“sunshine,” she laughs, at last, — a cosmos call, an ethereal noise cutting through the darkness. she’s been waiting for him. rolling onto her back, she releases his hand, inhaling deeply. “we gotta’ get some of that, you know.” still in her denim and cropped wife beater, bangles ’n all, she jingles as she shimmies in his bed. they’d never be strangers again and they relished in that.
as if afraid for what she’d see, lew’s slow to slip her survey onto him from a peripheral drip. dandelion petals paint his eyes in places not meant to be touched by such vivid color. it’s not the charm of summer or the sun. it’s a sign of system failure, poison. her fear is confirmed.
”hey now,” crooning into the quiet, she moves onto her side and grabs his face a little more sternly than she intends, “— ollie…” the pitch of her voice doesn’t crack or demand. because shock, it’s useless - he’s been pocketing this from her and everyone else, she’s sure. carrying shame from his addiction like a fifty weight on his neck and the anxiety of having a world of doubt aimed at him. he didn’t want anyone to know, or pull him parallel to the man that gave him life.
a sad spatter of restless bodies, one afflicted, the other plagued by the fear of love not being enough, criss cross a mattress. there’s a bucket by the bed, black out curtains pulled in a rumple of overlapped haste. the environment speaks for itself. it’s the way the tide of addiction moves and plays monopoly with the mind. a furnace kicks with ‘ping!’s occasionally peppering the quiet. the bedding will need to be washed, laden with sweat and the smell of sick.
ollie’s half the tone he was last night, lips chapped from how the episode drained him. his veins scream from beneath the surface as overworked as blue can be. lew leans toward the edge, humming involuntarily as her eyes split, and just as instinctually, her hands move to feel his forehead, softly trail over the trauma’s exoskeleton. he shouldn’t be this pale. oxygen shudders from beneath his rib cage. her brow knits down from under a fuss of choppy blonde mane. a gray gaze flits back and forth over him.
“you’d tell me if there was more to it.” she says quietly, a prayer maybe to something unknown, while he sleeps. hoping out loud. but uncertainty sits in her gut. something is wrong.
one of his mitts gets pulled into hers, cradled by her collar as she settles back into the bed. they’d spent a lot of nights and mornings like this. sometimes only amid the moon and whispered secrets. sometimes completely silent. other times, with torrential pours of belly laughter and kisses. it’s different today, but all at once, it’s not.
it dawns on lew that the fantasy of tranced silhouettes and eternal love can be a knife just as much of a salve. she wonders, weight crushing the ease of her breathing, if she’s contributed to how he withers away.
she may have finally sold the last dream a lover could dream, taken them away from euphoria and into the clutches of a dependence that called all the shots.
“i don’t have to stay, i don’t have to dance on tables, and i don’t have to think the sky is blue.” a childish laugh erupts from her throat as she gives him a companion’s hug, the sort of embrace a mother gives to their child when the little one is first experiencing the agony an adult has faced dozens of times. it’s not ollie’s first voyage across grief or through the flood. but he doesn’t deserve to be alone. no, she’d never have that. “you’re gonna’ get better. you’re a good man now, ollie —“ his white knuckles gripping plastic punctuate the sentiment, “and when you do, you me and charlotte are gonna’ load up in the camino and go to coney island.” nails comb through his mop, opposite hand smoothing it all down and away, “everyone talks about that place, you know, and i still haven’t seen it. we could get some of those famous hot dogs and drink tall sodas until our teeth hurt and show baby charlotte the sea.”
his withered weight [courtesy of withdrawal and a life full of aches] pushes into her with hardly enough force to disturb the shape of her spine. there’s a storm raging inside of him. “i know, sweet boy, i know.” a thin arm snakes beneath him, and the other drapes at his back for fingers to petal over his shoulders in slow sweeps. the seismic shakes are felt against her skin, some of the saddest sensations to ever meet her own body. anyone else would have told him ‘char is counting on you’ or ‘this is the hardest part’ — but to lew, the entirety of that chewed up narrative was not only unfair, but abusive in its most basal effort. to use his child against him with a toxic positivity tip when his mind was fighting an uphill battle, or to insinuate there would be no other moments as difficult as this, was some evil shit. she reminds him again that she’s here. swipes cold sweat from the base of his skull where his hair begins to curl in its dampness. “this ache will be gone soon. you have to keep letting it go.” murmuring, she reaches to brace the bucket again for him.
“oooooh boy, another round huh? alri—“ with a strange swing of her body, lew catches ollie’s. a convulsion rides up his torso and only partially ends in a slosh of liquid. a ringed hand and chipped manicure works sandy colored thatches back from his glistening hairline. lew sort of rocks him over her knees, balance only accomplished by expertise garnered through table dancing and squatting for hours and swearing at an antique vehicle. a splash of bile hits her boots. “okay, yeeep — just let it go.” scrambling, lew grapples for an empty waste basket whilst juggling. "that's it, there ya' go." propping it next to her legs. finally she abruptly plants herself on her ass, dropping a few inches with ollie in her lap as she aims the container towards him. “ollie, we gotta’ get you past these kind of nights.” cooing, she continues to smooth his hair, “we’re gonna’ —“ his nauseous whimpering makes her sigh, an empath’s pain shared. she knows. god, she knows. “we’re gonna’ be alright. it’s gonna’ be alright.”
Hello, darling! I hope you have a wonderful holiday season. Whether you celebrate it or not, I hope its good to you. I know, all of us aren't always in the holiday spirit, and that is okay. But, either way - you deserve to have a good Christmas, a good New Years. You deserve to feel comfort, to feel peace and love - even if its just a little because that's all you can muster.
I wish you nothing but the best. Yes, this is a genertic greeting but, I /choose/ who I send it to. ♥ Much love, much light, and Happy Christmas sweet soul. And, I hope as this year comes into closing, the new one will have greatness in some form for you. Never let anyone dim your sparkle. You're here for a reason, we all are.
