Hazy Days

I don't see or hear from Oliver for the rest of the weekend. And maybe I'm avoiding him again, but I can't feel too terrible about it. Because while Joel is doing more business and leaving for longer stretches of time, I feel like I'm waning and diminishing each day.

I don't have an appetite anymore; I can't sleep; I just suck away at the sticks that suck years off my life. Poor little Scout is all cooped up inside because I haven't taken him for a walk in forever. I break out a bottle of gin after glancing the date on the news- May seventeenth. It's my birthday and instead of spending it with people that I care for, I was watching the stupid t.v. and no one even bothered to call me. Before I know it half the bottle is gone and I can hardly stand up straight. Not too long after that, I'm in the bathroom and kneeling over the toilet. I stand at the sink to wash my mouth out and for a second I don't even recognize the face I see in the mirror.

This isn't me, is my first thought. No, Victoria Makovski does not look like a patient with a terminal illness. But I do. You could spot the bags under my eyes a mile away. My hair, which I used to take such good care of, is too long and tangled, the ends dead and split. My face alone is so pale and miserable and I start to feel miserable all over again. "Well, shit," I say for no particular reason. It feels pretty good just to say something, even two stupid words. It's like the weight around my chest has lessened even a little bit.

"Victoria!" I hadn't heard the door open. His heavy boots trot down the hall. I flick the light off after glancing one last time at the stranger and stepping into the hallway.

"Hi," I mutter. He smells like some fruity perfume and gasoline. He wastes no time grabbing my neck and pushing me against the closet door. The doorknob digs into my back but I hardly notice.

"Did you take the car out?" His pupils are huge and he takes short, shallow breaths. My Joel is gone. This is the monster Joel, the one I lose sleep and continually cry over.

I barely choke out a "no" because of the pressure on my neck. It's enough for him, though, because he lets me go.

"That's funny, though," Joel's eyes are wide and glazed over and stare right at me. "It's just, you know, I had half a tank when I last used it. And now I only have a quarter..." I don't know what he wants me to say.

"I haven't gone anywhere," I tell him. It's the truth. He nods a few times.

"Okay. Sure. I guess it's just a phantom car ghost or something. Hey, have you been drinking? You son of a bitch. You starting the party without me, Vic?" He ruffles my hair and grins but it creeps me out and I shudder. Joel grabs the bottle from where I left it and sits on the sofa. He gestures for me to sit with him. "You got a bog?" he asks. Joel's asleep before he even finishes his cigarette.

This is my life, I realize. This is my future with Joel. Him drinking and using, and me crying and waiting for him to come home. His head slides from the pillow to my shoulder, which is still fresh with a bite mark and I wince. It wasn't even a love bite; it was more like I held onto both of his hands so they couldn't get my face, and he settled for the next, most painful thing.

I love Joel. I know I do. But somehow I know I only love that part of him that's sweet, that part that met me when I was young and stupid and fell in love with this mysterious attractive guy. And now psychotic Joel is taking over and it feels like he's killing me from the inside out.