MADMAN'S HAVEN

12

Monday, December 23rd

The weeks passed, and the adrenaline slowly faded out and exchanged into abstinence again.

I carried on at work, tried my best to keep my mind occupied from the thoughts of the glorious killer only a couple of walls away.

I forced through an apology to solve the situation with Donald, just to get him satisfied and avoid the annoying rumination. I was sick of him, only used him for company and closeness. Only met with him or contacted him on my provision.

Otherwise I kept my distance from him.

I was aware that I was a bad person, and deep inside I didn't like who I had become. But I didn't have one ounce of conscience left inside of me, which left me far from the realization of my behavior.

It was two days left to Christmas, and I didn't know if I looked forward to it or not. I knew the activities at work would keep me busy and caught up, which was a good thing. But as the holidays came closer, I got more nervous about meeting my family and friends to gather in celebration.

The gifts were already bought, the food was already prepared, and I was happy about managing my adult responsibilities despite my unstable condition.

My birthday was also soon to come, I was about to turn twenty-five in eleven days only. I didn't have the energy nor the time to care about it, I was busy enough and surrounded by people who cared enough to wish me happy birthday which was just enough for me.

Ever since I was a child I hated to connect Christmas gatherings with the celebration of my birthday. I wanted to have my own day of observation, just like everyone else, and I hated the argument of tending while everyone were already gathered.

But this year was an exception, and I asked my father if we could associate the celebration of Christmas and my birthday into one.

Of course, he allowed it, not only because I asked for it, but also out of relief of not having to decorate and invite into his home again after nearly a week from Christmas eve.

I was glad that I could spare him that. He'd done so much for me my whole life, and kept up with my personal celebration every year to keep me satisfied and individual as any other child.

I smiled by the thoughts of my father, I missed him, and I missed Walter.

The time flew away from me and I got more negligent with contacting the only family I had. Also, I was ashamed. I didn't want to meet with them in this state, I didn't want them to witness my misery, and I couldn't risk getting exposed in my drug abuse. They would literally kill me by forcing me into rehab again, force me into belting and pointless therapy sessions.

That was the last thing I needed. I could control myself, take care of myself. As long as I didn't rely on it and let it affect my everyday life, it was fine.

I still went to work, got there in time, did my tasks properly. The only thing I needed was a little shove to keep going, and the morphine handled that part perfectly. It was not a bigger deal than that.

I sat on the cold tile floor in the hallway of my apartment. A string of hair looped around my fingers as I twisted it in circles to keep myself diverted as I listened to Dolores non-stop speaking on the other side of the line.

"So what do you want to do this year? It's only eleven days left, Beverly until your twenty-fifth birthday! Can you believe it?"

I gasped while Dolores bubbled with excitement.

"I don't know, Dolores. All I want is to hide in my closet and pretend that I'm ten years old again,"

As soon as the joke left my mouth I noticed how it was just a pure lie.

"No you don't," Dolores's voice got more serious than before. She was right. Even if I was unstable in my current state of mind, there was no part of me that wanted to go back to my childhood.

The imagination of my insanely sick mother appeared on repeat in my brain, and distracted me from the ongoing phone call with my friend.

"Beverly, are you still there?"

I blinked in revelation.

"Yes, sorry. I thought maybe it should just be you and me this year, and a bottle of wine or two,"

I prepared for ransacking.

"It is your twenty-fifth birthday, and you want to get drunk on the couch?"

The friendly judgemental sentence made me laugh, and I realized my appearance of boredom.

"I can tell that you're getting old," Dolores continued with the harassment.

If she only knew that this had nothing to do with my aging.

"Then I'll leave that business for you, my dear friend," I exclaimed, and made sure that she could hear my smile.

My deliberated decision of leaving the responsibility of my birthday to Dolores, only made her more excited. Of course, she would enjoy the arrangement, she loved celebrations. Just as I once did.

"That was all I wanted to hear, thank you," She answered politely. Then she cleared her throat, and settled her tone into seriousness again.

"How are you doing? It's been a while now since-"

There was no need of mentioning it, so I interrupted her.

"I'm alive, trying to be thankful for that," I said with a sheered voice. I didn't want this subject to bring the mood down.

Even if I had strict rules of professional secrecy, Dolores knew enough about what happened three months earlier in the gathering room.

"And how is it with?"

I didn't need her to finish to know what she was referring to. I hesitated on my answer, swallowed hard.

"Only sometimes for sleep, otherwise clean," I remarked in understatement. She knew about my way of self-medicating, but I refused to let her know about the heavy abuse of it.

"I'm worried about you,"

Short words of persuasion.

"You don't have to be,"

An answer just as short of assurance.

"I love you," She finished warily.

My heart got warm from her confirmed devotion.

"I love you too,"