bouldersandbrews: (ZidanexGarnet - <3)
She's writing her memoirs again. Before the reconciliation with her mother, she had to stop - it was all just too painful, the memories sending her into a deep depression. But she finds it to be far easier now, to write - even though she still has this odd feeling of surreality about her past.

She pauses her writing - what is that word she wants? it's right on the tip of her tongue - and looks over at her husband. He's contentedly surfing the internet. She forgets for a moment her hunt for that perfect word and just stares. It's easy to forget, to take for granted how much her life has changed over the last six years. Easy until she reads back on journal and diary entries from ten years ago, reads back on how miserable and depressed and alone she was.

She sits, her husband's face filling her vision, and wonders. How a life that seemed to have nothing in it at all could be changed so drastically. How a meaningless existence now has some purpose. It's entirely astonishing to her.

You make my life better just by virtue of being in it, she thinks to herself. Never has she been able to say this about anyone before Dave.

In rescuing her from her life, in bringing purpose to her existence, in loving her despite her flaws, he has also given her hope that maybe, just maybe, she isn't entirely unlovable after all.

"Yar."

Jan. 18th, 2013 04:50 pm
bouldersandbrews: (Agrias - Quiet Determination)
"It's almost like you have a social life or something."

She considers this, turning it about in her mind. It doesn't take her long. "Yeah. When I was talking to Mom and Jess - not last Sunday, but the one before - and I told Mom that if I didn't just start talking to her all the time, not to take it personally 'cause I don't talk to anyone?"

He nods.

"I thought about it later. That's not good. I can't just do that."

It's true. She tends to withdraw - it's easier. Easier than putting oneself out there, making oneself open and vulnerable. Easier than dealing with people and their drama. She likes her own company. She might get on her own nerves occasionally - okay, a lot - but that's still easier and somehow preferable than dealing with other people getting on her nerves.

But she feels lonely sometimes. And guilty. Like she's ditched all of her friends and family. She imagines what it would feel like in a reversed situation - and doesn't like it.

She doesn't now and never has liked the friendships most people seem to be interested in having with her - the kind where she's the only one making any sort of effort to keep the friendship alive - but she also recognizes that any friendship requires both parties to make an effort.

And so she's been making an effort. Baby steps, but at least it's something. And when babies learn to walk, it is only baby steps at first, but it becomes steadier and easier and pretty soon the baby's a kid who's running.

She'll never be an extrovert, never a social butterfly... but maybe she'll stop being quite as withdrawn as she is now.
bouldersandbrews: (Harle Leaping)
"Why didn't you believe me?"

It comes out small, sad, and plaintive - a surprise to her, as her voice for the past forty-five minutes has been calm, cool, dispassionate. The fact that she's said it at all surprises her - she certainly didn't intend to say it, didn't intend to go anywhere near the topic at all. She hadn't written it down on her list, hadn't even thought of it. Even if she had considered it she probably wouldn't have written it down - too touchy a subject. Which is somewhat laughable, considering the touchiness of everything else on her list. But she chose to shy away from it.

A choice that was remade without her even thinking of it.

She recognizes the small, sad little voice - Little Amara peeking out from her fortress of pillows. That adorable, innocent face, that bowl-cut hair, somewhere between blonde and brown... those sad, hurt little green eyes. All she's ever wanted to know was why Mommy didn't believe her. She sees an opportunity to finally have her most important question answered, and seizes it in her chubby little hands.

"Why didn't you believe me?"

Her voice cracks somewhere around "believe", which is another surprise to her. Those five words cause her more pain to utter than she would have believed, had one told her about it previously. She's never asked it. Never brought it up, that great unspoken shame that has always lurked between them.

She listens to her mother's answer, hears the pain in her mother's voice, the relived fear. It's nothing surprising, nothing she hadn't assumed was the answer before. There was really only one answer that could have been. But somehow hearing it from her... doesn't quite ease the years-old pain, but it... somehow soothes Little Amara's sad, broken little heart... and starts to heal.

...

Dec. 2nd, 2012 05:42 pm
bouldersandbrews: (Sephiroth - Nice view)
She feels a dull ache begin in her head, spreading quickly to her heart and stomach. She then feels a pressure in her throat, almost an ache, and the first tear slides down her cheek.

They're leaving.

It's the kind of thing one is vaguely aware of, like one is vaguely aware that people in Africa eat monkeys. Vaguely aware of it, but it doesn't have any sort of real impact because it isn't immediate, real, there.

But if one were to travel to Africa and actually see it happen -

They're leaving!

She knew it had to happen someday, that there was no logical reason for her to believe that Hayden and Lindsay would both spend the rest of their lives in San Diego. But to realize that in just over two weeks, they'd be gone -

It hits her. She feels like she imagines it would feel to be punched in the stomach with no warning. She's vaguely tempted to ask someone to punch her in the stomach for the sole purpose of having a basis for comparison. But that won't change the facts.

They're leaving...

Lindsay's trip to Australia is sort of drastic, she feels - but it'll be good for Lindsay to experience life away from her family for a few months. She feels that Lindsay needs that kind of experience, that kind of freedom. And after all, Lindsay's coming back in six months or so - this isn't a permanent move. True, it's almost half a year - and that's a long time - but at least she's coming back.

But Hayden...

She's always felt more of a connection with Hayden. Lindsay is sweet, funny, fun to be around - very likable, but what the two of them have in common is fairly surface. They have similar personality traits, similar viewpoints on many things. Hayden, though - they share personality traits as well. They share interests, humor, their rage at the world. She feels that she can be more herself around Hayden - that she can allow him to see some of the darkness she keeps caged up. Certainly not all of it - but more than she can show Lindsay, princess of sweetness and light. Hayden knows and understands darkness. One of the things she likes so much about Lindsay is that Lindsay doesn't know or understand darkness. That makes her likable, but it also means that she cannot relate to her as well.

And Hayden's leaving. Moving away to the East Coast. Not coming back in six months. Maybe not coming back ever. The thought depresses her enormously. She knows that he needs to get out of - at least his mother's house, if not the area entirely. She knows he needs to start a life of his own, a life that's his, that he can live without having to answer to his parents - a life that he can bring a wife into, someday. She knows it's entirely selfish, her sorrow at his moving away. And sure, there's texting, Facebook, Skype - but she looks at it, brutally and frankly - they rarely text, Facebook, or Skype now, and she doesn't expect that to change. No one texts/Skypes their stepmom. How very uncool.

And so she sighs and prepares to drown her sadness in alcohol. Because sometimes what cannot be changed or dealt with must just be drowned for a while.
bouldersandbrews: (Default)
(I've been meaning to do this for months, am just now getting around to doing so. Lazy mofo is lazy.)

Monday at the Roflhaus (as she refers to it): he's working on window stuff on the computer, she's messing around on his iphone. The fact that an old friend of his had called last week with church drama is in the back of her mind, but she isn't really paying much heed to it - it's a fact, just like the hundreds of other facts that swim around in her mind.

At least, she doesn't pay much heed to it until a call shows up on his phone. She sees it's from Montana. No way. Who is it? Terry? Art? Dennis again? ...Nah, they wouldn't call, I'm overreacting. She presses the button to turn the sound back on, the familiar sound of Ima Robot's "Greenback Boogie" fills the air, and she hands the phone to her husband. He looks vaguely irritated, no doubt expecting a work call - further complaints from bizarre customers. "Hello? ...Hi, Terry."

No freaking way! She mouths his full name, asking in so many words if this is seriously who this is or if it's a roofing customer who just happens to have the same name and live in the same area. He doesn't respond, but as the conversation gets under way she realizes that it is indeed who she thought it was.

She catches his eye again and mouths "Huge balls", pantomiming what she means in case he's suddenly lost the ability to read lips. He smiles and rolls his eyes in agreement.

The conversation stretches on. She can tell from his voice that he's trying to be neutral and nice, suddenly involved in drama with people he used to be really close friends with, but was deeply hurt, even betrayed, by. She hears a kind of longing in his voice - these people used to be very close friends, and she knows that he misses their friendship. She knows that he at least would love to reconcile with them, have an active friendship with them. She wouldn't - she's met everyone involved and doesn't really like them all that well, and since the original drama and betrayal her opinion hasn't improved. But she knows her husband well, knows that he takes pain deeply, that he still hurts over the thoughtless actions of these people several years ago.

She listens to his end of the conversation as she mows down Rebel soldiers in Star Wars Battlefront II. And she listens to him talk about it, late at night in bed, when they're both in that twilight state that precedes going to sleep. And her heart aches for him - she also knows loneliness, how it hurts to miss people that have betrayed you, just wanting to have those friendships back.

Her inclination is to wreak physical or emotional harm on these people, these people that have dared to hurt her husband. She's never pretended to be anything other than vengeful, and she'd love to wreak vengeance on them now. But she also knows that this won't help... that nothing she can do would help, other than to... listen, empathize, show him through action that at least one person in his life will never betray him. So she'll do that, she decides. Because ultimately, all she really wants to do is help, anyway.

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