@kingdonmicrofic @kingdonmacrofic day twenty-three: milestone | 980/408 | rating: g | warnings: emotional infidelity
He volunteers to work the night shift on New Year's Eve.
He's happy to, if he's being honest. He, Abby, and the kids usually spent the holiday at a neighborhood party: several couples who live around them have young kids, too. But last year, Abby had caught him using the day before, which led to her furiously taking the kids to her parentsā. Their absence at that year's festivities had apparently been the talk of the party.
He's not brave enough to go back yet, even if Abby is. (She's always had more courage than him, he thinks, even if he didn't exactly realize that before.) He tells himself that he's not a coward, that he just doesn't want to deal with the whispering behind his back, whether it be about the drugs or the ever-present tension between him and Abby. He gets enough of that at the hospital ā he's learned to deal with it there. Which means he does not have the patience to put up with it elsewhere, especially on the one-year anniversary of his sobriety.Ā
He doesn't tell anyone at work about the milestone, since he tries to keep the details of his addiction as vague as possible. He justā¦he doesn't feel like discussing it, especially with people he doesn't consider himself close to anymore. He'd learned the hard way during his absence that they weren't his pals, or found family, or whatever the fuck.
He ends up telling Mel anyway.
It makes sense, in a way. If anyone at that hospital is his friend, it's her. She might even be his best friend, which is both exhilarating and scary. It's beenā¦so long since he's been someone's best friend. He's not sure he knows how to be one anymore. Especially the kind that Mel deserves.
(Also, sometimes he listens to Mel talk or laugh or just watches her exist and a feeling flutters through his stomach that he reluctantly but decidedly realizes is not strictly friendly. He's been trying not to think about it, even though sometimes at night, as he's lying in bed next to Abby, impossibly cold and overwhelmingly lonely, it's all he can think about.)
He ends up telling Mel, not even intentionally. He didn't expect to see her today, thinking she would be spending New Year's with Becca and maybe Adam. Thus, he didn't carefully compartmentalize the parts of his life he was going to share with her today in preparation. It's not that he doesn't want to share with her. In fact, it's the opposite ā he finds himself wanting to share everything with her, all of his thoughts and whims and details and sharp edges. He's afraid if he starts, he won't be able to stop.
Somewhere inside him, he's keenly aware he's standing on a sort of Mel precipice. If he falls over the edge, there's no telling when he'll hit the ground. In fact, he's not even sure there is a ground; he might just keep falling, falling, falling for the rest of his life.
He ends up telling Mel, about three minutes before the clock strikes midnight. Mostly everyone else has made their way up to the roof to share a bottle of cheap champagne and watch fireworks. He's meandered out to the ambulance bay, hoping the cold and solitude will help to clear his head.
Before he knows it, she's made her way next to him.
They don't speak for a few minutes. She wraps her arms around herself, even though she had the forethought to grab her coat before joining him.
āIt's freezing,ā she remarks. āI don't know how you're out here without a jacket.ā
He exhales slowly, and shrugs his shoulders before wrapping his arms around himself.
āYeah,ā he mutters, stupidly.
She opens her mouth to say something else, but he interrupts her. He hates that he does ā he tries to make sure he never interrupts her, because he always wants to hear what she has to say ā but the words come tumbling out before he can stop himself.
āI'm one year sober today.ā
He hears her inhale softly, but besides that, she doesn't react to his revelation. God, he likes her so much.
āLast year at this time,ā he continues, almost rambling now, āI was alone and in withdrawal and trying to find and flush all the pills I had in the house because if Abby came back and found any I knew she would leave me, or maybe even kill me. It wasā¦ā
He sighs roughly, kicks at a loose stone on the pavement.
āIt was the worst fucking day of my life.ā
Again, she doesn't say anything, but she does shuffle a little closer to him. Her side is pressed against him now.
āI'm happy you're here, Frank,ā she says, and he can almost taste the sincerity in her voice. It kind of makes him want to cry. āI'mā¦really happy you're here.ā
He leans into her; he can't really help himself. Then, he puts his arms around her shoulders, pulls her against him in an almost hug. If she asks ā if anyone should see them and ask ā he'll blame it on the cold.
He knows the truth, though, that he's just taken a few more steps toward the edge. He can't find it in himself to care right now.
Mel stiffens for just a moment, like she doesnāt know how to react. Sometimes, he thinks she might be on a Frank precipice. Sometimes, he wants to ask her if she'll jump with him.
Tonight, though, he just pulls Mel closer, and after a beat, she melts into him, letting her head loll against his shoulder. Faintly, he can hear the fireworks being set off.
He thinks of Abby, for a moment. He thinks of fights and awkward parties and whispering neighbors.
āI'm happy I'm here, too,ā he tells her, and closes his eyes.
