By a Thread

by R. L. Griffin

  “My name is only two syllables. I really don’t need a nickname.” Stella was wiping the dustpan off into the trashcan. Billy handed her another beer.

  “I like El. Short and sweet.” Billy commented.

  “Just opposite of me...” Stella said.

  “I like you already, El, you are one feisty bitch.”

  “Watch it asshole, you don’t know me,” Stella fired back.

  Patrick jumped down off the counter and sat back down in his seat at the kitchen table. “Here’s the plan. First, we’re going to go through all his things. You keep what you want, we give the rest to his family. Second, we’ll drink with you until you don’t want to drink anymore. Third, you go to law school and immerse yourself in all things law and get through it until you can act normal. Fourth, you’ll do what I tell you to do.”

  Stella was staring at Patrick with her mouth open. “The only one of those I agree to is number two. We will drink. A LOT!”

  Chapter Five

  Stella had been drinking since she got out of bed, which was around noon. It was five. She booted up her computer and went back to reading the comments people had left on Jamie’s website. All these motherfuckers, she thought. She knew Jamie was well liked and widely known in college, but since he died people had been coming out of the woodwork wanting to share how broken up they were over his death. No fucking shit. After guzzling another beer she threw the empty can near the trashcan, not even attempting to make it in the basket. The clang of the can hitting the tile made Cooper jump up and bark at the door.

  “You’re full of shit, Coop, that sound wasn’t even near the door.” Laughing, she clicked on one of the entries on the comment section of Jamie’s wall where some douchebag had written a story about him and Jamie that occurred over ten years ago. She typed a comment: hey d-bag, Jamie probly doesn’t even remmdher your name.

  Clearly intoxicated, Stella clicked submit before thinking or checking her spelling. She scrolled down to see a post left by a cheerleader from college about how much she missed him.

  Really, you miss him? Did you live with him? Were u negaged to jim. Cause I was bitch and I thinkn I miss him a little more

  Again, she clicked submit. This continued for another thirty minutes. By the time Stella had finished another beer she had commented on over thirty different posts on Jamie’s webpage.

  Rage consumed her, all these people making it seem like Jamie was their person to miss, their friend. None his real friends had commented on his webpage. His real friends were still reeling from the news of his death. They were still attempting to process the loss. The last thing they would be doing is posting bullshit on a website.

  The door slamming pulled her out of her manic attack on the webpage. Patrick walked up behind her, happy she was not in bed. His smile froze on his face when he realized what she had been up to for the past hour. Stella started to slam her laptop screen down but Patrick grabbed it, stopping her.

  “El, what’re you doing?” he asked, staring at the screen.

  “Nothing,” she said. Getting up, she went to the fridge and grabbed another beer.

  “You posted all these comments?” She could hear pity in his voice.

  Stella didn’t answer him, but turned up the beer. Patrick sat at the table and started deleting all of Stella’s rage-filled, grammatically challenged posts. He wasn’t quick enough deleting some of the posts, people were already responding in kind to Stella’s drunken rants. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he took a breath and deleted the remaining posts, and then deleted Stella’s entire Facebook account.

  “Why would you get online and make drunken comments to all these people?” Patrick rubbed his head with his hand.

  “Why not? Those motherfuckers don’t even know him. That one bitch saw him, like, one time and now all of a sudden she is going to miss him so much. People are fucking lunatics.”

  “You’re acting like an asshole,” Patrick said calmly. “You can’t get drunk and put that kind of shit online. You can’t get that back. It’s out there. Based on those posts, you are a miserable person who thinks she’s the only one who can mourn her dead fiancé. And you can’t even spell. Plus, your grammar is horrific.”

  He powered down her laptop, wrapped the cord around it, and without another word, walked into his room and shut the door.

  Stella felt someone sit on her bed. She glanced at the clock. “What?” she croaked.

  “I wanted to catch you before you started drinking,” Patrick said softly.

  Stella pulled the sheet over her body. “What?”

  “You start school in a couple days and you missed orientation. You haven’t bought any books. You cannot possibly be throwing away law school.”

  “Why do you care?” Stella was cantankerous on a constant basis since Jamie died.

  “I just do.” Patrick looked around the room at the boxes still packed all over the room.

  She turned over in her bed, facing the bathroom. “I’m deferring,” she said flatly.

  “What?” Patrick didn’t hear her.

  “I’m deferring, okay,” she yelled.

  “You’re not going? For how long?”

  “I deferred for a year. Now leave me alone.”

  Patrick put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. “El, get dressed and come with me.”

  “Patrick, please leave me alone. I want to stay in my bed today,” Stella begged.

  “No can do. Today we are going to shoot things.” He rose and headed up the stairs.

  “Shoot things?” She called after him, he’d gotten her attention. He didn’t answer.

  She pulled on black yoga pants, a T-shirt, a hat, and flip-flops that she found in the first box she opened and walked upstairs. Patrick pointed at her feet. “Closed-toed shoes please.” She spun on her heel and stomped back down the stairs louder than necessary.

  When she got back upstairs, she rolled her eyes at him from under her hat, “Better?”

  “Yep.” Patrick grabbed his keys and patted Cooper on the head. “Be back later, man.”

  Stella guessed she had been ignoring Cooper lately. “He’s a smart dog. Maybe he prefers you to me right now. Don’t get used to it.”

  They walked out to Patrick’s car. “El, we gotta get through this.”

  Stella opened the passenger door and sat down, silent. Arms crossed, she stared out the window and didn’t respond.

  After a twenty-minute trip in silence, Patrick pulled into the parking lot of a cement brick block building with a flashing neon sign. Before she read the sign, she looked at Patrick and said, “Are we shooting strippers?”

  Patrick laughed heartily, “No, but that would be pretty fun. Just targets today, killer.”

  “Oh, it’s a gun range.” Stella got out of the car and watched Patrick pull a black duffel bag out of his trunk.

  When they walked through the door, the man behind the counter smiled. “Hey, Patrick. Good to see you.”

  “You too, Ben.” Patrick guided Stella between racks of paraphernalia past the glass cases lined with all sorts of guns. She looked at them all. “We want to hit the range for a bit.”

  “You want to shoot any of mine?” Ben asked as he pulled out a set of ear phones.

  “Nope, I got it. I may buy some ammo though.” Patrick pointed out up a couple of boxes of bullets and Ben set them on the counter. After he paid, he led Stella around the corner and through a heavy sound-proof door into the range. He handed her the ear phones and pulled his own out of his bag.

  Patrick loaded the magazine of his Glock 37. He started to explain the gun’s features, but she wasn’t paying attention. He pushed her back a little and emptied the entire clip into the target at the end of the lane. He loaded the clip again.

  He handed Stella the gun, “Don’t point this at me or anyone else. Also, be ready, it has a bit of a kick.”

  Stella took the gun and walked to the center of the stall while Patrick pressed the button bringing the target bac
k to them to be swapped for a new one. She raised the gun to shoulder height, steadying her aim with her left hand. She hesitated to pull the trigger and Patrick leaned into her. “Just pull the trigger.” She did and the gun exploded, recoiling so hard it almost hit her in the face. Adrenaline rushed through her body. She looked at Patrick.

  “Shit,” she said with a smile.

  “Look at that, I knew I could get a smile out of you somehow.” Patrick stood behind her while she fired the remaining rounds out of the gun. He smiled as he pulled the target off the clips. “Nice aim,” he shouted, showing her the holes in the target centered on what would be a person’s crotch.

  “Ha.” Stella blew her bangs out of her face, put the gun on the counter, and grabbed the target. “I believe I’ll keep that,” she said.

  Chapter Six

  She and Jamie were in his car, driving up GW Parkway, and they were both smiling, windows down. Not a cloud was in the sky and a bright sun lit up Jamie’s face. He rested his arm casually on the passenger seat of the car behind her. He was wearing a light blue button-down and aviator sunglasses. The scent of clementines filled the car. Stella closed her eyes and simply drank in the warmth of the sun, his touch, and his smell. Her eyes shot open when she felt a wave of ice cold across her face. It was dark and Jamie was staring at her, not the road. She screamed as a Mack truck struck them head on. Jamie’s arm fell lifelessly behind her, coming unattached at the shoulder. His body and face struck the windshield, and slumped back into her lap. Blood was everywhere. Stunned, she froze with her hands up, covered in his blood. She couldn’t stop screaming, screaming his name. She couldn’t stop shaking...

  “STELLA... STELLA!” She looked around in a panic, trying to locate the voice yelling at her. Jamie was dead in her arms. DEAD. “STELLA, PLEASE!” A slap across her face woke her up in an instant. She was drenched in sweat and still screaming. Her entire body shook violently. Patrick’s eyes were full of concern and he pulled her into his arms. “Shh, it’s going to be okay. Shh...” Patrick stroked her hair over and over like she was a frightened kitten. Stella couldn’t protest. She was back in the car with Jamie.

  “Pat...” she croaked.

  “Shh,” Patrick pulled her into his chest tighter. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

  Stella let herself collapse into his arms and howled until exhaustion took over and her muscles relaxed without protest. Stella didn’t know how long she’d slept but when she woke, Patrick was still holding her tightly to his chest. It was the first time she had been able to get a few hours sleep without having a nightmare.

  “Thank you,” she whispered awkwardly.

  Patrick nodded and sat up, putting his feet on the floor. He sat staring into the closet with his elbows on his knees. Breaking his stare away from the empty closet he put his head in his hands. “El, it’ll get better.”

  “You going to hold me until it does, Patrick?” Stella got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, not looking in Patrick’s direction, and shut the door.

  “If that’s what you need,” he answered. He rose from the bed and went upstairs.

  Stella got into the shower, turned the water on as hot as it would go, and crumpled to the shower floor. She curled her body into a ball, feeling empty. Numbness spread across her brain and body. She welcomed the numbness. She stood up, washed her face and her hair for the first time in over a week. This is better, she thought. Numb. If Stella could just hang on to the numbness, she could make it through the day. This would be her life now, making it day by day without feeling. This was her plan. She had a plan.

  Stella started drinking around 9:30 am. She sat on the couch, Cooper right next to her. Disgusted, she studied her new house. The den was a small cramped room that barely fit the couch and a chair. It was painted a bright teal that reminded her of a sorority from college. The coffee table was covered in old fast food wrappers, dirty plates, empty beer and soda cans, and there were four pairs of shoes scattered on the floor. There was shit everywhere. These fuckers are disgusting, she thought.

  The kitchen table was covered in newspapers, dirty plates, and books. She’d be damned if she was cleaning up after these pigs. She’d only been living with them a couple of weeks, and most of her time was spent passed out, but when she was conscious the house was repulsive. Grabbing another beer, she walked down the stairs, promptly followed by Cooper.

  Plugging in her iPod, she selected the Dave Matthews Band and started pulling clothes out of her boxes, hanging them in the closet, or putting them into drawers. There was plenty of space now that she wasn’t sharing closet space with Jamie. She went back upstairs and brought down the whole six-pack of beer so she wouldn’t have to keep climbing up and down the stairs.

  Cleaning out her boxes, she hung posters on the wall, put out pictures, and filled her bookcase. When she was finished with the boxes of books, she walked upstairs to get another six-pack of beer. Back downstairs, she sat on the floor and touched the spines of the books. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Jamie’s face, laughing with her. She could still feel him touching her, loving her. How could this have happened? They were on the brink of everything they ever wanted. A wave of nausea hit her suddenly, and she barely made it to the toilet before throwing up more than a few beers.

  When her stomach was finally empty, she’d passed out on her bathroom floor, face flat on the tile. Stella felt a nudging against her face, then something wet and warm on her cheek. Opening her eyes slowly, a big brown nose came into focus. Cooper was sitting next to her on the bathroom floor licking her face.

  “Hey, Coop.” She sat up and leaned back against the bathroom wall. “Pretty fucking bad, huh?” she asked Cooper, already knowing the answer.

  Stepping into the shower, she wobbled several times, and had to brace herself against the wall. She stayed in the shower after bathing, trying to shake some of the cobwebs from her brain. Her knees were weak as she walked upstairs after her shower. Billy was at his usual station: the couch, with a video game controller in hand.

  “Where’s Patrick?” Stella asked from the kitchen, skipping any small talk or pleasantries with Billy. She stared into the fridge, trying to decide between water and beer.

  “Not home yet,” he said without looking up from his video game.

  As if on cue, the door flew open and Cooper ran to greet Patrick.

  “Hey, Coop.” Patrick rubbed all over Cooper’s fur. Cooper couldn’t contain himself. He wiggled and danced around Patrick’s feet in happiness.

  “Okay, so you both are here.” Stella shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t stand the mess here. I know I’m not clean, but shit. I don’t understand the point of putting empty cans on the counter right next to the trashcan, but not in the trashcan. I can’t live this way. If we don’t get a maid or something I’ll stab you both in your sleep.” She grabbed a beer.

  “Well, how do you fucking do,” Patrick answered.

  The more time went by, the more broken Stella felt. She couldn’t seem to push herself to function, other than what was forced on her by Patrick. Insomnia had taken over her nights and she felt like she’d been awake since Jamie died, give or take a daytime catnap here or there, or when she was able to pass out from drinking. Everything reminded Stella of Jamie. She couldn’t escape his memory. When she heard Patrick’s footsteps upstairs, she glanced at the clock, swallowing the six-pack she started earlier in the day. She put the empty beer in her bathroom trashcan, before Patrick could see her with it.

  “El,” Patrick yelled from upstairs. “I work all day the least you could do is make me dinner, woman.”

  Stella steeled herself, tried to put a somewhat pleasant expression on her face, and walked up the stairs. “Obviously, you have me mistaken for someone else.”

  He opened his bedroom door and threw his bag inside. “What do you want to eat?’

  “Whatever...”

  “Let’s go then, there’s a bar I want to check out.” They walked outs
ide and down toward the river.

  After several blocks, Stella glanced down at what she was wearing. If she cared, she would’ve been embarrassed by her stained tank top, yoga pants, and flip-flops. She had on no makeup and her hair was piled in a knot on her head. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t even opened her makeup bag since Jamie died.

  As if he could tell that she finally realized how unkempt she appeared, “Oh, you look real good El,” Patrick said sarcastically.

  “Like I give a shit. You’re the one who should be embarrassed.” She pulled her bra straps up on her shoulders so that they would be hidden by her tank top, surprised she even had on a bra.

  “I’ll never be embarrassed by you, El, but it would be nice if you put real clothes on.” Patrick was walking briskly toward the busy area of Old Town. “It’s a casual place, you should be fine.”

  Patrick took her hand as they walked into a bar called Finnegan’s. He led her to a bar stool at the end of the bar. “Well, this is progress, right?” Stella asked, thinking it was a good thing she already had six beers to get here.

  “Progress.” Patrick said and nodded in agreement. A woman walked up to them and Patrick ordered himself a Guinness and a Snakebite for Stella. Stella briefly glanced around the bar. It was dark, with worn cherry wood everywhere. There were only a few patrons. The bar was shaped in an L, with tables and a stage in the middle of the room, opposite the bar. “Billy’s meeting us here in a few minutes, which means he’s probably had a rough day—which is saying something because Billy never has a rough day.”

  “I’d like to switch my life for his.” Stella didn’t even look up when the bartender put her Pilsner glass in front of her. Patrick said thanks for both of them. The crisp taste of cider and lager mellowed her nerves as she took another sip.

  Billy walked in and slumped onto the stool next to Stella at the bar. “Really shit day guys.”

  “What’s up?” Patrick waved at one of the bartenders.