Bitter Circles

***
Rating: PG-13
Summary: You know, sometimes I don't know what I'm doing anymore. What I want, where I'm going. Maybe I'm just happy stuck in this... this what? This indifference to life? Maybe... I'm just happy stuck in this... inertia.

Inertia
---
In this blackout, inertia will hold our thoughts
And the exit sign offers no light to see by
Can we cast our shadows alone in the dark?
I can't see without you
---

“Abby. Hey, Abby. Abby, wake up.”

I slowly blink my eyes open, adjusting to the harsh light. Ah. Nothing like falling asleep in the hospital.

“Chuny?” I run a hand through my hair and groan. “How long have I been asleep?” She shrugs,

“I don’t know, but I need this bed.” I stand up,

“Oh, um, sorry.” She shrugs, wheeling the bed away,

“It’s ok. Late night last night, huh?” I nod. Yeah, late night. I got in last night, well, this morning and just went straight to sleep. But I only got a couple hours worth. If I’m not careful I’m going to have to prop my eyes open with toothpicks.

I look at my watch – 18:10pm. I was off about ten minutes ago. I’m past the point of anything now… must sleep. So damn tired. I’m going to go home, have a shower… and then I remembered. I told myself I would go to an AA meeting. Well, I thought dryly as I pull stuff out of my locker, it seemed a good idea at the time.

***

So. I stand outside the meeting room. Waiting. For what I’m not sure, but you know, waiting. I haven’t been to an AA meeting for a while. Alcoholics Anonymous. Alcoholic Apathy, more like. But then I haven’t needed to. Which I guess would be pointing out the obvious, seeing as I haven’t had a drink until recently. I ramble when I feel awkward. It’s even worse when I’m talking to myself in my head. I’m crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m crazy. And there I go again. Rambling. I shake my head and taking a breather, I walk in to greet …the silence. Okay. I was planning to listen to *someone* but I can listen to silence. I guess.

“Hi. Are you okay?” I turn around to see a guy trying to gather up used and spilt coffee cups, but pretty much failing. I pick up a couple that he can’t reach and ask,

“Is this the room for the AA meeting?” He looks grateful I’ve helped him and begins to walk out,

“Thanks. Yeah, yeah it is. Was. It finished about half an hour ago, but there’s another one in about an hour.” I follow him out as he walks out of the building to the trashcans outside. He dumps the polystyrene cups inside, and takes the couple I’m holding as well.

“Well… thanks.” I turn and walk back down the street. I’m pretty annoyed. Maybe even irrational, but that’s probably just because of lack of sleep and/or –cross out where applicable– it’s an hour wasted. An hour of sleep. An hour of just my bath and I. Now I just have to think of what to do. Killing time. You know, I’ve never really understood that phrase. “Killing time”. How can you kill time? I’m not trying to be “Miss Logical” all of a sudden, but I just think it’s such a stupid phrase. Why? …I just don’t understand.

My footsteps sound loudly across the street as they slap on the pavement. Am I here if no one can hear me?

It’s dark. I think it’s going to rain. But I always do. It’s Chicago. It’s one of those periods of weather where it’s humid, and stifling, and there’s no breeze, but you just know it’s going to rain. I stop on the street and look upward. Foreboding, cloudy.

I look at my watch. 18:48pm. And then …then it starts to rain softly. I can just feel the droplets; just tell it’s raining. I wish I would stick my tongue out. I wish I would spin around. I wish I would smile and laugh and feel. I wish I could.

But instead? I carry on walking. And the rain keeps on falling. Heavier, uglier, angrier. A pair of car lights half blind me as the car pulls up by the curb. I try to hurry past it as a figure calls out to me.

“Hey. Hey, Abby? Abby!” I turn. They know my name? I squint as the rain falls harder. I can just see a figure. I shield my eyes from the rain and step closer to the car, not sure it’s the wisest thing to do.

“Get in!” The figure climbs back into the car. And I grab the door handle. What’s the worst that could happen? I mean, ignoring Dr Pepper.

The dry interior and familiarity of the car is the first thing that I notice. The next is…

“Carter.” My stomach sinks. I swear awkward situations are made for me. I blink, and the same image appears before me. The same goddam nightmare doesn’t change. Carter, a little bit wet, sits next to me, concerned and with *that* look. He’s probably just discovered what a nut I am. And I… I, the late-for-AA-meetings alcoholic sits mildly soaked inside the car of someone I can’t even begin to describe how I feel about, in one of the worse scenarios I can possibly think of. It’s raining outside, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to clear up any time soon, maybe just get worse… and I am freezing my ass off, not just from the rain beginning to soak into my clothes, but it seems Carter has the sudden idea to put the air-conditioning on and become Ice-Man. I pull my damp –it’s wet-ish– hair behind my ears and cannot even begin to imagine how awful I look. And, oh yeah. The last time I spoke to him –well, yelled at him– I pretty much told him to piss off out of my life. Other than that, we’re good.

“Mmm. Hi.” I know he is trying his best not to lift an eyebrow or cock his head questioningly.

“What are you doing out there?” I look at him. I know he cares but what should I say? Thanks but no thanks for letting me sit in your dry car, because now I’m going to jump right back out into the rain just to avoid *this* awkwardness, and I’m trying to keep up the not-talking thing for at least until the end of this week?

“Nothing.” I say, retrieving the “I don’t need to hear this” attitude from our last conversation. I am such a freaking idiot when I feel the need to be.

And then he nods as if it was a silly question.

I guess it’s perfectly normal to have just taken in a crazy alcoholic walking in the rain miles away from her apartment doing “nothing”. I resist the urge to bang my head on his dashboard.

I look at him. Look away. Still raining. I hate this. I think I hate everything. I hate the word hate-

“Do you… want a coffee or anything?” He interrupts my stream of consciousness. I notice he doesn’t say, “Do you want to get a coffee?” implying I should *want* to go with him to get a coffee. I guess he thinks of things like that.

“It’ll clear up soon.” I say, not quite sure, but pointing out the window anyway as if I command the weather. As if to prove me wrong, a torrent of rain attacks the window. I can hear him holding back laughter, and feel myself getting pissed off. I didn’t ask to sit in his car and he can at least have the courtesy of being a polite… “car-host” and I hate that everyone can always prove me wrong and for once I’d actually like to be right and actually know what I’m doing and know what the fuck is going on with myself.

I want answers. I want to be happy. I want to be normal. I don't want to be alone.

“Are you okay?” I shrug, continuing to look out the window.

“I'm fine.” My automatic response to the question. I hear him sigh and then take a breath,

“I’ve been meaning to say sorry. For before. I was just… upset that you didn’t tell me you were drinking. Because I think we both know how big that is for you.” I still don’t look at him.

“It’s not a big thing. I’ve got it under control.” I know he’s fighting with himself - whether to push me or not, but he just sighs again and shuts up. Thank God. I can feel him settle back into his seat, giving up, for now. I refuse to look at him, and continue staring morosely out of the window. I can feel him glance over at me from time to time, but more of the time looking out of the window as I am, staring at a fixed point that we're not even sure we can see anymore.

***

18:59pm. About half an hour left to waste away.

In half an hour...

... I could catch a charter flight to Las Vegas. And never come back.
... I could stare out the window and continue to watch the rain.
... I could walk around the block. Or a couple of blocks.
... I could go to the liquor store and get utterly drunk.
 

I choose to stare out the window and continue to watch the rain. Mainly because it means I don't have to move or think. I don't have to do anything.

I feel tired; I never should have decided to go to an AA meeting after work. I should've known I'd be like this. Irritable and unable to concentrate on much, let alone listen to someone talk about drinking.

I guess I'm always irritable though. I don't know what's wrong with me nowadays. And I have no idea how to change that. Don't know if I want to, really. Okay, I did before. I did last night. But really? What's the point? What. Is. The. Point. I've been arguing with this question for years now, but it always comes back to me. And I can never answer it straight. I can avoid it - I'm good at avoiding. So what *is* the point of this? By "this", I mean my life. My routine. I wake up, go to work, smoke a cigarette on break, work, eat a little lunch, finish work, go home to sleep. And it goes round again. And again. What have I got to gain from it? I'm not studying to be a doctor anymore. I'm not in a relationship. I'm not... I'm not doing anything different than what I was doing a year ago. I haven't progressed anywhere. And I can't see what I'm working to either. I can't see anything to want. So maybe some part of me still wants that husband and that house in Florida and a kid of my own. But knowing my luck, he'd probably be having an affair with next doors' wife or he'd be a layabout who only moves to switch channels between the Superbowl or wrestling and wondering how he fell into marrying someone like me. And the kid would be bi-polar and the house would be a shack on the beach in Florida because we couldn't afford anything else. Knowing my luck, that is.

I think I'm happy with what I have now. I guess it means something that I don't really want anything else, but then... I don't know. There's a fine line between... between being ok with what you've got and trying to believe that things can't get any better.

***

"Carter, I'm sorry." I'm still looking out the window, but I know he's listening. There are only a couple of minutes left before I'll go to my meeting. And I think I owe him an apology.

"What for?" His tone always polite, always as if I could never do anything wrong. I'd almost forgotten I was sitting in his car, because he was so "politely" quiet.

"For telling you to leave me alone." I pause. "But I meant what I said. I'm okay. Really. Things are under control." I turn around to look at him. "It's under control. The drinking I mean." He looks at me and doesn't say a thing. His way of saying he doesn't agree, saying he's doubtful.

"What does it matter to you anyway?" I ask him. "Why would it matter that I'm drinking again? How does it affect you?" I think the question is aimed at him as much as it is to me for asking. "Why care?"

"Because..." He shakes his head and looks out the window as if the answer is out there. He hesitates and I can see him change his mind as to what he was going to say. Shrugging and playing with his hands, he says,

"... I don't know... someone has to. Because *someone* has to care about you." I know it's pretty much an "anti-compliment" compliment, but my lungs are burning anyway because suddenly every breath I take is painful and my head is pounding because suddenly every thought I think makes everything harder to understand. God, I think... I think...

And I kiss him.

Evidently I didn't know what I was thinking. That *wasn't* meant to happen. And then I can feel my hand open the door and then I feel the rain hitting my face, but I'm running, God, I'm running. I don't know whether I even shut the door behind me, but I don't care. I find myself gasping for air, my lungs are burning now for a different reason and I don't know if I can't get oxygen to my brain and I'm worrying, but I'm still running. I'm running away from him, away from the AA meeting, away from anywhere, I'm just running. My feet slaps the ground, causing splashes of water to soak my trousers, freezing me to the bone, and my breath becomes more dogged and I can't see where I'm going because the rain stings my face, but I have to keep running.

God, I have to keep running.

***

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