In the Absence of

The strong scent of rotting filled her nose almost instantly. At first it was hard to decipher where exactly the offensive odour was coming from but a quick scan of her surroundings lead her to the fridge. Maybe she should have bought a mask, or gloves, or a hazmat suit because her simple jeans and a t-shirt would not be enough protection. She slowly pulled the door open and winced at the violent lurch in her stomach. It must not have been cleaned out in weeks. The old Chinese takeout boxes were barely held together with the grease stains saturating all the way through. She was also very certain that a poor soul had crawled into the back of the fridge to escape the surrounding chaos and died waiting for some semblance of normalcy to be restored. It was hard to believe that anything could go back to normal after this.

She slammed the fridge door shut and moved on to the living room. Although the smell from the kitchen had not permeated through the drywall, the smell in the living room was that of a different beast. Instead of oil-saturated Chinese takeout, there were Mamma Jo’s pizza boxes decorating almost every bit of empty space. Bits of crust were stuck to the coffee table and couch, forgotten pop cans were left half-full, exchanged for something much heavier, she imagined, and the CD player was skipping through The Beatles’ Something.

It was sad, but also every bit dramatic.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to walk into when she let herself into the flat. Maybe a little mess, stacks of newspapers and day old coffee in the maker, but there was no preparation for the disaster she actually faced.

Concern was replaced with irritation. It was awful, yes, but how could he let himself get so bad? There was more out there than the pretty blonde he imagined spending the rest of the his life with. She sighed. He loved her so completely, she wasn’t sure there was anything anyone could do to save him. He wanted time to stop. He was going to live in the moment forever. It broke her heart to see.

She navigated her way through the pizza-box obstacle course and shuffled down the hallway. It was the one part of the flat, so far, that was left unaffected. The pictures of their trips to New York and Spain still lined the way to the bedroom, the last one with a main focus on the white gold diamond ring decorating the blonde’s finger.

The door to the bedroom was half open and she could hear his snores through the crack. It wasn’t her intention to scare him but maybe that’s what he needed. She knew no one had been around to check up on him recently. That’s how it always started. People were there, in masses, when the tragedy first happens, but once the dust settles and the shock is over, they move on with their lives and expect you to do the same. No one pays attention to those who cannot move on, who remain stuck in time, alone and self-destructing.

She pushed through the door and stood in shock. The other rooms in the flat were peaches compared to what lie before her. Everything was broken, trashed and shattered. Pictures were torn in half, clothes were cut up and thrown all over the room. The sun tried desperately to break through the closed curtains but the dark material swallowed it whole. In the middle of the mess, he lay asleep on the top corner of his bed where he must have cleared a small space off. From what she could see, his hair was greasy and matted to his forehead. His t-shirt was stained with pizza sauce and splashes of something that smelled suspiciously like rum. Gone was the fashionable-rugged 5-o’clock shadow, overgrown into a mane of unkempt facial hair. A monster asleep in his cave.

Her eyes started to water at the scene.

“We’ve let you down,” She whispered, almost afraid to wake him. Why did she have to be the one to bring him back?

She stepped over the broken mirror fragments and made her way to the side of his bed. He didn’t smell as bad as the fridge, but he wasn’t far off. It was going to be difficult rescuing him.

“C…” She gently shook his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

“Carter…” She tried again, this time a little more forceful. This got a reaction as he stirred before opening his eyes.

He focused in on her face. There was no initial reaction and maybe she was delusional to think that there would be. Maybe he would be surprised to see her, rushing up and apologizing profusely about the state of his flat and his life. Maybe he would feel guilty for letting himself go or ignoring her for months.

No. He just stared for a moment and then a clarity came over his eyes. He sighed, pushed more debris over and rolled onto his side. She dropped her purse and lay down beside him, staring at the ceiling. It was quiet for a while, their breathing synchronizing. She could still hear the Beatles track stuttering from the living room.

“This has to stop,” she said quietly. He didn’t answer.

“I’m serious. This is not okay.” She rolled over, hoping that he would do the same and face her. The back of his shirt was covered in concert dates, peeling off through years of washing machine cycles.

“Can you at least say hello?” she pleaded, trying to get anything out of him. He was her best friend and yes he was going through a hard time but so was she. The past couple months created a hole in her heart that just got wider and wider the longer he stayed away and the deeper he fell.

Nothing.

They laid there in silence for a little longer until it was clear that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. If there was nothing for him to say then she would just leave. She could tell when she wasn’t wanted. He could stay in the abysmal flat for the rest of his life until he rotted away just like the contents of his fridge.

Pushing herself off the bed, she grabbed her purse and made it halfway to the bedroom door before his voice cut the silence.

“I can’t do it, Lee.” His voice was raw and raspy like he hadn’t used it in days.

She stopped. He used to call her that when they were kids and he knew it would rile her up. This time, though, he sounded like the same boy but only helpless and scared.

She looked back at him. He was curled into a ball, still not looking at her, but his breathing had become ragged. Everything around him was crushed and he lay there in its wake, grasping at thin air, floundering in the rubble of the life that he so desperately tried to put together. But she left him there humiliated, tasked with the job of cleaning her out. Tasked with the job of letting everyone know that there would be no wedding, no kids, no till death do us part.

She crawled back onto the bed, reaching around for him. He turned and pushed his face into her shoulder. Sobs wracked his body and she grabbed into him with white knuckles.

“I hate her,” he wept. She could feel his hot tears running down her neck.

“Me too.”

“I can’t get over this,” he repeated, sounding so defeated.

“Yes you can,” She said softly. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”

He enveloped her into a bone crushing hug, the most solid thing he’s held in week, and let himself go. She knew that this would be the last time he let it happen. She was there, and she was going to rescue him.