January 14, 2013

One year after 'The Fall'

Manhattan, Kansas

It was always Lars that came to my rescue in the end, sweeping me up of the floor and into something reminiscent of normalcy.

I didn't always want it though and sometimes there was fighting; clawing, biting even and he would still pick me up and drag me home. The nights when we fought were the hardest I think, it's difficult to recall sometimes it's been so long… his smile though, oh his smile. Who could forget a pretty smile like that? Plastered onto the kindest face you might ever see in your life. Although bits and pieces of the past were slowly fading there would always be his friendly face to greet me when I close my eyes. I didn't want to forget Lars… I didn't deserve to forget what I wasted on weed and cocaine…

More often then not I wish I could take his place, wish that it was me buried six-feet under and not the kindest man I have ever known.

Sometimes life just isn't what you hoped it would be.

SHERLOCK!

He was here again, carrying me, whispering sweet nothings into my ear and brushing stray locks of hair back into place. Not that it mattered, crusted vomit and rotting foam laced a pearly crown around my cap, proof of the night I've had and the hang-over I would have in the morning. I knew he wanted the best for me and that it was hard for him to stifle the need to gag in lieu of making sure I got home safely. His expression was pained and disappointed, the feelings radiating from him miserable and unhappy, and it was my fault.

So why didn't I just stop?

Have you ever walked up to someone flying on methamphetamine and asked him or her to just, stop? Surely you would see the flicker of warning in their blood-shot eyes, the terrified paranoia to surge up their throat and visibily immobilize them. Stopping, there was no such thing as simply, stopping. How dare you even suggest it?

"You've got to stop this," his voice is low, cracking, barely there and I give an inaudible grunt in reply.

"You gotta stop this Sherry!" he says it louder now, loud enough that the prying neighbors could eavesdrop from their kitchens without being caught. But there is no one out tonight, they and all of their grandmothers were flooding Aggieville in celebration of post-game deliverance. I never did understand the hubbub over a silly foot ball game, throwing a ball back and-

"I can't keep doing this." – forth. Even under the duress of aching muscles my body stiffens and I clench my teeth to keep from biting my tongue. I don't want to hear this, he's slowing down, things are coming into focus-

"I can't always be there to pick you up off the floor anymore, Rod's going to school this fall and Abigail is sick under the stress!" His voice is trembling and I can feel the scalding kiss of tears, then I know he is crying. If it hurt him so bad then why was he saying it? Why didn't he just push it all under the carpet and leave it alone? That's what I did, don't look under my rug, don't look at me, and don't judge me. His arms are getting tighter as he holds me close, squeezes my like a father afraid of losing his child and suddenly I'm crying too. I'm killing him and I know it, driving a wedge between he and Abigail with my greed, preventing him from watching his kids grow up in my selfishness. A little more, just a little more time that's all I needed! Another month and I promise I'll be done!

"Month," I croak and he leans a tender ear toward me, "Promise.." I scrounge an ounce of strength to utter a promise I know I won't keep. Why did I say it then? Because I was tired of seeing him sad, didn't want to lose him. Lars was my anchor; he was the only thing keeping me from taking that last miligram of cocaine, or smudging that harmless extra inch of acid onto my teeth. What did I have if I didn't have Lars? My mind was fighting, struggling to disappear under a hazy cloud of ecstasy. The stringent pain in my chest the only remnant of reality left behind glazed eyes and I know he saw it.

He could see my pain, my hurts, and my wants. How many times has he looked into my eyes and known that I felt these things and pushed his wife away to rush to my aide? How many family reunions has he missed now because I was sick and feverish? How many football games, how many seasons, how many birthdays… the list was incredible. I choked on saliva and hacked, Lars shifted and hefted me so that I could rest on the upper half of his shoulder. I appreciated it, but didn't tell him so.

"Sherry I love you," He starts. I don't want to hear this; my eyes are stinging so bad.

"But I can't baby girl-" He's stopped, no don't stop! "I'm not doing this anymore, I have tried and tried to help you, to be there for you hell Sher- even Abby has tried helping you, last fall! And you just spat in our faces." He's so upset, his hold is tight, tighter than before and my skin is singing. "I promised your mom that I'd look after you, I promised your dad that I'd do my darndest to take his place and Christ Sherry I have! I've tried so hard and you just… you won't!" His hold his loosening, I can feel my legs slipping and gasp, muscles spasming into motion as lazy fingers scramble for support. He wouldn't leave me here, not here on the sidewalk, not now… he can't!

My feet are touching asphalt but my knees are melting into sludge and I feel like pudding as nothing greets me but air. There is no power in my bones, no strength in my joints to hold my own body as I slump unceremoniously to the ground. But he has not left me, he never does, Lars is crouching over me and checking for breaks. It's been awhile since he's done that and I know what it means.

"I won't be there next time you need me. I'm done with you Sherry. I've already told your mom," I wince, "And she understands." Why is he doing this…

"I love you girl, I really do. Like my own daughter and I hope that-" he chokes, swallows whatever he was going to say and stares wide-eyed at me. I'm too scared and self-absorbed to care why he stopped; only thinking that I was glad he didn't finish.

He's slipping forward, careful fingers going limp over my abdomen and sliding across the pavement to lay his weight on me. It's like I'm being crushed and my bruised lungs swell with an icy twinge as I attempt to breathe. He does not move for a long time, I don't know how long. He just lays there like a great, lumbering log, not a twitch of life to be felt or heard. How long did it take me to realize he wasn't breathing? I don't know really, only that the dirty haze of morning was just peeking over the trees when it struck me.

I didn't cry though, I didn't scream, I didn't struggle. Not that I could have.

The sky was beautiful and for the first time in a very, very long time I could see every color painted against the clouds in perfect clarity. A collage of soft oranges and baby pinks to dab at the cheeks of morning, even the trees donned cloaks of gentle gold around their shoulders, rising proudly to greet the sun.

Only then did I cry.

And for the first time since I was fifteen, I cried for someone else.

Note: Okay, revised the prologue because frankly the other one sucked. I thought it was okay but after reading it a few times I hated it, and now this. I like this a lot better, I've read it through a few times and I'm satisfied. I also find it easier to narrate from her direct point of view, better able to describe certain things.

You'll have another chapter here soon c: Thanks! R&R if you get the chance.