We are not going back

Chapter fifty

Kamala stood there, her back stiff, eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. I hated that look. It was too much, too exposed. I wiped my face quickly, trying to steady my hands, my thoughts, anything that could bring me back to control.

"How long have you been an alcoholic?" Kamala asked, her voice tight and controlled, but the weight of the question was unbearable.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I crossed my arms and stared at the floor, hoping the silence would swallow the question. I could feel her eyes boring into me, but I wasn’t going to break. Not this time.

"Eleanora," she said, more firmly, stepping closer. "How long?"

I swallowed hard, keeping my arms crossed tighter. The pressure in my chest built, but I refused to crack under it, "I’m not an alcoholic," I said flatly, not looking at her.

Kamala’s voice sharpened. “Then why did Olivia say that? Why did she say you were drunk the day Elivio died?”

I clenched my jaw, the familiar burn of anger rising. “Olivia says a lot of things. It doesn’t make them true.”

Kamala stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the door. “Don’t do that. Don’t deflect. Just tell me- were you drunk that day?”

"I don’t remember," I shot back, my voice icy, a wall building between us with every word.

Kamala looked at me, searching for something -anything- that would tell her I was lying, or maybe that I was telling the truth. But I couldn’t give her that. I wasn’t about to expose myself further, not now.

Her voice softened, and I hated it. "Eleanora…if you were struggling all this time, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me in?"

I scoffed. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Kamala, by the way, I can’t stop drinking, and sometimes I’m too wasted to remember what happened the day my son died?’” The sarcasm dripped from my words, bitter and cold.

Kamala flinched, but didn’t back down. “You didn’t have to hide it.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, finally meeting her eyes, my voice low, sharp. “I handle things my way. I don’t need you to swoop in and fix me.”

Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but then she just looked at me -really looked at me- and that hurt more than anything. That damn disappointment in her eyes, like she thought I was better than this.

"I’m not trying to fix you," she said quietly. "I’m just trying to understand."

I shook my head, turning away from her. “There’s nothing to understand.”

"You’re not-” Kamala’s voice cracked slightly, then steadied. “You’re not the woman I thought you were.”

"I really don't care," I said, "But what about you, Kamala? Aren't you the same person that was talking civilly to Olivia today while you know what she did to me? Yes, I know that you're this amazing fucking empathetic person, but are you aware how it feels to see the woman you love interact with your abuser like they're a normal person? Someone that deserves to be treated like any other person? Do you?"

"I don't want to fight your battles for you, El. You're strong-"

"Strong?" It couldn’t be held back anymore, "I'm so sick of everyone telling me how strong I am! I am not strong. I have never been strong! So yes, I drank myself to near death every single day because I couldn't handle living in this disgusting life anymore. Burn me at the stake. I was a terrible mother. A horrible person; that's who you fell in love with."