We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight, and yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home
(C) 1994 Alice in Chains, song: Nutshell, album: Jar of Lies
#
She walked past the old gate, took a few steps down the stone path.
It was even more humble than she remembered it. The pale orange paint, chipped, but still stubbornly covering the short walls surrounded with the lush-green shrubs. Had it always been so small? The building seemed half the size of what she remembered it to be.
But one thing was exactly as she remembered it. The paralyzing emptiness settling in her gut.
December here always felt like this, the last week of it especially.
How come a memory can come to life like that, so vivid, after all those years?
And many years had passed since her stay here, but here it was now, welling up in her chest, that one memory; the one feeling every Christmas here was tainted with. And maybe not just hers; maybe other kids felt it, too. Maybe it was what everyone thought, just no one said it out loud.
Or maybe it was just her. And maybe it was stupid; she'd used to ridicule herself for it even when she was just seven or eight. But it was like a spell. The feeling that, somehow, Christmas was that magical deadline after which the world ended, painfully so. It did end differently for some; for those of the kids who found a family that wanted them, before Christmas; the kids she never saw afterwards. And envied them deeply, for years.
Till she turned sixteen and decided to stop giving a fuck and realized that, if she wanted a change, life was to be taken into her own hands.
Little had she realized where that decision would lead her over the following years.
And that, in the end, it would lead her straight back here. And that, thinking about who she'd turned into when she left this place, would feel this way; like a stab to the chest.
But maybe it was what she needed now.
Let this hurt take over, let it silence the other one.
The one that'd been eating at her for the last two months, like a virus; and twice as strong for the last couple of days, ever since she found herself facing a decision she didn't want to face just yet. Because it didn't concern just her. But reaching out to him meant ripping open the wound that was only just starting to heal; imagining his reaction to the news — it gave her anxiety she hadn't felt in a while.
She looked at the old, rundown, wooden door, thinking that she was about to knock on that door, wondering if the face greeting her would recognize her — did she want them to? Was the Mother still around? She both hoped so and feared it.
Why did she come here? She hadn't given it a thought until now, she just — got in the car, drove twelve hours straight, and here she was.
She could just go back. The car was right behind her.
And then, it was too late. Because, right after the thought crossed her mind, the old, wooden door creaked open, revealing the breathtakingly familiar face, adorned with a net of wrinkles, eying her up and down, stark disbelief etched all over the stern but warm features.
"Mother Ines…" she whispered, stepping closer, her tears falling when she saw the warm, hazel eyes were filled with them, too.
"I prayed for you, my child…"
She grunted softly. They knew. Of course, they knew. Everyone in this side of the country must've heard about her.
"I never stopped believing in you."
"Well, you were wrong," she said bitterly, her chest tightening when the warm, wrinkled hands closed around her own.
"I wasn't, my dear. You coming here means I wasn't wrong."
"If you knew everything, you wouldn't even look at me," she said, swallowing her tears.
"The Lord will judge that, not me. And you saying that, means you regret it."
"Regret won't undo any of it."
"No, but you can atone for it with what you do in the present."
"It's all I've been trying to do for every single day for the past ten years, believe me."
The woman in front of her pressed her lips together and sighed deeply. "You know… that look in your eyes… the one you have now… you always had it whenever one of you moved out. I only understood when you ran away."
"I'd always think I would be next." She huffed bitterly, her vision blurring. "Till I knew I wouldn't. And I was done waiting."
"I'm sorry, my child…"
"There was apparently something wrong with me back then already; people sensed it. I don't blame them." She exhaled bitterly, old resentment rising in her anew. "My own mother didn't want me."
"Lisa — your mother gave you up right after you were born, she was—"
"I know who she was." She huffed under her nose. Her mother; some teenage junkie who couldn't care less about the child she brought into the world.
With a little grunt, the elder woman leaned down and turned on the rusty, metal tap protruding from the wall next to the door, causing the water to stream down into the ceramic jug waiting underneath, making her smile at the memory of how she'd used to do the same chore on daily basis.
"Your mother, dear… she was young. And lost. She wanted a good life for you, and she knew she couldn't give you one herself."
Instinctively, she covered her belly with her palm, tears about to spill down her face at the irony of it — because really, what kind of life could she give this child? She wasn't much better herself. What kind of mother would she make — a criminal and an addict — not in a while, but — the daemons she was sure had long been dead, were still there, pulsing deep down, it was time to stop fooling herself it wasn't the case. Maybe, ironically, the best thing she could do for this kid was to disappear from their life. Maybe her mother did just the right thing.
Would he let her give up the baby? She couldn't see him wanting it; he likely wouldn't stop her.
Maybe it was for the best. What kind of parents would they make? People like them shouldn't start families.
When she blinked her eyes open, she was standing there alone, the old, wooden door wide open in front of her.
For the first time in her life, she didn't have to walk through it, and yet, for the first time ever — the urge to get inside was almost desperate.
She walked over to the jug, watching the several last, lazy droplets make ripples on the otherwise still water surface.
Funny, how, unlike how she remembered it, right now it weighed close to nothing.
#
"Anything I can help with around here?" she smiled as Mother Ines was ushering her into the kitchen.
"With cooking — I'd rather you didn't." The voice laced with smug amusement reached her.
"That's a relief." She raised her brows, warmed by the old-time joke. "But that's not what I meant."
"You know there's always something. Depends on how long you're staying, dear."
She put her hands on her hips with a sigh. It wasn't something she'd thought about. Somehow, the perspective of leaving made her heart heavy. "I don't mean to impose. Unless I can make myself useful."
"Well, for starters, you can get acquainted with this handsome gentleman," there was a short pause for a cough, "and keep him away from the kettle until the tea is ready…"
She glanced towards the doorway behind her where, wide eyed, stood a pouty-lipped little boy of four, maybe five. She didn't know why her chest tightened so much; not at first. It was only when her eyes fell on the full little lips and the curly mane of dark hair that it struck her, of whom the face reminded her of. Half-consciously, she pressed her palm to her stomach, lump growing in her throat till her vision went blurry.
Her eyes fell on the toy tucked under the boy's arm. "And what have we got here, huh?" she asked, crouching in front of the pouty face.
Hesitantly, the boy handed her what turned out to be a teddybear. "He's hurt," he pointed out sadly. And indeed, one fluffy arm was hanging by a thread, the other one missing entirely.
"We'll fix that right now, how about it?" She smiled, her mouth quivering slightly at the sight of how the boy's little face lit up, deep-brown eyes widening.
"Really?"
"Wanna bet? It would help if you got me that missing arm, though."
"Why are you crying?"
"Just something in my eye." She wiped her face, and, instinctively, glanced back. And met the kind, warm eyes that just beamed at her knowingly, no questions asked.
"The sewing kit is in the red cupboard," the smiling voice announced behind her back.
It was much later that day, long after the teddybear got both his arms tightly fixed back to its chest, when, sipping on her already cold tea, she wondered what to do with the rest of the night, and got brutally snapped out of her thoughts with one short sentence that slashed through the evening quiet of the empty kitchen like a whip.
"You're with child."
Speechless, she looked towards the sound of the voice, her eyes meeting the warm, hazel ones.
"It wasn't hard to figure out, dear. I knew it when I saw you with Marco."
She swallowed and cast her eyes down; feeling like she used to when she was a child and did something she was ashamed of. And, just like back then, the warm, rough-skinned hand covered hers, and the feeling intensified, and then faded, a moment later.
But she didn't feel like talking. And she knew this was exactly what was going to happen, unavoidably.
"You're scared."
She inhaled slowly, the whirl of emotions in her chest. "I wouldn't make a good mother."
"It's not my place to judge, but — the very fact you feel this way, dear, it already makes you one." Then, of course, the inevitable followed. "What about the father?"
"He doesn't know. It's better that way."
"Is it?"
With effort, she drew a breath in, batting her eyelids to clear her vision. "He's — not right for me. He's… almost like a ghost from the past."
"Reminds you of—"
"—of what I don't wanna be reminded of."
"Lord puts people in our path for a reason. Maybe this is meant to help you make peace with what had been."
"I can't… No matter how much I try, I can't…"
"Your soul has been saved, maybe it's your turn to help save one."
She let out a tired breath. Him in need of saving? It was her who needed saving, from him. What could she possibly save him from, and how? The way he was — it was who he was — for her, it was a part of her past she wasn't proud of, a slip-up, but for him — it was his essence. And the pivotal reason why she had to stay away from him.
"There is good in him. You wouldn't be conflicted otherwise."
She kept staring into the empty cup in her hands. "An ounce of good isn't enough."
"And how do you know how much is enough, dear?"
She sighed. "That's the thing — I don't…"
"How do you feel when you're with him?"
She let the air out noisily, her eyes welling up at the random snippets flashing through her mind. Strange; his presence did so much to her, and yet she only realized now — out of everything else when she was with him, strangely, ironically enough, the first thing she thought now — she felt safe. Like she was… home, somehow. Home she'd never had. Never would.
Her hand going over her stomach, she swallowed with effort, everything so crystal clear now, all of a sudden. Maybe she was wrong, maybe it was meant to happen for them, maybe he would — he should know. Regardless of anything, he deserved to know.
The warm hand squeezed hers firmly, a shade of a mysterious smile crossing the previously stern features, now softened by the rays of the afternoon sun flooding the room. "And here is your answer, dear."
#
Resting her back against the bathroom door, pulse racing, she clutched onto the phone, her mind empty, completely blank for a while.
She tried to stop blaming herself for that night but — for fuck's sake — out of all the stupid things she'd done this was the stupidest of all. And it was her who did this. He was being careful, and she just straight-on — lost her damn mind.
Well, it was time to face the consequences.
She unlocked the phone and scrolled through the directory entries till she found the one that made her freeze. She stared, her heart thudding; just like all the other times she'd done that over the last couple of weeks; way more times than she was ready to admit to herself.
She had been close, some of those times — her thumb would almost press dial — before she would put it back in her pocket, chilled by the thought it was a burner phone and there was no one there to pick it up, and then another one; of the reaction she was sure would follow if he did answer and heard the news. And that she'd rather leave it at that than hear him say it.
She flinched when the phone rang in her hand.
Seeing the caller ID, she pressed the red button instinctively. Alexis was the last person she felt like dealing with at the moment.
She frowned when a text came.
"That hunk you've been seeing — you might wanna be careful. Seems to have a thing for cops and the one he was fucking six months ago… let's just say when he got bored, there wasn't much left of her. Just thought I'll give you a heads-up."
Her reason screaming at her to take whatever left Alexis' mouth with a pinch of salt, her heart wouldn't listen, its violent thumping making her mind blank.
Her back slid down the wall till she sat on the floor. Her eyes closing, her hand went to her chest, the heaviness there spreading in waves; cold at first, then warm, hot, till it was hard to breathe.
"You okay there, dear?" the concerned voice resounded from behind the bathroom door, barely getting through the mad throbbing in her ears.
"I'm fine, I'll be right out," she lied smoothly, her throat pulsing as she wiped her face dry.