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The guilt of knowing I’m the one who survived. That I’m the one still alive.
I keep trying to get my thinking around to the side of living for her. I know it’s what she wanted because she demanded it of me right after she was diagnosed with cancer that very first meeting. She demanded that I find a way to be happy without her, have a good life, and also give Shade a good life. She made me promise I wouldn’t let her absence wreck me because she couldn’t stand to think she’d caused the people she loved so much pain.
God, parents are so exhausting. Grief is exhausting, life is exhausting, and I’m just so tired.
All of a sudden, the world really does shift. I feel drunk because there’s a sound, and then I’m teetering forward and falling, falling into thin air that wasn’t there a second ago. I must be seriously drunk. Blacking out, I feel myself going down.
“Mmm-hmm.” A soft mutter comes from above me. “I thought I heard you out there creeping on me like a first-rate stalker.”
I’m not drunk, and I’m not blacking out. The world didn’t tilt. Feeney just opened the door suddenly, and I’m so tired that I didn’t even hear it coming. Now I’m flat on my face, sprawled out on her beige carpet, and I have to admit that the shit feels good. It’s soft, tickling my cheek, and it broke my fall. Instead of getting up, I dig my palms in and just lie there.
Feeney squats down right beside me, where I can see her bare feet. God, she has cute little toes. They’re so small. Her feet are tiny, but the rest of her is pretty petite too. I notice her toenails aren’t painted, and I like how they aren’t. I expected them to be fake ones—gel or pink and glittery or something, but nope. They’re just plain, average, everyday toes.
“What happened to you? Are you okay? Why aren’t you getting up? Did you have a drink again? Please tell me—”
“Nope. It’s not a habit. Last night was a one-off and one I regret. I wanted to apologize to you for that. Properly.”
“That’s why you’re face down in the carpet?”
I sigh hard, my chest hampered by the floor, so it comes out sounding more like a long belch. Ugh. “I’m just tired.”
I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of fighting so hard. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of having to be an asshole to protect myself so that no one gets close to me again. I’m tired of not being good enough for some people while being too good for others. I’m tired of just not being able to get it right. I’m also so exhausted. I’m exhausted from trying to raise Shade alone, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m exhausted by what I’m doing right now with Feeney. I need her in ways she can’t imagine, and I need to get her to understand that, but right now, that’s what makes me feel the most exhausted.
“I can see that. You look awful.”
“How can you tell? You can’t even see my face.”
“Umm, because it’s pressed into the carpet. I imagine it must look awful. Do you want me to get a stick and pry you up?”
“I’d actually really like to see that.”
“You’re different. Last night and today. You’re not so mean to me.”
“I’m not mean to you.”
“Yes, you are! Well, maybe not overtly, but you’re like…it’s like you’re always waiting for me to fail or something. You look at me like you find pleasure in all my mistakes. It gives me freaking performance anxiety, and you’re also mean because you know so much about me while I know nothing about you.”
“You know lots about me. Everything that matters anyway.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything.” Her foot taps in impatience. “I seriously don’t, which is fine. I can deal with that. But I want to know what you know about me because maybe you haven’t been told correctly. You seem to have some pretty big assumptions about who I am, and I think you’re wrong.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes!” Her foot taps again. “Are you going to get up now?”
“No.”
“Argh!” Spinning around furiously, she goes and sits down hard on the bed. I can almost hear her footsteps with my cheek pressed into the floor, even with the carpeting.
It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just physically so exhausted and worn-out that I need a few minutes to pick myself back up. I almost want to take her up on the offer of a good prying, but I’m not sure she’d find anything appropriate to pry with. It’s not like we have any spare lumber lying around. If we did, a two by four would probably work wonders on my inert ass.
“Tell me something about you. Something I don’t know.”
