Page 63 of Dark Ugly Places

It’s a strange thing to shuffle into her cramped little office and always cry. The empty chair next to me screams and screams, like Ben should be sitting in it, saying something important I’ve forgotten about the day he died.

Should I tell Dr. Constance about wanting to kill myself, Ben? Do you think that would be good for the personal injury case?

No, I don’t think so. His voice is a whisper here in the darkness. I don’t think that would be very good at all. Do you really want to tell her that before, everything was falling apart anyway?

Well, yes.

What’s the point of that, Nic?

To get it off my chest. I have to tell someone.

Tell me.

You know already.

Tell me again.

You were there.

So? I’m a good listener.

I know that, Ben.

Tell me about the time when you thought you’d do it.

You mean when Emmy was born?

Yes.

I thought I couldn’t be a mother. I thought I was going to screw it all up. There was too much happiness, and everything was so perfect, it terrified me. The fragility of it all. The tiny, careful balancing act that my entire life depended on. Emmy was so tiny, her little fingers and toes in my hand, warm, soft, and the scent of baby skin always with me. I knew that I could ruin everything in an instant. It would take almost nothing.

I remember.

So, I got some pills.

I should have been there.

You couldn’t have known. You didn’t understand. I didn’t let you.

I blame myself still.

How can you?

I can. I do.

But you’re …

You can say it.

You’re dead.

The dead still blame themselves, Nic.

Or is it that I blame you instead?

Probably. Does it matter?

Not really. I’m alone now anyway. Alone in the darkness again. And she’s taking over. I can’t stop her, even if I wanted to.