They had struck a truce.
Somewhere along the way, both Dante and Astrid had wordlessly agreed to leave the hell that was the past few weeks behind them. There was no point: Astrid had bigger things to worry about. Her job as a desk clerk at one of the nearby grocery stores was in peril; she went from getting thirty hours a week, to no more than ten. Anxiety gripped her constantly, knotting her stomach up so badly, she feared she would develop an ulcer.
Today, though, today she was going to break out of her little funk.
And so she splurged. She went to the mall, bought herself some new jeans and some new kicks; on the way home, she made a stop at Chris's house for a bag of weed. "Dude," he had said while they passed a bowl between them, "I'm gonna have this bitchin' party next Saturday. You should come -- and bring Dante's lame-ass too, wont'cha? He doesn't call me anymore." I wonder why, Astrid mused to herself as she left the basement, a quarter-ounce bag rolled up tight and stuffed in her pocket. It was not a far trip from Chris' to her parents' place, and before she knew it, she was upstairs in the attic, smoking a joint she rolled with expert fingertips and cleaning out her closet.
In amidst the boxes of old homework and journals, magazine and news paper scrapings, she found several large Zip-lock bags contains piles upon piles of pictures: many of which she had completely forgotten about. Most were from high school - she found pictures of her family's visits to Canada, Sweden, California; her old girlfriends from high school whom she lost touch with; the few friends that did stay in contact; and a stack of pictures of her with Dante, from the first year or so they begun dating.
Setting down the bag, Astrid reached for her cell phone, thumbing her way down to Dante's name and calling him. When she heard him pick up, she cut to the chase: "You should come over here." It was still early enough in the afternoon -- maybe, hopefully, he was still sober at this point. "I found a bunch of shit you gotta see."
Dante squinted at the alarm clock on the floor. "Uh, sure," he grunted. He blinked a couple of times and tried again. "Holy shit, it's after two." He rolled out of bed and fell with a very audible thunk to the floor, laughing. He couldn't remember anything from the night before, though he was pretty sure he had spent it with a bottle of whiskey and way too much weed. No wonder he couldn't afford his bills.
"Yeah, sure, coming over. Where are you, your parents'?" He scanned the room for some kind of pants and, hopefully, a clean tee shirt.
His initial groggy tone tone made her stomach turn over slightly -- was she too late? When he commented on the time and began laughing, she felt a little bit better. The more he talked, the more confident Astrid felt in his sobriety. "Yeah," she said, climbing to her feet to turn the window fan on high. Her parents never came up into the attic: they knew that it was Astrid's space, and thus, gave her full control over it. "Plus, I picked up a bag from Chris. He says hi." She fell back onto her bed, the lit joint still in hand: eyes closing as she took a hit off it. "But you better hurry, 'cause I'm gonna smoke it all."
Twenty-five minutes later, he parked his car outside of Astrid's parents' house and slowly walked up to the door. Were her parents home? Should he ring the bell? Did he smell like Jack Daniels? Did he smell at all?
Shaking his head at himself, he glanced at the driveway. Empty. Which probably meant that they were out. He didn't know why he suddenly didn't want to face them. Astrid had assured him hundreds of times that they liked him, but Dante largely remained unconvinced.
He slowly opened the door and stepped inside, immediately hit with a blast of central air conditioning. Ah, money, he thought as he headed toward the stairs. He wanted to surprise her, even though he knew she knew he was on his way, but he forgot about the old creaky spot on the staircase. It echoed loudly through the big house, and he took the rest of the stairs at an easy jog and burst into her old bedroom.
"Hey babe," he said, leaning down to kiss her. "Smells good in here!" He grinned.
She found the sound of his footfalls on the stairs oddly comforting; a grin curling her lips when she heard him hit the creaky stair. When he popped open her door, Astrid beamed up at him from her cross-legged position in the floor. "I thought you'd approve," she said with a laugh, scootching her butt backward so her back came to rest against the frame of her large, queen sized bed. Another reason why Astrid was loathe to move out of her parents just yet: moving her bed out would be a nightmare.
"Sit down," she said, patting a spot on the floor beside her, reaching for the bag of pictures and another joint - but not before she stole another kiss from him, still smiling happily. It was clear Astrid was quite prone to nostalgia, but it had been a good day for her so far. And now, having him here (and sober!) was the icing on the cake. Handing him a lighter with the joint, she busied herself with fishing out a thick stack of photographs of only them. Selecting one, she held it up aloft, studying it. "Oh my god, that was the night I first took mushrooms with you!" She pointed at her eyes. "Look at how whacked out I am!"
"Oh," he groaned, lighting the joint and then bringing it to his lips. He inhaled deeply before answering. "I didn't know someone was even taking pictures!" Each word was punctuated by a little puff of smoke.
He reached for another photo. "Prom?" Their younger selves stood in front of a large fountain, the dramatic lighting accenting her magenta hair and his lime green suit. "God that suit was terrible." He took another hit from the joint and then passed it to Astrid. "But you look good."
"I think I took the 'shrooms one," Astrid said, taking that picture back and examining it closely, before setting it aside in the makings of a small pile. Her pale cheeks were flushed with pleasure, both from taking the stroll down memory lane, and with him now at her side; warm, coherent, and sober. A surge of joy rushed through her, nearly forgotten when he handed over the prom picture; eyes going wide.
"Oh, my god. That suit!" The sight of his lime green jacket and him beaming proudly beside her, their arms entangled: both grinning widely, so proud of themselves. "Mom was so horrified at the color theme we chose," she giggled, her fingertip tracing the edge of the photo. To say that her mother was horrified was an understatement: she had been somewhat pissed at the pairs' choice in suit and gown. Still, they did make an enviable pair, even in eye-burning colors.
The prom picture was set aside, and her free hand accepted the joint after a moment of thought. Taking a heady toke, she picked up the next picture - one just of her. It was obvious from the posters on the wall that it was his room: she was sitting up in his bed, naked with a sheet clutched to her chest and neon pink hair rumpled; a perfected scowl aimed at the camera as she smoked a cigarette, flipping it off. "I have no idea when this one was from," she said after studying it, giving it to him. "I look gross in it, anyway - destroy it!"
"No!" He snatched it away from her quickly, clutching it to his chest in mock horror. "There's a shortage of pictures left in this world to masturbate to!" He winked at her, then reached for another photo.
"Hmn," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. He stood behind her, leaning down with his arms wrapped around her. The red and black plaid flannel jacket he wore indicated that it was fall. They both held bright red party cups. "Wonder whose party this is. Speaking of parties, didn't you say you ran into Chris?"
Astrid wrinkled her nose, coupling it with an eyeroll, but she let him keep the picture; opting to turn her attention to the next picture he picked up.
"I remember this," she grinned, gently taking hold of it and pulling it a little closer so she could see. Judging by how young their faces looked, she guessed it was during senior year - and sure enough, there was Chris in the background, looking confused with a large blunt in his mouth. "Yeah, I picked up from him today. He had some good shit." Belatedly, she remembered the joint smoldering in between her fingertips; hastily sneaking another hit off of it, before passing it back over to him. "I think he misses you. We should swing over sometime, smoke out with him." The idea of going to another one of Chris's parties was almost too much to bear: with Dante's drinking becoming a problem coupled with the general crappiness of Chris's shindigs, she was beginning to lose a little hope. Still, she perked up as she picked the next picture.
"Oh, look! Christmas!" Sure enough, there was Dante with a big, floppy Santa hat on top of his head - his hair almost to his shoulders in unruly waves, and looking quite grumpy. She was in the frame, too, smiling a wide, perfect smile with her chin resting on his shoulder, the other hand holding a bit of mistletoe above their heads. "I can't remember why you were such a poop that day, too."
He held the joint between his thumb and forefinger as he leaned in to look at the picture. "That," he said, pointing to the Santa hat, "is probably why I look so pissed off."
He took a hit and ran a hand through his hair. It was a lot shorter now than in the photo -- it fell to just above his ears -- and he had a lot more facial hair than he'd had back in high school. "Yeah, Chris," he said, smirking a little. "I barely have time to see you, let alone go hang out at one of Chris's lame ass parties." As soon as the lie left his lips, he felt guilty. Of course he had plenty of time. He just chose to spend that time drinking. "Look at this one," he said quickly, pulling a random photo out of the pile. It was torn a little at the edges, as if it had been stapled somewhere once upon a time.
The photo was of a huge bonfire, surrounded by the friends they'd kept up with shortly after graduating. Everyone held beer or blue cups in their hands, and off to the left was a beer pong table. To the right was most of Astrid's face, cut off by Dante's lack of drunken photography skills. Her eyes were glassy and heavy, and she sported a sloppy grin with her tongue hanging out that made the photo that much more comical. "So charming," he said, snorting and holding the photo up for her to see.
(Originally written 08/17/2009-09/09/2009)
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Façade
Dante opened his eyes to pitch black, punctuated by the glow of the alarm clock. Three in the morning, and he had to wake up in less than two hours to go to work.
He remembered the last week in bits and pieces. He remembered turning his hand into a pincushion, and he remembered arguing with her. As far as Astrid knew, this was all he remembered. He also remembered -- though the memories were hazy -- spending two, maybe three days drinking. He thought he had shown up at her house -- and she told him he had -- but he did not remember driving.
He promised himself it would never get that bad again, and he went back to sleep.
* * * * *
The day passed slowly. By the time he left the tattoo shop he had started apprenticing at two weeks ago, all he wanted was a drink. A little shot would be enough to make the day worth it; he had spent the day watching everyone else tattoo, never getting the chance to pick up a machine himself. He knew he would have to learn a lot more before Doug, the shop owner, would let him do any real work, but he was getting really tired of cleaning bathrooms after pansy first-timers threw up.
He dialed Astrid's number from a pay phone; his cell phone had gotten shut off two days earlier. If he didn't find some real work soon, he was going to be in a lot of trouble.
This week had gone considerably better, at least compared to the last: they were speaking, but tentatively. Astrid made sure to keep herself busy with work so she didn't have to think about the insanity that happened. She also knew if she kept questioning herself, she'd go crazy - she was in the unfortunate habit of constantly questioning and second-guessing herself, something she needed to stop.
At this point, she was on her way home when he phone rang; glancing at the face and peering at the unknown number. Normally she wouldn't pick up, but she knew about Dante's phone, and figured it was him, a safe assumption. Thumbing the answer key as she slowed to a stop at a red light. "Hello?"
"Hey babe," he sang. "Whatcha doin'?" He stood with the phone cradled on one shoulder, both hands shoved in his pocket. Traffic buzzed by, cars skating through the intersection. "I'm headed out of work. You wanna..." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and quickly counted the bills there. "...get some ice cream?"
Ice cream? She broke into a small smile, unable to help herself. "Sure. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." Work had been terrible for her - working as a manager in a grocery store tended to suck, what with irate customers and incompetent cashiers. Still, it was not too far from home, so she couldn't complain. Flicking on her turn signal at the last second, trying to remember exacly where he worked.
He glanced at his own car, less than twenty feet away in the grassy area of what the owner of the tattoo shop called a parking lot. If he remembered correctly, the needle sat just a hair away from empty on his gas gauge. "All right, sounds good. I'm at work. It's the little hellhole-in-the-wall on that side street." Side street, side street, what the hell was the name of the street? "Cooke," he said. "Right?"
"You're asking me?" Glancing over her shoulder as she turned, craning her neck to peer down the busy road. Cooke was not far away at all. "Just hang out by the sidealk and keep an eye out for me. I'll be there in a few minutes." Astrid hated having phone conversations while driving. Hanging her phone up, she let it drop into her lap, leaning over to turn down the volume knob on her radio as she alternately glanced from the road, to the signs posted, and back and forth. Finally spotting Cooke, turning right onto the street and seeing him standing there. The pain from last week's events still lingered, but she couldn't help but be glad to see him. Pulling up alongside him, the window rolled down as she unlocked the door. "Hey, stranger, get in."
"Ooh, I like it when you get all bossy on me," he said, climbing in. He kissed her quickly on the lips, touching her face for a second before moving back into his seat. "How was your day?"
Her eyes closed when their lips met. In spite of everything, he still managed to make her heart flutter and she alternately hated and loved him for that. "It was okay," she said with a small smile, pulling away from the curb. "Same shitty, dumb-ass customers." Turning the car around, pulling back onto the main street. "How was yours? Oh, and did you really want ice cream? 'cause we can go get some food, if you want. I just got paid, so." Gotta love pay day.
"Aw, no, my treat. Food sounds good," he said, calculating what was in his wallet as he spoke. Could he get away with eating less than usual? "Day was pretty fucking fantastic, but at least I've got a job." Right. One that he could barely live off of. He almost wished he were unemployed; he would probably make more money off of the state than he made at the shop.
"Denny's sound good?" He suddenly craved breakfast.
Astrid reached over, gently rubbing his knee. "Don't worry, babe, it'll get better soon. Apprenticeships can be rough, but I think if you stick with it, it'll work out. Besides, you're an amazing artist. You'll see." Giving him a little nudge; Astrid, ever the optimist. It was true, though, she knew that everyone wanted to apprentice at tattoo shops, and few made it. But then again, they weren't half the artist Dante was, nor were they as dedicated.
The mention of Dennys struck up memories from years ago, and in spite of herself, she broke into a huge grin. "Sounds good to me."
"If all else fails, I can be a guitar bum." He grinned. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll give me the gun in no time." The lie burned on his tongue like an orange out of season, but he did not want to disappoint her.
"Remember the first time we went to Denny's? After what's-his-name's party?"
"Or just be a bum." She grinned at him sidelong, reaching over again to tousle his hair.
"I do!" It was like the dam burst, the way the memories flooded over her; thinking about drinking in Chris's basement, meeting him, and bailing right after - for Denny's. "God, it feels like forever ago. I mean, it was forever ago, but still." Astrid pursed her lips and smiled to herself as she gazed out onto the road, navigating her way to Denny's. She hadn't thought about Denny's in forever, but oddly enough, it was a perfect choice.
"He actually came into the shop the other day," Dante said, ducking too late. "You're lucky you're driving." He cracked the window and lit a cigarette. "He got a pinup on his bicep and tried to get me to come to a party later." He grimaced. "I told him I'd rather hang from my toes and listen to Eminem."
"Oh my God, did he really?" The sound of the lighter sparking prompted her to fish out a smoke from the pack in her pocket with one hand, awkwardly, handing it to him to light for her. "That's ridiculous. Yeah, he came into the store a few months ago to buy beer. Someone else's party, though." Astrid gave him a sidelong look, hardly able to suppress her smirk. "Then who's copy of The Marshall Mathers LP is that in your bedroom?"
"My ex-girlfriend's," he said too quickly, handing her now lit cigarette back to her. "His old stuff was good, anyway."
The bright Denny's restaurant sign rose out of the clutter of the busy street. Dante's stomach gurgled as if in greeting. "Don't judge me," he said, feigning a pout.
"Riiiight," she snickered with a knowing smile, purposely averting her gaze - because they had arrived to their destination. It'd been quite some time since she'd been to this particular Denny's; probably because this was the Denny's she and him had hightailed it to after ditching Chris's crappy basement party. Oh, high school, you did provide some good memories. Pulling up and into a space not far from the door, she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. "I ... never thought I'd be so happy to be at a Denny's," she muttered as her own stomach rumbled low; her palm resting on the gentle curve of her belly as they stood in the parking lot. Suddenly, she reached out with her free hand to seize his, pulling him closer to her a bit abruptly. "Baby. Give me a hug."
"Whoa, easy there, we're in a public place!" He winked at her as he pulled her in tightly for a hug. "Though I guess we could always get back in the car," he said, body tensing as he waited for the playful swat she usually gave him.
"Shut up," Astrid grumbled into his collarbone, letting a few seconds tick by so she had the element of surprise - and then she bit gently - but still firmly - into the soft, yielding flesh of his neck, giving a little growl. "Besides," she said after a few beats, releasing him and giving him a small shove, "I thought you liked it when I was affectionately aggressive in public." A cursory glance into her back window - her backseat was so crammed full of junk that they wouldn't fit even if they tried. Damn. She slipped her hand back into his, this time to lead him to the front door.
"Baby, I am putty in your hands," he said, following her and adjusting his jeans. He felt as if the other night had never happened, as if it had maybe happened to someone else, somewhere else. "Pancakes and bacon and eggs and English muffins, here I come!"
"Hi, how are you today?" A waitress with short, spiky black hair bounced up to them. "Two?"
"Yep," he said, letting Astrid go ahead of him as the waitress led them to a booth. "She's even shorter than you." He snorted.
It wasn't the most enlightened method psychologically, but Astrid too had pushed the memory from the far reaches from her mind, at least for the time being. The only evidence of everything having happened were the healing wounds on his hand and wrist, though they would fade in time as well. "I don't know what I'm going to get," she pouted, biting down on her bottom lip.
Placing a gentle by well-aimed jab to his ribs with her elbow for that short comment, she followed the waitress to the booth. "Be nice!" Smiling at the waitress who cocked her head at the two of them, but smiled congenially.
"Can I get you guys something to drink?" She asked once the two were seat, and out came the notepad.
"I'll have a Dr Pepper, no ice," Astrid said, settling in and resting her feet on the seat across from her, next to his legs.
"Uh..." He flipped the menu to the drink section. The choices were juice, coffee, and several different kinds of soda; friendly, family choices. Sober choices. "Oh. Um." His hands shook slightly as he considered his options. "Ya know, I'm kinda in the mood for apple juice. With a little ice."
"Apple juice, it is," said their waitress, jotting down their drinks. "Are you guys ready to order or do you need a sec?"
Dante flipped the menu to the breakfast section. He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. He hadn't really eaten anything all day. His cupboards and refrigerator were bare; dinner would require some creativity with ramen noodles. "Babe? Do you know what you want?"
Astrid was busy examining her menu, though out of the corner of her eye, she notice how his hand wavered. It concerned her for the briefest of moments, but before the uncertainty grew to paranoia, he stilled his hand after placing his order. She let go of the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding. "Oh! Yeah, uhm ..." A cursory glance to the menu. "Could I have the cheeseburger, please? With regular fries?"
"Got'cha," nodded the waitress, scribbling furiously before aiming the end of her pen at Dante. "And for you?"
"Uh." His chest felt tight. "Ya know, I uh, I'm not sure."
"I can come back," the waitress said, twirling her pen between two fingers.
Dante scanned the menu again. "No, it's uh, it's okay. I'll just have a, uh, waffle with a side of, um, bacon."
The waitress scribbled down their orders. "I'll be back with those drinks," she said, hurrying away without looking back.
"I think I need some air," Dante said, eyes darting to the door. "Too many Marlboros." He stood, then sat back down. "Nah, fuck it. I'm okay." He ran a hand through hair that needed a trim, like the lawn in front of his apartment. "So how was your day?"
Astrid folded her menu, handing over to the waitress; curious gaze lifted to her boyfriend. What on earth had gotten into him? "It was okay," she said, a bit suspiciously. Watching him stand, then sit, forced her to cock her head at a curious angle, brows knitted together. Dante was never this mixed up, indecisive. "Babe, you okay? What's wrong with you?" His behaviour wasn't frightening, exactly, but it still rubbed her the wrong way.
"Ah, forgot my Ritalin today," he said, winking at her. "I'm fine. Just tired. Long day."
The waitress set their drinks down and went as quickly as she had come.
He picked at a piece of dirt under his middle finger nail. His nails needed to be trimmed. He made a mental note to find the nail clippers when he got home. "You know." He took a sip of his iced apple juice and inhaled slowly. "Just like Ma used to make, straight from the Motts jug." He grinned at Astrid. "I'm fine. Really. Now tell me about your day."
Part of Astrid felt guilty for being so suspicious. She knew it was in her nature, questioning everything, and Dante seemed to do everything in his power to make her second-guess herself -- were the little things really there, or did she imagine them? Was he as flighty as she felt he was, or was it all in her head? Thinking like that was making her head hurt, and she was realized when her drink was set before her, a grateful smile flashed to the waitress.
"It was okay," she said finally, turning the events of the day over in her mind. She knew he really did not care that much about the ins and the outs of her afternoon, but there was a strange, thick tension that hung between them. He was acting a bit oddly, but then again, Dante always had been an odd bird. Still ... "This woman freaked out on me because we wouldn't take her expired coupons. I mean, there's signs all over the store saying that starting May first we wouldn't take anymore. Everyone else seems to get it, but not this woman. She threw them at my face, screaming something about how the fascist, Nazi dictators in charge of our company and nation were to blame for this." Her regal brow furrowed slightly at the memory, face twisted in a half-amused expression, half-grimace. The ignorance of people continued to shock the hell out of her.
"How about you? How was the shop today?"
"Huh." He shook his head. "People can't read." He took another sip of the apple juice, his hand trembling a little. "Well, work was..." He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "I need a shave. Well, everyone's freaking out about getting laid off. They're bitching about joining a union or some shit. We only got three cars this week, so really I guess they don't exactly need ten guys. I dunno." He didn't say that he would probably be the first to get a pink slip. Not showing up to work consistently sort of guaranteed that kind of thing.
"But really, she threw coupons in your face? I think I see a little paper cut." Dante winked.
Astrid wrinkled her nose when he mentioned paper cuts. "I probably do." She breathed in, heaving a gigantic sigh, the trembling of his hand just barely escaping her notice. "I know what you mean, though. They've been cutting hours at the store. I've been safe so far, but you know. You never know ..." She trailed off almost morosely, taking a sip of her Dr. Pepper when the waitress reappeared at their table.
"Were you guys all set to order, or did you still need a few minutes?" She asked sweetly, causing Astrid to drop her gaze down to the face of the menu.
"Oh," she muttered, shaking her head and looking up at first Dante, then the waitress. "I know what I want -- I'll have the cheeseburger, no pickles, please." Leaning back, she passed her menu over to the waitress, before glancing back at Dante. "You know what you want, babe?"
Thinking about cut hours and the rent waiting to be paid made Dante nauseous. "Uh..." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Ya know what, I think I'll just have a cup of coffee."
"You sure? We've got great specials..." The waitress winked at them both.
"Yeah, I'm sure." He rubbed his temples with his fingertips.
The waitress smiled and quickly disappeared.
Dante sighed. "Well." He couldn't think of anything to say. The nausea began to ebb, but he still felt anxious. He could see himself slapping a few dollars on the table and hitching a ride home. There were plenty of truckers outside. He could go home, find one of his nearly empty bottles, and relax. Everything would be okay if he could just get a drink and relax. He drummed his fingers on the table some more and stared out the window next to their booth.
Astrid felt her stomach turn over once he got all silent, all fidgety. That could only mean that one thing was on his mind. She tried to remember a point of time to reference when, exactly, his drinking got so bad, so out on control - part of her wondered that maybe he was always like this, and she had just been too blind to realize. She glanced down at the table, rolling up the wrapper to her straw between her fingertips, and tried very hard not to cry.
When she could find her voice, she attempted to sound as natural as she possibly could, hoping that her eyes weren't red, or glassy. "How have you been feeling?" The question bubbled up suddenly, and she leveled her gaze to him. "I mean, since last week. Is everything okay? Aside from cut hours at work." Obviously, she meant the night he busted up his hand, the purple-red wounds fading, but still evident on his hand and wrist. Sitting up, Astrid leaned forward slightly to gauge his reaction, her eyebrows knitted together.
His body twitched at the sudden sound of her voice. He turned slightly toward her, not quite facing her. He cleared his throat. He didn't want to outright lie to her, but he didn't know what else to do. "Yeah, everything's great, babe."
He turned back to the window. Hell, even if he didn't have anything left at the house, he could probably tap into his savings account for a couple bucks to buy beer. Not that he wanted Natural Ice, but it was better than nothing. He tapped his foot on the greasy floor.
The waitress set his coffee down with creamers and hurried away without another word. He wondered how obvious it was that he was losing his mind.
He remembered the last week in bits and pieces. He remembered turning his hand into a pincushion, and he remembered arguing with her. As far as Astrid knew, this was all he remembered. He also remembered -- though the memories were hazy -- spending two, maybe three days drinking. He thought he had shown up at her house -- and she told him he had -- but he did not remember driving.
He promised himself it would never get that bad again, and he went back to sleep.
* * * * *
The day passed slowly. By the time he left the tattoo shop he had started apprenticing at two weeks ago, all he wanted was a drink. A little shot would be enough to make the day worth it; he had spent the day watching everyone else tattoo, never getting the chance to pick up a machine himself. He knew he would have to learn a lot more before Doug, the shop owner, would let him do any real work, but he was getting really tired of cleaning bathrooms after pansy first-timers threw up.
He dialed Astrid's number from a pay phone; his cell phone had gotten shut off two days earlier. If he didn't find some real work soon, he was going to be in a lot of trouble.
This week had gone considerably better, at least compared to the last: they were speaking, but tentatively. Astrid made sure to keep herself busy with work so she didn't have to think about the insanity that happened. She also knew if she kept questioning herself, she'd go crazy - she was in the unfortunate habit of constantly questioning and second-guessing herself, something she needed to stop.
At this point, she was on her way home when he phone rang; glancing at the face and peering at the unknown number. Normally she wouldn't pick up, but she knew about Dante's phone, and figured it was him, a safe assumption. Thumbing the answer key as she slowed to a stop at a red light. "Hello?"
"Hey babe," he sang. "Whatcha doin'?" He stood with the phone cradled on one shoulder, both hands shoved in his pocket. Traffic buzzed by, cars skating through the intersection. "I'm headed out of work. You wanna..." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and quickly counted the bills there. "...get some ice cream?"
Ice cream? She broke into a small smile, unable to help herself. "Sure. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." Work had been terrible for her - working as a manager in a grocery store tended to suck, what with irate customers and incompetent cashiers. Still, it was not too far from home, so she couldn't complain. Flicking on her turn signal at the last second, trying to remember exacly where he worked.
He glanced at his own car, less than twenty feet away in the grassy area of what the owner of the tattoo shop called a parking lot. If he remembered correctly, the needle sat just a hair away from empty on his gas gauge. "All right, sounds good. I'm at work. It's the little hellhole-in-the-wall on that side street." Side street, side street, what the hell was the name of the street? "Cooke," he said. "Right?"
"You're asking me?" Glancing over her shoulder as she turned, craning her neck to peer down the busy road. Cooke was not far away at all. "Just hang out by the sidealk and keep an eye out for me. I'll be there in a few minutes." Astrid hated having phone conversations while driving. Hanging her phone up, she let it drop into her lap, leaning over to turn down the volume knob on her radio as she alternately glanced from the road, to the signs posted, and back and forth. Finally spotting Cooke, turning right onto the street and seeing him standing there. The pain from last week's events still lingered, but she couldn't help but be glad to see him. Pulling up alongside him, the window rolled down as she unlocked the door. "Hey, stranger, get in."
"Ooh, I like it when you get all bossy on me," he said, climbing in. He kissed her quickly on the lips, touching her face for a second before moving back into his seat. "How was your day?"
Her eyes closed when their lips met. In spite of everything, he still managed to make her heart flutter and she alternately hated and loved him for that. "It was okay," she said with a small smile, pulling away from the curb. "Same shitty, dumb-ass customers." Turning the car around, pulling back onto the main street. "How was yours? Oh, and did you really want ice cream? 'cause we can go get some food, if you want. I just got paid, so." Gotta love pay day.
"Aw, no, my treat. Food sounds good," he said, calculating what was in his wallet as he spoke. Could he get away with eating less than usual? "Day was pretty fucking fantastic, but at least I've got a job." Right. One that he could barely live off of. He almost wished he were unemployed; he would probably make more money off of the state than he made at the shop.
"Denny's sound good?" He suddenly craved breakfast.
Astrid reached over, gently rubbing his knee. "Don't worry, babe, it'll get better soon. Apprenticeships can be rough, but I think if you stick with it, it'll work out. Besides, you're an amazing artist. You'll see." Giving him a little nudge; Astrid, ever the optimist. It was true, though, she knew that everyone wanted to apprentice at tattoo shops, and few made it. But then again, they weren't half the artist Dante was, nor were they as dedicated.
The mention of Dennys struck up memories from years ago, and in spite of herself, she broke into a huge grin. "Sounds good to me."
"If all else fails, I can be a guitar bum." He grinned. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll give me the gun in no time." The lie burned on his tongue like an orange out of season, but he did not want to disappoint her.
"Remember the first time we went to Denny's? After what's-his-name's party?"
"Or just be a bum." She grinned at him sidelong, reaching over again to tousle his hair.
"I do!" It was like the dam burst, the way the memories flooded over her; thinking about drinking in Chris's basement, meeting him, and bailing right after - for Denny's. "God, it feels like forever ago. I mean, it was forever ago, but still." Astrid pursed her lips and smiled to herself as she gazed out onto the road, navigating her way to Denny's. She hadn't thought about Denny's in forever, but oddly enough, it was a perfect choice.
"He actually came into the shop the other day," Dante said, ducking too late. "You're lucky you're driving." He cracked the window and lit a cigarette. "He got a pinup on his bicep and tried to get me to come to a party later." He grimaced. "I told him I'd rather hang from my toes and listen to Eminem."
"Oh my God, did he really?" The sound of the lighter sparking prompted her to fish out a smoke from the pack in her pocket with one hand, awkwardly, handing it to him to light for her. "That's ridiculous. Yeah, he came into the store a few months ago to buy beer. Someone else's party, though." Astrid gave him a sidelong look, hardly able to suppress her smirk. "Then who's copy of The Marshall Mathers LP is that in your bedroom?"
"My ex-girlfriend's," he said too quickly, handing her now lit cigarette back to her. "His old stuff was good, anyway."
The bright Denny's restaurant sign rose out of the clutter of the busy street. Dante's stomach gurgled as if in greeting. "Don't judge me," he said, feigning a pout.
"Riiiight," she snickered with a knowing smile, purposely averting her gaze - because they had arrived to their destination. It'd been quite some time since she'd been to this particular Denny's; probably because this was the Denny's she and him had hightailed it to after ditching Chris's crappy basement party. Oh, high school, you did provide some good memories. Pulling up and into a space not far from the door, she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. "I ... never thought I'd be so happy to be at a Denny's," she muttered as her own stomach rumbled low; her palm resting on the gentle curve of her belly as they stood in the parking lot. Suddenly, she reached out with her free hand to seize his, pulling him closer to her a bit abruptly. "Baby. Give me a hug."
"Whoa, easy there, we're in a public place!" He winked at her as he pulled her in tightly for a hug. "Though I guess we could always get back in the car," he said, body tensing as he waited for the playful swat she usually gave him.
"Shut up," Astrid grumbled into his collarbone, letting a few seconds tick by so she had the element of surprise - and then she bit gently - but still firmly - into the soft, yielding flesh of his neck, giving a little growl. "Besides," she said after a few beats, releasing him and giving him a small shove, "I thought you liked it when I was affectionately aggressive in public." A cursory glance into her back window - her backseat was so crammed full of junk that they wouldn't fit even if they tried. Damn. She slipped her hand back into his, this time to lead him to the front door.
"Baby, I am putty in your hands," he said, following her and adjusting his jeans. He felt as if the other night had never happened, as if it had maybe happened to someone else, somewhere else. "Pancakes and bacon and eggs and English muffins, here I come!"
"Hi, how are you today?" A waitress with short, spiky black hair bounced up to them. "Two?"
"Yep," he said, letting Astrid go ahead of him as the waitress led them to a booth. "She's even shorter than you." He snorted.
It wasn't the most enlightened method psychologically, but Astrid too had pushed the memory from the far reaches from her mind, at least for the time being. The only evidence of everything having happened were the healing wounds on his hand and wrist, though they would fade in time as well. "I don't know what I'm going to get," she pouted, biting down on her bottom lip.
Placing a gentle by well-aimed jab to his ribs with her elbow for that short comment, she followed the waitress to the booth. "Be nice!" Smiling at the waitress who cocked her head at the two of them, but smiled congenially.
"Can I get you guys something to drink?" She asked once the two were seat, and out came the notepad.
"I'll have a Dr Pepper, no ice," Astrid said, settling in and resting her feet on the seat across from her, next to his legs.
"Uh..." He flipped the menu to the drink section. The choices were juice, coffee, and several different kinds of soda; friendly, family choices. Sober choices. "Oh. Um." His hands shook slightly as he considered his options. "Ya know, I'm kinda in the mood for apple juice. With a little ice."
"Apple juice, it is," said their waitress, jotting down their drinks. "Are you guys ready to order or do you need a sec?"
Dante flipped the menu to the breakfast section. He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. He hadn't really eaten anything all day. His cupboards and refrigerator were bare; dinner would require some creativity with ramen noodles. "Babe? Do you know what you want?"
Astrid was busy examining her menu, though out of the corner of her eye, she notice how his hand wavered. It concerned her for the briefest of moments, but before the uncertainty grew to paranoia, he stilled his hand after placing his order. She let go of the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding. "Oh! Yeah, uhm ..." A cursory glance to the menu. "Could I have the cheeseburger, please? With regular fries?"
"Got'cha," nodded the waitress, scribbling furiously before aiming the end of her pen at Dante. "And for you?"
"Uh." His chest felt tight. "Ya know, I uh, I'm not sure."
"I can come back," the waitress said, twirling her pen between two fingers.
Dante scanned the menu again. "No, it's uh, it's okay. I'll just have a, uh, waffle with a side of, um, bacon."
The waitress scribbled down their orders. "I'll be back with those drinks," she said, hurrying away without looking back.
"I think I need some air," Dante said, eyes darting to the door. "Too many Marlboros." He stood, then sat back down. "Nah, fuck it. I'm okay." He ran a hand through hair that needed a trim, like the lawn in front of his apartment. "So how was your day?"
Astrid folded her menu, handing over to the waitress; curious gaze lifted to her boyfriend. What on earth had gotten into him? "It was okay," she said, a bit suspiciously. Watching him stand, then sit, forced her to cock her head at a curious angle, brows knitted together. Dante was never this mixed up, indecisive. "Babe, you okay? What's wrong with you?" His behaviour wasn't frightening, exactly, but it still rubbed her the wrong way.
"Ah, forgot my Ritalin today," he said, winking at her. "I'm fine. Just tired. Long day."
The waitress set their drinks down and went as quickly as she had come.
He picked at a piece of dirt under his middle finger nail. His nails needed to be trimmed. He made a mental note to find the nail clippers when he got home. "You know." He took a sip of his iced apple juice and inhaled slowly. "Just like Ma used to make, straight from the Motts jug." He grinned at Astrid. "I'm fine. Really. Now tell me about your day."
Part of Astrid felt guilty for being so suspicious. She knew it was in her nature, questioning everything, and Dante seemed to do everything in his power to make her second-guess herself -- were the little things really there, or did she imagine them? Was he as flighty as she felt he was, or was it all in her head? Thinking like that was making her head hurt, and she was realized when her drink was set before her, a grateful smile flashed to the waitress.
"It was okay," she said finally, turning the events of the day over in her mind. She knew he really did not care that much about the ins and the outs of her afternoon, but there was a strange, thick tension that hung between them. He was acting a bit oddly, but then again, Dante always had been an odd bird. Still ... "This woman freaked out on me because we wouldn't take her expired coupons. I mean, there's signs all over the store saying that starting May first we wouldn't take anymore. Everyone else seems to get it, but not this woman. She threw them at my face, screaming something about how the fascist, Nazi dictators in charge of our company and nation were to blame for this." Her regal brow furrowed slightly at the memory, face twisted in a half-amused expression, half-grimace. The ignorance of people continued to shock the hell out of her.
"How about you? How was the shop today?"
"Huh." He shook his head. "People can't read." He took another sip of the apple juice, his hand trembling a little. "Well, work was..." He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "I need a shave. Well, everyone's freaking out about getting laid off. They're bitching about joining a union or some shit. We only got three cars this week, so really I guess they don't exactly need ten guys. I dunno." He didn't say that he would probably be the first to get a pink slip. Not showing up to work consistently sort of guaranteed that kind of thing.
"But really, she threw coupons in your face? I think I see a little paper cut." Dante winked.
Astrid wrinkled her nose when he mentioned paper cuts. "I probably do." She breathed in, heaving a gigantic sigh, the trembling of his hand just barely escaping her notice. "I know what you mean, though. They've been cutting hours at the store. I've been safe so far, but you know. You never know ..." She trailed off almost morosely, taking a sip of her Dr. Pepper when the waitress reappeared at their table.
"Were you guys all set to order, or did you still need a few minutes?" She asked sweetly, causing Astrid to drop her gaze down to the face of the menu.
"Oh," she muttered, shaking her head and looking up at first Dante, then the waitress. "I know what I want -- I'll have the cheeseburger, no pickles, please." Leaning back, she passed her menu over to the waitress, before glancing back at Dante. "You know what you want, babe?"
Thinking about cut hours and the rent waiting to be paid made Dante nauseous. "Uh..." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Ya know what, I think I'll just have a cup of coffee."
"You sure? We've got great specials..." The waitress winked at them both.
"Yeah, I'm sure." He rubbed his temples with his fingertips.
The waitress smiled and quickly disappeared.
Dante sighed. "Well." He couldn't think of anything to say. The nausea began to ebb, but he still felt anxious. He could see himself slapping a few dollars on the table and hitching a ride home. There were plenty of truckers outside. He could go home, find one of his nearly empty bottles, and relax. Everything would be okay if he could just get a drink and relax. He drummed his fingers on the table some more and stared out the window next to their booth.
Astrid felt her stomach turn over once he got all silent, all fidgety. That could only mean that one thing was on his mind. She tried to remember a point of time to reference when, exactly, his drinking got so bad, so out on control - part of her wondered that maybe he was always like this, and she had just been too blind to realize. She glanced down at the table, rolling up the wrapper to her straw between her fingertips, and tried very hard not to cry.
When she could find her voice, she attempted to sound as natural as she possibly could, hoping that her eyes weren't red, or glassy. "How have you been feeling?" The question bubbled up suddenly, and she leveled her gaze to him. "I mean, since last week. Is everything okay? Aside from cut hours at work." Obviously, she meant the night he busted up his hand, the purple-red wounds fading, but still evident on his hand and wrist. Sitting up, Astrid leaned forward slightly to gauge his reaction, her eyebrows knitted together.
His body twitched at the sudden sound of her voice. He turned slightly toward her, not quite facing her. He cleared his throat. He didn't want to outright lie to her, but he didn't know what else to do. "Yeah, everything's great, babe."
He turned back to the window. Hell, even if he didn't have anything left at the house, he could probably tap into his savings account for a couple bucks to buy beer. Not that he wanted Natural Ice, but it was better than nothing. He tapped his foot on the greasy floor.
The waitress set his coffee down with creamers and hurried away without another word. He wondered how obvious it was that he was losing his mind.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
In Dreary Times
Two days. It was two days after he broke his mirror and bloodied his hand, two days after he called her a tyrant and she kicked him out of her car in front of the emergency room. Two days, and he kept trying to call her, but she didn't want to talk to him. At that point, she opted to simply turn her phone off, laying around in bed all day crying like a huge baby. This is ridiculous, Astrid was what she kept telling herself - but even more ridiculous than her crying was the way he snapped on her. Thinking about it broke her heart all over again, and she felt a fresh wave of emotion and tears and snot welling up inside her. "Goddamnit," she sniffled, climbing out of her bed and crossing the room for more tissue. Her phone had been off for two hours at this point, and she didn't even want to think of how many text messages and voicemails awaited her.
"You have reached the voice mail box of..." He pressed the End button and took another swig from the bottle with his good hand. He had ended up needing a total of twenty-two stitches. The doctors had told him he was lucky it hadn't gotten infected, since he had waited so long to get medical attention.
"Well if my girlfriend had gotten me a shot," he had slurred. They had encouraged him to take one of their beds in the Behavioral Health section of the ER, but he had refused. Once he had gotten some stitches and a nice dose of painkillers, Dante had spent the next two days cruising bars and repeatedly dialing Astrid's phone number. It was no use, though; he was pretty sure she hated him.
"Only one thing to do," he said. He slowly got up from the living room floor and stumbled into the kitchen, looking for his keys. "Gotta go get my girl." He got into the car and tucked the bottle of whiskey beside him, and twenty minutes later he stood at Astrid's front door. He used his bandaged hand to ring the doorbell, cradling the bottle with his good hand and tapping one foot impatiently.
Astrid was in the middle of blowing her nose when the doorbell rang. Fuck. She was pretty certain she knew who it was, but you never knew. Wiping her nose and tossing the tissue away, she went downstairs and to the front door, getting up on tiptoe to peek out the window - and saw Dante. With a bottle of booze. Straightening herself up, she felt her stomach lurch, her eyes stinging all over again. This was not going to be pretty. She steeled herself, made sure her composure and her will was firm, and then unlocked, opened the front door. "Dante, what are you doing here?"
"I think your phone is off," he said, rocking on his heels a little. Each time he moved forward, gravity threatened to forget about him. "Can I come in?"
He was shitfaced. Astrid bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, especially after she caught sight of his car haphazardly parked in the driveway next to hers. Her initial reaction was to slam the door in his face - but then he'd just get back in the car and God knows what would happen. "You can come in, but you have to give me the whiskey. No more drinking while you're here, you're plenty drunk already." She stood her ground, her body pressed between the door frame and door.
"Oh-kay," he said, nearly singing. He put the bottle to his lips and took another swig, then handed it to her. "All yours." He grinned and moved toward the door. "Can I come in now?"
This was a mistake, a huge mistake and Astrid could feel it. But she couldn't turn him away if not for the simple fact that she did not want him out on the road driving around drunk. Accepting the bottle, she took a step back, letting him inside - thankful that nothing valuable or breakable was really nearby. "Sit down on the couch and don't move," she commanded sternly, glaring at him. She backed up, before disappearing in the kitchen, presumably hiding the bottle. She was gone for only a minute before she came back out into the living room, folding her arms. "You're not leaving here until you're sober," she said with a sigh, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from him.
"Is that an order? You gonna tie me up, too?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and then lay his head in her lap. Looking up at her, his intentions clear in his eyes, he brushed her cheek with his finger. "Hi," he whispered.
"Stop it," she said, pushing his hand away. "I'm really pissed at you, you know." Not that you're sober enough to care, she wanted to add - but she didn't feel like fanning the flames anymore than she already might of. "This is ridiculous, Dante. I don't like you behaving like this."
"Ridiculous?" He sat up as if she had caught on fire. "What would you like me to be, then? Hmn? Want me to be 'straight-edge' and wear tight pants?" He slumped back into the couch on the opposite end and dug through his pockets, looking for the pack of cigarettes he had bought -- if he had even bought any. His fingers found a single cigarette tucked behind his ear. It broke in half when he tried to grab it. He stuck the wrong end of one half in his mouth and lit the filter end, inhaling deeply.
"You know what your problem is?" He inhaled again and grimaced. The cigarette tasted like crap, but he couldn't figure out why. "You need to relax. Just, what, a week ago, we got a hotel room and," he said, inhaling again, "did all kinds of coke and shit, and you're telling me I have a drinking problem? Come on, babe. Seriously?" He held the cigarette out in front of him and made a face. "Fuck, I lit the wrong end."
"You don't need to remind me what we did a week ago." Astrid remembered the hotel - it had been fun, yes, but that had been more of a one time kind of thing. With the exception of that night, Astrid was fairly 'straight edged': she smoked cigarettes, sure, and smoke some pot here and there, and even drank a little bit. But the difference between her and Dante was self-control, and it was becoming rapidly apparent to her that he lacked it.
Leaning over to the coffee table, grabbing her pack of smokes and lit two up - handing him one, then keeping one for herself. "The fact that we did what we did last week should show you that I'm not closed minded about this. At all. But when this shit starts to affect our relationship? That's different." She jabbed her cigarette in the air, as if punctuating her statements. "I'm telling you that I think you have a drinking problem because I have every reason to believe that. You drove here drunk, for fuck's sake!" Her anger was rising, and her voice had taken on a sharper edge. She was trying to calm herself, but the thought of him driving, swerving across the road to get here almost made her blood pressure shoot through the roof. "I cannot think of a more despicable, disgusting thing for you to do -- and you're telling me to relax?!" She wasn't yelling, not yet, but she was damn near close.
"Fine," Dante said, and jumped up. He tripped over his own feet and almost fell into the coffee table. He managed to steady himself at the last second and fell back into the couch. "Fine, I'll go." He stood up again, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "Next time, pick up your fucking phone." He headed toward the door.
Astrid shook her head back and forth quickly, getting up after him. "Are you kidding me? I chew you out for driving drunk, and you're going to go do it?" She was incredulous, but then again, he was drunk, and therefore, not rational. She was also quicker than him: beating him to the door and pressing her back against it, effectively blocking him off. "You're not leaving here until you're sober."
"Then I guess I'm not leaving!" He folded his arms across his chest and stood, swaying a little. He took a few puffs on his cigarette, perched on his lower lip and threatening to fall at any second. "So bossy," he said.
"God, how old are you?" Astrid rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him through the haze of smoke that separated them. They had been together for so long ... had this been happening the whole time and she missed it? Was she really that oblivious? Or had this crept up on him slowly, like a cancer before putting him in a stranglehold? She knew one thing was for sure, and that was that this wasn't the Dante she had fallen in love with. Dante before had been so full of life, dreams, and ambition. And now, he looked like the ghost of a man she barely knew. "Go on, sit down." If she kept thinking about it anymore, she knew she'd start to cry again. And she did not feel like dealing with the fallout from that.
"'Go on, sit down,'" he said, sitting down. "So freaking bossy."
He looked down at his hands. Two nights ago, he had called her a tyrant. Obviously, those words had gouged in deep. He felt like he had no control over his mouth anymore. He sighed and took one more drag before dying the cigarette out. "So," he said, letting the words hang. He didn't know what to say, and couldn't organize his thoughts long enough to figure out what he should be saying. "I'm pretty fucking tanked," he said, laughing.
It took every ounce of inner strength she possessed not to scream or to hit him. She remained leaning up against the door for several long beats before coming to take a seat in the chair across from him. Her cigarette lay smoldering in the ash tray, but she picked it up and started to smoke it again. When that one was done, she lit up another one. "I know," she said finally, exhaling a lungful of smoke. "Why?"
"Uh." He checked his pockets again for the pack of Marlboros he had bought earlier. "Dammit." He lifted his ass off the seat just enough so that he could fish the now crushed pack from the back pocket of his jeans. There were still a couple good cigarettes left, but most of them had been destroyed.
He lit one up and tapped ash obliviously onto his knee. "Why am I drunk...?" His eyes drooped and his chin sank forward.
In spite of herself, Astrid lunged forwards, snatching the cigarette away from him. "Jesus Christ - you know what? This is bullshit." She ground the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up. "Listen, just give me your keys, okay? Give me your keys and just ... sleep it off. I can't deal with this right now."
He slowly lifted his head. "Huh?" He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them. They felt as if they had been freezer burnt. "Why? Where're you going?"
"Nowhere. I'm not going anywhere." It took a few tries, but Astrid managed to soften her tone, just a bit. "I just want your keys just to be on the safe side. You can have them back once you're feeling better, okay?" If she could take his keys, she'd feel a lot better: at least he could pass out on her couch for awhile and let her do her own thing.
He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and turned onto his side. His eyes were already getting heavy. "Come here?" He scooted back on the couch a little. He knew she was mad, but couldn't remember why.
At first Astrid said nothing, watching him through the haze of smoke coming from her cigarette. Grinding the butt out, she slowly got up and moved over onto the couch in front of him. "Better?"
"Mmn-hmn," he said, and his eyes slid shut. He wouldn't be awake again for a while.
At least her couch was big enough. She looked at him for several long moments, before exhaling a big, gusty sign and laying down next to him. He may have been drunk, but he was still Dante. And besides, it was exhausting being do angry. She'd sleep for now; maybe things would be better once they both woke up.
"You have reached the voice mail box of..." He pressed the End button and took another swig from the bottle with his good hand. He had ended up needing a total of twenty-two stitches. The doctors had told him he was lucky it hadn't gotten infected, since he had waited so long to get medical attention.
"Well if my girlfriend had gotten me a shot," he had slurred. They had encouraged him to take one of their beds in the Behavioral Health section of the ER, but he had refused. Once he had gotten some stitches and a nice dose of painkillers, Dante had spent the next two days cruising bars and repeatedly dialing Astrid's phone number. It was no use, though; he was pretty sure she hated him.
"Only one thing to do," he said. He slowly got up from the living room floor and stumbled into the kitchen, looking for his keys. "Gotta go get my girl." He got into the car and tucked the bottle of whiskey beside him, and twenty minutes later he stood at Astrid's front door. He used his bandaged hand to ring the doorbell, cradling the bottle with his good hand and tapping one foot impatiently.
Astrid was in the middle of blowing her nose when the doorbell rang. Fuck. She was pretty certain she knew who it was, but you never knew. Wiping her nose and tossing the tissue away, she went downstairs and to the front door, getting up on tiptoe to peek out the window - and saw Dante. With a bottle of booze. Straightening herself up, she felt her stomach lurch, her eyes stinging all over again. This was not going to be pretty. She steeled herself, made sure her composure and her will was firm, and then unlocked, opened the front door. "Dante, what are you doing here?"
"I think your phone is off," he said, rocking on his heels a little. Each time he moved forward, gravity threatened to forget about him. "Can I come in?"
He was shitfaced. Astrid bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, especially after she caught sight of his car haphazardly parked in the driveway next to hers. Her initial reaction was to slam the door in his face - but then he'd just get back in the car and God knows what would happen. "You can come in, but you have to give me the whiskey. No more drinking while you're here, you're plenty drunk already." She stood her ground, her body pressed between the door frame and door.
"Oh-kay," he said, nearly singing. He put the bottle to his lips and took another swig, then handed it to her. "All yours." He grinned and moved toward the door. "Can I come in now?"
This was a mistake, a huge mistake and Astrid could feel it. But she couldn't turn him away if not for the simple fact that she did not want him out on the road driving around drunk. Accepting the bottle, she took a step back, letting him inside - thankful that nothing valuable or breakable was really nearby. "Sit down on the couch and don't move," she commanded sternly, glaring at him. She backed up, before disappearing in the kitchen, presumably hiding the bottle. She was gone for only a minute before she came back out into the living room, folding her arms. "You're not leaving here until you're sober," she said with a sigh, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from him.
"Is that an order? You gonna tie me up, too?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and then lay his head in her lap. Looking up at her, his intentions clear in his eyes, he brushed her cheek with his finger. "Hi," he whispered.
"Stop it," she said, pushing his hand away. "I'm really pissed at you, you know." Not that you're sober enough to care, she wanted to add - but she didn't feel like fanning the flames anymore than she already might of. "This is ridiculous, Dante. I don't like you behaving like this."
"Ridiculous?" He sat up as if she had caught on fire. "What would you like me to be, then? Hmn? Want me to be 'straight-edge' and wear tight pants?" He slumped back into the couch on the opposite end and dug through his pockets, looking for the pack of cigarettes he had bought -- if he had even bought any. His fingers found a single cigarette tucked behind his ear. It broke in half when he tried to grab it. He stuck the wrong end of one half in his mouth and lit the filter end, inhaling deeply.
"You know what your problem is?" He inhaled again and grimaced. The cigarette tasted like crap, but he couldn't figure out why. "You need to relax. Just, what, a week ago, we got a hotel room and," he said, inhaling again, "did all kinds of coke and shit, and you're telling me I have a drinking problem? Come on, babe. Seriously?" He held the cigarette out in front of him and made a face. "Fuck, I lit the wrong end."
"You don't need to remind me what we did a week ago." Astrid remembered the hotel - it had been fun, yes, but that had been more of a one time kind of thing. With the exception of that night, Astrid was fairly 'straight edged': she smoked cigarettes, sure, and smoke some pot here and there, and even drank a little bit. But the difference between her and Dante was self-control, and it was becoming rapidly apparent to her that he lacked it.
Leaning over to the coffee table, grabbing her pack of smokes and lit two up - handing him one, then keeping one for herself. "The fact that we did what we did last week should show you that I'm not closed minded about this. At all. But when this shit starts to affect our relationship? That's different." She jabbed her cigarette in the air, as if punctuating her statements. "I'm telling you that I think you have a drinking problem because I have every reason to believe that. You drove here drunk, for fuck's sake!" Her anger was rising, and her voice had taken on a sharper edge. She was trying to calm herself, but the thought of him driving, swerving across the road to get here almost made her blood pressure shoot through the roof. "I cannot think of a more despicable, disgusting thing for you to do -- and you're telling me to relax?!" She wasn't yelling, not yet, but she was damn near close.
"Fine," Dante said, and jumped up. He tripped over his own feet and almost fell into the coffee table. He managed to steady himself at the last second and fell back into the couch. "Fine, I'll go." He stood up again, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "Next time, pick up your fucking phone." He headed toward the door.
Astrid shook her head back and forth quickly, getting up after him. "Are you kidding me? I chew you out for driving drunk, and you're going to go do it?" She was incredulous, but then again, he was drunk, and therefore, not rational. She was also quicker than him: beating him to the door and pressing her back against it, effectively blocking him off. "You're not leaving here until you're sober."
"Then I guess I'm not leaving!" He folded his arms across his chest and stood, swaying a little. He took a few puffs on his cigarette, perched on his lower lip and threatening to fall at any second. "So bossy," he said.
"God, how old are you?" Astrid rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him through the haze of smoke that separated them. They had been together for so long ... had this been happening the whole time and she missed it? Was she really that oblivious? Or had this crept up on him slowly, like a cancer before putting him in a stranglehold? She knew one thing was for sure, and that was that this wasn't the Dante she had fallen in love with. Dante before had been so full of life, dreams, and ambition. And now, he looked like the ghost of a man she barely knew. "Go on, sit down." If she kept thinking about it anymore, she knew she'd start to cry again. And she did not feel like dealing with the fallout from that.
"'Go on, sit down,'" he said, sitting down. "So freaking bossy."
He looked down at his hands. Two nights ago, he had called her a tyrant. Obviously, those words had gouged in deep. He felt like he had no control over his mouth anymore. He sighed and took one more drag before dying the cigarette out. "So," he said, letting the words hang. He didn't know what to say, and couldn't organize his thoughts long enough to figure out what he should be saying. "I'm pretty fucking tanked," he said, laughing.
It took every ounce of inner strength she possessed not to scream or to hit him. She remained leaning up against the door for several long beats before coming to take a seat in the chair across from him. Her cigarette lay smoldering in the ash tray, but she picked it up and started to smoke it again. When that one was done, she lit up another one. "I know," she said finally, exhaling a lungful of smoke. "Why?"
"Uh." He checked his pockets again for the pack of Marlboros he had bought earlier. "Dammit." He lifted his ass off the seat just enough so that he could fish the now crushed pack from the back pocket of his jeans. There were still a couple good cigarettes left, but most of them had been destroyed.
He lit one up and tapped ash obliviously onto his knee. "Why am I drunk...?" His eyes drooped and his chin sank forward.
In spite of herself, Astrid lunged forwards, snatching the cigarette away from him. "Jesus Christ - you know what? This is bullshit." She ground the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up. "Listen, just give me your keys, okay? Give me your keys and just ... sleep it off. I can't deal with this right now."
He slowly lifted his head. "Huh?" He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them. They felt as if they had been freezer burnt. "Why? Where're you going?"
"Nowhere. I'm not going anywhere." It took a few tries, but Astrid managed to soften her tone, just a bit. "I just want your keys just to be on the safe side. You can have them back once you're feeling better, okay?" If she could take his keys, she'd feel a lot better: at least he could pass out on her couch for awhile and let her do her own thing.
He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and turned onto his side. His eyes were already getting heavy. "Come here?" He scooted back on the couch a little. He knew she was mad, but couldn't remember why.
At first Astrid said nothing, watching him through the haze of smoke coming from her cigarette. Grinding the butt out, she slowly got up and moved over onto the couch in front of him. "Better?"
"Mmn-hmn," he said, and his eyes slid shut. He wouldn't be awake again for a while.
At least her couch was big enough. She looked at him for several long moments, before exhaling a big, gusty sign and laying down next to him. He may have been drunk, but he was still Dante. And besides, it was exhausting being do angry. She'd sleep for now; maybe things would be better once they both woke up.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Ouch! (Part II)
Astrid paused, for several heart pounding seconds: regarding him carefully with big wet eyes. Her body was tense, muscles locked - the fight or flight instinct had taken over her, but was slowly subsiding. The hurt in his eyes killed her, and she knew that he really didn't mean it. But she also knew that there was still something wrong; not necessarily between them or because of her, but ...
Taking a deep, shaky breath, her eyelids dropped shut, letting the tears that welled up drip down her cheeks. "Okay," she said with a small hiccup, furrowing her brow - but leaned into his arms, pressing her face to his chest, letting her arms encircle him. She began to cry again, softly and quietly, not really able to hold it all back. The emotions that ran rampant throughout the night were unexpected, wore her down a bit, and all she could really do was try and catch her breath. "Okay," she repeated when she was calm enough, pulling back slightly from his body and rubbed her eyes with her fists, forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry. Do you ..." not really knowing why she was apologizing, maybe to keep him from getting upset again, "... want me to finish dinner?" She was going to ask him to talk, but ... it didn't seem right: the tension was still high in the air, thick.
"Eh," he said, waving a hand and turning away from her. He felt as if something had broken inside of him at the sight of her face, the tears running from her eyes. It was him that was wrong, and yet she was apologizing. Bile sloshed in his stomach and he cupped a hand to his mouth.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said through his fingers, afraid to turn around and face her. "Excuse me." He brushed past her toward the bathroom, eyes watching the floor. If he could get into the bathroom, maybe see if there was a little nipper under the counter or something, he could take back control of himself.
Astrid watched him helplessly, feeling a sudden chill ravage her body. Biting down on her bottom lip, she resisted the urge to break down and cry again - Jesus Christ, why was she such a goddamned crybaby? She liked to think of herself as a tough kind of chick, but when emotions were involved, she was prone to bursting into tears. Cursing her sensitive nature, she realized that there was little she could do for the moment. Climbing to her feet, using the kitchen counter for support, she leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face to try and calm herself down.
Giving herself a few minutes to relax, because maybe if she was relaxed, then he would calm down, too. Her finger throbbed, she noticed dimly, but she tried to put it past her mind. The door to the bathroom was shut, ominously quiet - maybe he needed some space, too. She took the moment to carefully reapply her make-up in the bedroom - using waterproof eyeliner and mascara, this time - to let a few minutes pass. When there was nothing coming from the bathroom, she walked up to the door, knocking softly. "Dante? Dante, are you okay? Let me in."
Nothing, there was nothing. Dante stared at his reflection in the mirror, horrified. There wasn't even a mouthful of mouth rinse, and the worst part about that was that he had actually considered drinking Listerine. I think I might have a problem, he thought, and shook his head at his reflection. No. He just needed something to calm him down, something stronger than a Marlboro or a hit of cheap city weed.
His mouth felt as if it were coated in baking soda. "Yeah?"
There was a hint of desperation in his voice that threatened to break him, and she heard it, closing her eyes for a few brief seconds. "Dante, are you okay?" The feeling of impending doom washed over her, took root in her belly and worked its way through her body. She felt sick as she reached up a trembling hand, grasping the door knob and turning it, finding it unlocked.
Nudging the door open with a shoulder, she let it open to look at him standing there, gripping the sink. "Dante .... talk to me." She could see his resolve weakening, see that there was something very, very wrong with him; firming her tone slightly to show that she was strong, to show that she could handle whatever he would threw her way. All she wanted was to know what was wrong, do her best to try to help.
He clamped down on his tongue, fighting the explosive words that threatened to break free. His nostrils flared and he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked worried, innocent.
"Get... Get..." He turned from her, facing the glass shower, shaking. His mind raced and his fists clenched. He couldn't control himself, but the corners of his mouth threatened to curl up. Part of him enjoyed the mindless lack of self he now was. Part of him wanted to embrace the rage, to shatter that glass shower door. A small part of him remembered that he was a lot bigger than her, and that he needed to control himself if only so that he didn't scare her. He didn't think he would hurt her, but hadn't he already?
This was a side of him she had never seen - and it terrified her. He was upset about something, to say the least, and he was a bomb just waiting to go off. Part of her wanted to stay and try and comfort him, but the rational side of her overrode any maternal instinct that welled up inside her. She had to get out of here, and she had to go fast. She knew he would never hurt her purposefully, but she knew that if provoked, she would be in the way of a very dangerous man.
"Okay."
Her mouth was slightly open, fearful: but she obeyed his unfinished demand. Slowly backing up away from him until her back hit the wall, prompting her to turn for the bedroom and, very quickly and quietly, gather her purse and keys. She didn't know what else to do: she could hear him breathing heavily in the bathroom as she approached the door opening it and stepping out onto the porch. She'd wait here. She'd give him a few minutes, see what he did, and if things didn't change, she'd bounce. If only it were that simple.
He listened to her keys jingling off-beat with her footsteps, and when the door closed behind her he threw his fist into the medicine cabinet mirror. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the floor, but most of the mirror was now in his fist. He slid to the tiled floor and buried his face in his hands.
"Scissorhands," he said, voice cracking as the first of his tears burst and trickled down his abraded cheek. Little beads of blood sprang out from the wounds in his fist, but he didn't bother getting up to take care of it. He had given Astrid his last Band-Aid, and now he was pretty sure she was gone.
Astrid had just lit up a cigarette and taken a well-needed drag off of it when she heard the muffled, albeit noisy explosion of glass. Nearly dropping her cigarette and her keys, she turned around and flung the door open, dashing back into the apartment. It was a good thing she waited around, although she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her. This time, she did drop her purse and keys to the floor, not even hearing the clatter: mouth falling open and letting the cigarette fall to the tiles.
"My God, Dante," she choked out, pressing a hand to her mouth as she fell to her knees, crawling on the floor into the bathroom, careful to avoid any shards of glass, but even more careful of him on the off-chance he was primed to explode. She had a feeling, though, that this was the fallout of his rage and she didn't have anything to fear. She did, however, have to tend to his wounds - starting off by reaching a comforting hand out to him.
"I thought you left," he said. Lyrics from an old song came to him, something about being half a man, and then the fragment was gone. He didn't want to think about who he was; he wasn't even sure he knew anymore.
He held his damaged hand out in front of him. It didn't look good; some of the glass looked like it was in deep, and he thought he would probably need stitches. "I can handle this. It's okay. Really. You can just go home, or something." He tried his best to sound reassuring, to be the stone that he normally was for her, but the effort was half-assed.
"I didn't want to," she pointed out. Never mind that, though, this wasn't the time to be arguing or debating. He was seriously injured, whether he wanted to admit to it or not. Shaking her head as she gently took hold of his wrist, holding the hand up. It was a grotesque looking injury, one that he could most definitely not handle on his own.
"No way. I'm not leaving you like this." Astrid didn't want to leave him ever, but ... banishing the thought from her mind, she slowly stood up, holding onto the door jamb for support. "I'm taking you to the emergency room," she said finally, that firm tone seeping back into her voice. "I'm taking you, and you are not going to argue with me. I can't handle this, and neither can you. Come on, get up ..." Whoa! When did Astrid grow a spine? Her eyes were glassy like she was going to cry all over again, but she grounded her stance and bit the inside of her cheek. He was starting to bleed badly now, and she was growing more anxious with every moment that passed.
He tried to grin, but grit his teeth instead. "Really, it's fine," he said. "I can just pull these out with pliers and--" He knit his brows together. "Ooh, okay, okay. I might need to go to the ER."
He flexed his hand out in front of him. "Ooh, man that's bad. Shit," he said. "I might need a drink." He forced a grin and looked at her dead on. "Oh, man it hurts!"
Astrid shook her head, pale pink strands of hair coming loose from her pony tail, but she ignored them, still holding onto his wrist. "Baby, come on, get up. I'm going to take you to the ER." Slowly climbing to her feet, ever so gently pulling him up along with her.
"You don't need a drink, you need medical attention." Shaking her head - if only she realized how telling his own admission had been. It lingered in her mind when she helped him out the door and out to her car, but concern took over immediately. She found that her hands were shaking, fumbling with the keys before she actually got the car started, backing out of her parking space. "Just ... relax, okay?" God, why did he have to go and do that? He was bleeding all over himself, her car - not that she cared about that. At least he wasn't fighting her on the hospital bit.
"Fuck me, this hurts," he said as he swung the passenger door shut. "I feel like I'm gonna pass out." He held his hand in his lap, letting it bleed into his already soaked jeans. "If we could just stop somewhere real quick, get me a shot so I don't start screaming like a little girl in front of my girl..." He turned and winked at her, then winced. It actually did hurt pretty bad, but he didn't really care about the pain. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. He needed to stay calm, cool.
He kept mentioning alcohol. She knew he drank often, but she never really considered the extent; though when he asked her to stop somewhere so he could get a shot, her early suspicion was beginning to seep back into her mind. It was a sobering thought - no pun intended, of course - that threw her into a tailspin of emotions: first concern, then anger, then annoyance, then ... well, she wasn't sure what she was feeling. Knitting her brows together, tossing him a dirty look. "Alcohol thins the blood, so you'll bleed even more than you already are." He was trying to be cute, but it wasn't going to work this time. As she drove, she wondered how many times she fell for this same trick, wondered just how bad his problem with alcohol really was.
"Come on, babe." He pulled at a piece of the glass in his hand, then drew his hand back when it hurt too much to fully pull out. "If you love me, you'll do this little thing for me. I'm already bleeding like a pig, anyway." He wiggled his hand for emphasis.
Astrid couldn't help it: she was beginning to feel quite angry at him at this point. All she had wanted was a nice, quiet night at his place to have dinner, relax, and forget about everything. This became evident long ago that this wasn't going to happen - and she was less than pleased that she had to drive him to the emergency room after he scared the everloving shit out of her. "No." Thank God the ER wasn't too far off, she could see the lights on top of the building in the distance. "Dante, I think you have a problem."
"Yeah, I think so, too," he said, not bothering to cover up the anger anymore. "It's my tyrant of a fucking girlfriend." The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He wanted the drink even more, so he let the words hang, anticipating the inevitable argument that he was hoping would follow.
And she was here to let him down. She braked suddenly when he spoke those words, gasping softly in surprise - and then nothing. She couldn't even begin to formulate the words, the feelings that washed over her,m but she knew that if she even attempted to speak, she'd probably wind up hitting him in the face. Thankfully, they had reached the hospital; pulling up by the ER's sliding doors, she braked again, a little harder than necessary. "Get out." Her words were cold, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles began to turn white - her jaw was set, fighting back the tears.
He froze, unable to make even his good hand work the car door. He had, obviously, not anticipated this.
"Babybabybaby, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I'm just freaking out. I mean, I think I'm like delirious or something. It's the blood loss. I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. I'm just scared. I'm sorry." He glanced from the ER doors to Astrid's face as he spoke.
"Jesus FUCKING Christ, Dante, get the hell out of my car!!" Astrid had exploded suddenly, slamming both her fists on either side of the steering wheel. It was better than bursting into tears all over again, which she would be damned if she did that in front of him again. But she was pissed off, and understandably so, and right now, she wasn't sure she could stand to be around him anymore - even if she did feel concerned about his hand. Reaching across his lap, pushing the door open and then squared her shoulders, hands back on the wheel.
He got out and walked away, taking brisk steps in the opposite direction of the ER doors. Fuck his hand. He needed a drink.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, her eyelids dropped shut, letting the tears that welled up drip down her cheeks. "Okay," she said with a small hiccup, furrowing her brow - but leaned into his arms, pressing her face to his chest, letting her arms encircle him. She began to cry again, softly and quietly, not really able to hold it all back. The emotions that ran rampant throughout the night were unexpected, wore her down a bit, and all she could really do was try and catch her breath. "Okay," she repeated when she was calm enough, pulling back slightly from his body and rubbed her eyes with her fists, forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry. Do you ..." not really knowing why she was apologizing, maybe to keep him from getting upset again, "... want me to finish dinner?" She was going to ask him to talk, but ... it didn't seem right: the tension was still high in the air, thick.
"Eh," he said, waving a hand and turning away from her. He felt as if something had broken inside of him at the sight of her face, the tears running from her eyes. It was him that was wrong, and yet she was apologizing. Bile sloshed in his stomach and he cupped a hand to his mouth.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said through his fingers, afraid to turn around and face her. "Excuse me." He brushed past her toward the bathroom, eyes watching the floor. If he could get into the bathroom, maybe see if there was a little nipper under the counter or something, he could take back control of himself.
Astrid watched him helplessly, feeling a sudden chill ravage her body. Biting down on her bottom lip, she resisted the urge to break down and cry again - Jesus Christ, why was she such a goddamned crybaby? She liked to think of herself as a tough kind of chick, but when emotions were involved, she was prone to bursting into tears. Cursing her sensitive nature, she realized that there was little she could do for the moment. Climbing to her feet, using the kitchen counter for support, she leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face to try and calm herself down.
Giving herself a few minutes to relax, because maybe if she was relaxed, then he would calm down, too. Her finger throbbed, she noticed dimly, but she tried to put it past her mind. The door to the bathroom was shut, ominously quiet - maybe he needed some space, too. She took the moment to carefully reapply her make-up in the bedroom - using waterproof eyeliner and mascara, this time - to let a few minutes pass. When there was nothing coming from the bathroom, she walked up to the door, knocking softly. "Dante? Dante, are you okay? Let me in."
Nothing, there was nothing. Dante stared at his reflection in the mirror, horrified. There wasn't even a mouthful of mouth rinse, and the worst part about that was that he had actually considered drinking Listerine. I think I might have a problem, he thought, and shook his head at his reflection. No. He just needed something to calm him down, something stronger than a Marlboro or a hit of cheap city weed.
His mouth felt as if it were coated in baking soda. "Yeah?"
There was a hint of desperation in his voice that threatened to break him, and she heard it, closing her eyes for a few brief seconds. "Dante, are you okay?" The feeling of impending doom washed over her, took root in her belly and worked its way through her body. She felt sick as she reached up a trembling hand, grasping the door knob and turning it, finding it unlocked.
Nudging the door open with a shoulder, she let it open to look at him standing there, gripping the sink. "Dante .... talk to me." She could see his resolve weakening, see that there was something very, very wrong with him; firming her tone slightly to show that she was strong, to show that she could handle whatever he would threw her way. All she wanted was to know what was wrong, do her best to try to help.
He clamped down on his tongue, fighting the explosive words that threatened to break free. His nostrils flared and he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked worried, innocent.
"Get... Get..." He turned from her, facing the glass shower, shaking. His mind raced and his fists clenched. He couldn't control himself, but the corners of his mouth threatened to curl up. Part of him enjoyed the mindless lack of self he now was. Part of him wanted to embrace the rage, to shatter that glass shower door. A small part of him remembered that he was a lot bigger than her, and that he needed to control himself if only so that he didn't scare her. He didn't think he would hurt her, but hadn't he already?
This was a side of him she had never seen - and it terrified her. He was upset about something, to say the least, and he was a bomb just waiting to go off. Part of her wanted to stay and try and comfort him, but the rational side of her overrode any maternal instinct that welled up inside her. She had to get out of here, and she had to go fast. She knew he would never hurt her purposefully, but she knew that if provoked, she would be in the way of a very dangerous man.
"Okay."
Her mouth was slightly open, fearful: but she obeyed his unfinished demand. Slowly backing up away from him until her back hit the wall, prompting her to turn for the bedroom and, very quickly and quietly, gather her purse and keys. She didn't know what else to do: she could hear him breathing heavily in the bathroom as she approached the door opening it and stepping out onto the porch. She'd wait here. She'd give him a few minutes, see what he did, and if things didn't change, she'd bounce. If only it were that simple.
He listened to her keys jingling off-beat with her footsteps, and when the door closed behind her he threw his fist into the medicine cabinet mirror. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the floor, but most of the mirror was now in his fist. He slid to the tiled floor and buried his face in his hands.
"Scissorhands," he said, voice cracking as the first of his tears burst and trickled down his abraded cheek. Little beads of blood sprang out from the wounds in his fist, but he didn't bother getting up to take care of it. He had given Astrid his last Band-Aid, and now he was pretty sure she was gone.
Astrid had just lit up a cigarette and taken a well-needed drag off of it when she heard the muffled, albeit noisy explosion of glass. Nearly dropping her cigarette and her keys, she turned around and flung the door open, dashing back into the apartment. It was a good thing she waited around, although she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her. This time, she did drop her purse and keys to the floor, not even hearing the clatter: mouth falling open and letting the cigarette fall to the tiles.
"My God, Dante," she choked out, pressing a hand to her mouth as she fell to her knees, crawling on the floor into the bathroom, careful to avoid any shards of glass, but even more careful of him on the off-chance he was primed to explode. She had a feeling, though, that this was the fallout of his rage and she didn't have anything to fear. She did, however, have to tend to his wounds - starting off by reaching a comforting hand out to him.
"I thought you left," he said. Lyrics from an old song came to him, something about being half a man, and then the fragment was gone. He didn't want to think about who he was; he wasn't even sure he knew anymore.
He held his damaged hand out in front of him. It didn't look good; some of the glass looked like it was in deep, and he thought he would probably need stitches. "I can handle this. It's okay. Really. You can just go home, or something." He tried his best to sound reassuring, to be the stone that he normally was for her, but the effort was half-assed.
"I didn't want to," she pointed out. Never mind that, though, this wasn't the time to be arguing or debating. He was seriously injured, whether he wanted to admit to it or not. Shaking her head as she gently took hold of his wrist, holding the hand up. It was a grotesque looking injury, one that he could most definitely not handle on his own.
"No way. I'm not leaving you like this." Astrid didn't want to leave him ever, but ... banishing the thought from her mind, she slowly stood up, holding onto the door jamb for support. "I'm taking you to the emergency room," she said finally, that firm tone seeping back into her voice. "I'm taking you, and you are not going to argue with me. I can't handle this, and neither can you. Come on, get up ..." Whoa! When did Astrid grow a spine? Her eyes were glassy like she was going to cry all over again, but she grounded her stance and bit the inside of her cheek. He was starting to bleed badly now, and she was growing more anxious with every moment that passed.
He tried to grin, but grit his teeth instead. "Really, it's fine," he said. "I can just pull these out with pliers and--" He knit his brows together. "Ooh, okay, okay. I might need to go to the ER."
He flexed his hand out in front of him. "Ooh, man that's bad. Shit," he said. "I might need a drink." He forced a grin and looked at her dead on. "Oh, man it hurts!"
Astrid shook her head, pale pink strands of hair coming loose from her pony tail, but she ignored them, still holding onto his wrist. "Baby, come on, get up. I'm going to take you to the ER." Slowly climbing to her feet, ever so gently pulling him up along with her.
"You don't need a drink, you need medical attention." Shaking her head - if only she realized how telling his own admission had been. It lingered in her mind when she helped him out the door and out to her car, but concern took over immediately. She found that her hands were shaking, fumbling with the keys before she actually got the car started, backing out of her parking space. "Just ... relax, okay?" God, why did he have to go and do that? He was bleeding all over himself, her car - not that she cared about that. At least he wasn't fighting her on the hospital bit.
"Fuck me, this hurts," he said as he swung the passenger door shut. "I feel like I'm gonna pass out." He held his hand in his lap, letting it bleed into his already soaked jeans. "If we could just stop somewhere real quick, get me a shot so I don't start screaming like a little girl in front of my girl..." He turned and winked at her, then winced. It actually did hurt pretty bad, but he didn't really care about the pain. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. He needed to stay calm, cool.
He kept mentioning alcohol. She knew he drank often, but she never really considered the extent; though when he asked her to stop somewhere so he could get a shot, her early suspicion was beginning to seep back into her mind. It was a sobering thought - no pun intended, of course - that threw her into a tailspin of emotions: first concern, then anger, then annoyance, then ... well, she wasn't sure what she was feeling. Knitting her brows together, tossing him a dirty look. "Alcohol thins the blood, so you'll bleed even more than you already are." He was trying to be cute, but it wasn't going to work this time. As she drove, she wondered how many times she fell for this same trick, wondered just how bad his problem with alcohol really was.
"Come on, babe." He pulled at a piece of the glass in his hand, then drew his hand back when it hurt too much to fully pull out. "If you love me, you'll do this little thing for me. I'm already bleeding like a pig, anyway." He wiggled his hand for emphasis.
Astrid couldn't help it: she was beginning to feel quite angry at him at this point. All she had wanted was a nice, quiet night at his place to have dinner, relax, and forget about everything. This became evident long ago that this wasn't going to happen - and she was less than pleased that she had to drive him to the emergency room after he scared the everloving shit out of her. "No." Thank God the ER wasn't too far off, she could see the lights on top of the building in the distance. "Dante, I think you have a problem."
"Yeah, I think so, too," he said, not bothering to cover up the anger anymore. "It's my tyrant of a fucking girlfriend." The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He wanted the drink even more, so he let the words hang, anticipating the inevitable argument that he was hoping would follow.
And she was here to let him down. She braked suddenly when he spoke those words, gasping softly in surprise - and then nothing. She couldn't even begin to formulate the words, the feelings that washed over her,m but she knew that if she even attempted to speak, she'd probably wind up hitting him in the face. Thankfully, they had reached the hospital; pulling up by the ER's sliding doors, she braked again, a little harder than necessary. "Get out." Her words were cold, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles began to turn white - her jaw was set, fighting back the tears.
He froze, unable to make even his good hand work the car door. He had, obviously, not anticipated this.
"Babybabybaby, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I'm just freaking out. I mean, I think I'm like delirious or something. It's the blood loss. I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. I'm just scared. I'm sorry." He glanced from the ER doors to Astrid's face as he spoke.
"Jesus FUCKING Christ, Dante, get the hell out of my car!!" Astrid had exploded suddenly, slamming both her fists on either side of the steering wheel. It was better than bursting into tears all over again, which she would be damned if she did that in front of him again. But she was pissed off, and understandably so, and right now, she wasn't sure she could stand to be around him anymore - even if she did feel concerned about his hand. Reaching across his lap, pushing the door open and then squared her shoulders, hands back on the wheel.
He got out and walked away, taking brisk steps in the opposite direction of the ER doors. Fuck his hand. He needed a drink.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Ouch!
It was a few days after their wild hotel escapade, and she was standing in his kitchen, preparing dinner. No real reason, except she wanted to, and he looked like he could stand to eat a few meals. So earlier in the day, while he was at work, she went to the grocery store and purchased two decently sizeable, thick steaks, some potatoes, and corn on the cob.
Now here she was, fading-pink hair tied back in a messy ponytail, mouth twisted to the side of her face in fierce concentration as she defrosted the steaks, calling into the living room, “Hope you’re hungry!” Sounding way too cheerful - slowly, surely, she was getting into the ‘housewife’ routine. And, frighteningly enough, was rather enjoying it.
Slumped over on the couch, eyes dully watching the images flickering on the television, Dante grunted in response. For the most part, he loved that she was with him, making dinner, putting a little light in his life. A tiny part of him, though, wished she would just leave. He hated that part of himself, but no matter what he did, it would not go away. The bottom line was, he wanted a drink. As long as Astrid was around, he couldn't have one. It was grating on his nerves, setting him on edge, and the more he hated himself, the more angry he was becoming.
Still, he managed to call back with a hearty, "Starving!" and began to flip through the channels. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world.
Sigh. Astrid is a woman, Dante, she’s got something called womens’ intuition! She knows when something is wrong! Most other girls would have been happy with his response, but she caught the note of aggravation in his voice, and rolled her eyes in spite of herself. She was getting sort of fed up with him too, thought for much different reasons. He’d been like this for weeks now - on edge, agitated, and he wasn’t talking to her.
Just ignore him, she told herself, putting the steaks on the mini Foreman grill, and closed the lid, setting about the peeling the potatoes. Withdrawing a kitchen knife from the drawer, she began to slice and dice -- and knicked her finger in the process. “Shit!” The knife clattered to the floor as she grabbed her hand, hissing sharply in pain. “Fuck!”
Jumping up from the couch, Dante made it into the kitchen in less than two seconds. "What happened?" The words came out much more rough than he meant them to, and he instantly amended: "Are you okay?", his voice much softer.
She pressed the tip of her wounded finger in between her lips, sucking hard on it - as if it would make the pain go away. When he stepped into the kitchen, her eyes were wide at his tone, and she stopped, total deer in headlights look. Poor Astrid. When she spoke, her voice was tiny, meager even: “I cut myself.”
Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she relaxed, holding her bleeding fingertip out to him. “See?” Her tone was childish; half hoping to charm him into submission, hoping to relax him from whatever was bothering him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, blood hot and rushing through his veins. What the fuck was the matter with him? He turned the water on in the kitchen sink and led her to it, sticking her finger under the cold tap. The scent of cooking food calmed him a bit, but his level of anger seemed to just keep rising; the angrier he became, the more angry he became at himself. It didn't have to make sense--it just was.
She moved with him mutely, inhaling sharply at the cold water rinsing off the blood. The cut was small, minor, and stopped bleeding after a few minutes. But as he held her hand in place, she winced. “Oww ...” She tried to tug her arm away. “Baby, you’re hurting me. Is everything okay?” His anger coalesced throughout his body, and she could feel it. It pervaded the air of the kitchen, overtook the scents of her cooking, and she found herself oddly frightened - trying to move away from him. Sheer instinct.
He released her arm, flexing his fingers; he hadn't realized he was holding her wrist so tightly. Still, he found his voice coming out choked and forced. "Why don't you want to be near me?"
Astrid cradled her wrist in her free hand, her eyes wide as she stepped back against the refrigerator. “I ... you’re scaring me,” was all she could manage out, her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you talk to me?” She looked scared, defenseless; she was completely in fight or flight mode, his radiating intensity setting her nerves afire, on edge.
"Ah, fuck," he said, slamming his fist into the oven door, creating a little dent in it. He turned to the sink, knuckles white, he was gripping the counter so tightly. He splashed cold water on his face and stood, staring out the sink window, water dripping from his face and hair.
"I can't fucking do this anymore," he whispered, voice still razor sharp but filled with a sadness so thick no knife could cut through it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He didn't want to look at her; his head was buzzing with the childish idea that if he refused to turn around and talk to her, it would all go away.
Poor Astrid. Poor, scared stiff Astrid. She was helpless - clueless on what to do. He was going mental, and she did not have the faintest idea of what to do to help. She flinched at the oven door being punched, shirking away into a corner, several paces away from him, shaking like a leaf the whole while. His anger scared her - not the anger itself, but because she had no idea what was forcing it.
The despondent tone in his voice absolutely crushed her heart, and she deflated visibly, gigantic tears pooling in her eyes. Her lower lip was trembling uncontrollably, but she did not blink, refusing to let the tears spill over. Why she was crying, she didn’t know. All she wanted to do was help.
Without a word, without a glance at her, Dante went into the bathroom. He refused to look at himself in the mirror; he had a feeling if he did, he might crack completely. He sat down on the edge of the tub and buried his face in his hands. Things were spinning out of control, and fast. She was getting scared, and that made him angry. Angry at himself, but he found himself projecting his anger outward--in an unhealthy way.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Stood from the tub and tore open the medicine cabinet. A tin Band-Aid box stared back at him. He took it down from the shelf, and was graced with a single Band-Aid. He placed the Band-Aid on the counter and looked back into the cabinet. Ah, the emergency one-hitter, packed and ready to go. He took a hit and closed his eyes, holding the smoke in for as long as possible. Exhaled. Took another hit and put the piece back in its place.
Consequently, when he shut the cabinet, he caught his reflection. He could feel the drug taking its effect; the anger was seeping out of him and he just felt indifferent. He opened the bathroom door and took the ten or so steps toward Astrid, Band-Aid extended to her in one sweaty palm.
When he left, she let out the breath she had no idea that she had been holding, letting it all all in one gusty sigh. Then she hiccuped, and then it was all over - the tears tumbled down her cheeks, trailing mascara with them, damnit. She drew her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms and legs, and silently cried.
It was her fault. She didn’t know how, or why, but she just knew that this was all her fault, and that made her cry harder. To make things more annoying, she just could not stop hiccuping, and so she was a gasping, sniveling mess when he returned to her. Glancing up at the proffered Band-Aid, she took it with trembling fingers - the wound had reopened - and sniffled, unwrapping it and bandaging her wound.
Yet she still could not quite bring herself to look at him, afraid of inciting his rage.
"Sorry. I," he paused, holding his arms out to her. "Guess I'm just overtired," he said.
She froze, her head cocked to the side, her expression blank. "What did I do?" She whispered with a sniffle, the tears threatening to return.
"Nothing, baby, nothing," he said, arms still outstretched. "I'm just grumpy. I'm sorry." Hoping against hope that she wouldn't cry. Not again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Now here she was, fading-pink hair tied back in a messy ponytail, mouth twisted to the side of her face in fierce concentration as she defrosted the steaks, calling into the living room, “Hope you’re hungry!” Sounding way too cheerful - slowly, surely, she was getting into the ‘housewife’ routine. And, frighteningly enough, was rather enjoying it.
Slumped over on the couch, eyes dully watching the images flickering on the television, Dante grunted in response. For the most part, he loved that she was with him, making dinner, putting a little light in his life. A tiny part of him, though, wished she would just leave. He hated that part of himself, but no matter what he did, it would not go away. The bottom line was, he wanted a drink. As long as Astrid was around, he couldn't have one. It was grating on his nerves, setting him on edge, and the more he hated himself, the more angry he was becoming.
Still, he managed to call back with a hearty, "Starving!" and began to flip through the channels. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world.
Sigh. Astrid is a woman, Dante, she’s got something called womens’ intuition! She knows when something is wrong! Most other girls would have been happy with his response, but she caught the note of aggravation in his voice, and rolled her eyes in spite of herself. She was getting sort of fed up with him too, thought for much different reasons. He’d been like this for weeks now - on edge, agitated, and he wasn’t talking to her.
Just ignore him, she told herself, putting the steaks on the mini Foreman grill, and closed the lid, setting about the peeling the potatoes. Withdrawing a kitchen knife from the drawer, she began to slice and dice -- and knicked her finger in the process. “Shit!” The knife clattered to the floor as she grabbed her hand, hissing sharply in pain. “Fuck!”
Jumping up from the couch, Dante made it into the kitchen in less than two seconds. "What happened?" The words came out much more rough than he meant them to, and he instantly amended: "Are you okay?", his voice much softer.
She pressed the tip of her wounded finger in between her lips, sucking hard on it - as if it would make the pain go away. When he stepped into the kitchen, her eyes were wide at his tone, and she stopped, total deer in headlights look. Poor Astrid. When she spoke, her voice was tiny, meager even: “I cut myself.”
Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she relaxed, holding her bleeding fingertip out to him. “See?” Her tone was childish; half hoping to charm him into submission, hoping to relax him from whatever was bothering him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, blood hot and rushing through his veins. What the fuck was the matter with him? He turned the water on in the kitchen sink and led her to it, sticking her finger under the cold tap. The scent of cooking food calmed him a bit, but his level of anger seemed to just keep rising; the angrier he became, the more angry he became at himself. It didn't have to make sense--it just was.
She moved with him mutely, inhaling sharply at the cold water rinsing off the blood. The cut was small, minor, and stopped bleeding after a few minutes. But as he held her hand in place, she winced. “Oww ...” She tried to tug her arm away. “Baby, you’re hurting me. Is everything okay?” His anger coalesced throughout his body, and she could feel it. It pervaded the air of the kitchen, overtook the scents of her cooking, and she found herself oddly frightened - trying to move away from him. Sheer instinct.
He released her arm, flexing his fingers; he hadn't realized he was holding her wrist so tightly. Still, he found his voice coming out choked and forced. "Why don't you want to be near me?"
Astrid cradled her wrist in her free hand, her eyes wide as she stepped back against the refrigerator. “I ... you’re scaring me,” was all she could manage out, her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you talk to me?” She looked scared, defenseless; she was completely in fight or flight mode, his radiating intensity setting her nerves afire, on edge.
"Ah, fuck," he said, slamming his fist into the oven door, creating a little dent in it. He turned to the sink, knuckles white, he was gripping the counter so tightly. He splashed cold water on his face and stood, staring out the sink window, water dripping from his face and hair.
"I can't fucking do this anymore," he whispered, voice still razor sharp but filled with a sadness so thick no knife could cut through it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He didn't want to look at her; his head was buzzing with the childish idea that if he refused to turn around and talk to her, it would all go away.
Poor Astrid. Poor, scared stiff Astrid. She was helpless - clueless on what to do. He was going mental, and she did not have the faintest idea of what to do to help. She flinched at the oven door being punched, shirking away into a corner, several paces away from him, shaking like a leaf the whole while. His anger scared her - not the anger itself, but because she had no idea what was forcing it.
The despondent tone in his voice absolutely crushed her heart, and she deflated visibly, gigantic tears pooling in her eyes. Her lower lip was trembling uncontrollably, but she did not blink, refusing to let the tears spill over. Why she was crying, she didn’t know. All she wanted to do was help.
Without a word, without a glance at her, Dante went into the bathroom. He refused to look at himself in the mirror; he had a feeling if he did, he might crack completely. He sat down on the edge of the tub and buried his face in his hands. Things were spinning out of control, and fast. She was getting scared, and that made him angry. Angry at himself, but he found himself projecting his anger outward--in an unhealthy way.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Stood from the tub and tore open the medicine cabinet. A tin Band-Aid box stared back at him. He took it down from the shelf, and was graced with a single Band-Aid. He placed the Band-Aid on the counter and looked back into the cabinet. Ah, the emergency one-hitter, packed and ready to go. He took a hit and closed his eyes, holding the smoke in for as long as possible. Exhaled. Took another hit and put the piece back in its place.
Consequently, when he shut the cabinet, he caught his reflection. He could feel the drug taking its effect; the anger was seeping out of him and he just felt indifferent. He opened the bathroom door and took the ten or so steps toward Astrid, Band-Aid extended to her in one sweaty palm.
When he left, she let out the breath she had no idea that she had been holding, letting it all all in one gusty sigh. Then she hiccuped, and then it was all over - the tears tumbled down her cheeks, trailing mascara with them, damnit. She drew her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms and legs, and silently cried.
It was her fault. She didn’t know how, or why, but she just knew that this was all her fault, and that made her cry harder. To make things more annoying, she just could not stop hiccuping, and so she was a gasping, sniveling mess when he returned to her. Glancing up at the proffered Band-Aid, she took it with trembling fingers - the wound had reopened - and sniffled, unwrapping it and bandaging her wound.
Yet she still could not quite bring herself to look at him, afraid of inciting his rage.
"Sorry. I," he paused, holding his arms out to her. "Guess I'm just overtired," he said.
She froze, her head cocked to the side, her expression blank. "What did I do?" She whispered with a sniffle, the tears threatening to return.
"Nothing, baby, nothing," he said, arms still outstretched. "I'm just grumpy. I'm sorry." Hoping against hope that she wouldn't cry. Not again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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