he aches
When Diana's parents first ring, he doesn't know whether to be glad or mad.
He's glad. Of course he's glad. When he'd finally realised that Diana was actually gone—properly gone and not just disappearing for the night—he'd pictured her wandering the streets, cold and alone. He'd envisioned her stumbling into alley ways. He'd seen strangers taking her by the arm, dragging her into dark corners as she kicked and screamed. He'd been sure she'd die without him.
"Diana's come to stay with us for a while," Diana's mother is saying, her voice clipped. "Dan, she seems very unwell. You really should've told us sooner. If we'd known things had gotten so bad…"
Dan's brain short-circuits. Because of course Diana's parents are blaming him. Because of course they think they could've helped her when he couldn't. He's finally hearing the words he wanted to hear—that Diana is safe, god damn it—and all he can see is red.
"Things weren't bad," Dan snaps. "She was fine. She was."
"Things were bad, otherwise you wouldn't have forced her into electric shock therapy!"
It's like a cold bucket of water.
"The doctor recommended it," Dan says weakly, unable to find the words to defend himself. Why does it always sound so much worse when someone says it out loud? "And it did help. You wouldn't know because you weren't there, but she was good. She was good for a while, after…"
He can feel Diana's mother bristling through the phone. "Yes. Well, she's not good now, is she?"
"No." It feels like a confession. "No. She's not."
His mother-in-law seems to take it as a win of some kind and immediately begins to prattle on about her care plan for her beloved daughter. Daily walks, fresh air, organic fruit. Dan wonders if she found the same online list of faux cures that he did a decade ago. Still, he can't find it in himself to tell her that he's been there and done that. And, spoiler alert, none of it fucking works.
He cuts in. "Do you think she'll come home?"
There's a beat of silence.
"Not today," Diana's mother says finally, sighing. "One day. But not today."
And in that moment, Dan knows that he isn't glad or even mad. He's just aching. He's always aching.