She was weak, the bandages still surrounded her wrists and the rob didn’t fit her well anymore. There had been only a couple of days in bed, but she had only been feeding of bread and water, something that didn’t feel that good to her. Clarice looked paler that usual, thinner and her hair didn’t seem to shine and burn as before. They were simply there, opaque and oily, waiting for a bath free from razors or blood. Even her eyes looked different. Although still green, they didn’t possess that spark from before, an emerald flame that lit every place she ventured walking in. Clarice was not there. She tried to smile, but her tired and lost glare took charge of her face, turning all around into a big surface of ice.
“Clarice, you shouldn’t…”
Jason ran to offer her support, but Clarice had already reached for the stool near the counter. She sat, accepting his help in a very automatic manner, as if working in a mechanical predefined way. Autopilot.
“Are you okay?” Jason asked, leaning against the counter, beside her.
“Are you?”
She had no expressions on her face, just the voice tone that allowed him to identify what she meant. The eyes, deep and down, faced her pale hands against the counter, an almost poetic contrast. Ebony and ivory.
“The solitude of the mountains is sometimes frightening.” Clarice amended, ignoring the answer that might’ve come. “Imagine a life like that.”
Jason at first didn’t quite understand. When she finished the sentence, he didn’t know how to react. He deeply knew the loneliness of the mountains, he knew how it felt to deal with that. To like being alone is a lot different of being alone and having no alternative to it. That was how he had been feeling before Clarice showed up, almost dead, on that road.
“You remembered.”
Before he could get an answer, even a cold one, the teapot hissed. Jason ran to the stove and turned it off, pouring its content into two mugs. He prepared the tea the way he saw Clarice prepare it, always careful about the quantities. Screw it. He needed something strong. Clarice needed something strong, too, even if simply tea.
The tinkling of the spoon hitting the porcelain seemed to be, for a few moments, the only sound in the room. Outside the clouds started to change their tones, indicating the dawn was not that far anymore. Jason turned at last, the two mugs in hands, and trying to put on a smile as he saw her.
“Tea?” He asked, dragging the mug towards her.
Clarice didn’t answer, she just pulled the mug away with her hand, without blinking or breathing, a dead woman walking.
“I’m fine.”
“At least eat something, you need energy.”
There was a fruit basket near, some bread in the cabinet, many leftovers on the fridge. She didn’t seem to want any of that.
“I’ve eaten. The meal you left in the room.”
Yes, he had let a tray in the bedroom for her. One or two slices of bread with jam, some cookies and a glass of fresh juice. She may not be completely full, but at least she was not on an empty stomach.
“Clarice, is everything okay?”
“Yes.”
Jason tried the tea. At first it assaulted his tongue, both by the temperature and by the lack of something to sweeten it. That was no problem. He wanted something to make him feel alive. While cold sweat popped up on his forehead in small unwanted drops, Jason’s eyes wavered between the statue Clarice appeared to be and the bottle under the counter.
“Go ahead.” She said, eyes still locked onto her hands. The voice seemed a blend of pain and sighs, but remained still. “Do whatever you want, Jason. Do not cling to what they want you to do.”
“I don’t know if I…”
“Who are you, Jason?” She paused and finally lifted her eyes, immediately attacking Jason’s stare with hers. “Who are you?”
He saw green sparks shine in her eyes again, the same way the aged scotch sparkled inside the bottle, a few inches away from his hand.
“Go ahead.”
“I… Clarice, I…”
“Just don’t go alone.”
He frowned, confused. No, she couldn’t drink, not in such recovery state. Let alone himself. It seemed that Jason was returning to his own senses, and for that he thanked the tea.
“You are recovering and I… you know.”
“We are both recovering, Jason. But is there really a reason to recover from anything?”
His eyes dropped, ignoring the bottle this time. He was thinking about Marco. About the shame and the pain he would make his son go through. About the shame and pain he made his son go through. No, he didn’t…
“Marco.” She exhaled. “You have a reason to recover. I don’t, anymore. I don’t even know if I had once.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I want to drink!”
For the first time, he saw Clarice flare up. She waved and hit her injured and bandaged wrists against the counter, trying to move towards him; the hair heaved at the same time, her eyes looked angry and attacked. He was frightened.
He also wanted to drink. He also had to.
As if taken over, possessed, Jason open the suspended cabinet behind him and took from there two crystal glasses, putting them on the counter and then he brought the bottle to the light again. They didn’t have to exaggerate, they just had to warm themselves up.
He broke the seal.
He was on the edge of a cliff, one foot already in the air and with his arms wide open, waiting for the moment to jump and let it all go. If only he could hold onto the edge at the last second…
The sound of pouring liquid falling into the glass was like the voice of an angel to his ears. It was Clarice’s voice, in a good shape, laughing at some foolish story of her life. It was Marco’s first cry one the day he was born. The bells on his wedding day. That moment brought every little good thing he had ever had in his life back.
The sound of the pouring liquid was also like the first police siren demanding him to stop at some highway. It was Clarice’s crying spells when she woke up in that house. It was Marco’s weary laughter at finding him passed out at the doorstep again. It was Michelle’s first scream during their first fight. That moment brought every worst thing he ever had in his life back, including the slip by which his marriage and his life took a bumpy course heading south with no chance of stopping or avoiding a collision. It was Michelle’s car meeting the end of its fall, against the boulders and the solid ground.
That was, indeed, hitting rock bottom. Not that place with a shallow and rotten puddle, surrounded by moss from where it is still possible to see sunlight some feet above. He was thinking about the real rock bottom, feet below rocks and soil that does not allow you to scream or cry for help, even when you know fresh air is available a few feet away, because the weight of the debris over your buried body doesn’t let you move.
Jason had his arms wide opened at the edge of the cliff, ready to jump.
He pushed one of the glasses towards Clarice and took one for himself, ignoring the tea mug again.
They both raised their glasses. Jason noticed that, just like him, Clarice had wet eyes, probably also with a lump in her throat and fearing the worst.
“To our recovery.” Jason said, toasting.
“To our demise.”
And Jason jumped off the cliff, waiting for the devastating crash. It was an inevitable fall, a free fall with a predictable ending. It was, tough, such a delightful fall, so good… he deserved that feeling. He deserved that moment, as a prisoner on death row who’s waiting for his last meal.
The first glass was the smooth slide down the throat that only serves as an appetizer, he knew it. The second, which would be his last one, was that drink that would allow him to relax and feel slightly inebriated, enough to wrap the night up.
But the second didn’t turn to be his last. Clarice was still quiet, about to explode in tears and he knew he was far from being gently affected by the alcohol. It’d been a while since he had last drunk anything, but he
remembered well what it felt to be drunk. He just needed that feeling once more and then he would leave the bottle alone, maybe he’d even pour the rest of it down the drain so that there were no chances he would ever again relapse.
He saw when Clarice’s hand reached for the bottle and filled both glasses again, faltering at some moments and spilling a good amount of scotch on the counter. And he didn’t know anymore which shot he was at now.
“She was the reason you started drinking?”
Jason shook his head, trying to hold the laughter back when he noticed her drunk voice.
“It started before. I don’t know why.”
Clarice, leaning against the counter almost lying in it, tossed her hair back and stared at her covered wrists, analyzing the bandages, maybe meaning to remove them.
“Do you miss her? Sorry, I shouldn’t be…”
“Sometimes.” Jason took another shot, finishing another dose of his medicine. “Sometimes I do, but… I shouldn’t.”
He felt his somewhat numb face contracting itself in unwanted expressions. He didn’t want to let pain or hate show, he didn’t want to demonstrate all the anger that was rooted in his core. He didn’t want that to spill out.
“But you loved her.”
“Until the moment we didn’t love each other anymore. Until the moment she revealed the real… I shouldn’t say that.”
He laughed.
“What, Jason? What was she?”
“A real bitch. Hidden behind the good doctor mask.”
Clarice pulled the empty glass away and crossed her arms, leaning against the counter, confused and drunk. Jason ignored it, the rage was boiling up inside him, just looking for a small crack so it could leak and explode.
“Was it a relief? Her death.”
Jason shrugged. Seamlessly and quickly he avoided a tear from rolling down from his eye, pretending it was just some speck or a loose lash.
“I don’t know… I couldn’t say.”
“Is she here now?”
Instinctively, Jason looked around. Maybe she was, maybe she was that white blur he couldn’t clearly see near the counter. Or maybe that was just the fridge. He needed another shot.
“Jason, we’d better stop--”
“You said you wanted to drink.”
The voice came from his clenched teeth, trembling and enraged, a different tone he hadn’t used for a long time now.
“I’m sorry, Clarice, I…”
“It’s all right.” She replied, taking herself the bottle and sharing the liquid between the two glasses.
The bottle was almost empty now. Soon enough he would feel the impact from the end of the cliff.
His stomach burned, just like his face and hands, which throbbed with the same intensity his heart did. Maybe Michelle was there…
“How… how did she die?”
Jason withdrew, giving a second so that the alcohol could do its effect. It had been a while since his last drink, his sobriety chip proved that – not anymore – and it felt like he was feeling the drinking numbness for the first time. His head buzzed and, by hearing the question, it was like something exploded in his brain. He sat down.
He didn’t know he wanted to share that with Clarice. He shouldn’t. He had her right there, by his side, and he wasn’t going to lose her. He didn’t want to lose her. He wouldn’t let her lose herself away from him. She would be nobody without his protection, she would be damned. He couldn’t. But he couldn’t hide forever, either.
“It was fall.” He said, clearing his throat and facing his glass. He needed to organize the thoughts before speaking. Then he opened his mouth again, picturing a movie in his mind. Or a book. “I was drunk, I confess to that, not completely, though.”
“Slightly.”
“Slightly.” He agreed, sharing a laugh with her. “We fought, obviously. Michelle had been waiting for me, right there by the door. I remember her furious face, the hair up in an improvised turban. She looked stunning, yet furious. I even tried to hug her, but she didn’t allow that. I remember how that slap cracked and echoed.”
Jason lifted his eyes for a second, just to find a distracted Clarice, trying to concentrate on the tale, although bothered by all those bandages.
“She yelled at me. She had cried the whole night, she said, taking care of Marco, waiting for me, expecting me. She also had drunk. She tried to shut the door, lock me out, but I stopped her. And then it all went south. I remember Marco. He came running downstairs, startled by all the yelling and the argument… He was so young.”
“Thirteen?”
“Almost fourteen.” Jason’s glare got lost, trying to focus itself onto the wall behind Clarice, but wandering into nothingness as he tried to collect the right ideas. “I left. I decided I wouldn’t stay home, not in that hellhole Michelle was creating. I remember walking across the front yard, ready to leave, when Michelle shouted she would kill herself if I left her. I…” Jason raised his head, inhaling deeply. It was too much to handle. “I turn to her and there she is, my gun in hands, something I don’t even have any more after that, and she was threatening to kill herself. And then Marco comes again. He tried to help his mom, prevent her from doing such hideous thing. And Michelle hit him. I come back to my senses again and I’m sober now, watching as my wife tries to choke our son.”
“Oh, God, Jason.”
Clarice reached for his hands and embraced them. She seemed moved, bothered even. Perhaps she didn’t even want to hear any more of that, but now the door was open and he wouldn’t close it again.
“I try to stop her and that’s when she comes at me with a rock. I still have the scar, right here.” He pulled some of his dark hair away, showing her a light scar underneath, right on the line where his forehead ended and his hair started. “I fall. And drag myself. I tried to save Marco. I just couldn’t understand how such a whole woman, how such a… good… good woman like her could do something like that. Right in front of me. I remember pressing Marco’s chest so hard I feared it would crack, trying to bring him back. Meanwhile, she… she didn’t even seem to care. She decided, out of the blue, she would leave.”
“But she didn’t want to let you go.”
“She didn’t want me to let her go. She had already packed, she was just waiting for me. She was going to take my son and leave me. But I… Ha. I couldn’t do the same. So, I realize Marco is fine and I look for her, my head bleeding, my son trying to breathe again… And there she is, loading the car, not giving a single fuck to what’s happening.”
“Jason, I thought she was…”
“Completely different? So did I. All I know is that after that… she left. And I wanted to let her go in peace, leaving me in peace with my son… I promised myself in that moment that I wouldn’t drink ever again, that I wouldn’t abuse it anymore, that I would just watch for my son and myself. But… I had to…”
“You needed her.”
Jason pulled his hands away from Clarice and put them to his face, covering it whole to prevent her from seeing him cry. The alcohol’s fault, surely.
“I needed. And she was leaving.” He rubbed his face and stared at Clarice again, his face all red, but at least he was together again. “I get the car, Marco, and we go after her. That’s when I see her do this wrong turn and escape through the gap in the road. The gap had been there for a while and everyone worried about that hole in the rail, but… I almost fell, too. Marco stopped me. And the rest is history.”
Clarice looked extremely pale and shaken. She took one hand to her mouth, while she shook her head, astonished, shocked.
“I can’t believe you…that’s so horrible, Jason.”
And she stood up. With slow and painful steps, she circled the counter until she met Jason. And she hugged him. They were both drunk and shaken by that story, but he sensed she wanted it. She wanted the hug, she wanted to offer him the support… and get some back, too.
When they parted from the hug, their faces remained close. Close enough
for Jason to risk another kiss, drunk enough for Clarice to allow him. It was quick, but lasted long enough for his heart to be replenished once more. It was done.
Clarice sat at the stool near them, still holding his hands.
“What you’ve been through, Jason… no one should go through such things.”
“You must have seen worse, Clarice. And be aware that she didn’t die at the accident.” Jason smiled at noticing surprise in Clarice’s face. “My agony was extended to its utmost limits for a week at the hospital, back in Derby, taking turns between the ICU room when I had permission and a long, cold corridor.”
And Jason chuckled, staring at the empty glass in his idle hand, still lost in his own mind and faded memories.
“What?”
“Despite the morbidity of the whole thing, there’s something I always remember that seemed funny. Don’t get me wrong.”
“I shan’t. What is it?”
“Michelle goes through these countless surgeries until they finally come and tell me she won’t survive. It was tough, both to me and Marco. For three days, she’s intubated, vegetative state. I promise myself I’ll not let it go further than five days. It was her desire, Michelle had a short surgical career and made me promise I’d never let her live through machines.”
“Oh, dear Lord, you turned off the--”
“No. She wakes up on the third day, lucid. A surge, they say. There’s this recovery moment some terminal patients show before dying, they seem to be alright, they talk, interact. She talked to Marco, but refused to let me in. That’s not what was funny, it was a visitor that came by. I don’t remember it well,” -he laughed amidst the sentence, partially because of the inebriation, “but I recall this lady with a widow’s hat. I don’t know how to describe, but imagine this huge black hat, some long floppy round brims that make waves… and this dark net around… I can just relate it to widows.”
“And did you know this woman?”
“Not at all. Never got to know who she was. She spent a few hours with Michelle… and the surge goes. She jumped out of being lucid to a complete failure. Her heart stopped and then all the rest. The injuries were too severe for her body to bear. And she died that same day, November twenty-first, 2013.”
The Woman Hidden Page 26
