‘You’re an animal!’
‘Story of my fucking life where you’re concerned.’ I lower her to her feet. The fists that were smacking pointlessly at my back begin pounding at my chest. And I just stand, motionless, letting her vent and thrash out, screaming her frustration.
If only I had the same kind of outlet. Something to beat and pound and scream at. But I don’t, so I savour her brutal smashes of my torso, hoping that at the same time she beats the frustration out of me, too.
She goes for it mercilessly, her strength fuelled by her despair.
And I’m fine with it. I’d be her punching bag for the rest of my miserable days if it would make her feel even the tiniest bit better. Because, ultimately, while I’m in pieces trying to navigate my way through this unfamiliar, painful territory, the love of my life is in more despair. While I have our memories to cling to, she does not. While I have our children’s faces to picture during this nightmare, every moment of their short lives to remember, she does not. While I have hope and recognise the glimmers of her recollections, she does not.
My thoughts take over, anger burning my insides as she continues to scream and punch. ‘Go on!’ I roar, and she starts, moving back. ‘Fucking hit me, Ava! It can’t feel any worse than how I’m hurting here.’ I smash my fist into my chest. ‘So hit me!’
I close my eyes as she comes at me again. And while she’s lashing out, I think about how powerful our love is. Not as powerful as I always thought, because if it was, surely it would shine through anything. Even this.
It takes me a few seconds to realise that she’s stopped thumping me, and when I open my eyes, I find her heaving before me, her hair a crazy mess around her face, her eyes wild. We stare at each other for a few moments, me expressionless, Ava clearly shocked by her outburst. Or shocked that I’ve stood here and accepted it. Because what the fuck else would I do? Retaliate? Hit her back? Her thinking that might be a possibility makes me feel sick. Makes me want to hurt myself to demonstrate that I’d take everything before I’d let anything cause her pain.
Just seeing her before me looking so lost and hopeless, clearly wondering what I’m thinking, and me knowing what she’s thinking, only amplifies my despair. And my anger. I can’t take this.
I leave her to compose herself in the hallway while I stalk through the house to the games room, my mind set on one thing. The one thing that will numb me. The one thing that will take me away from my nightmare. My eyes home in on the bottle set on the bar; the respite that just a few swigs could give me is too tempting to pass up. I shrug my suit jacket off and toss it to the carpet, then yank my tie loose and pop open the top button of my collar, too.
My eyes still on that bottle, my hand goes through my hair roughly. Long-lost memories of the alcohol-induced haze of nothingness return full force. I need that nothingness right now. Because if this is how my life is going to feel from now on, then I’m out. I’m done.
I swipe up the bottle of vodka and pull out the cork, my breathing laboured. A bead of sweat starts trickling down my forehead, and I roughly wipe it away as I bring the bottle to my lips. Just one sip. That’s all it’ll take. One swallow to start numbing the pain.
Nostrils flaring, I knock back my first big gulp and gasp, the liquor burning down my dry throat. It hits my stomach hard, and my thoughts go back to the days when I was lost in a haze of drink and women. I see myself naked. With endless women, all women who aren’t my wife.
‘Jesse!’ Ava’s stricken voice pierces my flashback, pulling me away from the decadent days of The Manor, back to my reality. Her glassy eyes hold me in place. Beautiful eyes, the chocolate eyes that put me under a spell and never let me go. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking,’ she pants, still breathless from her episode in the hallway.
I look down at the bottle, except this time I don’t see an escape. Now I see poison. Now I see the coward’s choice. Now I see real damage. She’s right; I shouldn’t be drinking it. But most importantly, she knows I shouldn’t be drinking it. ‘Why?’ I ask quietly, looking back to her. ‘Why shouldn’t I be drinking it, Ava?’
Her mouth opens and closes, her mind clearly straining to find the answer. I don’t want to admit that the answer she’s looking for isn’t there. I don’t want to accept that she won’t find it. Her statement was just another one of those pointless glimmers of hope.
Her blankness shoves me over the edge, and I lose my shit, frustration and despair getting the better of me. ‘Why, Ava?’ I roar. ‘Why shouldn’t I be drinking the fucking vodka?’
‘I don’t know,’ she sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, emotion finally taking the place of her frustration. ‘I don’t know.’ She buries her face in hands, hiding from our reality.
Seeing her so broken is harder than dealing with the frustration. Seeing her so utterly helpless shreds my heart. This is lower than any depths of hell I thought I’d seen.
‘Fuck!’ I flip, throwing the bottle at the wall ferociously before I do something stupid like down the rest. Shards of glass fly like shrapnel, the devil’s juice spraying every wall.
‘I shouldn’t drink it because I’m a fucking alcoholic!’ I boom. ‘Because before I met you, all I did was drink myself into oblivion and fuck anything with a fucking pulse. That’s why!’ I stagger back, my back hitting the wall, my breathing shot. I can’t control my body. My mouth.
My fucking tears.
Though I can still see her shock through the water distorting my sight.
‘You gave me a reason to stop, Ava.’ I heave where I stand, feeling like my life’s rapidly escaping my control altogether. ‘You made my heart start beating again. And now you’re not here any more and I don’t know if I can go on without you.’
My knees buckle, and I slide down the wall like a sack of shit, hitting the floor on a thud. I’m past holding it all in. I’m so past trying to be the strong one. Because without Ava, I’m the weakest man alive, and I feel like I’m without her now. My elbows hit my knees, my face going into my palms and hiding. I can’t bear the shock on her face. Can’t stand the fact that she’s seeing me like this.
‘Just go to bed,’ I beg, needing her to leave me alone in my misery. ‘Just go.’
I feel cold. Lonely.
And then . . . not.
Her hand slides onto my neck, and I look up to find her kneeling before me, teary eyes staring into mine. ‘I’m going nowhere.’ Edging her way closer, she places her palms on my knees and pushes them apart, moving between them. ‘Because even though I don’t know where I am, I feel like I’m at home. Even though I’m struggling to wrap my mind around you’ – more tears tumble as she squeezes my knees – ‘I know you’re mine. I know I’m your heart. Because even though I don’t know you, I know that when I think of you gone, it hurts really bad just here.’ Taking my hand, she pushes it into her chest. Her heart is thundering. Like mine.
‘Ava, I’m a broken man.’ I feel fucking awful admitting it. ‘The thought of you losing every memory we’ve had together cripples me.’
‘I know you’re stronger than this. I know you’re more determined. You promised you wouldn’t give up on me.’
My heart constricts. ‘Baby, I haven’t given up.’ I sigh and gesture her closer, and she comes with ease, letting me pull her onto my lap and cuddle her. ‘I’m just having a minor relapse.’
She snuggles close, and my world evens out a little. ‘Don’t have a relapse again, please.’
‘Then you need to start doing as you’re told.’
‘Never,’ she argues. ‘Because I know I never normally do, do I?’
I smile through my sadness. ‘You don’t.’