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REESE: pls
The sloppy string of messages rekindles the worry that I’ve been forcing down for the last two weeks. Those are clearly Reese’s drunken ramblings.
Should I answer him?
Should I go to him?
Mama has been settled back home for the last few days after getting discharged once the meds worked their magic. I’ve been taking care of her, although yesterday, she shooed me out. I don’t have to be back to work until Monday. Technically, I haven’t even agreed to go back yet.
Then my thoughts drift to Violet. If Reese is drunk, how the hell is he going to watch her properly?
Indignation, that cloud of worry, and a motherly instinct that I probably shouldn’t have for a child that isn’t mine swells up within me. I can’t just leave Reese and Violet hanging out to dry like that.
But Reese is going to get one hell of a talking-to when he sobers up.
I pile my things into my car and drive to Reese’s place. When I step inside, music blares from Reese’s unreasonably expensive sound system. I scramble to find the remote to turn the cacophony of angry metal music down.
The silence that comes after is deafening. There’s no sign of Reese or Violet. Hell, there’s not even Paula, walking around with her nose upturned and her air of “I-know-what-you’re-doing-you-little-hussy” following around everywhere.
The warning bells ring louder and louder as I bolt up the stairs. On my way up, I trip over bottles (baby and beer alike) and mounds of dirty clothes mildewing in the corners.
I go to Violet’s room. My anxiety lets go of its stranglehold on my throat when I see that she’s sleeping peacefully in her crib.
Alright. One catastrophe avoided. Now…
Where the hell is her father?
The path to Reese’s room is just as apocalyptic as the voyage here. To think this is what’s happened after two weeks of absence… Has he had no one come over to clean? Has it not occurred to Reese to, like, uphold basic standards of hygiene and decency? Has he no shame?
I shove down my questions and the worry for his current state to push my way into his room. A pungent scent of booze and sweat hits my nose like a freight train going full speed.
“Oh, shit, what the fuck?—”
I snap my hand over my nose in the hopes of blocking out the repugnant scent, to no avail. But I do find my target.
Reese is a tangle of sheets, beer bottles, and discarded Hot Pockets packets on the bed. The thought that at least there’s not some random woman, too flickers through my mind.
“Reese. Reese!”
I call his name as I lunge over to the side of his bed. I shake him, like I can shake the sanity back into this man. He flops, mouth agape, the corners crusted in drool and marinara. But he makes noise, so that’s a good sign. And, despite the fact that the state of his room could warrant an emergency cleaner, I don’t see or smell vomit among his messy sheets. That’s a small win, too, I guess.
“Wha—?” His eyes, bleary with sleep, make a few attempts at blinking before prying themselves open. Surprise floods his face. “Liv…?”
“Yeah. It’s me. You texted me to come over.”
My tone is cool, but inside, there’s chaos. Worry, frustration, confusion—it all swirls like an emotional tornado inside my already emotionally compromised brain.
“Oh, shit. I—fuck, Violet?—”
“She’s sleeping,” I interject. “You managed to at least put her in the crib. Bravo. Father of the Year.”
As the guilt settles on Reese’s face, another feeling in me starts to bubble. “Reese, what the fuck were you thinking?” I demand. “I come in here and the music is loud enough to wake the dead! The place is trashed, no one is watching Violet, and you’re in here, smashed out of your fucking mind!”
Reese pushes his fingers through his hair. “I know, Olivia. I know. I just…” He sighs, pressing his hands over his eyes. “Fuck… my head is killing me.”
My stare turns quickly into a glare. “You know what? You’re going to take a shower. And while you’re taking a shower and cleaning yourself up, you can think about just how badly you screwed up here. Then, when you’re done, you’re going to come downstairs, and you’re going to listen to what I have to say.”
I don’t give Reese the time to respond, rebuke, or refuse.
