Levi's place was surprisingly immaculate for a bachelor pad. The floors were clear of discarded clothes, there were no dishes on the counter and no take out boxes resting in unusual places. The only thing marring the fluid continuity of the loft was the disheveled blonde sitting cross-legged in the center of the couch.
She'd made herself at home, the furthest window unlatched and left ajar from where she'd been smoking, the pillows on the couch skewed and the coffee table home to a bottle of vodka. She didn't drink much anymore. The occasional mixed drink or shot out with friends, or beers when the day had been long. Besides, alcohol had never been her problem, never been her calamity of choice. She'd vowed off drugs for life but she'd made no such concessions for booze. Tonight it was her closest companion.
The dogs were laying about on the floor in various poses of rest. The flat was warm, quiet, the noise of the bakery below hidden by the thick stone floor. Sophia sniffed, wiping a hand across eyes and under a nose that was red from crying.
She'd hoped her landlord would have been done painting her apartment by now, so that she could partake in this annual ritual by herself. It was private, but at least she had Levi's place, a close second to being alone. He knew the reason, at least, and wouldn't ask questions about it.
Her fingers trailed along the edge of certificates, birth and death alike, twin parchments from the same day. February 25th. Tiny footprints were frozen on the birth certificate, the ink still dark. They sat beside a name, carefully typed out: Carson Cole Egan. There were no pictures to accompany the pages, no photographic shade to mourn over.
There came the sound of a key in the door and a moment later, Levi. Sophia didn't turn to look. She knew it was him. Who else would it be? She reached for her bottle, lifting it to raw lips. The glass had been abandoned long ago.
"Hey," he said softly, words to go alongside the closing of the door. Footsteps moved for the couch.
"Hey," she replied, voice thick, that nasal quality one got when crying. The bottle was tipped back to wash away the choke of tears.
"How much have you had?" She shrugged, holding the clear glass vessel up for his inspection. Mostly gone. "Please don't start with me. Not today." "I'm not starting anything." It was gentle, the way he put it. "But I think one bottle is plenty." He leaned over, carefully taking the bottle from her and settling it on the island before coming back over. It wasn't until he had sat down and reached out toward her that she looked over. Not at him, exactly, but at the vicinity of his knee. The hand that had reached out settled on the papers she held and her own grip tightened instinctually, as if he were trying to take them away from her. Almost as quickly she relaxed. It was Levi, what did she think" That he was going to suddenly cast them into the trash' "You're home early." It was such a normal thing to say when she felt ethereal with memories and liquor. "I figured you needed me more today," his voice was still gentle as he settled back. She could feel his attention on the papers; he'd only seen them a few times. They weren't something she normally had out, not something people even knew about. The silence stretched on for some time before she finally looked up to his face. "Why can't I get over this?" she asked. She knew he wouldn't have an answer. No one had answers for this. She wasn't even looking for an explanation from him- it was just something she had to articulate aloud, move it out of her head into the light.
"It's tough." "It's been three years," she continued, looking back down at the certificates. "And this is part of my job." She shook them slightly. "To help people get through grief. Why can't I just take my own advice" Why can't I just deal?" "Soph, you're a counselor. You're sympathetic to other people, but their losses aren't yours. This one is. It's not something you just "get over". You should know that." "I know. I just wish I could sometimes." With a sigh, she leaned forward and set the certificates on the coffee table, face down. Both hands rose immediately afterward to push into her hair, nails gliding across scalp. "How long have you been sitting here?" Levi asked her suddenly. She shrugged, glancing around half-heartedly for a clock. "Well, sitting here isn't helping anything." It sounded decisive. "Do you want to get some food?" She knew what he was doing. Trying to distract her. It was sweet, and probably exactly what she needed. But she shook her head. It was also the last thing she wanted. "I'm not hungry." "Alright. I picked up something for you, though." She didn't reply but watched him mutely, the question seen enough in her eyes. He rose up and moved back to his bag, which he'd dropped by the door. He returned a moment later and remained standing, depositing a small stack of DVDs into her lap. Her brow rose at him, finding it just south of odd, but then she looked down. When she saw the smiling faces of Dorothy, Rose, Blanche and Sophia, she let out a bark of surprised laughter. "Oh my god, did you actually go out of your way to find The Golden Girls?" Despite her melancholy, it made her smile. "Of course I did," came his reply. He reached back down and picked up the first season, moving toward the TV to set it up. She watched him still, her heart warm. This is why he'd won Best Friend of the Year award for over a decade running. When he came back to the sofa and sat he opened an arm up and she moved, coming to rest against his side, head resting on his shoulder as he wrapped the arm around her. It was safe there, safe and comfortable. The DVD player came to life and soon enough the theme song wafted from the speakers. "Blanche is such a slut," she said after a time of quiet watching, the comment nearly conversational. "That's why you like her,? Levi replied blithely without missing a beat. She laughed, a real laugh, one that overrode the sadness at the edges and made it less raw for the moment. It made her nose run and she lifted a hand to wipe it. He gave her a squeeze and she finally settled. Part of it was probably the booze, but some of it, at least, was friendship. Sorrow and dark thoughts would come again. They always did. But for now, there would be a few moments of peace.
She'd made herself at home, the furthest window unlatched and left ajar from where she'd been smoking, the pillows on the couch skewed and the coffee table home to a bottle of vodka. She didn't drink much anymore. The occasional mixed drink or shot out with friends, or beers when the day had been long. Besides, alcohol had never been her problem, never been her calamity of choice. She'd vowed off drugs for life but she'd made no such concessions for booze. Tonight it was her closest companion.
The dogs were laying about on the floor in various poses of rest. The flat was warm, quiet, the noise of the bakery below hidden by the thick stone floor. Sophia sniffed, wiping a hand across eyes and under a nose that was red from crying.
She'd hoped her landlord would have been done painting her apartment by now, so that she could partake in this annual ritual by herself. It was private, but at least she had Levi's place, a close second to being alone. He knew the reason, at least, and wouldn't ask questions about it.
Her fingers trailed along the edge of certificates, birth and death alike, twin parchments from the same day. February 25th. Tiny footprints were frozen on the birth certificate, the ink still dark. They sat beside a name, carefully typed out: Carson Cole Egan. There were no pictures to accompany the pages, no photographic shade to mourn over.
There came the sound of a key in the door and a moment later, Levi. Sophia didn't turn to look. She knew it was him. Who else would it be? She reached for her bottle, lifting it to raw lips. The glass had been abandoned long ago.
"Hey," he said softly, words to go alongside the closing of the door. Footsteps moved for the couch.
"Hey," she replied, voice thick, that nasal quality one got when crying. The bottle was tipped back to wash away the choke of tears.
"How much have you had?" She shrugged, holding the clear glass vessel up for his inspection. Mostly gone. "Please don't start with me. Not today." "I'm not starting anything." It was gentle, the way he put it. "But I think one bottle is plenty." He leaned over, carefully taking the bottle from her and settling it on the island before coming back over. It wasn't until he had sat down and reached out toward her that she looked over. Not at him, exactly, but at the vicinity of his knee. The hand that had reached out settled on the papers she held and her own grip tightened instinctually, as if he were trying to take them away from her. Almost as quickly she relaxed. It was Levi, what did she think" That he was going to suddenly cast them into the trash' "You're home early." It was such a normal thing to say when she felt ethereal with memories and liquor. "I figured you needed me more today," his voice was still gentle as he settled back. She could feel his attention on the papers; he'd only seen them a few times. They weren't something she normally had out, not something people even knew about. The silence stretched on for some time before she finally looked up to his face. "Why can't I get over this?" she asked. She knew he wouldn't have an answer. No one had answers for this. She wasn't even looking for an explanation from him- it was just something she had to articulate aloud, move it out of her head into the light.
"It's tough." "It's been three years," she continued, looking back down at the certificates. "And this is part of my job." She shook them slightly. "To help people get through grief. Why can't I just take my own advice" Why can't I just deal?" "Soph, you're a counselor. You're sympathetic to other people, but their losses aren't yours. This one is. It's not something you just "get over". You should know that." "I know. I just wish I could sometimes." With a sigh, she leaned forward and set the certificates on the coffee table, face down. Both hands rose immediately afterward to push into her hair, nails gliding across scalp. "How long have you been sitting here?" Levi asked her suddenly. She shrugged, glancing around half-heartedly for a clock. "Well, sitting here isn't helping anything." It sounded decisive. "Do you want to get some food?" She knew what he was doing. Trying to distract her. It was sweet, and probably exactly what she needed. But she shook her head. It was also the last thing she wanted. "I'm not hungry." "Alright. I picked up something for you, though." She didn't reply but watched him mutely, the question seen enough in her eyes. He rose up and moved back to his bag, which he'd dropped by the door. He returned a moment later and remained standing, depositing a small stack of DVDs into her lap. Her brow rose at him, finding it just south of odd, but then she looked down. When she saw the smiling faces of Dorothy, Rose, Blanche and Sophia, she let out a bark of surprised laughter. "Oh my god, did you actually go out of your way to find The Golden Girls?" Despite her melancholy, it made her smile. "Of course I did," came his reply. He reached back down and picked up the first season, moving toward the TV to set it up. She watched him still, her heart warm. This is why he'd won Best Friend of the Year award for over a decade running. When he came back to the sofa and sat he opened an arm up and she moved, coming to rest against his side, head resting on his shoulder as he wrapped the arm around her. It was safe there, safe and comfortable. The DVD player came to life and soon enough the theme song wafted from the speakers. "Blanche is such a slut," she said after a time of quiet watching, the comment nearly conversational. "That's why you like her,? Levi replied blithely without missing a beat. She laughed, a real laugh, one that overrode the sadness at the edges and made it less raw for the moment. It made her nose run and she lifted a hand to wipe it. He gave her a squeeze and she finally settled. Part of it was probably the booze, but some of it, at least, was friendship. Sorrow and dark thoughts would come again. They always did. But for now, there would be a few moments of peace.