Edith Olson (skintightsecret) wrote in savingthegames, @ 2014-06-23 15:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | edith olson, frank alvarez |
Who: Frank and Eddie
What: The best friends get together after recent events. Eddie needs Frank to help her figure out her life.
When: Monday June 23rd, evening/night
Where: Eddie's apartment
Warnings: Drug/Alcohol references, more tbd
Status: COMPLETE
Eddie was putting Kübler-Ross' five stage theory through the ringer. It wasn't that she knew much about psych studies outside of the random self-diagnosis and Dr. Phil books people buy, but she had seen that giraffe short on Adult Swim with Seth Green and you don't really forget something that morbidly funny. As it stood, she'd bypassed denial entirely; didn't really have any room to look at her unsteady position in life and pretend it wasn't happening. Bargaining hadn't helped much - she was on iffy terms with higher deities and didn't have much in the way of trade. Acceptance was a long way off, if ever truly attainable. So that left anger and depression, both which flared up at the worst of times in between her bouts of self-deprecating humor and intense desire to organize everything in her apartment. They said people who felt out of control sought it where they could find it. Her library sure saw the benefits of it. But then important criticism of the Kübler-Ross model argued that people were ultimately resilient in the face of grief, and even if she didn't feel resilient, she was still here, wasn't she? Pressing on, ready to traverse the unknown? Her weekend with Tristan had surprisingly been to a great benefit - she hoped, anyway, to him as well as to her - despite how desperately she'd wanted to avoid letting anyone know what had happened with the masked man. Friday had been nothing but pins and needles between her and the man whom fate constantly seemed to stick in the same place (seriously, how did that keep happening?), and while not everything had been said that needed to, enough had been. Enough that Saturday and Sunday were better days. Odd days. He dealt patiently with her refusal to sleep at night and when she had panic attacks, and he had calmed down somewhat (maybe that wasn't the best way to explain it) after she discussed more about the masked man (even if she avoided discussing the withdrawal itself), and had entered into a uniquely domestic arrangement with her for the next 48 hours. They talked about plenty of pleasant things, played board games, even cooked together (and in opposition). He returned her to a feeling of moderated safety and normalcy, which was what Eddie had been seeking most of all. She still, however, had a long way to swim upstream. Once home Sunday evening, she suffered through the quiet and emptiness, teaching herself to believe in her own inner strength. That night came with fewer nightmares, but she still woke up at two in the morning, lights on, reading novels until the sun came up, creeped out by every creak, every sense of movement from around her apartment. Monday was the day to start anew. There wasn't much of a choice. The masked man had, with a single stroke, eliminated a huge chunk of what gave her life stability and now she had to figure out the next step. It was like chipping at a mountain with a toothpick, but a toothpick was better than nothing. Friends were texted. Ciara was texted. Eddie had questions; Ciara had answers. And they both had their beef with each other. Finally Frank was texted. Simply put, Eddie needed Frank's strength. The woman had been her friend since they were teenagers and the younger female had seen her friend suffer through her own difficult trials. For the trauma of it all, Frank handled herself in a way that Eddie had seen few duplicate. She was a voice of fun, but of reason, and was the perfect person to both assuage Eddie's fears and provide a sound second opinion on the next step. Monday evening had been a frenzy and Eddie couldn't remember if Frank gave a time or not. Regardless, Eddie had gone to work collecting all of the drug paraphernalia in her house, along with half a bar's worth of liquor bottles. It hurt to do it, like slicing off a limb, and there was more than one time she paused and fancied the idea of just one sip. Getting everything into the black trash bags was hard enough. Without Frank, she knew she wasn't going to have the bravery to throw them away for good. |