the night starts here (1/1)
title: the night starts here
genre: drama/tragedy
a/n: the first original fic i've posted on lj. feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated.
summary: on a cold night in september, a man breaks a promise.
“She’s beautiful,” the woman smiled. “What’s her name?”
A fair haired young man with sad blue eyes and faint laugh lines grinned back as he faintly repositioned the gleeful and chubby toddler perched in his arms. “Thanks. It’s Michelle,” he replied. The woman nodded slightly. Her smile widened as she noticed the simple gold band on his left ring finger, which was currently resting on an obnoxiously red shopping cart.
“How sweet of you to do the shopping for your wife,” she said. “She’s a lucky woman.”
The easy grin slowly slid off of the man’s face.
She glanced back uncertainly, but said nothing except: “Have a wonderful evening, then.”
“Yeah, you too.” He pulled the shopping cart away from hers and pushed it down the aisle until his thin, dark form was swallowed by mountainous rows of canned goods and bright orange bags of potato chips.
****
“You’re late again,” the woman accused as she leaned against the faux granite countertop. “You promised you wouldn’t be late.”
He sighed as he ran his hand over the thin layer of stubble adorning his cheek. “I know.”
She crossed her arms, but said nothing. Her glare became ever more intense as each second washed into the next. She shifted her weight. She cocked her head slightly. Her eyebrows, bolts of thin, dark hair in a smooth, pale face pulled down sharply. His fidgeting increased, his arms and fingers jerking slightly to inaudible rhythms. He clamped his hands together abruptly and shot her a shaky grin. “Fine,” she intoned. “Don’t apologize. It’s not like I deserve it.”
His grin faltered as she stalked into the living room.
“I’m sorry,” he called after her.
After a few seconds of silence he followed her into the room. “I’m sorry, Marie,” he repeated.
She whipped around, her sharp dark hair slicing through the air. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. An ember alit in her eyes. “For being late today. I won’t do it again.” She started, almost as though she’d been slapped, and nodded.
“I forgive you,” she responded quietly.
****
“Choo choo goes the traaaaiiiiiiin,” Marie cooed, shoveling green mush into the toddler’s mouth. Michelle gurgled cheerily, clapping her hands as she slurped. “Abuthahdadee,” she babbled.
Marie suddenly tensed, her thin lips parting slightly in a perfect red line. “Da-dee?” She choked.
“DAH-DEE,” Michelle giggled. “Dah-dee dah-dee dah-dee!” Marie clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes glistening in the dim light. She glanced over at her husband. “Johnny, did you hear that?” She inquired shakily.
He remained still, gazing at the fireplace with glassy eyes. His skin looked grayish green; his lips were trembling slightly. “Johnny,” she said sharply.
Johnny jolted, as though being awakened from a deep slumber. His eyes were still slightly glazed. “What?”
Marie swallowed her retort angrily. “Nothing.” They stared each other down across the worn, stunted dining room table.
“Don’t be like this,” he demanded.
Marie dropped her silverware onto the plate. Staring resumed. The clanking of metal against porcelain broke the momentary silence. Michelle, sensing the tension, huddled slightly in her high chair.
“This is getting ridiculous,” she barked. “I can’t even-“ she faltered.
“What?” He sneered. “You can’t sit on your ass all day, feeding a goddamn baby while I work to put food on your table?” He slammed his fist down onto the table, rattling the bowls and platters of food.
Tears settled in the corners of her eyes as Marie cried, “I can’t watch you like this!”
Johnny froze, taken aback. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Every day.” She choked. “It’s every day now. Did you even notice?”
His lips pulled down into a dark frown, his eyes narrowing. “You’re insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” she exploded. “You never sleep anymore-did you think I wouldn’t see? You’re always shaking, always awake. You’re awake, or you’re sleeping. But your eyes never close. You fade away, and I can feel you slipping. You apologize in the way you look at me, but you never acknowledge it. It’s been over two years, Johnny. When I married you-“
“That wasn’t our agreement,” he hissed.
“When I married you,” she pressed, “you made me a promise.”
“To stay out of jail!” He interjected, eyes blazing.
“YOU MADE ME A PROMISE,” she chanted over Michelle’s sniffles. “You told me you would stay out of trouble for me. For our family. You have a two year old daughter, Johnny. You started tweaking when I got pregnant, and it hasn’t stopped.”
“And you’re such a fucking saint,” he shot back. “You’ve done it. You’re not God. You’re just a person. Just a fucking person. Just like me. So get off your damn white horse, Marie, and look at yourself good before you point your finger.”
“This is different,” she screeched.
“How?”
“It… it destroys lives,” Marie said, her voice quivering. Each syllable hung in the air as if it were written there in bold black ink. “It’s destroying you-maybe it already has.”
“Don’t you dare even think about leaving,” he growled. “Don’t you dare go.”
She sighed, bringing a slender, graceful hand to soothe their crying child. “I won’t. Not yet.”
****
“What can I get for you tonight, son?” The bartender asked. His cracking, weathered voice was rough, but there was a current running just beneath the choppy waters, something almost tangibly soft.
Johnny’s sigh was punctuated by tiny, almost imperceptible sobs, though no reflection of the will to cry was illustrated in the lines of his eyes and the sharp curve of his lips.
“A Corona, Mark,” he said.
The bartender’s eyes flashed as he turned to grab a glass. “Women troubles, eh?” He queried as he poured light amber liquid into the mug. “Those are always a trick and a gamble.”
“Sure as hell are,” Johnny murmured.
“So what’s it about?”
His head sunk into his arms as he ran pale, thin fingers through his tussled hair. “I just don’t know how to make her stay,” he croaked, his voice muffled by his sleeves. “She’s been running away since the day we met.”
The bartender leaned in and whispered, “Quit.”
Johnny’s head shot up. He stared through wide, red rimmed eyes. “Huh?”
Mark’s mouth hardened into a grim line. “You heard me, boy. You come in here every week with your dumbass friends, and I always pegged you as the best of the lot, by a long shot. But I hear things, and I know what they’re in to. And if you do that, then your wife has every right to worry. You’ve got a little girl, right?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then stop it now,” he growled.
“But if I don’t do it, I’ll be miserable. Someday, I know I will be. And I don’t ever want to be down around her,” he said. “I can’t be. I just can’t.”
“You’re gonna end up alone some time if you don’t,” the bartender shrugged. “They’re both gonna give up on you someday, one by one. And then you’ll have nothing left. Take it from someone who knows,” he sighed, pointing at a faded picture of a boy no older than six dressed in faded blue overalls. “Keep that in mind. You don't end up a bartender at my age without making a few mistakes. It's the stuff goddamn stories are made of, and trust me, kid, you don't want to end up as one.” He shot Johnny a sympathetic look. The younger man arose and turned to leave.
“How much do I owe you?”
The bartender glanced at the three empty glasses and responded, “It’s on me tonight. I gotta say, I'm kind of hoping you'll make it," he shrugged.
The taller man nodded tersely and stepped out into the parking lot.
****
She awoke to the sound of sirens. Crimson and cyan lights danced before her eyelids. They were followed by the vroom of a sudden acceleration, but as soon as they’d come, the lights and sounds faded away completely. Marie opened her eyes slowly and padded over to the window. She softly flipped one of the blinds on its side and gazed upon a sliver of cold, gray street and an empty driveway. Thick drops of water began to flow across her cheekbones, dipping over her lips and under her chin.
She closed her eyes and turned her back against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor. She heard the discordant melody of wailing mechanical screams somewhere in the distance and then the sharp, keening squeal of brakes applied too quickly and a crunch of impact. Violent tremors shook her fingers as they clamped over her mouth.
Suddenly she sprung up and darted to the closet. She tore through every coat and sweater and pair of pants, throwing them gracelessly onto the carpet. Shoes were flung on top of the pile, as were sheets and some pillows. Jewelry, paper packets of photos, underwear, and towels followed. Makeup, hair brushes, and a hair dryer were dumped haphazardly onto the ground as well. Marie marched to the bed, pulling out pieces of luggage covered in a thick layer of dust. She snatched handfuls of the pile, shoving them unceremoniously into the bags. Once they’d been stuffed to full capacity, she zipped them shut and strode into the room next door.
Here, stray diapers and toys were strewn across the chairs and desk and floor. Each one was picked up and stuffed into a bag. Ruffled dresses and pajamas and tiny shirts and pants and sweaters and beanie hats and scarves and socks and stockings each took a place in one of the pink overlarge totes. Marie walked to the crib, softly running her fingers through the little girl’s fine, soft hair. She ran them along her small nose and cheeks.
“It’s time to wake up, my darling,” she cooed. “Time to go on an adventure.”
Michelle’s glittering gray eyes blinked up at her mother. “Dah-dee?”
“No, no dah-dee. Daddy has to stay.”
Michelle stared up quizzically, but held out her arms anyways. Marie scooped her up from under them, grasping her tightly. She slipped boots onto Michelle’s swinging feet, repositioned her in her arms, and walked down the stairs and into the garage. A small, beaten-up, forest green Honda sat perfectly content in the shadows. Marie yanked the door open, oblivious to its protesting squeals. Once the tired young girl was securely strapped into her car seat, Marie disappeared through the door.
Michelle sat silently for a few minutes, yawning occasionally and attempting to keep her eyelids from slipping shut as her mother dashed in and out of the garage with the bags. Marie reappeared in the driver’s seat. She opened the garage door and they backed out into the street.
Yellow lights flashed in a dim blur on either side of them as Marie navigated the empty streets. She rounded a corner, suddenly finding herself facing a car accident. She slowed down as she registered their car-his car-crumpled and partially wrapped around a telephone pole. Eight cop cars, lights blazing, surrounded it. A tall, skinny man with sandy brown hair stood with his back to them, his chest resting on one of the cars. His hands were held forcefully behind his back by one of the officers. One of his wrists was bent grotesquely, but the officer gripped it tightly. Marie slowed to almost a complete stop, and the car jerked slightly from the shaking of her hands on the steering wheel.
“Another DUI… suspended license… evading… accident.” Marie heard faded snippets of the cop’s speech through the older car’s unsealed window.
Suddenly, the cop yanked the man around. His face briefly registered shock as he glimpsed Marie-his eyes widened, the color in his face disappeared, his lips trembled-but then it was blank. Marie turned back to face the road in front of her and sped up.
The tiny green Honda zipped through slick dark streets. A man with sad blue eyes and pallid cheeks stared silently through darkly tinted windows and a black metal grate as it disappeared from sight.
genre: drama/tragedy
a/n: the first original fic i've posted on lj. feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated.
summary: on a cold night in september, a man breaks a promise.
“She’s beautiful,” the woman smiled. “What’s her name?”
A fair haired young man with sad blue eyes and faint laugh lines grinned back as he faintly repositioned the gleeful and chubby toddler perched in his arms. “Thanks. It’s Michelle,” he replied. The woman nodded slightly. Her smile widened as she noticed the simple gold band on his left ring finger, which was currently resting on an obnoxiously red shopping cart.
“How sweet of you to do the shopping for your wife,” she said. “She’s a lucky woman.”
The easy grin slowly slid off of the man’s face.
She glanced back uncertainly, but said nothing except: “Have a wonderful evening, then.”
“Yeah, you too.” He pulled the shopping cart away from hers and pushed it down the aisle until his thin, dark form was swallowed by mountainous rows of canned goods and bright orange bags of potato chips.
****
“You’re late again,” the woman accused as she leaned against the faux granite countertop. “You promised you wouldn’t be late.”
He sighed as he ran his hand over the thin layer of stubble adorning his cheek. “I know.”
She crossed her arms, but said nothing. Her glare became ever more intense as each second washed into the next. She shifted her weight. She cocked her head slightly. Her eyebrows, bolts of thin, dark hair in a smooth, pale face pulled down sharply. His fidgeting increased, his arms and fingers jerking slightly to inaudible rhythms. He clamped his hands together abruptly and shot her a shaky grin. “Fine,” she intoned. “Don’t apologize. It’s not like I deserve it.”
His grin faltered as she stalked into the living room.
“I’m sorry,” he called after her.
After a few seconds of silence he followed her into the room. “I’m sorry, Marie,” he repeated.
She whipped around, her sharp dark hair slicing through the air. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. An ember alit in her eyes. “For being late today. I won’t do it again.” She started, almost as though she’d been slapped, and nodded.
“I forgive you,” she responded quietly.
****
“Choo choo goes the traaaaiiiiiiin,” Marie cooed, shoveling green mush into the toddler’s mouth. Michelle gurgled cheerily, clapping her hands as she slurped. “Abuthahdadee,” she babbled.
Marie suddenly tensed, her thin lips parting slightly in a perfect red line. “Da-dee?” She choked.
“DAH-DEE,” Michelle giggled. “Dah-dee dah-dee dah-dee!” Marie clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes glistening in the dim light. She glanced over at her husband. “Johnny, did you hear that?” She inquired shakily.
He remained still, gazing at the fireplace with glassy eyes. His skin looked grayish green; his lips were trembling slightly. “Johnny,” she said sharply.
Johnny jolted, as though being awakened from a deep slumber. His eyes were still slightly glazed. “What?”
Marie swallowed her retort angrily. “Nothing.” They stared each other down across the worn, stunted dining room table.
“Don’t be like this,” he demanded.
Marie dropped her silverware onto the plate. Staring resumed. The clanking of metal against porcelain broke the momentary silence. Michelle, sensing the tension, huddled slightly in her high chair.
“This is getting ridiculous,” she barked. “I can’t even-“ she faltered.
“What?” He sneered. “You can’t sit on your ass all day, feeding a goddamn baby while I work to put food on your table?” He slammed his fist down onto the table, rattling the bowls and platters of food.
Tears settled in the corners of her eyes as Marie cried, “I can’t watch you like this!”
Johnny froze, taken aback. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Every day.” She choked. “It’s every day now. Did you even notice?”
His lips pulled down into a dark frown, his eyes narrowing. “You’re insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” she exploded. “You never sleep anymore-did you think I wouldn’t see? You’re always shaking, always awake. You’re awake, or you’re sleeping. But your eyes never close. You fade away, and I can feel you slipping. You apologize in the way you look at me, but you never acknowledge it. It’s been over two years, Johnny. When I married you-“
“That wasn’t our agreement,” he hissed.
“When I married you,” she pressed, “you made me a promise.”
“To stay out of jail!” He interjected, eyes blazing.
“YOU MADE ME A PROMISE,” she chanted over Michelle’s sniffles. “You told me you would stay out of trouble for me. For our family. You have a two year old daughter, Johnny. You started tweaking when I got pregnant, and it hasn’t stopped.”
“And you’re such a fucking saint,” he shot back. “You’ve done it. You’re not God. You’re just a person. Just a fucking person. Just like me. So get off your damn white horse, Marie, and look at yourself good before you point your finger.”
“This is different,” she screeched.
“How?”
“It… it destroys lives,” Marie said, her voice quivering. Each syllable hung in the air as if it were written there in bold black ink. “It’s destroying you-maybe it already has.”
“Don’t you dare even think about leaving,” he growled. “Don’t you dare go.”
She sighed, bringing a slender, graceful hand to soothe their crying child. “I won’t. Not yet.”
****
“What can I get for you tonight, son?” The bartender asked. His cracking, weathered voice was rough, but there was a current running just beneath the choppy waters, something almost tangibly soft.
Johnny’s sigh was punctuated by tiny, almost imperceptible sobs, though no reflection of the will to cry was illustrated in the lines of his eyes and the sharp curve of his lips.
“A Corona, Mark,” he said.
The bartender’s eyes flashed as he turned to grab a glass. “Women troubles, eh?” He queried as he poured light amber liquid into the mug. “Those are always a trick and a gamble.”
“Sure as hell are,” Johnny murmured.
“So what’s it about?”
His head sunk into his arms as he ran pale, thin fingers through his tussled hair. “I just don’t know how to make her stay,” he croaked, his voice muffled by his sleeves. “She’s been running away since the day we met.”
The bartender leaned in and whispered, “Quit.”
Johnny’s head shot up. He stared through wide, red rimmed eyes. “Huh?”
Mark’s mouth hardened into a grim line. “You heard me, boy. You come in here every week with your dumbass friends, and I always pegged you as the best of the lot, by a long shot. But I hear things, and I know what they’re in to. And if you do that, then your wife has every right to worry. You’ve got a little girl, right?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then stop it now,” he growled.
“But if I don’t do it, I’ll be miserable. Someday, I know I will be. And I don’t ever want to be down around her,” he said. “I can’t be. I just can’t.”
“You’re gonna end up alone some time if you don’t,” the bartender shrugged. “They’re both gonna give up on you someday, one by one. And then you’ll have nothing left. Take it from someone who knows,” he sighed, pointing at a faded picture of a boy no older than six dressed in faded blue overalls. “Keep that in mind. You don't end up a bartender at my age without making a few mistakes. It's the stuff goddamn stories are made of, and trust me, kid, you don't want to end up as one.” He shot Johnny a sympathetic look. The younger man arose and turned to leave.
“How much do I owe you?”
The bartender glanced at the three empty glasses and responded, “It’s on me tonight. I gotta say, I'm kind of hoping you'll make it," he shrugged.
The taller man nodded tersely and stepped out into the parking lot.
****
She awoke to the sound of sirens. Crimson and cyan lights danced before her eyelids. They were followed by the vroom of a sudden acceleration, but as soon as they’d come, the lights and sounds faded away completely. Marie opened her eyes slowly and padded over to the window. She softly flipped one of the blinds on its side and gazed upon a sliver of cold, gray street and an empty driveway. Thick drops of water began to flow across her cheekbones, dipping over her lips and under her chin.
She closed her eyes and turned her back against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor. She heard the discordant melody of wailing mechanical screams somewhere in the distance and then the sharp, keening squeal of brakes applied too quickly and a crunch of impact. Violent tremors shook her fingers as they clamped over her mouth.
Suddenly she sprung up and darted to the closet. She tore through every coat and sweater and pair of pants, throwing them gracelessly onto the carpet. Shoes were flung on top of the pile, as were sheets and some pillows. Jewelry, paper packets of photos, underwear, and towels followed. Makeup, hair brushes, and a hair dryer were dumped haphazardly onto the ground as well. Marie marched to the bed, pulling out pieces of luggage covered in a thick layer of dust. She snatched handfuls of the pile, shoving them unceremoniously into the bags. Once they’d been stuffed to full capacity, she zipped them shut and strode into the room next door.
Here, stray diapers and toys were strewn across the chairs and desk and floor. Each one was picked up and stuffed into a bag. Ruffled dresses and pajamas and tiny shirts and pants and sweaters and beanie hats and scarves and socks and stockings each took a place in one of the pink overlarge totes. Marie walked to the crib, softly running her fingers through the little girl’s fine, soft hair. She ran them along her small nose and cheeks.
“It’s time to wake up, my darling,” she cooed. “Time to go on an adventure.”
Michelle’s glittering gray eyes blinked up at her mother. “Dah-dee?”
“No, no dah-dee. Daddy has to stay.”
Michelle stared up quizzically, but held out her arms anyways. Marie scooped her up from under them, grasping her tightly. She slipped boots onto Michelle’s swinging feet, repositioned her in her arms, and walked down the stairs and into the garage. A small, beaten-up, forest green Honda sat perfectly content in the shadows. Marie yanked the door open, oblivious to its protesting squeals. Once the tired young girl was securely strapped into her car seat, Marie disappeared through the door.
Michelle sat silently for a few minutes, yawning occasionally and attempting to keep her eyelids from slipping shut as her mother dashed in and out of the garage with the bags. Marie reappeared in the driver’s seat. She opened the garage door and they backed out into the street.
Yellow lights flashed in a dim blur on either side of them as Marie navigated the empty streets. She rounded a corner, suddenly finding herself facing a car accident. She slowed down as she registered their car-his car-crumpled and partially wrapped around a telephone pole. Eight cop cars, lights blazing, surrounded it. A tall, skinny man with sandy brown hair stood with his back to them, his chest resting on one of the cars. His hands were held forcefully behind his back by one of the officers. One of his wrists was bent grotesquely, but the officer gripped it tightly. Marie slowed to almost a complete stop, and the car jerked slightly from the shaking of her hands on the steering wheel.
“Another DUI… suspended license… evading… accident.” Marie heard faded snippets of the cop’s speech through the older car’s unsealed window.
Suddenly, the cop yanked the man around. His face briefly registered shock as he glimpsed Marie-his eyes widened, the color in his face disappeared, his lips trembled-but then it was blank. Marie turned back to face the road in front of her and sped up.
The tiny green Honda zipped through slick dark streets. A man with sad blue eyes and pallid cheeks stared silently through darkly tinted windows and a black metal grate as it disappeared from sight.