Not Looking for Love: Episode 4 Read Online Free Page A
Author: Lena Bourne
amplified. But I can't stop, I can't close my eyes, can't drift off too sleep. I shouldn't be here, it's too soon.
I don't understand this. Why won't you speak to me? I text after I can no longer feel Scott's presence in the world with me.
It's past midnight now, but I know he reads it. He doesn't reply, yet I'm still finally able to close my eyes, forget my mom's empty bedroom down the hall, five doors down.
A crash in the hallway wakes me. I'm on my feet and rushing from the room in a second, gasping for breath, my heart thundering, pressure rising in my head.
Out in the hallway, Dad's crawling up the stairs, his eyes unfocused. I run to him and try to help him rise, but he's too heavy for me to lift.
"Go back to sleep, Gail," he slurs. "I'm fine."
I'm trembling so hard I can't even speak. He makes it to the top of the stairs and sits on the top step, leaning against the bannister.
"What's happening, Dad?" I finally manage to ask. The image of him lying at the foot of the stairs in a pool of his own blood is so vivid in my mind that tears are trickling down my face. Only I don't sob or whimper. I'm just shaking, balling my hands into fists, nails pressed into my palms.
He shrugs and looks up at me, but can't focus his eyes on mine.
"It has to stop, Dad. You can't drink so much," I say, my voice firm like I'm not imagining my dad buried alongside my mom. Or maybe that's what's giving me strength.
Tears are streaming down my face, flowing across my lips.
"You're right. Of course you're right," he mumbles and manages to stand.
I wrap my arm around his waist and help him to bed. Only now I'm scared to let him sleep, because he might pass out on his back and choke on his own vomit.
I spend the night in the armchair by the window. He doesn't stir once, but each time my eyes close I jerk back awake, my heart racing, because what if he does, what if he dies, what if I'll be an orphan for real at twenty-two?
"Gail," Dad says, shaking my shoulder gently. "Go to bed."
I jerk awake, lunging to my feet. The sky outside is a pale grey and there's a sharp burning pain in my neck from sleeping sitting up.
"Are you OK?" I ask.
He nods and looks at the floor. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"You can't drink so much, Dad. You have to stop. I can't loose you too." I'm sobbing now, crying again, because tears running down my face seems to be my natural state these days.
He wraps his arms around me and the smell of whiskey wafting from him turns my stomach. He holds me tight, his shoulders shaking. "I will. I just need a little more time."
I push away from him and stare at his bloodshot eyes. "Please, Dad. Mom wouldn't have wanted this."
The words choke me, and make his cheek twitch. But it's the truth. I can hear her yelling at him from where I stand, telling him to pull it together, to go on. She asked me to be there for him too, only I haven't been. I let her down. I let him stay in this house all alone, clear out her stuff, try to sleep in a bed a few doors down from where she died. While I did what? Killed my own baby. Chased a guy who clearly never wanted me in his life. Felt sorry for myself. Didn't even study.
Dad's staring at me like I just struck him, but then his eyes soften and he looks back at the floor. "I suppose you're right."
I follow him from the room and down to the kitchen. Despite the fact that the sky outside looks like dawn has barely broken, it's already almost ten. I fix the coffee, while Dad carries the kitchen trash can the living room. Glass breaking startles me a few moments later. After he's done emptying the bar, he carries the full garbage bag to the bin outside.
"There, that's done," he says when he comes back in.
I wish today was trash day, because I can't shake the knowledge that he'll go digging through the dumpster for a bottle as soon as night falls. But there's nothing more I can say, nothing he can promise me that I'll believe.
We sip our coffees in silence.
I don't understand this. Why won't you speak to me? I text after I can no longer feel Scott's presence in the world with me.
It's past midnight now, but I know he reads it. He doesn't reply, yet I'm still finally able to close my eyes, forget my mom's empty bedroom down the hall, five doors down.
A crash in the hallway wakes me. I'm on my feet and rushing from the room in a second, gasping for breath, my heart thundering, pressure rising in my head.
Out in the hallway, Dad's crawling up the stairs, his eyes unfocused. I run to him and try to help him rise, but he's too heavy for me to lift.
"Go back to sleep, Gail," he slurs. "I'm fine."
I'm trembling so hard I can't even speak. He makes it to the top of the stairs and sits on the top step, leaning against the bannister.
"What's happening, Dad?" I finally manage to ask. The image of him lying at the foot of the stairs in a pool of his own blood is so vivid in my mind that tears are trickling down my face. Only I don't sob or whimper. I'm just shaking, balling my hands into fists, nails pressed into my palms.
He shrugs and looks up at me, but can't focus his eyes on mine.
"It has to stop, Dad. You can't drink so much," I say, my voice firm like I'm not imagining my dad buried alongside my mom. Or maybe that's what's giving me strength.
Tears are streaming down my face, flowing across my lips.
"You're right. Of course you're right," he mumbles and manages to stand.
I wrap my arm around his waist and help him to bed. Only now I'm scared to let him sleep, because he might pass out on his back and choke on his own vomit.
I spend the night in the armchair by the window. He doesn't stir once, but each time my eyes close I jerk back awake, my heart racing, because what if he does, what if he dies, what if I'll be an orphan for real at twenty-two?
"Gail," Dad says, shaking my shoulder gently. "Go to bed."
I jerk awake, lunging to my feet. The sky outside is a pale grey and there's a sharp burning pain in my neck from sleeping sitting up.
"Are you OK?" I ask.
He nods and looks at the floor. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"You can't drink so much, Dad. You have to stop. I can't loose you too." I'm sobbing now, crying again, because tears running down my face seems to be my natural state these days.
He wraps his arms around me and the smell of whiskey wafting from him turns my stomach. He holds me tight, his shoulders shaking. "I will. I just need a little more time."
I push away from him and stare at his bloodshot eyes. "Please, Dad. Mom wouldn't have wanted this."
The words choke me, and make his cheek twitch. But it's the truth. I can hear her yelling at him from where I stand, telling him to pull it together, to go on. She asked me to be there for him too, only I haven't been. I let her down. I let him stay in this house all alone, clear out her stuff, try to sleep in a bed a few doors down from where she died. While I did what? Killed my own baby. Chased a guy who clearly never wanted me in his life. Felt sorry for myself. Didn't even study.
Dad's staring at me like I just struck him, but then his eyes soften and he looks back at the floor. "I suppose you're right."
I follow him from the room and down to the kitchen. Despite the fact that the sky outside looks like dawn has barely broken, it's already almost ten. I fix the coffee, while Dad carries the kitchen trash can the living room. Glass breaking startles me a few moments later. After he's done emptying the bar, he carries the full garbage bag to the bin outside.
"There, that's done," he says when he comes back in.
I wish today was trash day, because I can't shake the knowledge that he'll go digging through the dumpster for a bottle as soon as night falls. But there's nothing more I can say, nothing he can promise me that I'll believe.
We sip our coffees in silence.
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