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Diana had started that day like any other day. She had woken her often irritable siren daughter, made breakfast while her pomeranian circled her ankles waiting for his own breakfast. When her daughter inevitable ignored the waffles Diana had burned for her and instead swiped an apple on her way out the door, Diana had then started her work day.
The human had spent several hours providing tarot readings over the phone while she cleaned the house and sorted through a couple of laundry loads. When that was done, she had gone over to the town motel to do the evening shift. The shift was inevitably boring, filled with mostly domestic staff given the cleaning staff were behind. By the time Roman had texted her, Diana was just getting home and was looking forward to a glass of wine in her pyjamas.
But the text had her stop in the doorway, her handbag hanging in her arm and her boot dangling off her foot. It was late, and in truth Diana was tired, but there was something so earnest about Romans request that she felt her heart pang with anxiety. Roman was the type to suffer in silence - not helpful given his addiction - so the pleading tone had her worried.
Over the years, Diana had watched her friend thrive and fail, drink and abstain, a constant yoyo, cyclic style routine. And Diana was there, in the background, but fully riding thay roller coaster with him. Despite the multitude of relapses, Diana had always kept the faith that her friend had it in him to stop... perhaps it was naive, it certainly made her saughter pity her. Whatever her reasons, Diana had always been there through the bad times, a constant presence, but never quite enough to keep him clean. It hurt Diana, just like it hurt his family, but the pull in their "friendship" prevented her from cutting him off. No matter how many times she should have done. Diana might have felt pathetic, but she reminded herself that she wasn't his girlfriend, or one of his one night stands. She was his friend. Nothing pathetic about a loyal friend was there? She could support him for as long as needed because they were just friends. Nothing to see here...
[TEXT]: On my way
Diana shot off the reply while shoving her boot back on properly.
"Ada! Ada, I'm off out, somethings come up!" Diana called up the stairs before heading out. Ada grunted in response - a social moment for the sullen teen - and then D peeled don't of the house.
Fifteen minutes later, Diana was pulling up outside of the trailer. As she turned the keys in her old Toyota, silencing the noisy engine, the brunette sat her in her car for just a moment. She took the time to look at her reflection, re-apply lipstick, Romans favourite shade, and then wipe it off on the back of her hands.
"You're an old fool" she whispered to herself, flipping the mirror back up. Diana didn't cry often, and when she had allowed herself a moment of reprive to tear up, it certainly hadn't been about herself. Tonight would be no different, if she cried she would cry for Roman and his sobriety, and not herself. Not for a dissapointing reflection and certainly not feeling like a silly old lady running for a man who preferred the company of younger women.
After a moment to pull herself together, Diana slipped down from her car, lugging her handbag over her shoulder as she hurried up to the trailer. Without knocking, Diana pushed open the door to the trailer and held her breath for what she was about to see.
When he heard the vibration of his phone, Roman didn’t even look. The man just expected her to tell him that she was busy, or that she wasn’t in the mood for anything. All reasonable answers when it came to him so he just laid there in the fetal position on his bed, dry heaving as he cried. It had been so long since he actually allowed his emotions to flood him like this that he could hardly breathe or move.
Fifteen minutes later, he heard Seymour barking at something and Roman threw one of the pillows at the dog trying to get the mutt to shut up. All he could think about was reaching for that bottle and downing as much as he could, perhaps this time he would get lucky and pass out and not wake up the next day. But it never seemed to work out in his favor.
Suddenly, he lifted his head slightly when he heard the trailer door open. Did she actually come? “Blue?” Within moments, he saw the beautiful woman at his door and he started crying harder than before. Something, he didn’t think possible as snot and tears covered his face. “You came,” he choked out. Roman wiped his face with his arm as he pushed himself up a little on the bed, where he was leaning partially against the headboard.
“Please,” he begged as he moved over for her to lie down next to him. Right now, he just wanted to be held and he knew out of all people, he could be vulnerable with her.
Roman's use of Diana's nickname did not inspire the usual roll of her eyes - as though she didn't secretly love the idea of giving him blue balls. Instead, the sight of Roman's handsome and lined face glistening with tears, almost brought her to her knees. She had seen her old friend in some states throughout the years of their friendship, but it never ceased to break her heart. She could feel the familiar stab in her heart - the pain reserved for her daughter and apparently Roman - and her lower lip trembled as Diana stepped into the trailer.
Seymour was happy to see the woman who often brought him ridiculous hats and knitted jumpers to wear, and while his nose went straight to her palms, trying to sniff out the usual treats, Diana dropped her bag onto the table and made her way over to the bed.
"Oh sweetheart" Diana's voice trembled a little as the short woman stepped hurried over to her friend. Without a moments' thought for propriety or boundaries, Dee's arms reached out for Roman, her fingers caressing the back of his head as she pulled his damp face into her bosom. Diana climbed into the bed with Roman, sitting close beside him while cradling his head.
"You wanna' talk about it?" Diana asked in a hushed tone, her hazel eyes closing briefly as she rested her cheek atop of Roman's head. Now that she was comfortable, she opened her eyes so she could look around them, survey the damage, check for opened, empty bottles.
