It’s Not Too Late To Pick Up The Pieces
Happy day 1 of @barryallenweek! Today’s theme was ‘Soulmates’. Hope you enjoy xx I may continue this if anyone’s interested. The full work can be found on AO3, linked below and again at the end of this snippet.
Summary: After losing his soulmate and being left to raise their daughter on his own, Barry struggles to move on. Until he meets Len, who is struggling with his own loss. Moving on comes a little easier when he isn’t doing it alone.
The building was unassuming, and the room even more so. It was the kind of place you went to be discrete, with concrete floors and tall walls topped off by windows old enough that they were difficult to see through. It had once been a community centre, but they’d built a bigger, better one three blocks away four years ago, and it had since fallen into disuse.
In the centre of the room, some of the many chairs that littered the space had been pulled into a circle. There were only five other people here so far, but it was already more than Barry had been expecting.
He took a seat beside an older woman, who smiled sadly at him before she turned to keep staring listlessly at the floor. Barry stirred his coffee, shifting in his seat. He felt worse than when he’d come in.
“Alright,” one of the other men said, grabbing everyone’s attention. He was well-dressed in a button-down and slacks, his hair well-styled and his beard well-groomed. It stood out among the rest of them, who were sporting mostly sweatpants and unkempt hair. Barry himself was wearing the same jeans he’d worn yesterday and deep bags under his eyes from staying up with Nora half the night. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
He was met with silence, but continued on undeterred. “I see some new faces today. Welcome. I hope you find this group helpful, and that you get the support you need. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. And remember this is a judgment-free zone. You’re more than welcome to share anything you’d like, but you’re also more than welcome to just listen if you feel more comfortable. Why don’t we get started by introducing ourselves?
“I’m John. My soulmate, Lexie, passed away six years ago now. We’d been together since we were sixteen, and bonded since we were eighteen.” The leader, John, folded one leg over the other, looking around the group. Finally, the woman next to Barry cleared her throat.
They went around the room, introducing themselves, until it came to Barry’s turn. He wasn’t sure what to say. Everyone had tacked on their situation alongwith their name in that monotone, procedural way that suggested they’d each repeated the same words a dozen times. It was clear Barry was the only one here who’d never been before, and he was also the youngest by at least ten years.
“Uh, hi. I’m Barry.” He paused. The others looked at him expectantly, waiting, and he forced down the block that had risen up his throat like it always did when he tried to talk about this. “My wife, Iris, died… a year ago today, actually. It’s just me and our daughter, Nora, now.” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “And, yeah. I guess that’s it.”
John smiled at him. “Welcome, Barry. I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you came in. It can be difficult to find people who understand what you’re going through, but everyone here knows how hard it is to carry on after losing your soulmate. I hope we can be of some help.”
“Yeah,” Barry replied, trying to smile back. “Me too.”
The meeting continued in roughly the same fashion: the others went around swapping stories, talking about how difficult it was to just go about everyday life, or their struggles with moving on. They’d all been in the business much longer than Barry had, that much was clear, so half of what was shared felt impossible to him. Still, every so often there’d be something that just clicked, the way that nothing his friends had to say possibly could.
The only other person Barry knew who had lost their soulmate was Caitlin. It should have brought them closer, have made them turn to each other in their times of need, but instead it had only pushed them further apart. It was this heavy thing that hung between them every time they saw each other — the weight of knowing just how bad it was and also knowing there was nothing that could make it any better.
She’d been the one to suggest the support group, the last time they saw each other. That was three months ago now, but it was hard for Barry to find the time to do anything when he had a four year old at home who needed constant attention and only had him to give it to her.
There was another woman here who had also been left a single parent after her husband passed, and he found himself listening intently to everything she said. Her kids were older than Nora by many years, but she’d been doing it alone since they were much younger.
When the meeting came to a close two hours later, Barry walked away from it uncertain on whether he’d be going back. In some ways, it had only made him feel worse. He’d been managing fine these last few months, busy whirlwind parenting and going about his life now that he didn’t have someone to share some of the workload with. It was easy not to be sad when he was too busy to think about it, even if his heart ached for Iris every time he looked at Nora.
Now, driving home from the centre, all he could think about was Iris. His soulmark, the flower that had been her namesake, ached with phantom pain on the back of his neck.
As helpful as it had been to hear some of their stories, to hear about the different ways there were to keep going and how to honour Iris’s place in his daughter’s even when she was no longer here, Barry wasn’t sure he wanted to feel like this again. He only missed her even more.
