Like Real People Do

18. Don't Carry it All

TW: Eating Disorder

A neighbor's blessed burden within reason becomes a burden borne of all in one. And nobody, nobody knows. Let the yoke fall from our shoulders, don't' carry it all don't carry it all. -The Decemberists

Tuesday, June 15th

The ex-wife. Of course she fucking reminded him of the ex-wife. Rhiannon knew they both had ghosts- she'd made her peace with that- but Shane was the most thoroughly haunted person she had ever met. She'd correctly assumed that "Natalie" was not just a mispronunciation of her name, but she never could have imagined the gravity of that slip. Ex-girlfriend she could handle, but ex-wife?

Rhiannon quietly slipped back into her house after her little adventure in the forest. She'd spent the past two hours consoling Shane and would have stayed the whole night if not for Sara sleeping on the couch. Stoic as he usually was, Rhiannon could tell that something broke him tonight. After his decidedly negative response to asking about his ex-wife's name, she figured that it would be unwise to ask any more questions. Shane was so guarded- one wrong move was enough to make him retreat back into the shell she spent the better part of the last few months drawing him out of. The walls Shane built up around himself were years in the making; the only option Rhiannon had was to dismantle them brick by brick. As much as she wanted to pick his brain for the details, perhaps they were better off left unsaid. This was a specialty demolition, after all. Prying for information was always a delicate task- he'd tell her what dragged his night down into the depths on his own eventually.

She saw the silhouette of her sister sleeping through the darkness and sighed with relief. After swearing up and down that she was fine and Shane was not a problem, this scene might be a bit suspect. People with no issues didn't often call for help in the middle of the night, and Rhiannon didn't care to explain the situation. Well-meant as Sara's concern was, it was misplaced.

She scanned the floor for any signs of Henry, who would certainly announce her entrance if disturbed, but instead learned that her relief was premature.

"Looking for this?" Startled, Rhiannon flipped the light on to see Sara, sitting on the couch with Henry purring in her arms. The look on her face suggested that they would be having that argument that Rhiannon was trying to avoid. "Awful late for a field trip. Were you having some kind of potato emergency out in the field that needed to be tended at midnight or...?"

Fuck.

Rhiannon rubbed her hands together, trying to think of any response but coming up short no matter what. She knew she'd been caught, what could she really say? Don't worry, Sara! It's not what you think! My alcoholic neighbor that I also have a huge crush on was having a meltdown about his ex-wife that I didn't know about until now, but it's fine! He's fine! I'm fine! Nothing at all like the other addict that made me fall in love with her then died! My mental health is in pristine condition, and you have nothing to worry about!

"Where were you?" She had half a mind to unload that sarcastic monologue on her, but decided she wasn't willing to deal with the consequences.

"Just stay out of it, okay?"  It was all Rhiannon had the mind to say.

"No, you're not doing this shit with me. Not today." Sara deposited Henry beside her on the couch and glided across the room to meet her. "I know what's going on, Rhiannon. I'm not stupid, I just can't believe that you had the nerve to lie to my face about it earlier. This is exactly what I was worried about. You're doing the same shit you did before and it's going to end up killing you."

This was exactly what she was afraid of the second Sara's car appeared in her driveway. A babysitter. A conservatorship. She was a grown adult being treated like a petulant child at the hands of her younger sister, who she always relied on as a lifeline. There was no middle ground with them, Rhiannon was either a bomb with a lit fuse, or a fine crystal knick-knack to be locked away for fear of it shattering. The fine art or the thief that stole it. The china shop or the bull. Teeth gritted and jaw clenched, Rhiannon saw red, then snapped.