“sunshine,” she laughs, at last, — a cosmos call, an ethereal noise cutting through the darkness. she’s been waiting for him. rolling onto her back, she releases his hand, inhaling deeply. “we gotta’ get some of that, you know.” still in her denim and cropped wife beater, bangles ’n all, she jingles as she shimmies in his bed. they’d never be strangers again and they relished in that.
as if afraid for what she’d see, lew’s slow to slip her survey onto him from a peripheral drip. dandelion petals paint his eyes in places not meant to be touched by such vivid color. it’s not the charm of summer or the sun. it’s a sign of system failure, poison. her fear is confirmed.
”hey now,” crooning into the quiet, she moves onto her side and grabs his face a little more sternly than she intends, “— ollie…” the pitch of her voice doesn’t crack or demand. because shock, it’s useless - he’s been pocketing this from her and everyone else, she’s sure. carrying shame from his addiction like a fifty weight on his neck and the anxiety of having a world of doubt aimed at him. he didn’t want anyone to know, or pull him parallel to the man that gave him life.
a sad spatter of restless bodies, one afflicted, the other plagued by the fear of love not being enough, criss cross a mattress. there’s a bucket by the bed, black out curtains pulled in a rumple of overlapped haste. the environment speaks for itself. it’s the way the tide of addiction moves and plays monopoly with the mind. a furnace kicks with ‘ping!’s occasionally peppering the quiet. the bedding will need to be washed, laden with sweat and the smell of sick.
ollie’s half the tone he was last night, lips chapped from how the episode drained him. his veins scream from beneath the surface as overworked as blue can be. lew leans toward the edge, humming involuntarily as her eyes split, and just as instinctually, her hands move to feel his forehead, softly trail over the trauma’s exoskeleton. he shouldn’t be this pale. oxygen shudders from beneath his rib cage. her brow knits down from under a fuss of choppy blonde mane. a gray gaze flits back and forth over him.
“you’d tell me if there was more to it.” she says quietly, a prayer maybe to something unknown, while he sleeps. hoping out loud. but uncertainty sits in her gut. something is wrong.
one of his mitts gets pulled into hers, cradled by her collar as she settles back into the bed. they’d spent a lot of nights and mornings like this. sometimes only amid the moon and whispered secrets. sometimes completely silent. other times, with torrential pours of belly laughter and kisses. it’s different today, but all at once, it’s not.
it dawns on lew that the fantasy of tranced silhouettes and eternal love can be a knife just as much of a salve. she wonders, weight crushing the ease of her breathing, if she’s contributed to how he withers away.
she may have finally sold the last dream a lover could dream, taken them away from euphoria and into the clutches of a dependence that called all the shots.
“i don’t have to stay, i don’t have to dance on tables, and i don’t have to think the sky is blue.” a childish laugh erupts from her throat as she gives him a companion’s hug, the sort of embrace a mother gives to their child when the little one is first experiencing the agony an adult has faced dozens of times. it’s not ollie’s first voyage across grief or through the flood. but he doesn’t deserve to be alone. no, she’d never have that. “you’re gonna’ get better. you’re a good man now, ollie —“ his white knuckles gripping plastic punctuate the sentiment, “and when you do, you me and charlotte are gonna’ load up in the camino and go to coney island.” nails comb through his mop, opposite hand smoothing it all down and away, “everyone talks about that place, you know, and i still haven’t seen it. we could get some of those famous hot dogs and drink tall sodas until our teeth hurt and show baby charlotte the sea.”
his withered weight [courtesy of withdrawal and a life full of aches] pushes into her with hardly enough force to disturb the shape of her spine. there’s a storm raging inside of him. “i know, sweet boy, i know.” a thin arm snakes beneath him, and the other drapes at his back for fingers to petal over his shoulders in slow sweeps. the seismic shakes are felt against her skin, some of the saddest sensations to ever meet her own body. anyone else would have told him ‘char is counting on you’ or ‘this is the hardest part’ — but to lew, the entirety of that chewed up narrative was not only unfair, but abusive in its most basal effort. to use his child against him with a toxic positivity tip when his mind was fighting an uphill battle, or to insinuate there would be no other moments as difficult as this, was some evil shit. she reminds him again that she’s here. swipes cold sweat from the base of his skull where his hair begins to curl in its dampness. “this ache will be gone soon. you have to keep letting it go.” murmuring, she reaches to brace the bucket again for him.
“oooooh boy, another round huh? alri—“ with a strange swing of her body, lew catches ollie’s. a convulsion rides up his torso and only partially ends in a slosh of liquid. a ringed hand and chipped manicure works sandy colored thatches back from his glistening hairline. lew sort of rocks him over her knees, balance only accomplished by expertise garnered through table dancing and squatting for hours and swearing at an antique vehicle. a splash of bile hits her boots. “okay, yeeep — just let it go.” scrambling, lew grapples for an empty waste basket whilst juggling. "that's it, there ya' go." propping it next to her legs. finally she abruptly plants herself on her ass, dropping a few inches with ollie in her lap as she aims the container towards him. “ollie, we gotta’ get you past these kind of nights.” cooing, she continues to smooth his hair, “we’re gonna’ —“ his nauseous whimpering makes her sigh, an empath’s pain shared. she knows. god, she knows. “we’re gonna’ be alright. it’s gonna’ be alright.”
Hello, darling! I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. Whether you celebrate it or not, I hope its good to you. I know, all of us aren't always in the holiday spirit, and that is okay. But, either way - you deserve to have a good Christmas, a good New Years. You deserve to feel comfort, to feel peace and love - even if its just a little because that's all you can muster.
I wish you nothing but the best. Yes, this is a genertic greeting but, I /choose/ who I send it to. ♥ Much love, much light, and Happy Christmas sweet soul. And, I hope as this year comes into closing, the new one will have greatness in some form for you. Never let anyone dim your sparkle. You're here for a reason, we all are.
Mandy had hit rock bottom after her seperation, she was spiraling out of control and it took her son getting ahold of her coke to realize she needed some serious help. She told everyone she was fine but the reality of it was that she felt f***ing empty. Like their was no reason to continue breathing, let alone be around. Her depression on top of her other mental problems didn't help and her mind was all over the place. She'd constantly tell herself that was the last drink, yet three hours in and shes already drunk. She swore she'd never pick up another drug in her life yet here she knelt picking up what was left of the coke her three year old son had gotten into. How could she of been so careless, he wasn't suppose to be here was all that kept replaying in her mind. Last night he was suppose to be with his father but again got left with the family well his father took off. One of his aunts had dropped him off thinking Amanda was fit to care for the small child. When the police showed, she knew she was screwed. If she lost her son for her stupidity she'd never live with herself. Her son believe it or not was the only reason she still stood on both feet, the drugs and alcohol just helped to numb the pain and kill the memories that flooded her mind.
Christopher was now in child protective custody, Mandy would be allowed to see him once she got her sh*t together. She was damn lucky they didn't throw her behind bars. Getting the mess cleaned up and making sure the house was clean for the first visit of many by a social worker, she now stands at the sink trying to empty the half drank bottles of whiskey, but instead she hides them underneath the sink behind all the cleaners. Deep down Mandy knew she had an addiction problem but she didn't know how to be sober. She had gotten sober for her ex because he was also a recovering alcoholic but now it all seemed pointless, everything she did had been for nothing because in the end she still lost him. Was it her fault he walked away?, probably but he sure as hell didn't make it easy on her and he's definently not chasing her so in her eyes he never cared, even if deep down she knew he had. Hearing a firm knock on the door Mandy takes a deep breath and walks over answering it, welcoming in the worker as they go into the living room and sit down. Numerous amounts of paperwork and endless hours later Mandy had agreed to going to get help through therapy and rehab. They would give Christopher over to her brother Mick and his boyfriend Ian for the time being since they were the godparents since they couldn't reach the father.
Mandy gets up as she goes into her room and packs one small suitcase, she was only allowed to bring the necessaities and could bring her phone but at intake they would take it. She was iffy to go at first, she thought of just escaping out the window but she had to make things right for Christopher. He already lost one parent she wouldn't allow him to lose another, after all she swore she'd never f*** up his life yet its exactly what she was doing. She comes out ready as she looks the house up and gets into the social workers car. After a few hours she was standing in front of the community center, she knew this place well as she came here often at first with Philip. She holds her page as she follows the social worker walking threw the door and over to the receptionist. "Amanda Milkovich here to check in," the social worker hands the lady her file. She leaves Mandy alone wishing her luck as the receptionist asks for her phone and a staff member comes up to greet her. She takes Mandy's bag "you'll get this back after its checked," Mandy shook her head, "its not like I'm hiding anything in that small ass thing," rolling her eyes as she follows the lady. "swearing will not be tolerated and we will have to do a body search," Mandy rolled her eyes, she already regretted coming here and felt prison sounded a lot better then this sh*t hole, not that she has ever been there either. They do the search and eventually she is lead to her room. The first meeting started at three and it was mandatory. She sat on her bed, her knees to her chest as she cried. How could she of f***ed up this bad, hearing the others getting ready for group she wipes the tears away and puts her hair in a ponytail before putting the sleeves of her shirt below her hands so they weren't visible and slowly walks behind others to the group.
Walking inside she noticed a circle with chairs and sighed, "great now I've gotta talk about my f***ing feelings," she thought to herself as she seen the seats starting to get full and quickly walks over taken a seat. She stayed to herself, not saying a word as she just sat there, her face down as she played with her fingers. Being here was a huge leap for her, especially with her anxiety. Mandy didn't know if she'd be able to keep this up for the next six months, she already feened for a drink or some coke to take off the edge.
