Home, Bitter Home

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I sat in the living room, wondering why exactly Donald was here. He never came uninvited and I don't remember inviting him over.

Donald walked into the room and stopped few inches in front of me.
"Who is that?" He asked looking warily back at the hall leading to the kitchen.

"Zane, a friend," I replied.

I could tell he wasn't satisfied with that answer but he accepted it anyway and exhaled.

"Ellen, are you okay?" He pinched my chin lightly and raised my head to him.

I nodded.

"You got me worried last night," he cupped my cheek and massaged the skin softly with his thumb.

"I was with you last night?" I inquired.

"Yes. Ms. Doyle had other things to take care of and you were in a bad state. Are you sure you're okay?"

I just stared at him and didn't answer that this time. "I don't remember the events of yesterday that's all."

"Sure," Donald didn't seem the least bit convinced for he still looks at me with skepticism.

I find that from the first night with Donald and the other numerous nights, I know not how to behave when in close proximity with him due to the awkward status of our 'relationship'. Many times, Donald has tried stirring the conversation in that direction with the hope of clearing and I'm well aware of how he wants it to go but I just happen to not see what he sees and therefore always cunningly ignore such topics.

So I just looked down at his hand. Knowingly, he rubbed my cheek and pocketed back his hand. I stood up and started pacing the room. "If I was with you, you brought me here then?"

"Yes." Donald turned and faced me.

"Why?" I wondered. In the many days I've spent with Donald, sleeping over at his home is not very new, and has become an irregularly occurring event.

"You told me to take you home. You said you wanted to go back home."

Donald's eyes were gentle as he looked at me. He was truly oblivious, but how could he know. Even I would have never said it out loud; unless under the influence of local cocktail as it seems. Yes, I wanted to go home, only not this home.

Donald continued, "you made many incoherent statements. Clark, who is Clark? Is it him?" He stepped closer to me pointing to the door.

Of course, I had to highlight that stupid detail that has plagued my being for longer than any other.
The thought of that name now makes me angrier than it pains me. My past won't just leave my future be.

Last night, everything from the very beginning was his fault and no one else's.

Blame others for my mistakes, I do every time. The doctor says it's wrong and I know I'm only being a coward, which is not one of my dominant traits...

"Everything that happened yesterday, you were intoxicated. Why were you intoxicated?" He asked.

"Are you surprised? Not what you expected of me?" I asked accusingly.

"That's beyond what I feel and I know you're not okay. But I'll be patient till you want to talk." He stepped forward to hold my hand, I dodged him.

"No, nothing is okay. So stop asking that question!" I'm way past sensible reasoning to care whether I am being irrational, or if he means well. If he can tell it's not alright, why ask countless times?!

"Ellen, you can talk to me." He reached out again and held both my arms.

"I can't 'talk to you'!" I shrugged his hand off. "I don't even know why I tried in the first place. I should have pushed myself away long ago before you do it for me."