Like Real People Do

11. What The Water Gave Me

TW: Substance Abuse (Alcoholism), Suicidal Ideations

National Suicide Hotline: 800-273-8255

'Cause she's a cruel mistress, and the bargain must be made. But oh, my love, don't forget me when I let the water take me. So, lay me down. Let the only sound be the overflow, pockets full of stones. -Florence and the Machine

Wednesday, May 12th

A day off from work was usually a blessing, but today it was an absolute nightmare. If there was anything Shane needed after shitting the bed in front of his family, it was structure, and his days off had little of it.  If left unchecked, he would sit alone and drink from sunrise to sunset. At the bar, at the dock, in his room- it didn't even matter. He was just desperate for anything to pass the time. He clenched his jaw at the sound of the wall clock ticking. It was ungodly loud, and only getting louder. The seconds dragged by like hours, and the ear-splitting sounds taunted him with reminders that the day had only just begun. 

He sat restless at the kitchen table, bouncing his knee with a mug of coffee in hand. It was better than nothing, but still failed to scratch the itch that festered under his skin.  He hadn't had a drink since the day Rhiannon had appeared in his house, and it had only gotten more difficult from there. Shane didn't want to be the curse in these people's lives anymore. He never wanted to make Marnie cry again. He never wanted Jas to look at him the way she had in the living room again.

As soon as he was sober enough to stand, he dumped all the booze he could find, but then the shakes started and now he was here. The liquor store was only a short walk away. He could easily head over there to feed the beast if he wanted. A little hair of the dog never bit him in the ass before, and it would at least be worth it to stop the withdrawals. The fact that he was having withdrawals in the first place already made him feel like a sack of shit, let alone the cold reality that there was nothing he could do but drink them away. It was a vicious cycle he was doomed to repeat- withering from the booze, but also needing it to survive, all while the clock just kept ticking on. He knew it was bad, but now the answer to a question he never asked was staring him in the face- how bad was it really?

"Shane?" Marnie's voice startled him out of his stupor. She stood in the entrance of the kitchen, arms folded, and face scrunched into a frown. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Fine," he said quickly. Marnie didn't need to waste any more energy on him than she already had for the past week. "I'm just tired." 

"Tired..." She kept her worried eyes on him, unconvinced. Shane stared down into his cup of coffee intently. It wasn't a lie, he'd been exhausted for the past three days, but it also wasn't the information Marnie was looking for. They both sat frozen in their unspoken standoff, the only sound in the room being the relentless ticking of the wall clock. "Is that really all?" Marnie relented and broke the silence.

He wanted to be frustrated with her, but she was right to ask. He looked like shit and treated her like shit- he was lucky that she was concerned at all. A less patient woman would have shown him the door, but Marnie was nothing if not too kind for her own good. She was always too nice to him, tolerated too much, and it made him feel like dirt for dragging her through the mud over and over. 

"No," he finally admitted without making eye contact. "I'm...I'm sorry about what happened the other day." Tick, tick, tick. Another day, another apology. It wouldn't be the first one he owed her, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The words felt like gravel on his tongue because he knew they meant nothing. The clock never stopped. He'd still be the same fuck up he was before he said them, but she at least deserved an effort. Marnie sighed and took a seat next to him at the kitchen table.