((Based on former roleplay between Leah K. and I. Forgive me for the potentially poor quality of this...))
I stared out at the hall, with the doors that looked just like the doors of my own home. I ignored every number on those doors, like I would if I were home. Our buildings were two blocks away; our apartment had been #510, and her one of her ex's was #412. The building was only slightly nicer than ours.
I knocked at the man's door. He was hardly a man, just past his twenties, barely crawling into his thirties. Like she had been. I knew he was home. Their last fling had only happened a couple of months ago.
It felt like my organs had been torn out and turned to gravel. I was half-heartedly coated in cement, trying so desperately to maintain the exterior I had grown accustomed to. But I was raw. My blood was lava.
"Who is... it?" I heard the man's muffled groan; the walls, I knew, were thin. He had either been sleeping or drinking, crying, maybe. Or all of them.
I wanted to hate him. I knew he'd stopped drinking years ago; he was someone's father now, with the pretty, tough redhead he'd been with since before he'd ever met my mom, over 10 years. I wanted to hate him, to blame him. It would be easy for me to blame him. But I knew that he wasn't to blame, at least for this.
It didn't matter how close he was to the mother of his child. I knew why he was doing this.
"Jackie. Open the door!" I replied, louder than necessary, forcing the most authority in my voice I could muster.
He listened. He was, at the very least, very hungover.
"Why are you here?" he mumbled, squinting at the hallway's dim light. There weren't any on inside their apartment. The girlfriend and their child appeared to be absent.
"What the hell are you doing?" I said.
"Wh_... You just show up here and start_"
"I can't... I cannot believe you. Doing this to your own kid. You know how this stuff f--ks you up! The kid's not even... not even a f--king year old, and you're already starting this up again?! You didn't even have to carry the thing! Why are you doing this?!"
I leaned forward. "Why?! You're gonna mess her up, too. She's gonna watch you, she's gonna think that's just how you deal with shit, you just drink your problems, or you take 'em out on someone else! You think that's okay?!"
I knew he didn't.
"You can't do this! You can't MAKE her terrified of you! You can't do that! That's not how you raise a kid, you don't do that shit in front of them, you don't! God, why can't you just..."
He stood in the doorway, unmoving, his glazed stare fixed on the floor.
"Just STOP! Stop before you make this... worse, for... EVERYONE."
I thought of her, the way she left so quickly when she was headed over here. Two blocks away. I thought of how she didn't even seem to think of much else when she saw him. But I still found the plastic bags and all the powder. I still went to the other side of town to do the same f--king thing. I hated myself for it. I hated her for it.
I hated her.
"She was complicated, Jackie," he finally replied, before walking into the dark, the door still open. I heard something draining down a sink.
"Clearly, you knew her so, so well," I replied, acid on my lips as I entered, closing the door behind me, flipping on a lightswitch. The man winced.
In the light, I see the effect she had on him. There was no confidence, arrogance, desire about him, not any longer. He was absent, empty, dark circles underneath his eyes. I felt myself turn to stone, jagged, piercing through my chest.
"I know we were screwed up. Extremely screwed up. But she... I had another life. With her. She didn't seem to age."
"And that was idiotic."
"I know."
"I hate her. You know what? I... I hate her, I hate her, I, God, it's almost a relief. It's almost..." I gasped suddenly. I hated myself more than usual, as I started to cry, my fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut. I looked like her. If she were my age, we could've been twins. I did what she did. I hated her.
"She was my mother... she was supposed to... to do all that crap right... tell me to stay home, or something, or work on school or... I don't even know. Tell me to do all this... do it right, tell me, 'don't do what I did,' and... just... mean it..."
He faced the sink, grasping the sides, shoulders shaking.
"I know, Jackie, I know, damnit, I know exactly what you mean, okay? I know! I'm f--king terrified, kid! I know. I don't ever want... I don't want... to become..."
The man suddenly ungrasped the sink, and I'd expected to see his finger's imprinted into the metal, but they were not. And then the fridge was opened, and he pulled out packs of beer, set it on the counter, then opened the cupboards, and took out the liquor. And then he started opening them, and it seemed to pain him, but he poured one can, then a bottle, then more, and he didn't take a sip, and he was quivering, some spilling to the floor.
Her vices had been these and more. And he was pouring them away. I was stunned, and the piercing grew in intensity. I knew what this meant; looking back, I don't think even I would have been capable of what he was doing. And in those moments, I could no longer hate him. I had known the whole time that I wasn't angry with him, or even my mother, for letting her life become addiction, for letting it kill her.
I had been killing myself the whole time, as I followed seamlessly in her footsteps.
I helped him drain the rest, wishing I could get the dollars back that he'd spent on it. His almost-wife came home, with a meager set of groceries and a baby in a carseat. I knew she wasn't the type to cry; I'd seen her a few times before, and she had put up with way too much, but this time, she did. She even thanked me for coming.
I left then, knowing better than to expect or even hope that this cathartic gesture actually meant anything for the rest of the young couple's lives.
But I returned to a cemetery at the edge of town, taking a seat by the stone, before standing. And then, I pulled back my fist, and unleashed it, like a spring, and took my other arm to do the same, until I couldn't feel my hands anymore. I let the stone pierce me; I let myself bleed, for once.
I stared out at the hall, with the doors that looked just like the doors of my own home. I ignored every number on those doors, like I would if I were home. Our buildings were two blocks away; our apartment had been #510, and her one of her ex's was #412. The building was only slightly nicer than ours.
I knocked at the man's door. He was hardly a man, just past his twenties, barely crawling into his thirties. Like she had been. I knew he was home. Their last fling had only happened a couple of months ago.
It felt like my organs had been torn out and turned to gravel. I was half-heartedly coated in cement, trying so desperately to maintain the exterior I had grown accustomed to. But I was raw. My blood was lava.
"Who is... it?" I heard the man's muffled groan; the walls, I knew, were thin. He had either been sleeping or drinking, crying, maybe. Or all of them.
I wanted to hate him. I knew he'd stopped drinking years ago; he was someone's father now, with the pretty, tough redhead he'd been with since before he'd ever met my mom, over 10 years. I wanted to hate him, to blame him. It would be easy for me to blame him. But I knew that he wasn't to blame, at least for this.
It didn't matter how close he was to the mother of his child. I knew why he was doing this.
"Jackie. Open the door!" I replied, louder than necessary, forcing the most authority in my voice I could muster.
He listened. He was, at the very least, very hungover.
"Why are you here?" he mumbled, squinting at the hallway's dim light. There weren't any on inside their apartment. The girlfriend and their child appeared to be absent.
"What the hell are you doing?" I said.
"Wh_... You just show up here and start_"
"I can't... I cannot believe you. Doing this to your own kid. You know how this stuff f--ks you up! The kid's not even... not even a f--king year old, and you're already starting this up again?! You didn't even have to carry the thing! Why are you doing this?!"
I leaned forward. "Why?! You're gonna mess her up, too. She's gonna watch you, she's gonna think that's just how you deal with shit, you just drink your problems, or you take 'em out on someone else! You think that's okay?!"
I knew he didn't.
"You can't do this! You can't MAKE her terrified of you! You can't do that! That's not how you raise a kid, you don't do that shit in front of them, you don't! God, why can't you just..."
He stood in the doorway, unmoving, his glazed stare fixed on the floor.
"Just STOP! Stop before you make this... worse, for... EVERYONE."
I thought of her, the way she left so quickly when she was headed over here. Two blocks away. I thought of how she didn't even seem to think of much else when she saw him. But I still found the plastic bags and all the powder. I still went to the other side of town to do the same f--king thing. I hated myself for it. I hated her for it.
I hated her.
"She was complicated, Jackie," he finally replied, before walking into the dark, the door still open. I heard something draining down a sink.
"Clearly, you knew her so, so well," I replied, acid on my lips as I entered, closing the door behind me, flipping on a lightswitch. The man winced.
In the light, I see the effect she had on him. There was no confidence, arrogance, desire about him, not any longer. He was absent, empty, dark circles underneath his eyes. I felt myself turn to stone, jagged, piercing through my chest.
"I know we were screwed up. Extremely screwed up. But she... I had another life. With her. She didn't seem to age."
"And that was idiotic."
"I know."
"I hate her. You know what? I... I hate her, I hate her, I, God, it's almost a relief. It's almost..." I gasped suddenly. I hated myself more than usual, as I started to cry, my fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut. I looked like her. If she were my age, we could've been twins. I did what she did. I hated her.
"She was my mother... she was supposed to... to do all that crap right... tell me to stay home, or something, or work on school or... I don't even know. Tell me to do all this... do it right, tell me, 'don't do what I did,' and... just... mean it..."
He faced the sink, grasping the sides, shoulders shaking.
"I know, Jackie, I know, damnit, I know exactly what you mean, okay? I know! I'm f--king terrified, kid! I know. I don't ever want... I don't want... to become..."
The man suddenly ungrasped the sink, and I'd expected to see his finger's imprinted into the metal, but they were not. And then the fridge was opened, and he pulled out packs of beer, set it on the counter, then opened the cupboards, and took out the liquor. And then he started opening them, and it seemed to pain him, but he poured one can, then a bottle, then more, and he didn't take a sip, and he was quivering, some spilling to the floor.
Her vices had been these and more. And he was pouring them away. I was stunned, and the piercing grew in intensity. I knew what this meant; looking back, I don't think even I would have been capable of what he was doing. And in those moments, I could no longer hate him. I had known the whole time that I wasn't angry with him, or even my mother, for letting her life become addiction, for letting it kill her.
I had been killing myself the whole time, as I followed seamlessly in her footsteps.
I helped him drain the rest, wishing I could get the dollars back that he'd spent on it. His almost-wife came home, with a meager set of groceries and a baby in a carseat. I knew she wasn't the type to cry; I'd seen her a few times before, and she had put up with way too much, but this time, she did. She even thanked me for coming.
I left then, knowing better than to expect or even hope that this cathartic gesture actually meant anything for the rest of the young couple's lives.
But I returned to a cemetery at the edge of town, taking a seat by the stone, before standing. And then, I pulled back my fist, and unleashed it, like a spring, and took my other arm to do the same, until I couldn't feel my hands anymore. I let the stone pierce me; I let myself bleed, for once.
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