When Moths Fall Asleep

6.5 - Losing

Cold air trickled in through the poorly sealed windows, but Angelina felt warm anyway. Rob's body emanated incredible heat, the furnace in his chest churning against the chill. Each time the blanket slipped from Angelina's shoulder, he arranged it again, tucking it under her chin with an affectionate nuzzle.

Her core felt warm with spirits, burning as they danced with one another in her heart. She dared not drink any more, even though Rob kept refilling his own glass -- if she had another, there would be not be a chance of getting up in the morning.

Rob pressed his lips to her hair and said, "It's so nice and quiet when it's just us."

She neither agreed nor disagree because he was neither right nor wrong. It was nice and quiet tonight, but it would have been just as much so with Dewey herded away into his closet.

His hand slid down her bare leg, massaging the inside of her thigh. "Have another drink," he prompted her.

"I shouldn't." Angelina shuddered and leaned into him, letting his touch intoxicate her in the same way that alcohol would. She felt still inside and tried not to let the world creep into her mind and ruin it.

That didn't work. Through the alluring pleasure she felt, she could not become unaware of a date that had been looming ahead of her for weeks now: April twenty second.

It didn't feel like a birthday. It felt like a due date. Angelina felt like a boat headed for a rushing waterfall, trying to find a spot to wreck where the blow might hurt less.

In the past, they'd done simple little birthday things: dinner at the restaurant where she worked, a special pie with a candle in it. Sometimes there was money for gifts, sometimes there wasn't. And that had been fine, back then. Dewey had no expectation of anything more.

But now, in first grade, every other weekend he came home with a card inviting him to another laser tag or petting zoo or movie-marathon birthday party. Parents almost seemed desperate to outdo each other: Suzy sent out printed, colorful invitations, so Michael's had to be cardstock and embossed. Brad got a bouncy house, so Ashley needed a bouncy castle.

She always let Dewey go to the parties. Rob was perfectly happy to drive him if it meant an empty house for a few hours. The only problem was, he always had to go empty handed. Angelina told him to make sure he thanked the mom for inviting him and told him not to worry if anyone asked him where his gift was.

But she knew that he was expecting something this year. It broke her heart, these expectations of his. She knew what this meant. Soon, he was going to begin feeling, acutely, the gap between him and the other kids at school. He was going to start seeing that his clothes came from Goodwill, that he only had one pair of ratty, duct-taped shoes, that his bed was a couch. He was going to see it all and wonder why, and if she wasn't careful, April twenty second would be the beginning of all of it.

Angelina brushed Rob's hand away, trying to line up her eyes with his drunken ones. "Rob?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Anything for you, my sweet." He squeezed her waist with his strong arms and even though she knew it wasn't really true, her heart jumped a little at this proclamation. Really, there wasn't anything more untrue in the world. There were so many things he wouldn't do for her. He'd made it very clear when they moved in: this is my money, this is your money. You can eat this food, not this food. You can use the phone, but you have to pay part of the bill. You can take showers, but not too long. You can sleep on this couch, but it better be cleaned up and back to normal come morning.

Her heart beat fast, but there was no turning back now. "Well," she said. "I was wondering if I could borrow some money from you?"

Rob rested his head on her chest, tugging at the collar of her shirt. "For what?" he asked.

"Well, it's Dewey's birthday next week, you know, and I thought maybe we could throw him a little party, let him invite a few friends --"

"No."

"Rob --"

"I said no. Would you shut up and have another drink?"

Angelina bit her lip to keep from crying. He poured another layer of gin into her glass, slamming the bottle back down onto the stained coffee table. Angelina reached for it, but her hand shook. She closed her fingers around the glass, but, jerking suddenly, knocked the bottle to the ground in a great crash of glass and the fumes of hard alcohol.

Rob stared for a second at the soaked carpet, then turned his gaze to Angelina she felt it like a ray of heat, frying any ounce of confidence left in her heart. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He yelled.

In a flash of a moment, so quick she could barely be sure it really happened, but for the stinging in her cheek, his hand reached out and struck her with the force of a bear mauling its prey. "Don't just sit there!" He shouted. "Clean it up! Get up! It's going to ruin the carpet!" His face, molten red, seemed all swelled like a balloon inflated with anger. "When I come back here," he grunted, "That had better be cleaned up? You understand me?"

Angelina nodded, but she didn't understand. Her brain felt white and blank, so utterly seared with terror that she could only sit and nod and listen to the bedroom door slam behind him. Her cheek stung and smarted and flared, sending out distress signals to a negligent home base.

And without warning, the loneliness took her hand and dragged her down as though it were liquid sinking below the surface and into its depths, all the way down to its muddy, desolate floor. Dewey didn't know how she felt right now, she realized. He couldn't feel the bit of it in her skin, the cold of it in her bones. He couldn't share the way her ears rung and her body ached, too tired to stand.

No one did. She could slit her wrists in the kitchen tonight and no one would know until morning.