And This Is No Miraculous Life
You know that Jack will be back soon, back from his first night running the club without your help, and you want to do this before he returns. You always catch the discomfort and concern that darkens your husbands gaze when you bring out such an obvious reminder of such a traumatic part of your childhood.
He had tried so hard since the day he accidently learnt the truth. He had been stubborn and smothering and a comfort all at once. You do not think you will ever have the words to tell him how grateful you are for his love and support. The delicate beauty of the simple wedding ring is a constant glistening reminder that you are not alone, most of the time you are able to believe it. Your therapist would tell you that you had come a long way.
But no matter how hard he tried to understand Jack could not grasp why sometimes you let yourself dwell on the demons that have haunted you for so long. It was not something you completely understood yourself and you had often thought to yourself it is just another manifestation of how broken you are. Your father had only decided to give you the snow globe once he knew he would die and maybe you still couldn't break his hold over you.
Not so long ago in a moment of spontaneities strength or weakness, you were not quite sure which, you had explained memories you had spent so long trying to forget. You told him mostly fragmented pieces of feelings, moments that maybe meant nothing but stayed with you, distinctive as if they happened only days ago.
It had been the early hours of the morning. The sun brightening the sky just enough that you could see Jack's outline as he sat next to you but so his face was still bathed in shadows. You had not remembered the world around you ever being so silent as if the twilight could stretch on forever and warn of the coming dawn. Neither of you had been able to sleep.
With your gaze locked on your lowered hands you had held yourself still and contained. You spoke quietly but your voice was even. And you had found yourself telling him all about the games your father used to play with you and your sister. How you used to cringe in fear every time your father would tap the old snow globe that was usually locked away in his room. You recounted the smug smile on your father's lips and how your little sister had squealed in delight and how desperation had turned your mouth dry. You had squeezed your eyes tightly shut as you told Jack about how your father would always find you first and make you do things you were too young to understand.
You had been glad that Jack had sat in silence whilst he listened, only the uneven hitch in his breath betraying his presence. You had been so terrified at his reaction that every nerve was set on edge. And you had jumped in surprise when he touched you. You had opened your eyes to see his thumb gently tracing the white stretched skin that covered your knuckles. You still had not felt brave enough to look at his expression but the slight touch was enough to make you think maybe everything could be okay.
You could not quite believe it completely but everyone you loved knew your darkest secret and yet the world had not fallen apart. For a while things had been so terrible you did not think you could ever survive. But after the dust settled and your family stopped looking at you like a liar things had slowly got better.
You had been referred to a therapist and the people around you had been insistent that you actually attend the appointments. It had taken the longest time for you to let your walls down enough to open up to a stranger but the older woman had kind eyes and her neutrality was reassuring.
It was not until you were taught techniques to help when you felt panicked or reminded of the past that you realised just how crippled by it you had become. And even as you were slowly encouraged to remember the past that, most days you felt burring away in the deepest part of your soul, sometimes you started to feel like maybe you could survive with it being something done to you rather than a part of you.
There was a bottle of antidepressants tucked away in the bathroom cupboard but you had refused point blank to take them. You had tried self medicating with the tiny pills before and hated how numb they made you. For all the time you had tried to run away you know you always end up confronting your pain.
Sometimes you catch Jack or Roxy looking at you sadly like you are some fragile victim and other times you hate yourself for tainting them with your darkness but at least now you had hope. You had smiled uncontrollably on your wedding day and looked forward to the rest of your life with the man you love.
There had been many self-destructive moments in your life, most reflected in the tiny plastic toy that contained so much history. It was a connection to the disturbed man who had been your father. Archie had spoken about wanting to live inside the fake, picturesque snow globe to escape his own abuse. While it had not made you sympathise with him it made you want to throw up because you remembered thinking similar things when you were a child. Even now you struggled to accept the traits you shared with your father. And with the gift of a snow globe all of your own it was as if you could never escape.
Maybe the moment should be bigger but you are a practical person who is uncomfortable with big sweeping gestures. But in the privacy of an empty flat on a rather unremarkable night it felt like the right time. If you were more like your sister you would take the time to make a snappy little comment about how he lost and you had won but it doesn't feel right.
Instead you stand in the middle of the kitchen and wait quietly for the snow to settle. Only then do you let it slip through your fingers and fall to the hard floor. The sound it makes when it shatters steals the breath from your lungs and you stare at the mess it makes on the floor. The way the liquid slowly seeps outwards seems to correspond with an overwhelming sense of relief because you can still fight back, because you can survive every hurt he had laid upon you.
You are not foolish and you know the pain will not magically disappear no matter how cathartic the sense of release seems, but you will not turn away from any chance of happiness. You will not be held prisoner by an old ghost.
The sound of Jack's key in the lock reminds you of the time that has past while you stared fascinated at the jagged pieces around your feet. He calls your name as he shuts the door and you unconsciously tilt your head towards his warm tone.
He makes you feel proud every time you see him walking. He gets tired quickly and still needed a walking stick but the stubborn man had defied the doctors and started moving under his own power again in what had to be record timing.
The light in the other room flicks on and you blink at the sudden brightness and then Jack is by your side looking at you with confusion. When he catches sight of the mess around your feet his gaze darkens and shoots quickly back to read your eyes. For a minuet you think he is going to tell you off for not wearing shoes or wait for you to suddenly turn hysterical but then he swallows away the tension and you know he understands.
"Ron."
He doesn't say anything else as he extends a hand towards you. You take it, using it to steady yourself as you step away from shards of the past. You don't need to face it again and you trust Jack enough to clean up the mess you made.
"It's okay." You reply a sad little smile forming on your lips. And for once you truly believe it can be.