Reckless

Chapter 14 Part 4

Present Day

Character POV: Roxanne

Ariadne nods along to my words, looking down at the ground as she scuffs her heel along the polished dance floor, a loud squeak resounding that has me putting my hands to my ears. She drags her gaze back to me as she asks me, "Better by conventional terms or better by Aoibhe terms? Because those are two different things. Better for you means being able to go about your life and follow your orders without upsetting anyone else or yourself. It doesn't mean taking care of yourself."

"I spent the night detoxing," I inform her, my voice tight. "So, by conventional terms, I'm doing better-- at least today. That's all I can manage, right? One day at a time? I think that's the motto for the modern systems in place to help people." From that one time that I went to one of those support groups, I think that's what someone said. It was so uncomfortable that I never went back. I obviously opted out of sobriety.

Ariadne smirks ruefully as she says with a deceptively simple shrug, "I wouldn't know. My blood type is whiskey at this point." I snort despite myself. She doesn't laugh. That sobers me up even more, the sight of someone taking my health this seriously even when they live the complete opposite type of lifestyle from my own. She frowns deeply as she says, "You're hundreds of years short of where you should be in recovery." Her eyes flash with something that looks like pain as she whispers, "I guess I didn't help you fix it, I was just a good substitute drug."

My heart aches for her in that moment, for everyone who I have ever been with during this long journey of dealing with my mental health. I want to reach out and comfort her, but my arms stay where they are at my sides because I am mindful that this is not my Ariadne anymore. My voice shakes with earnesty as I try to make her not only see but really believe my words to be true, "You did help me fix it. You're the only person I've been with who I have been with sober. But I think what I really need is therapy, now that I think about it." It's been centuries, and I have never talked to anyone about any of the traumatic things that have happened.

"We have one of those you know," Ariadne mutters with a roll of her eyes, waving it off like she's batting at an annoying fly. "His name is José Hernández. I should add "Doctor" to that now. He was given an immortal existence and chose to become a psychiatrist and spend all of these years learning every single type of therapy imaginable. It's useful for immortal beings to have someone on staff, because if we went to vent about our bullshit to a regular shrink, we'd be institutionalized for our lives and told we were in the middle of a delusion or some such shrinky-bullshit." She rolls her eyes again, looking just as disgusted with the idea of talking to someone about trauma as she was about people not bathing in the Middle Ages.

"Thank you for the offer," I tell her. "But right now, until I know what you and the vampires are planning, I don't plan to start associating with vampires at large. One is all I can handle right now. So, why don't you tell me what you're up to." My voice breaks as I ask her the question that has been on my mind, the whole reason that I came out here. Pain, sadness, and anger all rise up inside of at the same time, making it hard for me to breathe or even think in this moment. My hands tighten into fists at my sides as I try and retrain myself from saying something that I will regret, something that will only make this escalate into something worse.

"Where do you want me to start?" Ariadne asks, quirking her head to one side as she gives me a long look, wavy brown hair spilling over her shoulder as she does so. "I've lived a very long life and I'm been plotting in my villain's lair for centuries. You'll have to be very specific." The sarcasm just drips from her words, and for a second I doubt that she's even capable of giving me a serious and logical answer to my questions.