Chapter 8
1202 Words
It was from the movie.
Evelyn and I burst into laughter.
We were so terrified for nothing.
I turned down the volume of the movie and faced Evelyn fully giving her my attention.
“Six years,” she said.
The number sat between us, heavy. I searched her face for something to say and found nothing useful, so I stayed silent. Sometimes silence was kinder than questions.
She continued, “Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Other times it feels like another lifetime altogether.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She laughed weakly, as if embarrassed by it, and lifted her glass again. I let her.
“Just take your time, I’m listening.” I said.
That did it.
Evelyn’s eyes shimmered, and she looked away quickly, blinking hard. “He wasn’t supposed to die,” she said. “That’s the part that still makes me angry. People say it like it makes sense. It didn’t.”
“I remember standing in the kitchen after they told me,” Evelyn said. “I remember thinking… if I stay very still, maybe this won’t become real.”
My chest tightened. I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t look away.
“I didn’t cry at the funeral,” she said quietly. “Everyone else did. I just stood there wondering when someone would realise there’d been a mistake.”
I swallowed. Grief had many disguises. I knew that much.
“Sometimes,” she added, almost ashamed, “I still listen for his footsteps. Even now.”
“You don’t sound weak at all,” I said. My voice surprised me with its steadiness. “You sound like someone who loved deeply.”
Evelyn inhaled sharply, her eyes shining. She nodded, wiping at her cheeks with her free hand. “I don’t tell people this,” she admitted. “They look at me like I’m supposed to be finished with it. Like there’s a deadline.”
“There isn’t,” I said. “Not for something like that.”
The television murmured on. Its sounds were calm enough to blend in with our voices in a way that wasn’t noisy.
“And Caine?” I asked. I wanted to know if he had always been this way.
Evelyn gave a quiet shake of her head. “Caine wasn’t always like this,” she said. “He used to be… present. He had opinions about everything. He travelled. He stayed out late. He laughed loudly and didn’t apologise for it.”
She took a deep breath. “Then the accident happened. And after that, he disappeared.”
I could tell it broke her heart by just looking at her face. I felt so bad for her.
She paused. “He stopped fighting people. Stopped leaving the house unless he had to. It was like he decided that being still was safer.”
Her jaw tightened slightly. “At the time, I told myself it was grief. We all needed something to blame, but grief doesn’t explain everything. Some things happen because someone else lets them.”
She swallowed. “My husband didn’t die because he was unlucky.” She said, with a bitter smile on her face. “He died because he was in the way… In someone's way.”
Her eyes finally lifted. “And after that… the house learned how to be afraid.”
It was like she was in conflict with herself. She didn’t want to say much.
We finished our drinks without saying much after that. The tension in her posture slowly loosened, replaced by a weary calm. When she stood, I noticed the way she swayed, the way sadness, alcohol and exhaustion all leaned on her at once.
“It’s late,” I said. “You should rest.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I’m glad I came in here tonight,” she said. “I didn’t know I needed to talk.”
“I’m glad you did,” I replied, and meant it more than I expected.
“Goodnight, Elissa.” Evelyn said, walking out the door.
“Goodnight.”
Her footsteps faded and I turned off the television. I didn’t let the darkness settle, I went up to my room.
When I lay in bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. The house felt different. It was still quiet, but different.
It felt like there was a heaviness to it. There was more to it, but I just couldn't describe it.
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The morning came in slowly. The light rays of the sim cracked through my curtains and that was enough to wake me up fully.
My steps got slower as I neared Caine’s room. I stopped at the door and knocked before stepping in.
He was sitting up, pillows strengthened behind him, and the blanket covering his legs neatly.
Even in the morning light, his posture had that same casual ease, but his eye held something more behind it. His eyes avoided mine.
I was used to him staring at me as I moved around his room but this time when he looked at me, for the first time in a while, I felt the weight of his gaze pin me in place. It was like he was staring into my soul.
I finished pulling back the blinds and paused to look back at him.
“I shouldn’t have shut you up that day,” he said, his voice low, nonchalant, as if admitting it casually might make it hurt less. “You had every right to speak. I… I regret it.”
It was brief, but there was a pause underneath the words, something almost real.
I realized then that it wasn’t just an apology. It was him handing me back a piece of myself.
“I… okay,” I said, surprised at how much relief washed through me. The tight knot I’d carried since Evelyn’s confession loosened. “I just… I forgive you.”
I didn't want to prolong this. He already felt bad for what he did.
The air was tense. We could both tell.
I went in to warm up his bath and then I helped him get ready.
I made small talk with him and surprisingly, he didn't ignore me.
I guess he wanted the mood to lighten up and so did I.
When we were finished and he was in his wheelchair, Jane brought in his food and left quickly, but not without giving me a hateful look.
I think it was finally time to tell Caine about what his doctor had been giving him since he started his medication.
He had a right to know he was being abused for the longest time.
I started explaining to him what the pills he was taking were for. I told him about the ones I stopped giving him without the doctor's consent and he was beyond angry.
He asked me to call Evelyn in and I did just that.
- Writer
