TLS (The Lemonade Stand) Flash Fic 5/10
Prompt: www. tehlemonadestand ?zx=ded546cc92287a41
His wife died. Her husband did the same thing.
Car accident. This big pile-up on the one-oh-one.
They left them to fend for themselves.
If only she hadn't told him to hurry up and get home.
If only he hadn't fought with her that morning.
Their hearts were open and full but then their hearts were ripped out of their chests and all that was left was a gaping hole and inside that hole a constant ache.
They were told to try a support group, because alcohol and pills weren't the answer. His sister made him go. Her therapist strongly suggested it, after her own accident. "Just go once, twice," is what they said.
It'd taken four meetings for her to say anything. He listened to some of it.
After the fifth it'd rained, asphalt glistening beneath streetlamps. He sat on the curb outside the church, smoking. His pack was almost empty. He ignored the others as they dragged by to go to empty homes. She stopped and bummed a cigarette, and then they went to a bar.
Support Group.
Bar.
Their routine for weeks until they quit group.
They said fuck it and drank at home.
They did this for months, a year.
He stayed over. Her sheets smelled of him, distracting.
His sister loathed her. Said, "You're not moving on."
Her therapist said, "It's self destructive."
They closed the door on the sister and the therapist.
Numbness stitched up holes that choked.
They had their unspoken rules. Knew what they needed.
Another year and they still functioned. Still had jobs. Paid their bills, taxes. Ate.
They had rules.
Naked backs touched. "Lie to me again," she whispered.
"I love you," he said.
"Now the truth," she said, phantom heart thumping.
He couldn't breathe. "I really don't."
"Me either."