Page 31 of The Cabin
“I don’t know how. It’s like the ability to feel it, to let grieving take over is…stuck. I can’t. I just can’t. Like when you’re hammered and need to throw up but can’t.”
“Okay, let’s get wasted then, huh?”
I manage to give Tess a small smile. I need to feel something besides this emptiness, this drowning nothingness.
Something. Anything.18 daysI’ve spent the past three and a half days drunk. It was glorious at first. We’d watch stupid movies and stand-up specials and laugh our asses off, and I know I was faking laughing harder than was necessary.
I’m drunk right now.
But it’s not so glorious.
I’m splayed sideways across my bed, and I can’t get up. The room is spinning. I’m delirious. I wonder if I’ve slept more than two or three hours at a time since…That Day.
I’ve eaten little besides Skinny Pop and cheese sticks and Costco peanuts. Tess tried making Mac ‘n Cheese at some point, but we were both so wasted we let the pot of water burn dry, spilled noodles everywhere, and decided it was best to stick to easy stuff so we didn’t set the house on fire. We only had the one between us, after all.
She’d gone out, the day we agreed to go on a bender, and came back with a whole case of Grey Goose, several 24-packs of various flavored sparkling water, and several bags of limes. And one large punch bowl. We mixed enough for roughly sixty people, and we’ve been working our way through it.
All day.
Well into the night.
Tess passes out first, because she’s just going along with me, and because I think she’s actually feeling more emotions regarding her divorce than she’s willing to admit.
But me?
Oh, me. I’m a colossal fucking disaster.
I still can’t cry.
I can’t even think his name, never mind say it.
I’m a sieve for vodka soda. I pour it into me, and it burns through me, and nothing is left but ice-cold misery.
When will I break?
When will the waves come?
I’m afraid of it, at this point. Terrified.
It’s going to hurt so fucking bad, when it hits.21 days“Tess, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Sober up, and then go find some Ativan.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to freak out. It’s coming. I can feel it. And when it does, I’m scared it’s going to be really, really bad.”
“What does Ativan do?”
“It’ll knock me out. You just stab it into my arm or shoulder. It’s for seizure patients, to stop seizures. It’s also used when someone has an hysterical episode and is at risk of self-harm.”
“Nadia…”
My eyes blur and sting. I blink them away. Not yet, dammit.
“Tess, please. You have to.”
“You’re scaring me, Nads.”
“That’s because I’m scared.”
“That bad?”
“It’s going to be bad. Really, really bad. It’s coming and it’s going to be the worst thing you’ve ever seen.”
“Okay. I have a friend, or more of an acquaintance really. He can get me some, I think.”
“Do what you need to do. Just get some.”
“All right. I will.”
“But first, I need more vodka.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“What fingers?”
“Very funny. How many?”
“Tess, listen to me. Listen.”
“No, stop, just stop. Here, take mine. There you go.”
I take a sip. “This is water, goddammit.”
“I stopped drinking two days ago.”
“This isn’t going to be a wine-and-ice-cream kind of crying, Tess. It’s going to be me in the tub screaming at the top of my lungs. Or something. I don’t know.”
“You’re being very analytical about this.”
“I think I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m not me right now. Nadia Bell is out to lunch. Somewhere out in space. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what life is anymore.”
“You know a lawyer came by yesterday morning?”
“A lawyer? What? When?”
“There was a scheduled reading of the will, and I guess you missed it.”
“The will?”
“Adr—”
“Don’t say his fucking name!” It was an explosion, like she’d stepped on a landmine. “Do fucking not say his name.”
She pales. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Jesus.”
I swallow hard. “No, I—I’m sorry. See? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Here. Drink this.”
“Vodka. Thank fuck.”
“I told him you’d call him, or I would, when you were ready.”
“Okay.” Burning, burning, burning behind my eyes, in my brain, in my chest, where my heart used to be. “I’m sorry, Tess.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I am, though.”
“Okay, here, how about this. I forgive you, in advance, for anything and everything you may say or do.”
“More,” I say, shaking my glass at her.
“Fine, you lush. But this is the last of the un-punch.”
“Good. I think I’m about pickled, by now.”
“Can you even stand up?”
“I dunno. Standing is dumb. Who needs to stand up anymore? I’m not a stand-up kinda gal.”
“Ohhhhh-kay. That answers that.”
“Can I just pee in the un-punch bowl?”
“The physics of that are problematic.”
“Shit.”
“Nads?”
“Yeah?”
“You really need a shower.”
“Just put me in the tub and leave me.”
“That’s not fucking funny, Nadia.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
