Short, but not sweet.

Well hello to all my awesome followers on this Valentine’s Day. Beneath the cut is something I’ve had written out for awhile, and I figured today would be a good day to post it. 

I also updated Aubrey, Chapter 15, last night as well, so it’s like a two for one deal here! 

So much love to you all, sending millions of hugs and kisses your way!



I pull my beaten down Chevy up into the driveway. A routine I’ve done hundreds of times before. I unfasten my seatbelt and climb out of the car, trying to shake the nagging thought that tonight it feels different. Tonight it feels eerie, and incomplete.

I walk slowly to the front door, my anticipation mixing with my dread. I take in one last breath of fresh air before I clutch the knob and push it open. The moment my eyes mix in with the darkness, I spot him flat on the floor. Bottles strewn, clothes mismatched, hair a mess, and eyes glued up at the ceiling.

That fucking ceiling.

I don’t understand the fascination with it.  It’s as if there is a cryptic message hidden within the cracks. Not only does this wallowing man before me do it, but she, the other person who occupies this home, does it too. I’ve lost count of all the times I have come for a visit only to find her on the floor. Each time humming a playful tune, or muttering to herself under her breath. It was even worse when she was pregnant. She would lie there constantly, subjecting her weak, aching back to the cold hardwood floors. Each time I caught her, I would scold, but she never listened. Shaking me off while whispering some excuse that “I wouldn’t understand.”

And I guess she was right. I really didn’t. Whatever it was, whatever it meant, they kept it between the two of them. Locked, heavily guarded, and more treasured than the deepest of secrets.

As I begin to diminish my distance from the reclusive heartache on the floor, I am surged back by the stronger scent of alcohol radiating from his direction. It’s a powerful odor of Jack mixed with coke, stinging the clean air and raping my nostrils. He’s drunk, that’s a definite, a character trait I haven’t seen him posses in ages. As my sense of smell comes back around I reproach, padding quietly up to him incase he is still unaware of my presence. Overlooking this man, broken and frail, I lightly bump the top of my foot into his leg. The action causes him to recoil away quickly, which in turn causes me to jump in surprise.

Well at least he isn’t dead.

"How much did you drink?" I finally speak, eyeing the living room for any other empty bottles. No hi, or hello tonight. I’m cutting right to the question I need the most.

"I lost count,” he slurs miserably.

I toss back my head, and roll of my eyes while shoving my hands into my coat pockets. “You shouldn’t be doing this to yourself.”

"And why is that?" He snaps, attempting to push himself upright, but struggling tremendously. I pull my hand back out to reach for his, but he pushes it away, finishing the feat on his own.

"Because Josh, she needs you,” I spit, my tone much more aggressive than when I first spoke. If he wasn’t helpless before, he is the moment the word “she” falls out of my mouth.  I watch his shoulders deflate while I swallow the taste saying his first name brought on. It’s foreign to me, considering I have never called him that. Not even in all the years I’ve known him.

"You were there in the room. You witnessed everything. She couldn’t even look at me because I’m nothing but a burden to her."

I bend down to my knees and reach to clutch his shoulders, “You’re not a burden. You’re just lost, and she has no idea how to help you out.”


“She’s always helping me, but when it comes time for me to return the favor, I fall short.”


I sigh and drop my head, “How do you not see it? She is scared shitless Hutcherson! If you can’t realize that all she needs is a familiar piece in her now mismatched world then you don’t know her as well as I thought you did.” The dig is a knife to the gut he desperately needs. His irrational decisions are some of high multitudes, and the only way to bring him back to logical state of mind is telling him the harsh truth. A task I’ve taken on, and never been fearful of doing.

"Don’t start that bullshit with me right now,” Josh growls turning his eyes up to me, the tears threatening as they glisten off the only source of light on in the house.

“Well pull your head out of your ass and I won’t have to.”

“I just can’t bear it!” he shouts suddenly, fisting his hands in his hair. “The person in that room…it’s not her. That’s not the person I’ve been with my whole life.”


"You don’t think she, along everyone else around you knows that? Do you suppose she woke up one day, and asked for all of this garbage? You’re supposed to be the one constant in her life Hutcherson. The foundation that holds her upright, the only person who reminds her she isn’t as lost as she feels. She needs you; we all need you to be strong.”

He suckles in a breath, and I can see his entire bottom lip is quivering. “Dawn,” he whispers, “I’ve hit a dead end. I don’t know what to say anymore. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying so damn hard to be perfect, so damn hard to be what she wants, but I can’t.”


I can feel my heart split in two from the confession that is unfolding. Seeing Josh this way, lost and without a plan, scares me. “After everything you’ve dealt with, this is what you consider the breaking point?”


He shakes his head, ignoring my last sentence entirely. “What if-“

"Don’t.” I snap quickly, cutting him off by pulling him right into my arms. I don’t know what struck me to do so considering he is the last person on the planet I would ever give affection for, but I do. I cradle him like I do his daughter, the wetness from his emerging tears dampening my shirt. His low muffled cry soon follows, filling the quite space around us. I mash my lips and look up at the ceiling, this stupid fucking ceiling I hope brings me what it seems to bring the two of them.


I hate this.


I hate how weak he and I are becoming. I hate how I am here and she is not. I hate how god seeks out people who don’t want to play in his sick game. I hate how I have become the void.

The void Stella is to weak to fill.

Posted on February 14, 2013 at 20:32

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