Lonely People

Take A Sad Song

Ringo and Maureen spent a few hours trying to calm me down, but it was all in vein. As soon as I came face-to-face with that locked door, a fire was lit inside of me and had spent all night gathering fuel. By the time the sun rose, I was ready to punch through the wall.

Maureen kept insisting that Molly was just grieving. Anger was the second step of the grief process. As soon as she made it past this stage, everything would be better. For now, she had to get her pain out and the only way to do that was to project it onto the nearest person, being me.

I tried to understand. For four hours after Ringo and Maureen went to sleep, I paced back and forth through the living room trying to understand. I did everything I could to come to terms with waiting for Molly to get through this, but I couldn't. All I could think was how I was the only person who still stood beside her and she shut me out.

Everyone had left. Her parents were dead, her siblings refused to come stay with her, and even her Uncle went back home. I was all she had left. Despite everything she did, I still stood by her and I still loved her. I did everything I could for her, and she locked me out of my own flat. As hard as I tried to understand, my anger took control and I found myself stomping back up to the place I called home the next morning.

"Keep your temper in control," Maureen had warned me, "As soon as you start shouting, so will she, and things will never get better."

I curled my fists, "I am the model of calmness."

To my surprise, the door was unlocked. I expected to have to pick the lock, but it swung open whenever I twisted the knob. I calmly walked in, doing my best to hide my anger behind a mask.

Molly sat in the living room. She was still in her pajamas with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hands. When I walked in, she didn't even look at me. Her eyes were glued to the empty fireplace watching imaginary flames lick at the invisible logs.

"Molly," I spat.

I stopped at the edge of the couch and placed my fists on my hips. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to start yelling at her right off the bat. So many shouts begged to be released, but I held my tongue.

She looked up at me with sad eyes, "Hi."

"Care to explain why you locked me out last night?" I asked, "And took the extra key?"

"I needed some alone time."

"You-" I paused, "Alone time? Really?"

She glanced at me. My skin was beginning to feel like it was burning. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to fight. I wanted to scream, shout, and storm out all at the same time. Most of all, I wanted her to feel my anger. I wanted her to know that I was ablaze with fury. Instead, I kept my voice level. Fury hidden behind calm was often more heart breaking than screaming. 

"Yes, alone time," Molly replied.

Maureen's words echoed in my head, but I completely ignored them. I flung my arms up in the air and shouted, "So you lock me out of the bloody house?!"

"Well, it's not like you would have listened if I told you!" Molly exclaimed, "Even if I locked myself in my room, you'd sit at my door and wait."

"That's no reason to lock me out of the flat, Molly! I'm just trying to help you," I snapped.

Molly jumped up, "You're suffocating me, Amelia!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!" she exclaimed, "You're always there, always. Everywhere I turn, there you are asking me if I'm alright. Well, guess what, I'm not alright! I am so far from alright!"