writers_muses | 101.2.G. Hindu Proverb
"Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional." - Hindu Proverb
[Follows THIS and THIS]
Ali couldn't remember falling asleep, but she didn't feel any more rested than she had when she went to the bedroom. She hadn't slept properly since the night before Andrew's birthday. As she woke now, she just felt groggy and had an uncomfortable headache. She sat up on the side of the bed, hugging her arms around herself when a shiver crept over her body. She only realised as she sat that Andrew was on the bed with her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him curled up on his side facing away from her with no shirt on. "Andy?" she whispered, seeing if he was awake, but there was no answer. She turned back, hunching forward a little for a moment to try and stretch the uncomfortable stiffness she had been carrying in her shoulders for days. No matter how hard she tried, though, it wouldn't go and now it had crawled up into her head in the form of a headache that likely wouldn't ease. Nothing could really make her feel better.
The clock told her it was after seven pm, an odd time for them both be taking naps, but she hardly gave it a thought and pushed up off the bed to leave the bedroom. She was quiet, not wanting to wake Andrew in case he was in a light sleep. He seemed to do that most of the time, sleeping heavily when he was exhausted, but on normal nights, sounds could wake him easily and he never failed to hear Jamie's baby monitor. She closed the door over, but left it open a few inches so the click wouldn't disturb him. She didn't even really know what to do now that she was upright. It was dinner time, but she wasn't hungry. That was another thing. She hadn't felt hungry in days, either. Instead, she went to the kitchen, swallowed a couple of Tylenol and just stared blankly out the window at the neighbouring buildings' lights. She did have mind to make a quick phone call to Luke and Tab to check Jamie was okay. She didn't know why she assumed they had taken her, but the baby girl wasn't in her crib and Andrew was in bed, so it made sense. Luke assured her the Jamie was fine, and not to worry. He added softly that Andrew looked like he needed a bit of a break, but if Ali wanted Jamie back, Luke didn't mind bringing her home. Ali just shook her head and thanked him, but told him she was grateful he had Sunshine for the night.
The birthday presents were gone, too. That wasn't an observation lost on her. When she went into the living room nursing a glass of water, she stopped and stared at the place on the floor they had been, and where she had sat with Andrew to open them. Something told her she reacted badly to the baby package, but who wouldn't when they killed their baby? She didn't need reminders that it was her fault Andrew's baby was dead. Every time she looked at him, it's all she could think about and it made her feel sick with guilt. The baby was dead because of her. She wished it dead, and she got what she wanted.
She set the glass down heavily on the nearest surface and hurried to the main bathroom, not sure whether she was going to vomit, but feeling close to it, or perhaps that hot feeling was just a panic over how terrible a person she had become. People tried to tell her she was wonderful mother but what sort of mother killed their baby?! Panic peaked in her, but as she pushed into the bathroom, she was forced to halt abruptly, grabbing hold of the doorknob to stop her legs giving out from under her. The panic over her own internal fears slipped away for the shock of the sight she was met with. There was vomit on the tiles near the toilet, but that wasn't what had her throat feeling like someone had their fist gripped around it. There was a smashed bottle of liquor - what looked to be vodka - and smears of blood by the bath tub and up the side of it. The shirt Andrew had on when they left the hospital was balled up by the shower, and she stooped to pick it up, discovering even more sickness. To top it off, his red cell phone was shattered at the base of the bath. Had he tried to call for help? It wasn't that anyone else could have come into their home to create this scene, but she couldn't fathom it had been Andrew. He would have come to her! Wouldn't he? If he was unwell and needed help, he would have come...
But Andrew didn't drink. She had not seen him touch a single drop of alcohol in the whole time she had known him.
It suddenly felt like it was a lot harder to breath, and she sucked in a gasped, shallow breath that joined a throb that had picked up in her ears. No... no, he wouldn't drink. He was sad, she knew that. She couldn't look at him because seeing him like that just made her fear she couldn't take care of him or be what he needed. She bolted back up the hall to their bedroom and pushed inside frantically. She grabbed his shoulder and gave him a small shake. "Andrew!" she cried, expecting him to wake up and tell her right away that he was fine, but he didn't. He was out cold. She shook him again, harder this time as some panicked tears spilt down her cheeks. "Andy! Wake up!" she demanded, leaning over him.
It was then she noticed the cut on his hand. The blood had seeped out onto their sheets and dried under his fingers. How long had he been out? It couldn't have been just a short time or the blood wouldn't be dry on the sheets. He had vomit on his cheek and in his hair, and she touched her fingers softly to his face with a whimper. "Andy, you fucking wake up right now!" she demanded in a growl, smacking his cheek with her fingers. She could smell the scent of stale booze mixed on him with the odour of sickness. She didn't even know how long she had been asleep, but how had she not been aware enough of the fact he was writing himself off just a couple of rooms away? She hunched closer, holding her ear against his mouth and could hear he was still breathing. Her shaky fingers went to his throat and sought out a strong pulse. He was still alive, but so totally crashed out on booze that he was unconscious... paraletic.
"Fuck," she whimpered tearfully, looking around as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do. Her hand was gripped painfully around his, but it wasn't like he was going to feel it, was it? She picked up the cordless phone buy the bed, the receiver shaking to match the shivers that had set in over her whole body. She needed help. Needed someone to tell her to pull her head out of her arse and help her fiance. This was the downside to her being left alone when everything had fallen apart. She had lost herself in her own depression and missed how much Andrew was drowning right beside her.
She dialled in the first number she could think of, but got James' voicemail. She only managed to leave him a string of expletives and curses before she moved on to Izzy. Voicemail again, and the second electronic message just caused her to burst into helpless sobs that sucked what little rationality she had left out of her. Fuck them! Fuck them to fucking hell and back! They were never there when she needed them anymore! Without thinking, she got Luke's number up on the speed-dial. If her family couldn't help, she was going to turn to someone who would. If not Luke, then Andrew's other cousin, Leila. And if not Leila, she would work her way through each of Andrew's friends and family until someone could help her. But she didn't need to get to that. She accidentally hit a 3 after the 2 and dialled a number she hadn't used in a very long time. "Mark," she choked out when she heard him answer. Tears were spilling over like a tidal wave now. "I need your help..."
Mark is aussielawyer and Andrew is paramedically, both used with permission. All other muses referenced with permission and are from the princeton2nyc universe
Word Count | 1,434
[Follows THIS and THIS]
Ali couldn't remember falling asleep, but she didn't feel any more rested than she had when she went to the bedroom. She hadn't slept properly since the night before Andrew's birthday. As she woke now, she just felt groggy and had an uncomfortable headache. She sat up on the side of the bed, hugging her arms around herself when a shiver crept over her body. She only realised as she sat that Andrew was on the bed with her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him curled up on his side facing away from her with no shirt on. "Andy?" she whispered, seeing if he was awake, but there was no answer. She turned back, hunching forward a little for a moment to try and stretch the uncomfortable stiffness she had been carrying in her shoulders for days. No matter how hard she tried, though, it wouldn't go and now it had crawled up into her head in the form of a headache that likely wouldn't ease. Nothing could really make her feel better.
The clock told her it was after seven pm, an odd time for them both be taking naps, but she hardly gave it a thought and pushed up off the bed to leave the bedroom. She was quiet, not wanting to wake Andrew in case he was in a light sleep. He seemed to do that most of the time, sleeping heavily when he was exhausted, but on normal nights, sounds could wake him easily and he never failed to hear Jamie's baby monitor. She closed the door over, but left it open a few inches so the click wouldn't disturb him. She didn't even really know what to do now that she was upright. It was dinner time, but she wasn't hungry. That was another thing. She hadn't felt hungry in days, either. Instead, she went to the kitchen, swallowed a couple of Tylenol and just stared blankly out the window at the neighbouring buildings' lights. She did have mind to make a quick phone call to Luke and Tab to check Jamie was okay. She didn't know why she assumed they had taken her, but the baby girl wasn't in her crib and Andrew was in bed, so it made sense. Luke assured her the Jamie was fine, and not to worry. He added softly that Andrew looked like he needed a bit of a break, but if Ali wanted Jamie back, Luke didn't mind bringing her home. Ali just shook her head and thanked him, but told him she was grateful he had Sunshine for the night.
The birthday presents were gone, too. That wasn't an observation lost on her. When she went into the living room nursing a glass of water, she stopped and stared at the place on the floor they had been, and where she had sat with Andrew to open them. Something told her she reacted badly to the baby package, but who wouldn't when they killed their baby? She didn't need reminders that it was her fault Andrew's baby was dead. Every time she looked at him, it's all she could think about and it made her feel sick with guilt. The baby was dead because of her. She wished it dead, and she got what she wanted.
She set the glass down heavily on the nearest surface and hurried to the main bathroom, not sure whether she was going to vomit, but feeling close to it, or perhaps that hot feeling was just a panic over how terrible a person she had become. People tried to tell her she was wonderful mother but what sort of mother killed their baby?! Panic peaked in her, but as she pushed into the bathroom, she was forced to halt abruptly, grabbing hold of the doorknob to stop her legs giving out from under her. The panic over her own internal fears slipped away for the shock of the sight she was met with. There was vomit on the tiles near the toilet, but that wasn't what had her throat feeling like someone had their fist gripped around it. There was a smashed bottle of liquor - what looked to be vodka - and smears of blood by the bath tub and up the side of it. The shirt Andrew had on when they left the hospital was balled up by the shower, and she stooped to pick it up, discovering even more sickness. To top it off, his red cell phone was shattered at the base of the bath. Had he tried to call for help? It wasn't that anyone else could have come into their home to create this scene, but she couldn't fathom it had been Andrew. He would have come to her! Wouldn't he? If he was unwell and needed help, he would have come...
But Andrew didn't drink. She had not seen him touch a single drop of alcohol in the whole time she had known him.
It suddenly felt like it was a lot harder to breath, and she sucked in a gasped, shallow breath that joined a throb that had picked up in her ears. No... no, he wouldn't drink. He was sad, she knew that. She couldn't look at him because seeing him like that just made her fear she couldn't take care of him or be what he needed. She bolted back up the hall to their bedroom and pushed inside frantically. She grabbed his shoulder and gave him a small shake. "Andrew!" she cried, expecting him to wake up and tell her right away that he was fine, but he didn't. He was out cold. She shook him again, harder this time as some panicked tears spilt down her cheeks. "Andy! Wake up!" she demanded, leaning over him.
It was then she noticed the cut on his hand. The blood had seeped out onto their sheets and dried under his fingers. How long had he been out? It couldn't have been just a short time or the blood wouldn't be dry on the sheets. He had vomit on his cheek and in his hair, and she touched her fingers softly to his face with a whimper. "Andy, you fucking wake up right now!" she demanded in a growl, smacking his cheek with her fingers. She could smell the scent of stale booze mixed on him with the odour of sickness. She didn't even know how long she had been asleep, but how had she not been aware enough of the fact he was writing himself off just a couple of rooms away? She hunched closer, holding her ear against his mouth and could hear he was still breathing. Her shaky fingers went to his throat and sought out a strong pulse. He was still alive, but so totally crashed out on booze that he was unconscious... paraletic.
"Fuck," she whimpered tearfully, looking around as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do. Her hand was gripped painfully around his, but it wasn't like he was going to feel it, was it? She picked up the cordless phone buy the bed, the receiver shaking to match the shivers that had set in over her whole body. She needed help. Needed someone to tell her to pull her head out of her arse and help her fiance. This was the downside to her being left alone when everything had fallen apart. She had lost herself in her own depression and missed how much Andrew was drowning right beside her.
She dialled in the first number she could think of, but got James' voicemail. She only managed to leave him a string of expletives and curses before she moved on to Izzy. Voicemail again, and the second electronic message just caused her to burst into helpless sobs that sucked what little rationality she had left out of her. Fuck them! Fuck them to fucking hell and back! They were never there when she needed them anymore! Without thinking, she got Luke's number up on the speed-dial. If her family couldn't help, she was going to turn to someone who would. If not Luke, then Andrew's other cousin, Leila. And if not Leila, she would work her way through each of Andrew's friends and family until someone could help her. But she didn't need to get to that. She accidentally hit a 3 after the 2 and dialled a number she hadn't used in a very long time. "Mark," she choked out when she heard him answer. Tears were spilling over like a tidal wave now. "I need your help..."
Mark is aussielawyer and Andrew is paramedically, both used with permission. All other muses referenced with permission and are from the princeton2nyc universe
Word Count | 1,434