Downfall

|| Notice: This story contains things such as; strong language, sexual content and topics which people may not be comfortable with such as alcohol / substance abuse issues. ||  

"How the hell did I end up in this situation?" I ask myself as I stare out onto the dimly lit road, my head resting against the car window. It's cold surface startling me at first - although I don't mind in this moment. I wipe a small tear from my cheek as quickly and discretely as possible before he notices. I really don't want to make things worse, or make him angry. I love him. I love him with every fibre of my being and with everything I have.

I watch as we drive out of the place I once believed was my home, not knowing when, or if I would ever be able to return. Not knowing if the familiar brickwork which encased some of my favourite memories would ever feel like home again, without him. The thought feels like a sharp punch to the chest, an agonising weight pulling me under. I try to shake it off but fail. "How could you let this happen?’ I internally scold myself as I dab my tear stained cheeks. 

The question plays on my mind like a broken record, repeating over and over. I feel like a fool, a naïve fool. I never considered that one single person could make me completely reroute my life. I always praised myself on my morals and how strong minded I was, my resilience, until him. Love, it's a dangerous thing — all consuming and destroying. Though he will never be one of my mistakes. Or, just maybe, he is. But he is my favourite mistake to make, over, and over again.

I made the decision to take a chance on him, and once I had fallen everything since then was unavoidable; the good, the bad, the heartache. It was the type of love that consumes you in a way you never knew was humanly possible, the love that makes you forget everything else, and for a second — you can breathe. 

When he looked at me with those eyes, it was like every morcel of air left my body, entering the atmosphere like midnight smoke. Being encased in his arms brought me peace I had never known before — a calming to the chaos in my head, making the outside world a mere memory. The sound of his heartbeat ringing in my ears as my head rested on his chest, my favourite sound in the world.

He is a rose with the most powerful roots, leading directly to my heart and soul — bounding and tethering himself to me eternally, despite his thorns.

That's my downfall, you see. I always try to see the best in people, the light — even when there isn't any to be found. I create it, the good. I tell myself that deep down they are the person that I have created in my mind, they deserve a happy ending, and that I can fix them. That is my downfall. My greatest downfall.

~ Six months earlier ~

As my eyes flutter open to the sound of my deafening alarm, I feel a wave of dread. I roll onto my stomach and grunt into the pillow below me at the thought of dragging myself out of bed, I couldn't be less of a morning person if I tried. I contemplate how long I can remain in the comfort of my covers without making myself too late. How late really is too late? It's not the day I'm dreading as such, more so the preparation for it. If I could prance around in a sweater and cotton shorts all day, I would. Sadly, that isn't socially acceptable.

I roll back over and pick up my phone from underneath my pillow, the light from the screen making me screw my eyes shut. Every morning I blind myself, yet I still do it without fail. I'm way behind schedule due to my sheer procrastination and have missed calls, and three unanswered texts from my mom. I shuffle into the bathroom, clicking the letters on my phone to construct a reply — before deciding against replying altogether. 

I step into the shower, the hot water cascading down my body, instantly soothing my stresses. I placed my phone on the cabinet with my music playing — it's the only way I willingly judge my time, by songs. I grudge setting alarms and having to constantly check my phone. Music is probably one of my favourite pass times, my favourite escape. My thoughts are interrupted by my phone ringing, cutting my music off. 

"Oh, come on," I groan, rolling my eyes and patiently waiting for it to ring out — which it does. Then it rings again, and again. I sigh under my breath, turning off the water and wrapping a towel around my body. I reluctantly pick up my phone and slide to answer.

"Hello?" I say lowly, my voice coming out a little harsher than I intended.

"Amara?" The voice on the other line responds, almost confused—probably at my harsh tone. I should really work on it, but I probably won't. 

Old habits die hard.

I recognise the voice almost immediately, Jacob. "Jake, hey! Sorry, you caught me off guard." I half lie, I really need to save his number after this call, why am I always so unorganised?

"I just wanted to check you were still available for our date tonight, unless you've made other arrangements?" he mumbles over the line. I scrunch up my nose at his formal language, he speaks like somebody from a Shakespeare play. I find myself hoping that isn't how he speaks all of the time, especially if I'm going to go on a date with him. I internally cringe at the mention of the date, I only agreed because I felt too guilty to say no.

"I'm still coming, unless you've found another brunette to take with you." I say jokingly.

"No, of course not!" his tone is serious and panicked, my sarcasm went straight over his head, as I assumed it would. I can only hope my sense of humour doesn't clash with his, if he has one.

"If you say so, I'll see you at six,” I chuckle, ending the call.

I quickly enjoy the rest of my shower before procrastinating some more, eating, scrolling through videos on my phone, listening to music. I dry my hair and straighten it to minimize how frizzy it is, before applying makeup and picking out the first dress I found in my closet. It's plain black, rests just above my knees with straps that cross over my back. As I fumble to get my shoes on, I hear the doorbell ring. 

"Damn it." I mumble under my breath frustratedly.

"Hold on a second!" I yell from my bedroom, hoping he somehow has supersonic hearing and heard that all the way from the front steps.

I walk to the door, opening it to find a rather awkward Jake. He steps inside while I grab my jacket and bag, looking extremely uncomfortable as his eyes scan the room.

"Don't worry, I won't bite." I laugh, praying he finds slight humour in it and doesn't take my obvious joke seriously.

He smiles and chuckles slightly in response, it's good to know my humour isn't completely foreign to him.

"Aren't your parents home?" he adds, looking around the room once more with a perplexed look on his face.

"No, my mom is out."

"And your dad?" he asks.

"Little intrusive, don't you think?" I furrow my brow with an awkward laugh.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked." he apologises, not knowing where to look.

"We better go." I shrug, walking to the door. Hopefully he loosens up a little. 

I'm automatically awkward due to the questions he asked. In reality, it wasn't an absurd question. Maybe a little intrusive, but unintentionally I'm sure. I've never met my dad, and from what I've heard, thats a good thing. The car ride to the restaurant is filled with silence, the only source of sound being from the radio station Jake turned on, discussing all things football. Thankfully, we arrive outside a lot sooner than I expected.

We pull into a quiet parking lot, just as silently stepping out of the car and making our way inside. As we walk in, we're taken to be seated against the far wall of the restaurant—which is laced with small gold fairy lights in a beautifully webbed pattern. The table is draped with a white mesh cloth and a lit candle is placed in the centre, it's adorable. Small, colourful plants act as centrepieces on each table. He made a good choice at least, I'll give him that.

As we sit down in our seats there seems to be a silence, not an awkward one—surprisingly, but silence nonetheless. 

"So, this place is amazing." I almost squeak, trying to break the monotonous quiet that has blanketed the room.

"It is," he nods.

It is? It is? Two words, seriously? I mentally face palm as I fumble to find something to say, something that won't warrant a two word response. 

"So.. tell me about yourself?" I ask, my voice slowly getting more high pitched as my question left my mouth. This couldn't be more awkward, come on, Jake. Surely this is a conversation starter. I ponder whether faking a sickness is too transparent right now.

"I have a sister, a younger sister—her name is Ava." he says blankly, sliding his fingers over a napkin on the table. 

"Oh, that's cool. How old is she?" I try to squeeze conversation out of him, it's like getting blood from a fucking stone. Is it time to eat yet? Or leave? I'm fine with either. I tap my foot under the table partially from anxiousness, and partially from annoyance at the lack of effort he's making to converse.

"She's six, seven next week," Jake says lowly. "Tell me about yourself." he adds — clasping his hands on the table. This is the longest I've ever heard him speak, I must not be the only one sensing how uncomfortable this is. Thank god, he must've read my mind, or my expression—something I struggle to hide. My thoughts are always written all over my face. Which can be in my favour at times like this, but other times it's not the best to wear your thoughts on your face like a transparent mask.

"Well, I'm seventeen as you know. I turn eighteen in a few months." I begin. "I'm an only child, I live at home with my mom. I go to FIU too, and I'm pretty hungry right now so.. should we order?"  I laugh awkwardly, I feel like I'm rambling on but I don't care. As long as it's making conversation. Anything to fill the weird silence. 

"Why do you live at home if you go to FIU? I thought you'd automatically stay in dorms. Isn't that how it works?" the curiosity in his voice is evident, but so is the judgement, at least we're talking. I choose to ignore the slither of judgement that seeps through simply because it's better than silence.

"I only live ten minutes from campus, which is lucky I guess. I don't care for the 'residential living' and communal showers, sharing my space with a bunch of strangers that I don't really know. My house being so close really just helps me avoid that, and saves money." I tell him honestly, I'm aware of how it can sound, but its true. I've never cared for sharing my personal space with others for the first seventeen years of my life. Why start now?

We order our food and conversation seems to flow reasonably well for the rest of dinner. A few awkward silences here and there, but nothing I couldn't recover with my excessive rambling. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous, abnormally ramble, I hear myself talking and my brain tells me to stop but my mouth just runs away with the words. Jake insists on paying the bill and as we walk to the car to drive home, I feel relieved— making me feel guilty, but it really has been tragic.

He seems like a nice guy, a sweet guy — but we have no connection whatsoever. Our conversations were so forced, and the jokes I made seemed to go completely over his head, which is unfortunate since I'm sarcastic 99.9% of the time.

Jake drives me home and walks me to my door, which I guess was pretty sweet. "Such a gentleman." I tease, gaining a smile from him in return. 

"I had a nice time, Amara. A really nice time." he tells me, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice. He kisses my cheek before walking back to his car. I admire him a little, the moonlight reflects off of his dark green eyes and through his blonde hair — he really is attractive, if only we connected more. Sadly, we didn't. 

I can't help but think Jake felt our date went a lot better than it actually did, he seemed considerably more confident and content by the end of the night. I shake off the weird feeling and turn my key in the door. I fumble with it, shaking it from side to side for a few minutes before realising it was already unlocked — meaning my mom is home. "Great," I sigh to myself as I open the door.

I love my mom, it's not that I don't—but our relationship is certainly strained. She was never around when I was growing up due to her drinking problem, and when she was—she wasn't really present. I always feel as though I missed my childhood, I had to grow up too quickly—to be an 'adult' for my own good when I shouldn't have had to. We have family who visit now and again—my Aunt Carol for example, her husband Steve, and their young daughter Isabella. I'm closest to Carol, she's a second mom to me. My mom has been clean for almost six years now, and our relationship has slowly but surely been mended itself.

Had, should I say.

I walk into the living-room to see her sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders, hands clasped on her lap as she taps her foot against the wooden floorboards. 

"Where have you been?" she gapes, "I text, I called! I was worried." she scoffs, running her fingers through her newly cut short hair.

"You don't have to worry." I reply quietly as I take off my shoes.

"Of course I worried, you didn't answer your phone," she yells.

"We both know you aren't the one who has to worry." I snap, hurt and resentment flooding through my voice. I watch as a small frown tugs at her lips, I know my words hurt her. Subconsciously, I think that was my goal. I hate that.

"I still worry, Mar. I'm still your mom." she sighs, looking down at the floor.

"I know, I'm sorry for snapping. It's only eight thirty, though." I cave and apologise, a half apology. I have no reason to apologise, but I still care. I'm almost eighteen, I don't have to be home by 9pm. She's still my mom, despite how a vast majority of the time—she doesn't act like it. 

"Do you want to watch a movie?" She looks at me with hopeful eyes. 

"It's a newly released one, I think you'll like it. It's about-" she stops herself, obviously reading my expression. 

"Or we can watch the notebook again? I still have it in the cupboard." She almost pleas with me, knowing it's one of my favourites. I used to watch it with her when I was younger, It was the first romance movie I had ever watched that left me crying tears that weren't of joy. I usually hate cliché love stories, but I liked the way it portrayed how it isn't all smooth sailing. You can be torn apart, although they always find their way back to each other. The ending of the movie is happy, yet sad. So, so sad. 

A part of me does want to watch it, I haven't in a while. Although the stubborn part of me decides against it. I can be so strong minded sometimes, and I don't want to give into her tonight. I don't have the energy and it will almost certainly end badly, in an argument or a yelling match. 

"I'm pretty beat, actually. I'm just going to go to bed and read." my tone is neutral but the hurt on her face still registers the same.

"Oh, okay." she flashes me a forced smile, taking her seat back onto the couch and turning on the TV.

"Maybe another time." she says, a statement not a question. Although her voice was asking me, silently pleading with me.

"Yeah," I sigh as I walk to my room, taking off my jacket and tying my hair up. "Goodnight, mom,” I say quietly.

"Mar?" she whispers as I turn to close my bedroom door.

"I'm sorry.." she chokes on her words, making my heart ache.

—“I know.”

I sigh in return and close my door, throwing myself onto the seemingly freshly made bed. My eyes scan my bedroom floor and notice it's been vacuumed, and tidied. She's obviously trying to make up for what she did, but it's going to take a lot more than a tidied room.

She drank for the first time in six years, two nights ago. I walked into her room to find her leaning against her mirrored closet, holding a bottle of rum—her go-to drink. I scooped her off of the floor and put her to bed, on her side to ensure she didn't choke during her sleep, I could do the routine in my sleep. I poured the remaining alcohol down the kitchen sink and joined her in bed, taking in the oh so familiar scene, again. 

Six years of sobriety, thrown away for what? One drunken night alone dancing around her room. One mistake and the past six years have been completely erased, all of the work—not only on her sobriety but on our relationship. I finally had my mom back, until that night. We've barely spoken the past two days, besides a basic 'hello' in the morning and her trying to make up for her relapse by cleaning, or movies, or breakfast. The only ways she knows possible, if only it were that easy.

One mistake, she made one mistake and her life is changed, again. All of the hard work, erased. One stupid, momentary decision, a mere lapse of judgement. I cant help but sit against my headboard and ponder my future, I've always lived life so carefully, desperately trying not to follow in my mother, or my fathers footsteps. Despite not knowing what those footsteps are.

I silently swear to myself that I will never make a decision of that calibre, never one so life threatening and self destructive. 

Or that's what I told myself.

I was naïve, I was naïve in the most blissful way.