MADMAN'S DEMISE

27

Saturday, August 30th

Crying.

Days of constant crying.

I couldn't hardly look at him without my knees buckling. How the hell did he think I was supposed to handle seeing him during our regular scheduled sessions and pretend that everything was just as usual after what he put me through? It was just too hard. Not being able to throw myself into his arms. Not being able to settle him down with the help of my body and touch. Not being able to call him mine anymore. All I could do was just sit there. Sit there in front of him, put on a mask, and act and pretend I was no one other than Nurse Frazier to him.

It hurt too much. Like a thousand burning arrows struck my heart every time I looked, or even thought, of him.

I just couldn't accept it. I chose him. I risked everything for him, my work, my license, my reputation, all along thinking it was worth it because I got to be with him, because I got to know him, feel him, love him.

Be loved by him.

He knew I needed him if I was to remain viable and well. But he didn't seem to care about that anymore. Yet he had nowhere to go, he was the one walking away.

I was the one of us supposed to be sane, yet he started making decisions for me from out of the blue, thinking he was the one knowing what was best for me and my future, what freedom meant to me and how grateful I'd be with him in time. And I just had to accept it. Accept being dumped.

I didn't know if I was slowly falling into madness from the sorrow. I didn't know if I was just selfish, but one part of me was suddenly caught in regret about forcing through this mayhem rising. Because if I had never gotten him into it, he wouldn't have made this stupid promise to himself, and I'd still be with him now. Probably lying in his strong, warm arms or kissing his full lips. So there was not only him to blame. I had been the one misguiding him. The one so eager to find out about the possibilities of our future, I couldn't at all foresee this kind of outcome. It was my fault, too. And I knew that.

But the self-blame didn't make it at all easier for me at any level. It made me want to punish myself. Hurt myself. Do things I knew I shouldn't. And I knew there was only one last remedy left that didn't include any kind of self-destructive substance or habit.

I dragged myself over the floorboards of my apartment, my feet trailing and draggling me from my bedroom and all the way towards the entrance hall. I could barely see, my home dark and lacking light, my eyes bloodshot and blistering from the constant crying. But I found my way forward, and grabbed the heavy, black handset on the wall before me as I reached the hallway. I dialled the number, closed my eyes as I let my back slide down the wall right by the phone.

It was Saturday evening. She would pick up. She always did when I needed her. I sighed loudly as the signals passed, my breath weak and shaky. And then I heard her. Her soothing, soft voice appearing on the other side of the line. Filled with relief, I sobbed out, so happy about hearing the voice of my saviour.

"I need you."

Only a couple of minutes later she arrived at my home, taking me in and embracing me in her comforting arms. Her bright blue eyes big, inspecting me in concern as she saw the condition I was in. I'd seen that look a hundred times before. Those times she'd found me devastated and so wasted by the drugs I was hardly alive. Helpless and deprived either in my bed, on my sofa or even on the floor. Only now I wasn't high, but I needed her just as much as I did all those times.

She walked with me, held my hand tightly as we headed our way into the living room. And she sat down with me, opposed me on the couch and just waited, holding my hands safely and assuring me of her presence. She knew there was no idea pressuring me into speaking. She knew I needed time, and that the most important for me was only to take her proximity in. She just had to be here.

My breathing increased along with the hammering beneath my chest. Tears streamed. The palms of my hands damp. I didn't have to hide anything from her, and for that I was grateful. I could let it all out, and she would let me, without questions or speculations or interrogations. I cried looking at her, my mouth trembling and hands shaking, holding hers. I had to let my heart out in order to survive this heart-wrenching pain. I had to make use of my last lifeline. Dolores.

"There's something I have to tell you."

And I did. Not just something. I told her everything. About my relationship with Brandon, about the pregnancy, and the abortion. I told her about Donald, the details of him she yet didn't know of. The assault in the elevator, how he meant to hurt me but smashed Brandon to pieces instead. I told her about the two officers' visit five months ago, and about his death, about him being killed... stabbed... suddenly evaporated, dissolved, vanished forever. I told her about my relapse, how I had lied to her about only using low-dose medication for sleep, and how I managed to get out of the misuse only after returning to Brandon. I even told her about the trial, about the lying, and about the plan his father made up only to get his son out to freedom.

And she just listened. No judgment in her eyes. Only interest, genuine care and compassion. She sat here, in front of me on the broad vermilion couch, soothing me with her nearness as she gently nodded while I spoke in between the sobs.

A tear now rolled down her cheek. I already knew it would be tough for her to hear all of this although she might be upset with me. I hadn't been the best of a friend recently, therefore I expected her to confront me and express her disappointment somehow. She did not only exist to be available for me as I needed her. I had obligations towards her as well, and I hadn't lived up to them at all lately. I'd barely talked to her. Not even reached out only to ask her how she was doing or about what was happening in her life.

But none of that seemed to matter now.

"I can't believe you've been through all of this on your own," Dolores sighed.

"I should have known something was not right."

My heart broke, knowing she blamed herself for not realising sooner why I had been so absent and beyond reach.

"I just thought you were so busy at the institution you didn't have the time... I'm... I'm sorry, Bev." She dried the tear off her rose cheek, looking into my soul in concern.

"No! Dolores, you don't get to blame yourself for this!" I sniffled.

"Also I... I was not on my own... I had Brandon." One part of me was so ashamed, I had to whisper those last words. There was no valid reason for me to lean all my problems and secrets and worries onto a considered mad boy - a convicted killer - instead of the person who knew me better than anyone else in the world. Also, although Dolores never judged me, and sat in silence only to listen, I knew she was seated upon an opinion. An opinion that might not live up to my wishes.

"Beverly, I..." Dolores' shook her head as she closed her eyes, speechless.

"You don't have to say anything. I already know... I just... please just be here with me." I faltered again, begging she wouldn't begin telling me how crazy and wrong and delusional and unstable I was. I already knew all of that.

Watching her hesitate, I prepared for the worst, for Dolores to start speaking sense to me, for the reality to hit me like a train. But she didn't relent. Instead, her blue eyes pierced mine, and she squeezed my hand once more in assurance.

"I'll always be here with you."