Relinquish - His Second Chance

Chapter Twelve

Anger

Two Months Later

Sebastian

"Who are you talking to, Seb?" my father asks as he stands in the hallway, the dim nightlight plugged into the hallway socket lighting him up as if he were from the underworld, which could be a high probability.

"No one," I deny his accusation, sitting up in my bed as I look at the bedside clock.

Five-thirty am.

"Liar," he spits, walking into the room and kicking at the rocking chair; glass crashes, banging on the floor, making me look over the end of the bed and to the twelve or so bottles surrounding the chair.

"She's gone, son," my father tells me, devoid of emotion. His words instantly anger me, but I chuckle instead, throwing my head back to look at the darkened ceiling.

I allow the laughter to fill me up, and only when it's dispersed freely do I lift my head to face the man before me.

"No, she's not," I tell him, venom filtering through my tone, my tongue slurring the words offensively.

"Yes, she is son," he reiterates.

I shake my head in denial; she isn't... she's right in front of me, standing right beside him, actually.

"I didn't want to believe it. I thought you were more man than this," he tells me, sitting in the rocking chair to face me.

"What are you talking about?" I feign innocence.

We stare one another down, his eyes flickering as anger courses through him. He's already dressed, of course, his suit sharp and pressed.

He's most likely on his way to the office; he always is this time of day.

"I'm taking Melody, son. She needs a stable environment you obviously cannot cater to."

"No!" I spit.

"I'm not your mother, nor am I Tina. If I say she's coming with me, she is. She deserves better than this."

~~~

I'm ashamed to say the last two months have passed in denial, longing and pretending and a whole bunch of grovelling to my father.

The months passed, and my denial was rife as I pretended that the visions I were seeing were really my wife in the flesh.

I tried not to talk much around Melody for fear I would trigger a deep response that would scar her for the years to come, but that didn't mean I hadn't slipped up. And apparently, I slipped up before my parents, also.

But upon her bedtime, I would lay and have a full-blown conversation with my wife's vision that I knew deep down wasn't real and never would be.

As her letter stated, grief comes in stages, and my first stage, like many others, was denial.

Denial that she had suffered, denial that she had died on that very night after making love for the very last time, denial that she had left this world, specifically left Melody and me to fend for ourselves, taking one-third of our family with her as she did.

And then she disappeared; a week or so ago, I woke to her lack of appearance after an argument over Melody's sleep regression that my mother was struggling with.

She wasn't in the chair; she didn't watch me shower or sit at the dining table as I ate breakfast.

That morning was just as terrible as the morning I found her lifeless, for she had left me again, this time leaving me without a trace. Leaving me alone to suffer by myself.

Her things no longer smelled of her, my memory of her face seemed somewhat distorted, and my heavy heart had rather bottomed out.

Had my mind finally given up on the denial I was so evidentially grasping onto? I had asked myself.

That's when the anger started.

Anger at every f*****g thing that took even the slightest bit of patience.

Smashing of the pottery and throwing my laptop when I tried to work. Burning some of Beth's favourite reading books that I had promised to keep for Melody because they stared at me for too long as I lay facing Beth's bedside table.

Anger consumes me every second of every day, and I fear that it's rubbing off on Melody, also.

Her sweet and somewhat subdued mannerisms that were not too dissimilar to Beth's have parted ways only for her to be throwing a wobbly at every turn of the day, just like me.

Breakfast? Tantrum.

Lunch? Tantrum.

Leaving her of an evening, you guessed it. Tantrum.

It's safe to say we're in sync, I suppose.

It's also safe to say I'm not equipped to deal with her angry outbursts when my own anger is simmering beneath the surface at any given moment, finding that I'm short with her, telling her off despite knowing she's nothing but a toddler who is not fully emotionally developed.

I think that's why I'm thankful for my mother and her agreement to look after her. Not that it was my choice, but things happen for a reason.

Anyway, I'm failing her... and though I try to adhere to Beth's warning, try to give Melody the same leeway I'm giving myself with my emotions, that doesn't mean by the end of the day that I'm not pulling my hair out and thankful to leave, if only for a few hours.

And then the self-loathing starts.

Recounting the day, hating on myself for everything I did wrong, skipping over the things I did right despite there being a moment or two within the day that I did something right.

That's why I've finally given in to our parent's requests.

My parents wanting me to go back to the shrink, and Beth's parents wanted to have Melody every Saturday evening.

Though I've been visiting her every Saturday afternoon with Melody, much as we have always done since Melody's birth, she wants more.

I've been leaning away from the idea, ignoring the request or brushing it off if she asks in person. But this week has been gruesome for my mum, and so I've finally cracked. Finally, I found the need to allow it.

Though I'm not ready to admit that I'm scared she might take Melody for good because, out of everyone, she's my biggest opponent.

What the f**k am I saying?

Of course, she wouldn't...

Perhaps it might do Melody some good to have some time apart; maybe that day and night will be the reset everyone needs.

There's no harm in trying, no harm in pushing my way forth to being a better father. After all, deciding to be sober was the most significant step forward I've ever taken.

It also allows me to finally go back to the shrink that I've refused to see. My reasoning was my mother made me seek help that I didn't need. Yet here I am, unsuccessfully moving through life being a father I detest.

Three months, that's how long it's been without Beth, and I'm still here, unable to function without her.

"You look rough," Geoff notes as he opens their front door; Melody immediately runs inside to find her Nana.

"Bad night, Melody isn't sleeping again," I lie, ashamed to admit to Geoff or Tina that Melody is staying with my parents at all.

He nods as if remembering those very nights as he turns to reenter his home, and I follow in behind like a lost dog that's running to find its owner.

Tina is in the kitchen baking cookies, that sickly sweet smell leading the way down the hall to her. And as expected, I find Melody on her counter tower.

Placing down her little rucksack and favourite bunny, I move to sit at the opposite side of the counter to watch her roll out a small helping of cookie dough.

She has her own rolling pin, some cookie cutters and a lined tray ready and waiting.

"You look tired," Tina notes as she turns her attention to me. Her eyes appraise me in a way only a mother could whilst taking me in from head to toe. And I wouldn't say I like the worried look that adorns her face.

"Melody isn't sleeping again," I repeat my earlier lie.

"It's probably a regression; she'll grow out of them," she assures me, but the assurance doesn't run deep, for right now, at the moment, it's rough having to lie.

I don't hang around long, deciding that if I'm going to leave Melody, then it would be easier for us both to do it sooner rather than later.

But bidding farewell didn't happen as quickly as I thought it might. Melody starts to scream as I put my shoes and coat back on, her cry so high pitched it's almost curdling.

I don't know why I expected this to go over smoothly, given how she's been behaving. She misses me, and I fear she thinks I'm leaving her like Beth has.

"You're staying at Nana's tonight, darling. Daddy will see you tomorrow," I soothe into her ear as she clings to me for dear life. But my words do not appease her unhappiness, and it ends in me prying my child from around my neck to pass her to Tina.

I walk gingerly towards my car, my heart screaming to return to my child. Yet I push through the discomfort, climbing in the driver's seat only to slam the door to shut out her unhappiness.

Tina turns inside, taking Melody with her as Geoff waves me off.

I'm ashamed to admit that I'm uncomfortably delighted to have the day and evening to myself. To have time to do as I wish and not worry about keeping up good appearances in front of my parents.

I'm free, of sorts, and I'm intent on using my day successfully.