A Snippet From a Downward Spiral

Fiction; Part of how a whirlwind romance spiraled into tragedy

[This is a snippet from my noir-inspired story Folie à Deux, which is a prequel to Death's Kiss. Being noir-inspired, the story begins at the end and is then told in flashback. The beginning of this story can be read here.]

George was supposed to have been home by six. It was nearly 7:30.

Violet’s jaw clenched as she glanced from the stove to the small kitchen window. The streetlights had turned on since she’d last checked fifteen minutes ago, the hazy orange sky was melting into nightfall, and there was still no sign of George.

Violet’s grip on the counter tightened. She ran her fingers through her hair, which was frizzy from the heat from the stove. This was the third time this had happened this week. She grabbed a wooden spoon and began stirring the stew so harshly that some of it splashed onto the burner. It sounded like the globs of stew were screaming as they sizzled and shrunk into themselves. It was satisfying to watch, for some reason. Violet shook her head and got back to stirring.

The timer was supposed to ring in fifteen minutes. She wondered if he’d actually be home before it cooled again. Stir the pot. Stir the pot. Stir the pot.

She heard Carol running around in the living room, and her head throbbed. Please, she couldn’t handle Carol right now. Not right now. Not on top of everything. She always got like this when her father was late. She wanted her father, and the later he was, the more rambunctious she became.

Violet’s vision swam as Carol’s footsteps grew louder. The heat coming off the stove was too hot, her hair was falling into her eyes, and her husband wasn’t there to gently pull it back. Even if he had been, he’d dote on their daughter first and foremost. Violet’s fingers tensed on the spoon.

It wasn’t long before Carol bolted into the kitchen, squealing, “Mama! The clock says it’s 7:29! Daddy’s soooooo late! When’s he gonna get home?”

Violet’s frown deepened. “Carol, you know you shouldn’t be running in the house.”

Carol pouted and wrung her hands. “Sorry, mama.” Then, she gave her a sheepish grin. “The stew smells good, though!”

Despite herself, Violet smiled softly. “I’m glad you think so,” she said.

“What time’s daddy gonna get home?” Carol asked again.

Violet sighed. “I don’t know.” she stared balefully into the steaming stew as she spoke. “He seems to be getting home later and later, these days.”

“I’m gonna wait for him by the window so I can see him the minute he gets home!”

Violet nodded absently. “Sounds good, dear.”

With that, Carol went back into the living room.

When the door finally opened, the stew was cooling on the stove for the second time that night. Violet could hear Carol’s excited peals of laughter and her eager footsteps as she ran into her father’s arms, could hear George’s fond chuckling in turn. Like nothing was wrong. Like he’d showed up at six like he was supposed to, like he hadn’t made them wait an hour and a half for dinner. Violet listened to their laughter, not absorbing many of the words being said.

She could hear George starting to tell Carol a story about his day, something about some stupid package he had to deliver, so Violet interjected sternly from the kitchen, “George. I’m sure you can tell her over dinner. It’s been ready for an hour and a half. Don’t make Carol wait any longer for her supper.”

“Aw, you girls didn’t have to wait for me to eat.” he said as he and Carol started coming towards the kitchen.

“Don’t be silly. We always do,” Violet said. The table had been set nearly two hours ago. The food reheated once. One of these days, Violet wouldn’t wait.

Dinner was a tense affair. Carol bombarded George with questions about that package he delivered, probably some radio or armoire or something mundane like that. Violet said nothing, just glared at George for the entirety of dinner. George tried to initiate a conversation with her a couple times, but his easy-going grin faltered when he saw the look on her face, and he quickly gave up. He settled deep into his seat with a pained look on his face. He knew he’d done wrong, and he knew Violet was going to give him hell for it.

Good.

They put Carol to bed after dinner, earlier than usual. She protested, but not too much. As soon as she was tucked in and her bedroom door was shut, Violet led George further down the hallway and began. “This can’t keep happening, George.” she said.

George nodded impatiently. He had clearly been expecting to hear this all night. “I know. I know, honey. But they promised to pay overtime-”

“They don’t have any money to pay overtime!” she raised her voice. “They can barely afford to pay your salary on time!”

“They had no one else to do it!” George’s voice rose in turn. “Everyone else’d already gone home for the day when we got the damn thing in, and it had to be shipped out today. I didn’t have a choice, Vi! You think I wouldn’t rather be at home with my girls? You think I’d rather be driving alone down a one-lane street after everyone else’s already gone home, just to deliver a package to someone who doesn’t give a damn about me?!” George clutched his head in his hands. “The last time I told my boss no, he docked my pay for the week. I didn’t have a choice, Vi.”

That wasn’t good enough. “Who says you didn’t have a choice?” She snapped. “To hell with your boss! You could have come home on time, actually spent time with your family instead of doing work you won’t even be paid for, and for what? Docked pay? We are surviving. We won’t starve off one-”

“Because I didn’t want my job to be next, Vi, goddammit!” he roared. The noise seemed to echo through the dark, narrow hallway.

Violet only flinched a hair. She refused to back down. “I think that, maybe, you weren’t doing your job at all tonight!” she cried.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been coming home late more and more, lately. Every day, I have to wonder where you are, how late you’ll be this time, whether this will be the first time you saddle me with Carol for the entire damn night. And what package would take you nearly two hours to deliver?! It’s a small town, George! The houses are all packed together! You leave me alone all day to take care of our child while you’re off doing God knows what-!”

George stammered, half-formed words and excuses spluttering out on his tongue before he finally shouted, “What are you talking about right now? Do you really think our daughter’s some kind of burden?”

Violet scoffed. Of all the things for him to focus on. “Of course she’s a burden, George! She’s a child! All children are! That’s why I need you here! Not doing some grunt work you’re hardly paid for!”

If that is what you’re doing, Violet added to herself spitefully.

In a cool voice, she asked, “When I wash your clothes, am I going to find another woman’s lipstick on your shirt’s collar?”

The world seemed to hold its breath. George stared at her for a moment, deathly quiet. His eyes showed her how hurt he was by that accusation, and in that moment, she almost regretted saying it. Almost. The hallway felt too small.

The shadows on George’s face seemed to harden as his shock and hurt turned to anger. He narrowed his eyes and said, “I don’t like what you’re implying here, Vi.” His voice was controlled, quiet, but full of fury. She wished he’d still been screaming.

Violet only faltered for a moment. “Well, what else am I supposed to think?

“You’d think I’d cheat on you?!” His voice raised again, this time laced with hurt. “Really?! I’ve never so much as looked at another woman the entire time I’ve been with you-!”

“And what about the times you weren’t with me? When you were overseas? What about then?!”

“Oh, for God’s sake. You think I was ogling other women over there between getting shot at?! I was never one of those guys, Vi! To think! You’d really think that I’d-”

“You always leave me! You left me alone with Carol for two years,” Violet’s voice cracked as she looked down at the hardwood floor, clutching her elbows like they were a replacement for stability. George tried to interject, (“You act like I had a choice-”) but Violet barrelled over him. “Who’s to say you’re not leaving me right now?”

Her words seemed to shake George to his core, his words dying on his tongue. Violet shivered in the cold hallway. There was a tense moment of silence.

Finally, George said, “I’m going to bed.” Quietly. Firmly.

His footsteps echoed in Violet’s ears as he marched off, like he was still a soldier going off to war. Tears threatened to brim over her eyes. Violet bit her lip and sank against the wall. Her heart ached. He always abandoned her, whether he wanted to or not. She wasn’t surprised when he abandoned the conversation, either.

_______________

They slept in the same bed that night, but facing away from each other with a wide distance between them. They were quite obviously Not Speaking for the night.

Or, at least, it had seemed that way. Then, Violet woke from her restless drifting to her husband tossing and turning, breath short as he cried out in his sleep. A nightmare.

As soon as she realized this, she was wide awake.

She crossed the barrier between them and shook her husband gently. “George. Darling, wake up. George.”

It took a few moments - it usually did - before George screamed and bolted upright. He was panting uncontrollably, eyes wide as he stared unseeing at the foot of the bed.

Violet sat not a foot away from him, her knees folded under her clasped hands. “George, darling-”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“For what? What are you sorry for?” she asked soothingly.

It was like she hadn’t even said anything. George kept breathing too quickly, staring at horrors long gone. Without a second thought, Violet grasped his hand gently.

After a few moments, George blinked, truly seeing for the first time since waking up. His breath faltered but grew no less panicked. Violet waited until he chanced a glance to his side, where she sat. He stared at her with a haunted gaze, as if he was just realizing she was there. “Vi?” he asked breathlessly.

“I’m here, darling,” she whispered, “I’m here.”

George’s gaze flicked down to their touching hands. His jaw trembled. He hesitated one moment, two. Three. Then, she felt his fingers tentatively curl between hers. As soon as they were entwined, George tightened his grip, hard, like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. Violet strengthened hers in turn, offering him the support she knew he needed.

Tears spilled down his cheeks. “Vi…Violet…” he said between shaky breaths.

“Shhh. Collect yourself, sweetheart,” she whispered. She could see his Adam’s apple bobble as he swallowed and nodded. Their hands shook with him. His tears glistened in the moonlight.

“I-” he gasped, “I need-”

“What do you need?”

“Hold me. Please. I-I need to know-”

Violet hadn’t forgotten their argument. She enveloped him in her arms anyway. “I’m here, George. I always am.”

After what could have been a few minutes or thirty, George’s cries died down.

“’M sorry for waking you up,” he mumbled.

She had a feeling that wasn’t what he was originally going to say. Violet pursed her lips, but didn’t call him on it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him wordlessly. He was trembling. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

George shook his head. “Just… keep holding me? Please?”

“Of course,” she whispered.

For a while, they sat there in silence. Violet stroked her husband’s back absently, listening to the crickets chirping and the cicadas singing outside. She hoped he hadn’t woken Carol. It had been hard to get her in bed so early in the first place, especially when she could tell and if she was awake, she’d want to know why her father had yelled out in the middle of the night and was crying into her mother’s shoulder. A girl shouldn’t have the horrors of war explained to her.

George shivered silently against her breast.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked, quietly. She could feel his breath on her skin with each whispered word.

Violet hummed and shifted to look down at her husband. “Hmm? Regret what?”

George didn’t look up at her. “You know. Ditching your family for a down-on-his-luck chump like me.”

Violet kept herself from asking that question every day. She fought to keep her feelings from bubbling to the surface.

She pursed her lips. “Well, you weren’t quite so down-on-your-luck when I first met you, darling.”

“To your family I was.”

Her fingers tensed. “Their opinion of our lives stopped meaning anything once they chose not to be a part of them.” She said firmly.

“Vi…”

Violet bit her lip. She was dodging the question, and both of them knew it. “No,” she said, finally. “I could never regret it.”

The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Violet wondered which one of them she was lying to.

George didn’t believe her. She could tell. He nodded numbly. “I was telling the truth, you know. No other woman over there could have even held a candle to you, Vi. I would look at the poor saps who disappeared for one night stands and feel sorry that they didn’t have a woman like you waiting for ‘em back home.”

Violet’s heart pumped faster. It threatened to burst out of her chest. Tears lined her eyes.

“I love you, Vi,” George said. “You, and only you. Never forget that.”

Violet fidgeted. She had a lot of complicated feelings about George, and they grew harder for even her to understand every day. But underneath it all…she breathed a shaky sigh. “I love you too, God help me.”

George chuckled weakly and settled more firmly into her arms.

“I’m still mad at you, you know.” Violet said.

“I didn’t think you weren’t.” he said.

“In the morning. We can talk about it in the morning,” Violet said. “For now, try to go back to sleep.”

George nodded, and they drifted into a restless sleep resolved to talk about it the next morning.

(They never did talk about it that morning.)