Page 104 of Succeeding Love
I wasn’t as drunk as before, sobering up some on the drive home, but I didn’t let that show, knowing being drunk was my only defense against Fay’s wrath.
She was taking care of me, too. It wasn’t like before, when she would giggle and laugh at my drunken antics before tenderly helping me get to bed. We used to drink together on the nights when the kids were at their grandparents, and she was always playful and teasing.
That was the Fay I was dealing with now. She was furious, but at least she was close to me. Closer than I had felt in months. Confined in the space of my car, the reality of that sobered me up more than anything.
As I was propped on her shoulders, I could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, the same kind she had always used. I could hear every little groan and every muttered insult as she tried to guide my staggering body.
I couldn’t help myself but find the smallest amount of satisfaction seeing her anger not only aimed at me, but at her new hoodlum boyfriend, too.
She even protected me from him. That has to mean something, right?
It wasn’t until I heard her telling Jessie and Preston to pack their things to go home that the panic set in, and I realized how badly I messed up.
“I…. It’s my weekend,” I mumbled, trying to lift the sheets to get out of the bed. They were tangled in my arms and took a lot of effort to get off.
Fay turned a hard glare at me. “You want me to trust you with my children after the display you made tonight? Grow up, Nick. Sleep it off and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
Damn it. I messed up. I wasn’t as drunk as I was at the event, but I wasn’t sober enough not to stumble as I definitely stood from the bed.
If I hadn’t been used to drinking heavily as of late, I might have already passed out, but this level of intoxication seemed safe enough for me to still have my kids. I didn’t want Fay taking them from me. Not when they were the last good thing left in my life.
“P-please, Fay. Not my kids….” I was panicking. Was I about to lose them, too?
“Geez, dad,” Preston came back into the bedroom, taking one sad look at me before helping to pick me up off the floor. I hadn’t even realized I was still on it. In my head, I was walking towards Fay, who was watching me with cold eyes from the opendoor. “You’re a mess. Do you really want Jessie to stay here and see you like this?”
“I-I’m fine,” I slurred as Preston groaned, picking me up from the floor and setting me back on the edge of the bed.
My stomach twisted, and Preston hurriedly grabbed an empty plastic storage box from the end of my bed and put it in front of me to lose the contents of my stomach.
That was when Jessie reappeared at the door to see what was happening, and I looked up to see the horror on her face. It made my stomach twist again.
No, I didn’t want my daughter to see me like this. I didn’t want my son to clean up after me and catch my vomit with moving supplies. I didn’t want my wife looking at me like I was trash. Like I was the lowest of the low.
I didn’t want any of this. I wanted to suffer alone where no one could see me falling apart.
Fay reassured our daughter I was fine, just momentarily sick, and instructed her to finish packing so they could give me time to get better. Jessie pleaded with her mother to stay and look after me, but I didn’t want that. I only wanted her to see the best in me, and I was failing miserably.
“G-Go with your mom, honey,” I said in a much more sober tone. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Jessie looked distraught, but Fay urged her to go, and she eventually did. Then Fay gave me a pitying look before taking the bile-filled box from Preston’s hands and walking into the bathroom with it.
I heard the shower turn on, then the sounds of something being washed as she called out for Preston to go pack.
Preston gave me one last frigid glare before turning to walk out of my bedroom, leaving me alone with Fay cleaning my puke in the bathroom.
She came back out moments later with a washcloth in one hand and my trash can in the other. “Use this to clean your mouth,” she handed the washcloth to me. “Your box is drying in the bathtub. Use the trash can if you feel sick again.”
I put the washcloth over my entire face, letting the wet coolness sober me further. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in a raspy plea.
“Yeah, me too. Me freaking too. Get sober and we’ll talk about you getting the kids back tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled again, unable to even look at her as I laid back in the bed. The bed we once shared. “I’m so, so sorry, Fay.”
It was silent for a long time, so I moved the washcloth, thinking she had left. She hadn’t. She was still standing beside the bed, but was staring down at the pictures I had pulled out from storage. The ones that were in that empty plastic storage box I had just emptied my stomach into. They were all pictures of us. Us in our good times.
I got drunk most nights while staring at every one of them, wishing for those times to return.
Fay ran her fingers over a photo of her holding Jessie right after she was born with Preston’s toddler body pressed against hers, trying to see his new sister more closely. Fay was radiant, filled with so much love. It was one of my favorite pictures of her.