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Dee
Day Two without Mick islike trudging through a fog. Nothing seems clear. My movements are slow and labored. My heartbeat, dull and heavy. I have to push myself to get out the door.
At least at the office, I can escape the misery to concentrate on work. When I call Calista to update her, she says I sound as if I’m coming down with a cold. I wish it were something that liquids and Tylenol could cure.
By 6:00 p.m. I’m dragging. Lena clocks out and I should do the same. But I really don’t want to go home to an empty house. I could call my friends, but then I’d have to tell them about Mick. I think of going to the gym, but it requires too much energy. I think of food, of greasy carbs and gobs of sugar.
Mostly, though, I think of Mick.
An hour later, when my mind can’t process another report, I call to check up on Dwayde. Victor answers.
“Hey, Brat.” He uses the old nickname he had for me. “How ya doing?”
“I’m…” I start to sayfinebecause old habits die hard. The truth isn’t always pleasant, but at least it’s real. “I’m still at work trying to distract myself and not fall apart.”
“You shouldn’t be alone. Why don’t you come by? We’ll fix you something to eat.”
“Thanks. But rain check, okay? I’m just not up for that tonight.”
“We’re here if you change your mind.”
“Okay. How’s Dwayde?”
“He’s been unusually quiet. Withdrawn. But he perked up when Mick stopped by to lift his spirits with a marathon of sword fighting. Mick left not long ago.”
“How did he seem?”
“Lost. And he looked like hell.”
Hearing that fills me with a mix of emotions. On the one hand, it feeds my hope that Mick is struggling with our separation, yet on the other hand, I hate knowing he’s as miserable as I am.
“I’m worried about him, Victor.”
“I am too. He’s not himself and still won’t talk about what’s eating him. He got agitated when I mentioned you. That’s when he left.”
Concern has me revealing a confidence Mick wouldn’t appreciate me sharing. “He went to a bar.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“He did. He told me. Two nights ago. He didn’t drink, though,” I assure him. “He walked away. But I’m afraid he might not the next time.”
“I saw what he went through before he got sober. I don’t believe he’ll go there again.”
Victor doesn’t know about the abuse or the depth of Mick’s guilt. He hasn’t witnessed the nightmares. He hadn’t seen that hopeless defeat in Mick’s eyes. “I don’t want to believe it’s possible either. But he’s an alcoholic, Victor. And his defenses are low right now.”
“I’ll talk to him, Dee. Keep an eye out.”
“Thank you.”
“I know I have no right to ask you this, but please don’t give up on him. I still have faith that Mick will come to his senses.”
The conversation with Victor leaves me drained. I pack up and shut off my emotions for a while as a matter of preserving my own recovery, and urge myself to the gym.
When I arrive home, it fills me with bittersweet relief to find that Mick’s clothes still hang in the closet. His laptop still sits on the desk. The extra key card to his condo is still in a catchall tray on my dresser. It’s painful to be around his things, but it would have been worse to find them gone.
I skip dinner, afraid that if I start eating, I won’t stop. I shower and stay under the hot spray for a good half hour. I watch the news, without really listening, and I’m in bed before 11:00. Wearing one of Mick’sT-shirts, I curl up on his side of the sheets with my arms around his pillow and fall into a short, restless sleep.
Day Three blows in likea chilly draft. Despite the mild October weather, I can’t get warm. Through the layers of a turtleneck and blazer, I feel the cold in my bones.
