Edith Olson (skintightsecret) wrote in savingthegames, @ 2014-08-23 12:57:00 |
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Edith's month of August was enviably good. Business was great - for being a record shop, Jerry and Annabelle had been having a good month getting her ready for school, she and Rabah talked all the time and it was happy and they were connecting (not that they hadn't ever been close, but for some reason it mattered more now), and she was getting company some nights from a married man she couldn't stop thinking about. But it was through this married man that things started unraveling. Tristan didn't come by every night. In fact he'd only been able to come over twice more after their first tryst. But the third night he'd arrived, he'd been fire and brimstone and all hands, leaving fresh marks and bruises and a sore scalp from when he'd needled his fingers through her hair and held tight. It wasn't that she didn't like it - she loved it - but that night she dreamed of other hands on her. Stranger's hands causing wounds and terrors that left blood running into her eye, left the taste of bile in her mouth, left her hands smelling like wood and chipped paint. When she woke up the next morning she saw her lover off, but she maintained a deliberate but cordial distance from him. The nightmares wouldn't stop. They bled into the next night so that she woke up, turned the lights on, and sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. It infiltrated her daily activities. The taste of alcohol made her sick to her stomach. Even the smell of it made her gag. She found herself uneasy and unsafe in public places and especially around males. Edith didn't understand why she was suffering from some PTSD over events that she'd never experienced. She went upstairs after work one evening and tried to have a glass of whiskey, but her hand shook too badly and she felt nauseous. Edith threw the glass across the room and curled up on the kitchen floor, fully immersed in a panic attack that was so strong it dragged her under. When she came to, Edith was gone and Eddie was back. Memories flooded in. Jim's violent outbursts, Rabah passive resistance, the work on the streets, the horrors she'd caused, witnessed, and received. The addictions, the irresponsibility, the murder of the police officer and all that subsequently followed. The box. She remained curled up in a ball, huddled and shaking for hours, until at last she resolved to contact those she cared about. Rabah needed to know and was Eddie's first priority. If she didn't start convincing the woman now, then she might never reemerge. She knew where to find Frank and if she could convince her, then she might convince Julian. And Tristan... Eddie winced. It was some kind of miracle they'd found each other, that they gravitated towards each other like comets, colliding. But how was he going to listen to her? And if he did, it wasn't a matter of if he'd take it badly. They'd spoken enough these past weeks in roundabout ways for her to know his sister was alive in this world. The next day she remained home, having called Rabah and scheduling to come by tomorrow. The conversation lingered - Eddie didn't want to let go of her mother and told her a thousand times that she loved her - and when she hung up she fought the urge to call her again and tell her one last time. Most likely Tristan would be coming by tonight. So she sat at the piano, front door unlocked, playing the most depressing rendition of chopsticks imaginable. She didn't know how she was going to reach him. But she had to try. |