Inferno

twenty four | the unwinding

I simply stare at the door.

Clutching the box in my hands, I'm afraid my clammy fingers will drop it on the curb, and relief only sets in when Elise answers the door, white blonde hair in a bun, and just a tad less than her usual chirpy, possibly waking up from a nap. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's good you came, or I'd end up sleeping too much and then curling up on the couch at night with a tub of Ben and Jerry's and some psychological thriller on the tv. Spoiler alert, it is easier than you'd think to go through the entire thing within just four episodes," she chuckles, turning towards the kitchen.

"I'll try and remember." Now that I'm here, I'm not entirely sure how to go about it. I can't place the present down, so I can't go up to her and at this rate, I conclude I appear a sad FedEx employee, blankly staring at her move around the house. It was this morning, when I was hurrying to get to office and she was whipping up egg whites for the French toast, that I heard her talking to one of her friends it seemed, saying there's no need to do anything big on her forty third. I didn't mention it at the time, hoping I'd find a decent gift by the end of the day, and somehow the faint picture of Delilah pointing to her clinic that night, and of all the plants hung by the window came back to me. She suggested me something and my gut said it was perfect for a nature aficionado like Elise, but now that I'm here, I'm doubting all those instincts. You can do this. "Happy birthday, Elise," I shout out from the other end of the room. The awkwardness of it grasps us both for a minuscule amount of time until we unravel in splits and pull open pretzels. cranberry juice, and wine for her, hopped up on the table seats, gladly unaware of when the night sets in.

"Thank you again, this is such a nice gift. The best one I've received today, in fact," she fawns over the assorted seed packets, the saplings, and the little care package for throughout the growth of the flowers. I call dibs on the violet geraniums and she doesn't seem to mind, scrawling my name in pen across the pack of same. I have been keeping a head count of the glasses she's dunked, and observing the stammering laughs and droopy eyes, she's definitely gone past four. "You really made my day."

"I'm glad." Chin in hands, smiling unreasonably for a sober head, I let my gaze travel around the house, a jarring absence noticeable to me since day one, but never materialising in front of Elise. "If you don't mind, can I ask why there aren't any family pic—"

I'm interrupted by her phone ringing, her content expressions taking a turn when she looks at it. "I'm sorry I need to take this," with that, she bids adieu and I can't help deducing something's wrong when her voice is audible out till the kitchen, and not in the way it does when she's humming to the radio playing whilst she's cooking in the morning. Our food parcel containing two sub sandwiches comes along meanwhile and just as I consider warming them up, there's the clink of the door, followed by Elise coming out. It doesn't take a lot, but merely a look at her for me to heave a sigh, never having imagined her appearing crestfallen. She sits at the table, but her mind is somewhere afar, I tell by her rolled fists and eyes stuck to the fridge magnets. I begin asking what's wrong, when she—her voice as dull as the frosty leaves in the garden—says it out loud, beating me to it. "I'm divorced." All the air's sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but vacuum in its wake. "Apparently, my husband thought there's no better day to break the auspicious news of us finally going our separate paths. To never return." The sincerity of her statements is refuted by the tremble of her words. Unsure of anything that'd even mildly make this better, I take to silence and seat myself beside her, hoping I'm warmer than usual or even just enough for portraying the support on the side. "I knew... I knew this was coming the day we finalised it in court, but I guess it became one of those things where you don't think it's really happening until it does. You'd think I have adjusted to living on my own by now, but every day that I don't have a family to wake up to, a son to look at and smile, someone to shout mom in that nagging manner, I break a little inside. It doesn't get any easier, and the regret only piles up with every occasion that I miss. High school graduation, degree ceremony, his first day at job, I've just gotten a picture to make with, not even sure anymore what all's been done and done without me there by his side. Every night before I go to sleep, I let my finger hover above his contact for a while, but I'm never able to go through with it, no matter how much it kills me to not. Because what'd I even say to him? I'm sorry I ran away, please forgive me and let me in like nothing ever happened." She resentfully scoffs, pouring another round of the burgundy liquid into her lipstick stained glass. "Except we'll always know it did."

I grip onto the sides of the chair, letting everything's she's said soak in and my horrid interpretation of it the only one making complete sense. "You left your family?"
"I ran away, Leia," the clearer she gets, harsher my head spins with it all somehow coming back to me like arrows shooting out of the dark. "I didn't think for a minute what I am sacrificing by giving into my fears of wrecking the family with my habits. So one tipsy night, after my son himself tucked him in for the night, I looked at a picture of ours at the mantle with broken glass. I didn't have any memory of dropping it, but worse, I was most definitely sure I was responsible for the damage. Something broke within me that day, and the next I know, I'm packing my bags, booking a taxi and leaving with only a note behind, stuck to the fridge magnet. I'm sorry for everything. You deserve better. Actually, I'm not even sure I was sober enough to get that right, but that's what my mind kept repeating to itself throughout the night."

"You... you were an alcoholic?" I fathom everything within to stay put together for this conversation, at least for once in my life.

"I was. Took me two years of therapy and cost me a family to realise the fact, but I got there somehow. Since then, it's only this 10% wine, and only once a month and on occasions. Not that there are many to celebrate, but looks like we've got one now. The day I got divorced," she scornfully looks at something on her phone, while I sit still, a big achievement on my part, for my insides are rattling.

I pick up a tissue paper from the pull out box in front, and a pen out of my purse on the side. It was 2014, I had coerced Mitchell into attending a community session, and he had only one condition–that I do it with him. At the beginning of that session, we'd all got a piece of paper and on it was written 'I'm addicted to, followed by a blank to fill. I starkly remember leaving the space as is, blatantly lying to myself back then, when I knew exactly what needed to go in there.

My name is Leia Callahan, and I'm addicted to pain.

A filler chapter shedding light on Elise and a little introspection for Leia... if you enjoyed reading, do comment. Would love to know you thoughts!