After my shower, and my pain pills, I sat down at the kitchen table, and Deborah put a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast with jelly, and a glass of straight whiskey in front of me. “You need it.” She rested her hand on my shoulder, “Harvey. It’s not your fault, what happened to me.”
I didn’t say anything.
“It’s not your fault I’m broken inside.”
I tried to eat something. Failed. Grabbed the whiskey, downed it, trying to wash away everything I felt. Failed. Again.
“You got me out.”
“I wasn’t soon enough.”
“You got me out.”
I poked at the eggs with my fork. “Is she broken already?”
Deborah didn’t say a word.
“I’m already too late again, aren’t I.”
“Please, Harvey. Eat something.”
I shoveled in a bite of the eggs, then a slice of the bacon. Then, I looked at her.
“You already know. Why are you asking me?” Sometimes, I swear she could look right through me, straight to my soul. “You already know.”
“Sometimes, I think I have enough scars, and maybe I should stop. Forget everything. Go somewhere, and drink myself dead.”
Those empty eyes she had. Me knowing she couldn’t care about anyone, or anything, that she was empty inside, as she looked through me. Her empathy reading me like a book. “You won’t.”
“I won’t.” I finished the eggs. “I can’t abandon them. Other hidden ones.” I even tried to smile, “Her.”
“You’ll save her, Harvey. Like you saved me.”
249 Words
@mysoulstears
It’s Week 487 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.
My Soul's Tears 