didn't fall off and take to drinking again.
A week passed, and we shared cherished moments in one another's arms. It was heaven, and I couldn't wait until the next time I saw you. We were a force when we were together, the electricity palpable.
And then you were gone, just like that. I went over to the house one day and you were gone. Your car was gone. There was no sign of you anywhere, and the calls went straight to voicemail.
I was hurt, betrayed, and so, so angry. I drove to the bar and drank myself so deep that I blacked out and wound up in jail again. I secretly hoped to see you, but you never came. Sheriff Halstead held me until I sobered up and released me with his usual look of disappointment.
I went home and tried to call you again. I found myself wishing you would show up or call me, but you didn't. I couldn't understand why you would just vanish like that, no contact and my calls unanswered. We had parted on good terms that last night, with promises to see one another the next day.
It wasn't until another week passed that the sheriff showed up at my door with a deputy in tow. "We have some questions for you," he said. They asked me all sorts of questions about you, like when I'd last seen you and were we fighting? I didn't understand at first, still a little fuzzy in my hung over state.
Phrases like, "You were the last one to be seen with the victim," passed the sheriff's lips, as well as, "Not seen for the last two weeks now."
I wasn't the only one missing you, but did you know you were missing? Or had it been intentional? No one knew anything. The police didn't find any foul play evidence, and I was one of the suspects. I could understand that; according to them, I was the last one to see you before you were reported missing by your cousin.
Author's Torment Page 7