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A/n: This was just something I wrote while I was sick. Yeah, it's kinda depressing in some parts, but it's what was in my mood. Please review. Song is Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss.
Disclaimer: Don't own Class of the Titans, but I do own the first DVD of it. But that's about it.
Warning: Mention of suicide, and psychological demons. So if you don't like that type of thing, don't read it. It might be kinda weird.
Rain fell, fogging her windows as she drove, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned a deathly shade of white. Puddles littered the pavement, and a substantial mist clouded the air. Turning into the New Olympia cemetery, she parked the convertible and climbed out.
She was the only one there. Headstones poked out of the ground towards the sky, fingers pleading for another chance at life. Mud oozed between her toes as she walked, barefoot, through the silence, among the stones, looking for a certain one. No birds chirped; no sun shone. Everything was a dreadful quiet, as if nature were holding its breath waiting for something horrible to happen.
Finally, she came to the gravestone she had been looking for. It was tiny, with only a few words engraved on it: A Hero You died, and as a Hero You Will Be Remembered. We love you Jay. Her green eyes filled with tears, but they did not trickle out onto her cheeks to mingle with the remains of the ones of long ago. It had been ten long years, ten harrowing years of trying to forget. But her futile efforts had out an immense strain on the capacity of what she could handle, and now she was searching for a way out of life.
She had tried everything to help herself forget about what she had done: she had tried drugs, love, jobs, and even marriage. But everything had fell through, failed her like she had failed him. Memories jabbed at her brain, and she couldn't stop herself from letting them dance before her eyes.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked angrily. "You just accepted a job in the army?" Anger coursed through her veins, and she couldn't stop herself from throwing her hairbrush at him. "I don't want to move around all the time!"
He dodged the hairbrush and walked towards her, arms out to envelop her in a hug. "Honey, we'll make it," he said soothingly. "But it was the quickest way to get a job so we could support the family." He rubbed her swelling stomach, and for a moment she relaxed. But then her anger flared up again.
"But you didn't even consult me!" she cried, pushing him away. "What am I, just a possession you can lug around at will?"
His brow furrowed, worry lines knotting above his eyes. "Theresa, don't be like that. You know that's not true."
"Bossy now, aren't you?" she yelled. "Well, you won't be doing that anymore!" She rushed to her closet, dragging out a large suitcase, which she began to fill with clothes. His eyes widened in alarm.
"What are you doing?"
She didn't answer, just kept rhythmically packing her necessities. Then, once she was finished, she stalked out of the room, throwing a note on the dresser as she did so. Trembling, he picked it up. It read: I'm filing for divorce. He looked up, jaw dropping, to stare after her.
Then he rushed through the house after her, begging, pleading with her to stay. But she was deaf to his pleas, her heart as black and cold as the clouds overhead. As she drove away in her tiny red car, he turned back into the empty house, reaching for the bottle that he had kept in the fridge for so long.
Ten weeks later, his best friend had found him with his face down in his pillow on their empty bed, a note addressed to her clutched in his hands. It had pledged his love of her forever. Everyone said his death was caused by alcohol poisoning.
She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby
The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby
Theresa gazed at the hazy sky, furious with herself. "But I knew better, didn't I?" she yelled. "He never would have touched that freaking bottle if it hadn't been for me! He didn't die of stupid alcohol poisoning. He died of a broken heart…" she trailed off, whispering. "Atlanta was right all along. She said he never would survive without me, and she was right. I failed him; oh it's all my fault."
Suddenly she began to sob, leaning on the headstone as if it could stop her from falling. But she was too far gone to save. Her soul was falling deep into the pit of despair and loneliness. She had tried so hard to be strong for her child, but she had neglected to be strong for herself as well. Her fingers traced her purse, where inside, a tiny bottle lay. It was filled with a strong golden liquid, and she swallowed. Breathing deeply, and then exhaling loudly, she could almost smell the rancid, foul odour of the whiskey on her breath from all the years of heavy drinking.
"You're a disgusting pig, aren't you?" said a voice, chilly and slithering, like a snake. "You're a murderess…" hissed the intruder in her brain.
She covered her ears with her hands, tears slipping through the cracks between her fingers. "Go away!" she screamed frantically. "You don't belong here!"
"But I do. You see, Theresa, I'm inside of you. I'm part of you. I'm the part of your heart that revels in the filthy, disgusting side of you. I'll always love you, no matter what."
"No you won't. Jay will, but you won't… you're a demon! You're the nasty thing, not me!"
"Who's the one who broke his heart?" demanded the snake inside her head. "Who's the one who drank her life away?"
"I'm not dead yet!"
"Ahh, but you will be! Because you're weak, aren't you? You can't fight the side that wants to win! You just want to give in, to let everything pass by… when was the last time you told your daughter you loved her? Never! You're an alcoholic, Theresa dear. You're selfish, vain, polluted…"
"STOP IT!" she screamed. "I'm strong! I am!" But as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. If she had been strong, she could've saved Jay. If she had been strong, she could've saved herself. If she had been strong, she wouldn't have walked out on the most important thing in her life. Twice. She had just left her daughter at home to come and visit an empty grave. Jay wasn't here. He was in the Elysian Fields, waiting for her to come home. But not yet. Not yet…
"You're not worthy to live," the voice whispered. "So go on, take a drink, Theresa. Let your worries wash away…" He didn't sound so cruel anymore. He sounded friendly, and soothing, and calm. She felt her gaze sliding back to the little pink purse, and the weapon inside it. She unzipped it and caressed the bottle between her fingers, feeling the swish of the liquid against the sides. Her grip on it tightened, and she brought it out of the bag. Unscrewing the lid, she brought it closer to her full, rosy lips.
"That's it, go on…" the voice encouraged eagerly, and her senses were keenly aware of the evil, but she couldn't care anymore. She just didn't have the will to fight anymore.
But suddenly an image of her daughter came into mind. Big brown eyes, just like her dad's, and braces in a mouth full of pearly white teeth. She had a huge smile, and auburn hair all her own. She remembered all the times she had said "I love you Mom," and all the times she had clasped her hand in her own and said everything would be alright.
"We'll survive this, Mom, just me and you," she heard her daughter say then, her sweet melodious voice a beacon in the storm.
"You're right," Theresa realized. "We will." Her voice was firm, as though she were standing on more solid ground.
"What? What do you think you're doing?" the voice shrieked. "Drink that whiskey now! Drink away you accursed life! It isn't worth the pain and effort! Drink! "
"I don't think so," Theresa answered, although her voice was still a tiny bit shaky and uncertain. "I can't; I mustn't." But he could hear the lingering reservation, and he pounced like a cat on its prey.
"Yes, you must!" Urgency could be heard in its tone, the sound of a demon failing in its mission to bring people to their dooms. "You must drink. Come on, Theresa, I'm your friend," it purred. "Drink." The command forced her to make a decision. As she thought once more about the little girl waiting patiently for her to come home, auburn hair in pig tails and eyes wide in anticipation as she watched through the large front window, she knew what she had to say.
"NO." Vigour surged through her veins, and she felt more powerful, in charge of her life. She took the whiskey bottle and poured its contents onto the drenched, lush grass. There would be no whiskey lullaby at her funeral. The voice gave one last fraught groan, before fading away into nothing, a demon overcome.
A golden glow settled over the churchyard as the sun peeked through the clouds, and the birds began to chirp once more. Doves cooed from the roofs of the nearby buildings, and the verdant trees towered overhead, providing a cool shade for the surrounding tombstones. Squirrels chattered from the treetops, and a chipmunk scuttled across the lawn, searching for nuts. Robins hopped around through the grass, looking for worms that had been forced from their homes in the soil to the surface by the rain. Everything was at peace, like a soldier coming home from a victory at war. There was no awkward silences, no demons coming to destroy your love of life and respect for yourself.
Relieved and vindicated, Theresa jumped to her feet and strode to her car, scooting in and turning on the ignition. She then drove towards home, never looking back, leaving the ghosts of the past behind her. They were nothing but memories now: she was a different woman than the one that had arrived earlier that morning. She was liberated from the cloak of guilt she had been wearing, and from the cruel drink she had called saviour. She didn't want to be a slave to the bottle anymore; she had thrown too much away already. The woman that was driving her car now was passionate about living. She wasn't timid to the hand of death; she had rebelled against the demon within her soul. She felt like a conquering hero.
"Don't you worry, my baby," she whispered to the picture of her daughter that was taped to her dashboard. "Tonight, Mommy's coming home alive, and we'll be a real family, just you and me. And someday, when we get to the Elysian Fields, you'll get to meet Daddy."
She smiled the first genuine smile she had had in a long, long time, showing her milky white teeth and the joy she had obtained in the morning light. No longer did the shadows of doubt haunt her. She was free.