And just when I thought I couldn't hurt anymore, her words left me breathlessly incapacitated. I leaned against the entryway for support.
"Sharon left you, not me."
I was confused again, until she clarified, "I didn't leave you. Was in the hospital. Took too many pills." The more she talked, the harder it was for her to form words. The vodka was completely taking over. "Said I couldn't have you. But never wanted you. I can't," she breathed heavily, the effort to speak draining her. "Can't love you."
My head spun, and each breath was excruciating. She took another sip from the glass and almost missed the table when she set it back down with a hard thump. She laid her head on the arm of the couch and closed her eyes.
I stumbled out of the room, then stopped before I reached the stairs. I turned back around and realized there was something wrong. I scanned the living room in a panic. Where was it? What had she done with it?
Then I remembered the smell of burning wood when I came home, and spun around toward the back door. I rushed out into the small yard and practically collapsed on the stairs. It felt like someone had thrust their fist through my chest and was squeezing my heart.
In the middle of the yard was a heap of embers still glowing red. A few spindles were recognizable amongst the ashes, but it was gone. She had set the rocking chair on fire and now there was nothing left.
I clumsily lowered myself down on the steps while holding onto the railing, staring at the remains and shaking my head in aggrieved awe, lost in the wafts of smoke.
Pulling myself up, I returned inside, empty and broken. My insides felt like they'd been ripped out and burned as well. I couldn't see straight. My eyes were glazed over as I made my way to the stairs.
I trudged up to my dark room without glancing in the living room. Flipping on the light, I mindlessly filled my bag with random clothes. I zipped the bag and fell back into darkness when I shut off the light. My hand slid along the railing as my legs numbly guided me along.
I gripped the doorknob to leave and hesitated, searching within the shadows of the living room. I couldn't see her. But I could hear her breathing.
Compelled, I walked to the loveseat and sat down across from her. I folded my arms and stared at her silhouette, listening to her breathe.
I knew. I always knew she didn't love me. I didn't know why I thought I could change that, even after all this time. It would never change. She couldn't even look at me most of my life, forget about love me.
I knew. But I didn't understand why she kept trying. She'd show up at my sports games. And the letters she'd write... why? I guess that was her effort―she said she tried. She couldn't convince herself to love me anymore than I believed that she did.
I looked away and my eyes fell upon the glass leaving a wet ring on the coffee table. Pain killer. Really?
I leaned forward and picked up the half glass of vodka. The ice cubes were melting into tiny stones. I brought it to my nose and smelled it. My mouth filled with saliva and I cringed. I pressed the rim to my lips and tipped it back, taking a large sip.
I coughed and grimaced in disgust. The liquid set my stomach on fire as it crashed against its empty walls. I took a deep breath and shuddered. It was horrible, but so was aspirin if you let it touch your tongue―and that was supposed to take away pain as well. I held my nose and swallowed again, emptying the glass―wanting it to work, to take away my pain.
I held the empty glass in my hands and my eyes filled with tears. What had I done? I clenched my jaw and breathed heavily through flared nostrils. What had I done? I shook my head, horrified.
I slammed the glass down on the table and stood up to leave. The sight of the vodka bottle filled me with so much fury, I wanted to scream. I picked it up and clenched it so tightly, I thought it might shatter in my hand. Shaking with rage, I threw it into the darkness. The glass shattered against the wall on the far side of the foyer.
I breathed a sob and rushed to the door, grabbing my bag and slamming the door behind me.
I didn't remember driving to Sara's. I probably shouldn't have been driving at all, blinded by tears, my head hazy. I pulled myself together as best I could when I turned into her driveway. Anna and Carl didn't appear to be home, thankfully.
Gripping my bag, I climbed the steps to Sara's front door. Sara opened it before I reached the top. "Where have you been? I've been..." Her sentence trailed off. Her aghast expression indicated that I was a bigger mess than I thought.
She held the door open for me and I walked through, lowering my eyes as I passed her. I continued up the stairs to her room without a word.