Authors Note- Just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed, I'm glad you're enjoying this. So this is chapter two, it goes along with Liby's chapter two- Facing Reality. Anyways thanks again for the reviews, and this chapter is a little shorter than the last one.
Side note- I don't have the third chapter written yet, I only have a paragraph. So I probably won't be updating until later this weekend, if not Monday. But I'll do my best to get a chapter out ASAP.
Chapter Two- Reality Sets in.
Soft music lulls through the darkened hallway. The only light coming from the room she's sitting in. Alone. Not exactly alone, not if you count the alcohol as a person, a substitute for a person really, at least in her case. Her vice, her dependency. I'm not sure when she started, maybe it never really ended. She had me fooled for a while, but she couldn't keep that for long. Sometimes I think I know her better than I know myself, better than she knows herself. Lately it's not as obvious. Hell for the past twenty years I've wondered, muddled over what went wrong. How I could repair it. God knows, for a while I wanted too. I tried my damnedest, but it all become to much. Too much effort, not enough reward. Nothing in return. We grew apart. We knew it was happening but failed to acknowledge it.
On nights like tonight, Christmas Eve, I like to believe that maybe, just maybe there is some hope for us. Subconsciously I know there is none. I'm not even sure there ever was, but as the music drains lightly through the mansion, and I hear her deep sighs from outside the door, I wonder if maybe there is some hope. Even a grain, a chance I could take her into my arms, sweep her off her feet. Make it all better. Her hair falls carelessly in front of her eyes, effortlessly she blows at it, not moving it an inch. She sits there, undisturbed nursing her beverage of choice, this evening.
My footsteps echo in the room, she knows I'm here. She knows what I'm going to try. She knows because this isn't the first attempt, as feeble as it may be, sometimes I think it's all I have left. Candles are sparsely placed around the room. A sanctuary type setting, protecting her from all harm. Leaving her to her own darkened doom.
She senses as I step in front of her, she gently lifts her head up to see my outstretched hand. A simple eye roll confirms what I knew was coming. She won't let herself give in, not even one night. She believes it's hopeless. She's right. There is no denying that. But for one night why can't she just let us have what we use to have. Take ourselves back all those years, when loving making wasn't required, it was something we did because we wanted too. Kisses weren't perfunctory, and love was real. I guess all is lost, for good, in her mind there is no resurrecting what is long past dead. I reach forward prying the mug out of the death grip she has on it. She watches as I hurl it at the fireplace, watching, satisfied, as it clunks against the back of the charcoal decorated wall, and eventually shatters.
Useless, fucking useless. She's right, there is no hope. Going back is not an option. She would rather sit and sulk, self deprecating misery is something she drowns in, yet drinks up like she downs that alcohol. Done without a thought. My love for her has never faltered, but we can't make it work. The rip is too large, a hole too severe. No amount of needles, and stitching will fix the tear we have made. Our love isn't mend-able. At one point I thought by having the kids we were keeping alive. Making out love tangible. We could touch them, hold them. Created all out of love... Some surprises, but we loved them, we loved the moment we made them. Always special... Always different. Now, now I can't claim to have those moments with her. Maybe they just aren't wanted anymore. It's too much, overwhelming.
"Daddy..." I hadn't even realized I walked up the stairs. I can vaguely make out Amy's figure in the dark. She rubs her eyes moving closer to me.
"Go back to bed, baby." I push her hair out of her eyes. She pulls me into a tight hug, nestling her head against my shoulder.
"What were you doing downstairs?" She pushes off of me, squaring her body in front of mine. As to corner me.
"Try to get some sleep... We have a big day tomorrow, you know Millie is still at that age-" I don't want to go into this with my daughter. One question leads to another, then another. Nothing is simple with Amy. This is hardest on her, she grew up in the 'perfect' family. She wants to still live that life. It's not possible. It never really was possible, or real. But I can't tell her that.
"What was the noise? I heard something, break, shatter..." Your mothers alcohol flying into the fireplace. That's what it was. Your mom is an alcoholic. She has been for as long as I've known her. It's her vice, it's what she goes to when she has nothing else. It grabs her by the throat and pulls her down. She succumbs to its bittersweet trance every time. Every fucking time.
"It's Christmas tomorrow and your sister will probably be excited. She won't be for long though, I think 14 is pretty much the end of it all... But when you were 14 you had all the younger siblings, maybe it was different for you... Still real. Still all the magic..." Avoiding an issue, an Abby thing. But right now I'm finding it useful. I can't talk to her like Abby can. It's not that I don't want too, but to me she is my baby girl, I can't sit her down and tell her how my marriage is falling apart in my hands, and I can't fix it no matter what I try to do. Not that I try anymore. I can't tell her that it's over and I know that, and Abby knows that, but I want to hold on anyways. Even if just for the sake of having something to hold on too.
"Were you guys fighting?" Fighting, ha. We don't communicate enough to fight. We can't fight. We just avoid each other. Harbour bitter feelings.
"Do you remember that Chris-"
"Daddy, please..." I have eventually adjusted to the darkness and I watch as her big brown eyes plead with me. Beg me for answers.
"Amy, just go back to bed. Everything is fine, your mother is fine, I'm fine." I can't even look at her as I lie. She knows it's not fine, but nothing is going to get better. She runs her fingers over her cheeks, trying to hold back the tears.
"Don't lie to me. At least with mom she is honest with me. You try to cover up what is really happening... You try to lie to all of us." Her voice heavy with tears, thick with anger.
"I don't lie- I try to protect you." I fight back. My voice solid and firm. We are yelling in a whisper, trying to keep our middle of the night disturbance as quiet as possible.
"From what? The truth? You can't protect us from life, dad. What's happening is happening. But I don't know how you can just throw away all those years of marriage there must of been some good times." She doesn't have a clue. She only saw what we wanted her to see. Granted she saw more than most people. But we had many masks. We put on shows for our children, kisses, hugs, hand holding. We wanted them to believe everything was okay. We wanted them to grow up with the perfect parents. The happy, loving parents. The parents neither of us had. Was that so wrong? Perhaps. Maybe we did more damage, then we did good. Showing that if you pretend that everything is alright it may just be. But we made a decision, we chose to do that, now we have to live with that.
"Amy- this isn't the time to go into this okay? There is no fixing-" I run my fingers across my brow, trying to stop the anger from fuming. I know a part of me is getting mad at her, becoming easily frustrated, because I have pent up anger towards her mother.
"There would be if you tried." I openly scoff at that.
"Tried? What do you-"
"I know you two, I know there was more between you guys... Just please remember... Remember when you got back together, if Africa couldn't stop you nothing-" Africa, oh please don't go there. Don't bring that up. Not again.
"Just stop Amy. I don't want, or need to relive all those moments. They weren't pleasant when I was living them, and they sure as hell haven't improved." I snarl, she backs up a bit, but her anger doesn't cease.
"Well maybe if you would just face the past-" I take a deep breath, turning my head away for a moment. I should have stopped this conversation earlier, I'm already afraid it's gone too far. I reach forward, pulling Amy's head towards mine. I place a kiss on her forehead.
"Goodnight. Go to bed, you need your sleep before you go back to school and go back to never sleeping. I remember those college days." I don't look her in the eye, slowly I walk around her, leaving her standing alone to ponder our argument.
"'Night." I hear her mumble as I descend into the blackness.
The room is damp, cold, empty, lonely. I stand in the doorway looking around, switching on the small lamp on my dresser, I pick up a picture next to it. One of the family. All seven of us. I always wanted a big happy family. At least I got one out of the two things. It's taken around Christmas, a popular time in this house. About ten years ago, everybody looks so happy. So... fake. My arm is around Abby's waist, that was probably the most contact we had made in two years, three maybe. After Millie was born the affection wasn't as frequent, not that it happened often before that. But it suddenly came to a halt. We didn't kiss, we didn't hug. Nights were spent on separate sides of the bed. Never touching, her back to mine, mine to her. Even when we were dating there would be nights when she couldn't sleep. Too much on her mind, be it work, then when we had the kids, it could have something to do with them. What ever it was, she would be up all night thinking, pondering what she could do to fix it. Drowning in a sea of worries, one she would most likely not be able to swim out of till later the next day. When I first noticed she was doing this, twenty five years ago, we would stay awake together. Talking some nights. If she wanted too, that was. Other nights I would lay there with her, silently watch her, watch as her brow would knit, then un-knit in concentration, trying to conjure up some great plan at how she could save the world. The world was still in chaos the next day and we were sleepless. But that didn't matter, not to me. As long as she knew I was there, I cared. Those nights eventually became too much for me, too much lost time. I became frustrated, irritated even, that she would be up at all hours of the night. I became good ignoring her presence. A few years after that stopped she suggested separate bedrooms. All I could think was 'separate bedrooms are not for happily married couples...' We weren't happy.
I crawl into bed, pulling the covers protectively around my neck, savouring its warmth. I reach over and turn out the light, surrendering myself to an ocean of blackness, allowing my thoughts to come alive, swarm me and eat me alive completely. My mistakes surface, and play on my nerves reminding me what a hopeless failure I am. Like a song in the mid night air, I can hear the words of those who thought I would fail, a constant pounding in my head. My fingers fumble with the dresser drawer. I pry it open, listening as it creaks along the tracks. Propping my body up on my elbows I reach in the dresser quickly recognizing the feel of the package on my skin. I smack it against my palm pulling out the tar filled paper. Clenching it in between my fingers I grab the lighter that I tossed carelessly on my dresser and spark it, illuminating the dark room. It catches immediately. I inhale taking in the tar and cancerous fumes. I don't care anymore. It was smoking or shooting up. I'm not Abby, I don't go back to old weaknesses like that. I can handle stress and pain better than she can. I wouldn't be surprised if she picked this habit up again, I wouldn't put it past her. She wrecks everything she works hard to accomplish. Drinking, smoking, us...
I stub out the cigarette and slam my dresser closed. Taking a deep breath, I prepare for another day of faking, faking my feelings for her. Acting like everything is fine. Fucking perfect. Everything isn't fine, it isn't perfect. The saddest part of it all is lying to my children, after teaching them never to lie I turn around and do it. Hypocrite. Well at least Jack won't mind. I actually think he enjoys watching his mother and I fake that we are in love. He once referred to our relationship as 'better than a soap opera, although the sex is probably not as good for you two... Soap Opera sex is so funny and dramatic. I wouldn't blame mom for not wanting to have sex with you... Look at your hair it's all grey-' The moment he started to run his fingers through my hair, I smacked him on the side of the head. He hasn't touched my hair since.
Thanks to- Froggiezaz, Angel Dust, Mrs Clooney, and Carby-Always. And as always thanks Liby for wanting to work with me... you rock! And thanks to anyone who is reading
(I will respond to reviews if anyone has questions or anything like that...)