Abigail
Tuesday
21 February 2017
"It's astounding and absolutely unprecedented for something like this to happen Steven. Truly a nation -in shock. Here we see former district attorney and now ex Secretary of States, Elizabeth Masey, being officially taken away at her bail hearing for aiding and abetting in the murder of Kristen Wyland."
"Yes of course Wolf the -uh President and his wife, the campaign manager all implicated and charged in what's come out as the bizzarest story in William Mitchells' very short term in the presidency. Of course what we're all asking ourselves is 'how did we get this guy so wrong.' Stay on us, as we keep you updated, after this."
The blare of CNN alongwith the song stuck on repeat on my speakers is all white noise. My cheeks itch with dried tears - or new ones, I can't tell anymore.
The fluffy carpet is the only thing I feel as I walk to the toilet. My bladder forcing me to move.
The flashing of my answering machine screams what I already know from the missed calls on my phone. 64 new messages. 23 missed calls. Missed? No, ignored.
The bleep of the machine trills as I press play.
"Hi Ms. Mitchell, I'm Amanda Seinfeld, your assigned press secretary, we were suppo-" click.
Beep.
"Abigail we know it's been tough but your father needs you to -" click.
Screw this.
The crackle of cable and plug seperating is satisfying as I rip it off the wall.
There. No more noise. Out of sight, out of mind. Everything is just fine.
Wednesday
22 February 2017
The knock on my door drags me out of sleep. My eyes burning from being on my phone until the early hours of morning. Waiting for sleep to cradle me to a faraway places. The pills clearly of no use.
Only agent Kozak's steady knock let's me know that it's atleast 10 AM. Does she even still work for me?
"Not today, thank you!" I project, loud enough so that I don't need to move an inch from under the covers. A useless exercise because I do at some point have to get up and eat.
I should have just gotten up. Instead lower my hand to the side of my bed to grab last nights dinner: a bottle of red wine.
Thursday
23 February 2017
"Mam."
From the depths of random ideas and mashup of chaotic images reality swims, murky to my surface. There's a subtle awareness of who I am under my slow thoughts held together with their loose connections to my waking life.
"Mam?"
When did get to bed?
After a few moments I begin to analyze in a lazy way. Perhaps those words are meant to be heeded. A tether to reality. But I still can't grasp whether they're in this world or that one. The voice, the echo is familiar, I struggle to comprehend whether its still in my head.
My eyelids flicker open to the unlit room. A gentle hand on my shoulder and a whispered 'Miss Mitchell' belong to Agent Kozak's concerned voice.
I forgot to tell her I was fine. Probably not going anywhere - for a while. If I don't answer she comes in to check that everything is okay - that I haven't killed myself.
I close my scratchy sleep-filled eyes again, willing the stories to return. For my mind to tumble back to dreams.
For a minute they threaten to win but with sheer will I overpower the days demands. I pull the covers over me, more than it should be humanely possible, and burrow away to my dreamstate retreat.
Friday
24 February 2017
"Get up!"
Is the first thing I hear as the covers are violently yanked from above me.
I wake suddenly every thought in high definition. Heart pumping and every breath at maximum alertness.
The breeze from the now missing covers caresses my raw and gummy skin. Bright light burns my irises as a woman's silhouette furiously parts my curtains. The hook tracks clinking with the sheer force with which they were shoved.
Nestled in a sport hijab was Mahalia's wide-eyed face. Her eyes spoke of worry and determination made prominent by the lack of hair around her.
I groaned and turned away from her trying to grab the duvet that lay discarded on the floor of my bedroom.
"Go away Hal."
"No, nope. Don't you dare!" She says. Pulling the corners of the musty duvet and yanking it away from me. But my grip on it is strong.
I feel desperation bubble within me.
"No Hal!" I say, yanking it towards me again beginning our tug-of-war.
"Abigail!" She pulls.
There's so much raw emotion between the two of us. What started as a small exchange is now charged and I can feel my fury build.
Who does she think she is!?
I know I'm being unreasonable but I continue to grasp at it like a rabid animal. The more she consumes it, tucking it close to herself, the more I grab at it. I'm almost halfway out the bed. But I will not leave this sanctuary.
"Stop it Hal!" I pull, and she grabs it back.
"Stop it!" I yank but she comes closer.
"Fucking stop IIIIIIIIIIT!" I finally scream like a crazed banshee. My voice pitched high and frantic, somewhere between a wail and a screech shocks her into letting the prized cover go.
As soon as she does I take my moment and furiously gather the cover to me and return to bed.
Chest heaving from exertion.
I pump my legs to make sure I'm fully covered again from head to toe. As it settles over me the only sound I hear echoed in my chamber are the shallow, shaky breaths I take.
I won't let go of the only safe place I have. If I lose this duvet then I surely will become undone. I just need...I just need...
The next thing I feel is the warm embrace of a hug from behind as Mahalia slips into bed with me and holds me until I fall asleep.
Saturday
25 February 2017
"Yes, okay thank you." I wake to distorted whispers. One I can tell is my mother, the other Mahalia still.
Did she stay with me the whole night?
My body is beginning to revolt though. Limbs heavy from no energy, my bladder screaming and the aching hollowness that is my stomach roils in hunger.
"Abby- babe." Hal whispers as if she were speaking to a wounded animal.
"Babe, talk to me - -please?" She's crouched by me having opened a slit of light.
She inches closer laying her head to the side so that we're parralel. She's also taken off her hijab, now wearing a plain beige tshirt - its one of mine.
"Please?" She begs.
"I do need to pee." I quietly answer. Voice scratchy with disuse.
My friend smiles at me. Warmly. As if I'd never turned on her. Her smile seemed to promise that everything would be okay.
"Okay. Let's go pee then." She says gently and begins removing the covers. The curtains are thankfully closed again.
"Is this okay?"
I nod.
"Alright, come on then." She holds her hand out for me.
I take it.
A life raft. Because for all I know I won't make it to the bathroom without it.
"There we go." Hal whispers with each of my steps finally causing the dam to burst.
My body lets go of all pretence of self defence and my soul comes crashing through in waves.
I sob.
I sob so pitifully, deeply, wrenchingly with abandon.
Not quiet sure what it is I'm truly crying for. Was it my unquestionably ended and failed relationship with Liz. Was it the disbelief of my murderous father. Was it grief for a life I thought was mine, secure? Perhaps it was all of it. Maybe it was the hopelessness. But I don't care. All I know is this rolling avalanche had to come out before it consumed all of me.
My ears barely register the whispered encouragements of: "Okay baby. Oh it's okay. That's it."
I cry for what feels like hours. Only stopping when Hal slowly extracts herself to look at me while holding my shoulders: "Babe, -you need to pee." She reminds me.
I laugh through my tears and let her painstakingly slowly walk me to the bathroom.