Arc One [11]
Author: Cha Ma Mib
Title: Everything Coming Apart
Rating: G
Word Count: 514
Happy endings are nothing but fables; no more, no less, and unlike Aesop's they never have any useful lesson buried underneath them. Wedding rings are nothing but physical totems of the arbitrary choices in love, coffee is nothing but something warm for her hands to hold in Peter's absence, and the nightgown is just an ironic reminder of how much sleep she's lost in the last twenty-four hours.
Marco's voice drifts in and out of her hearing, a little edgier with each phone call. "Hey, Dad, so, you know to receive a call, you have to hit the green button with the phone on it. I know this is really complicated technology, but put that engineer brain to use. Call us back soon."
"He thinks he's being really cute, hiding from us," Eva says, but though she can muster sarcasm she can't conjure up the vitriol to fill out the sentence.
She feels dizzy and blames the lack of sleep. Falling asleep is always difficult now, trying to lay still and forgetting, as she drifts off, whether it's consensual paralysis. Without her husband, it's nearly impossible.
She tries not to think that things have been going a little too well, that her delicate husband has been handling everything with a little bit too much competence, that there are fragile points that take just a little too little pressure to fracture.
"So, Dad, it would be really awesome if you'd call us, since we're just here. Sitting around. Waiting for you to come home. Eating all the toast. Trying not to call the cops. And, um, we're almost out of toast, so you really need to call us now."
She runs a finger around the rim of her coffee cup in perfect rhythm with her heartbeat, and tries to empty her mind of all the nightmare scenarios that creep in. Tries to slow the way her finger orbits the mug as if that'll slow her jackhammer pulse.
"I think his voicemail box is full."
Eva lets out a moan that sounds almost animal in its earthiness, and runs her hand over her bare face and through her messy hair. "You, you should…if…sorry, I mean, you should find him. Because if I do, it'll turn into a scene and end up on Entertainment Tonight."
"Yeah, I was going to go do that once the box got full." He shoots her a worried look. She feels a pang of guilt, worrying her kid over two parents. "Mom, you look like I'm going to come back and find you facedown in your breakfast. Get some sleep. In a bed."
"I'll promise not to drown in preserves if you'll just go."
The empty house is surprisingly claustrophobic. She moves her hand from the coffee mug to her wedding ring, the new one that replaced the one Edriss discarded. It serves as a reminder that the war and death and slavery didn't split them apart, but today, she'd trade it for a homing beacon, straight across.
The coffee, now cold, is infinitely less comforting than it was an hour ago.
Previous | Masterpost | Next
Title: Everything Coming Apart
Rating: G
Word Count: 514
Happy endings are nothing but fables; no more, no less, and unlike Aesop's they never have any useful lesson buried underneath them. Wedding rings are nothing but physical totems of the arbitrary choices in love, coffee is nothing but something warm for her hands to hold in Peter's absence, and the nightgown is just an ironic reminder of how much sleep she's lost in the last twenty-four hours.
Marco's voice drifts in and out of her hearing, a little edgier with each phone call. "Hey, Dad, so, you know to receive a call, you have to hit the green button with the phone on it. I know this is really complicated technology, but put that engineer brain to use. Call us back soon."
"He thinks he's being really cute, hiding from us," Eva says, but though she can muster sarcasm she can't conjure up the vitriol to fill out the sentence.
She feels dizzy and blames the lack of sleep. Falling asleep is always difficult now, trying to lay still and forgetting, as she drifts off, whether it's consensual paralysis. Without her husband, it's nearly impossible.
She tries not to think that things have been going a little too well, that her delicate husband has been handling everything with a little bit too much competence, that there are fragile points that take just a little too little pressure to fracture.
"So, Dad, it would be really awesome if you'd call us, since we're just here. Sitting around. Waiting for you to come home. Eating all the toast. Trying not to call the cops. And, um, we're almost out of toast, so you really need to call us now."
She runs a finger around the rim of her coffee cup in perfect rhythm with her heartbeat, and tries to empty her mind of all the nightmare scenarios that creep in. Tries to slow the way her finger orbits the mug as if that'll slow her jackhammer pulse.
"I think his voicemail box is full."
Eva lets out a moan that sounds almost animal in its earthiness, and runs her hand over her bare face and through her messy hair. "You, you should…if…sorry, I mean, you should find him. Because if I do, it'll turn into a scene and end up on Entertainment Tonight."
"Yeah, I was going to go do that once the box got full." He shoots her a worried look. She feels a pang of guilt, worrying her kid over two parents. "Mom, you look like I'm going to come back and find you facedown in your breakfast. Get some sleep. In a bed."
"I'll promise not to drown in preserves if you'll just go."
The empty house is surprisingly claustrophobic. She moves her hand from the coffee mug to her wedding ring, the new one that replaced the one Edriss discarded. It serves as a reminder that the war and death and slavery didn't split them apart, but today, she'd trade it for a homing beacon, straight across.
The coffee, now cold, is infinitely less comforting than it was an hour ago.
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