Damon takes a deep breath, stiffens his posture, and walks into the meeting. Why is it life takes him from one uncomfortable place to another? Allowing only a little shift between them. As hard as his body is urging him to turn around and run, he knows this is his best shot at truly making things right for himself and for her. Nowhere near ready to reveal his life in front of a group of strangers, he once again takes a seat in the back. His eyes drop to his now knotted and clammy hands, only drifting to the front when he hears a voice in the microphone.
"My name is Amanda. When I was ten years of age, I was given a glass of whisky and drank it straight down. It burnt and took my breath. Throughout my drinking years, I did not touch whisky again. At sixteen, I had my first experience of getting drunk. I used to work for a bottling company where my job was to put labels on bottles. I knocked off work one lunchtime and proceeded to join next door's bottle department for drinks. To this day, I cannot remember getting home."
Damon takes a breath at the familiarity of not remembering that night at the frat house.
"From the age of seventeen, when I met the man of my dreams or so I thought, until I was twenty-five, a nightlife of social drinking and the birth of my daughter kept me out of danger for a while. At the age of twenty-five, we moved and I got a job as a barmaid full time. Work was hard and drinks were free behind the bar provided you didn't get caught. I then started to show the consequences of my heavy drinking, the work, my housework, being a mother, my social life," she takes a drink of water.
"I was admitted to the hospital with DT's and hallucinations. I spent two weeks there and was discharged on medication. Back at my doctor's, I was told to go to AA, I refused adamantly, "No, I'm not an alcoholic". From there I spent the next seven years being a top-up drunk, bender drinker, social drinker, drying out on the wagon, then back to alcohol. I introduced myself to the morning drink. Beautiful food was bought for the fridge and my daughter and I ended up eating baked beans. Housework was neglected, and I decided all my friends were "full of bullshit". I was stealing money from the hotel when working part-time to support my drinking habit. My great aunt had died and an inheritance from her of $20,000, was blown in six months on so-called friends, alcohol, and good times," Amanda pauses for effect.
Damon's stomach is a ball of anxiety as he listens to the words pour out of her mouth. There are days his breath gets caught in his chest and then he knows his fears are gaining on him. He breathes shallowly in hopes of releasing the tension.
"Blackouts were now coming, thick and fast. A friend suggested I do something so I said, "I will try AA". Eventually, I walked alone into a meeting. "Keep an open mind," said one member to me. I saw the word "God" up on the Serenity Prayer and freaked. I had been brought up with a God of fear. I read the First Step and I couldn't accept it. I paraded around the floor when it was my turn to speak, hammed up my story, and lied. At the same time, I was hurting inside. I still had one foot in AA and one in the pub. So, I chose the pub.
That lasted three months. I ended up in a psychiatric hospital again with the DTs and hallucinations. My hair looked like straw, my teeth became yellow, my eyes were bloodshot and yellow, there was weight gain, no changing clothes for days, neglecting my daughter. I was always the last to drop her off at school and the last to collect her when it was let out for the day.
Then I discovered the yellow wallet that AA had given me with their telephone number in it, I rang the office. I gave the woman who answered a cock and bull story then broke down over a wine and soda beside me. She said those magic words "Come on Friday to the meeting". I sweated, shook for two days, and then walked through the door.
After nine months of sobriety, I found my own spirituality and I have been three years sober now. I read the Big Book and the 24 Hour a Day book, and yes pray for the sick, alcoholic friends in the fellowship and family. I love the Steps and Traditions. I thank the founders of AA, Dr. Bob and Bill W., for my life and the most important of all: meetings, meetings, meetings. My primary purpose is to help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety. I thank God for my life today. I am marrying a ten-year sober, beautiful man whom I love dearly. Thank you, AA. Without you none of this would have been possible," Amanda steps away from the podium and sits down, smiling when others reach over to shake her hand.
Damon startles when someone pokes his shoulder. "Sir, you're new here, do you want to talk?"
Dread pushes against him like an invisible gale. His stomach starts churning causing him to jump to his feet, dart around the guy, and run to the bathroom. After splashing some cold water on his face, he feels a little better. He opens the door slightly to peek through. Seeing the coast is clear, he slips out of the building and hurries to his car, not taking a breath until he reaches it. Leaning against it, he pulls out a cigarette.
A deep breath. Another. The pain, this feeling in his chest and stomach... there's no going back. No do-overs. She will never take him back. His fingers tremble around the cigarette as he lights it. Smoke blows out between his lips. The ash sprinkles across the cement when he flicks the filter as if each floating piece is a moment of his life being sheared away. He inhales deeply, letting the smoke seep into his cells. The comfort he aches for is nowhere to be found.
"You might say that," George pauses briefly. "It's Luke Parker. He was arrested last night in connection with the murder of Sophie Deveraux. He did a really sloppy job, Chief Jordan told me that, unlike last year, 'this time' they have more than enough evidence to convict him."
"He killed her?" Damon repeats, staring stone-faced at George.
"That's what I'm telling you."
"Oh God," he looks down, his heart thuds violently against his chest at the sight of his crimson-red stained hands. He tries to shake himself out of what he knows is his imagination but then the stench of blood floods into his nostrils making his stomach churn painfully. Ashen-faced, nausea claws at his insides as he stumbles out of the room. Barely making it to the bathroom, he lurches forward and sinks to his knees, losing his meager stomach contents. The pungent stench invades his senses as bile continues to dribble from his quivering lips.
As soon as he composes himself, he races out of the office, not stopping until he reaches a bar. Regret washes over him like the long slow waves on a shallow beach. Each wave is icy cold and sends shivers down his spine, knowing he's responsible for a woman's death.
It had been a long day at work. He had to see other clients and had to put out a few fires. By the end of the day, he climbs into his car shaking on the outside and screaming on the inside. Sounds, light, and smells are like battering rams to his senses and his internal pressure is reaching explosive levels.
He barely remembers how he got to the bar. All he knew was that he needed relief from the mental agony and the regret that was weighing on him so heavily. He orders a double bourbon and swallows it down within minutes. He gets another and it goes a little more slowly as he finally relaxes enough to fake a smile for the woman that sits beside him at the bar.
He tries to converse with her, nothing romantic just someone to talk to. When she leaves, he feels all the pressure from earlier and comes back tenfold. Some time and several drinks later he blacks out.
This is the first in a long line of drunk nights due to his unfortunate case.
Sipping on a glass of ginger ale, his feet spread on the coffee table, Onyx asleep beside him, he longs to go back and take a different path. But that's impossible, there is no way back, no way to make it right. Picking up a piece of rock he found by the beach, he rubs his thumb over its hard and lifeless surface, he can't help but envy the fact that it's unable to feel the torments of life.
Feeling the little cat stretch, he sets the rock down and pulls her onto his lap. Leaning his head back, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose at the toxic feeling that begins to well inside his mind... he's nothing more than a shadow filled with memories and regrets and everyone knows it.
The next day at work, he follows his route, stopping to visit with Mr. Clark, an elderly WW2 vet before moving into Elena's neighborhood. He goes house to house, sliding letters and magazines in their boxes, sometimes he has to go to a door to ask for a signature. It's just part of his day.
Having not seen her for a few days, Damon's a little nervous with anticipation when he reaches Elena's house. While dropping off her mail, he leans over to peek through the gap in the curtain but the house looks to be locked up tight. There's no movement inside.
Sighing, he closes her box and walks off, looking over his shoulder more than once till he's too far away.
Getting in his vehicle, he drives past Elena's school. That's why she wasn't at home today. She's standing right next to Kol Mikaelson, pointing at something or someone, and when Elena lays her hand on his upper arm, pulling him close to whisper something in his ear, Damon steps on the gas, not wanting to see anymore. Returning to the facility, he goes inside to clock out, nearly knocking Ric over in his haste.
"Are you okay?" he asks seeing an almost frantic look in his eyes.
"Yeah, I... I just need to get out of here, I don't want to run into Rose."
"Calm down, you won't, I reassigned her to North Bend, she won't give you any more trouble."
"Oh, okay. Um, thanks, Ric."
"Damon, are you sure you're alright? You seem a little I don't know, out of sorts?"
"No, Ric, I'm fine, I just need to get some air."
"Alright," he nods and goes back to his office.
Damon quickly punches out and hurries to his vehicle, careening out of the parking lot with such a sharp turn, that he's surprised he didn't roll the car.
"Damon, where have you been, I've been worried sick. I called the office... You're drunk," Elena's mouth falls when he stumbles, catching his foot on the carpet and landing face-first on the floor. She quickly moves to help him up but he pushes her away, insisting that he can do it himself.
"What happened that you did this?" she follows his staggering form, afraid that he'll tumble again.
"What? A guy can't go out for a little alcohol? I wanted to get drunk Elena, that's what happened," his speech is slurred as he reaches into the refrigerator to pull out a can of beer. "This is all we got?"
"Don't you think you've had enough?" Elena's getting angry now. He can see it in her eyes and the stiff set of her posture.
"Leave me the fuck alone and go to bed. I don't even want to look at you," he sneers, and teeters around her, collapsing on the couch when he gets to the living room. Looking up briefly, he sees tears in her eyes just before she runs up the staircase. He jumps at the reverberating sound of their bedroom door slamming shut.
As soon as Damon pulls into Enzo's parking lot, he runs inside, determined to fight. He wants it, no he needs it. Pain.
Enzo recognizes the look, and quickly moves to try to defuse the situation but Damon won't have it and lunges at his friend, knocking him to the mat. Knowing that Damon is too far gone, he throws his body weight behind the fist that edges closer to his face, it hits his jaw with such force that blood pools in his mouth. Pain erupts from the point of impact.
Damon lands drawing a little blood from Enzo's lip but then he draws his fist back again and it plows into his stomach, it feels like hitting a train head-on. His guts smash together, blood vessels bursting. Doubled over, he takes a few breaths, tries to stand upright, and goes in for another blow.
Enzo lands another fist against Damon's jaw; the impact is like thousands of venomous blades piercing his skin.
"Are you done now?" Enzo taunts, his fists raised and ready for more. There is blood on his knuckles, trailing from the corner of his mouth, and the first shadows of a bruise around his jaw.
Damon gets up. "Is that all you got?" he crows. Blood hums in his veins as he smirks infuriatingly at Enzo.
"We're done here, get cleaned up and we'll talk," he tosses Damon a towel and then walks into his office, slamming the door shut behind, the sound reverberating a deja vu, the same as it did that long ago night.
Sometime later, Damon raps on his friend's door and walks inside, holding an ice bag to his jaw. "I'm sorry, Enzo. I had a moment."
"Ya wanna tell me what that moment was about?" Enzo looks up from his computer screen.
He plops into the armchair and looks up at his friend, takes the cigarette that Enzo offers, and lights it up. Although it's hard to seal his split lip around, he inhales slowly, his system responding to the smoke, and he feels his lungs being wrapped by a warm blanket.
Just as he removes it from his mouth, he blows the smoke in the air carefully as if it were the aftermath of a kiss that aches to steal a life he is struggling to elude.
"Well?" Enzo prods him.
"Elena..."
After having supper with Enzo, Damon goes home. He tosses his keys on the countertop then leans against it palms down. Sticking his tongue out, he runs it along his damaged lip, grimacing from the sting. He can't help but reflect on the things he's done and now he's reaping the aftermath.
His pain is an ocean of unknowable depths, swift currents, and lurking beasts. Emotional sears so much deeper. It leaves invisible scars, yet they can be traced by the gentlest of touches. It isn't felt the way a cut or bruise is. No, this is much different and only he knows it's there, cutting his heart and mind in half, stinging with every breath he takes. And it's all self-inflicted.
Feeling Onyx rub against the back of his leg, he bends over to pick her up. "Hey cat," he starts to pet her. She meows and moves to jump down so he lets her go. Then he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket.
Picking it up, he sees who sent it. Holds his breath and opens the text.
"Sorry, I missed you today..."
Life's a bitch but hope is even worse.
Thank you all for reading. And thank you, Eva.
Chapter title: We All Fall Down by D-A-D.
Have a wonderful weekend.
