The seats were firm. Not the pleasant airport pillow firm either, but the kind where you find yourself readjusting every few minutes to prevent pins and needles. The fuzzy feeling as my 6-year-old Ellie likes to call it. Still, I suppose they’re not going to be nice seats considering the context of their use. Maybe after Amy finishes up on justifying why she’s lost out on another Red Chip I can plead my case for memory foam. Still, with 25 minutes left I decided to switch my focus away from the seats to those in them. Four chairs seated the regular misfits but one…remained empty. In a swift process of elimination, I deduced that it was Joan missing. This was entirely out of character. See, Joan revelled in the boastful opportunities each Thursday presented itself with. One person’s trip up was inevitably another glory story for her.
Unwilling to listen to any more anecdotes I excused myself for a cigarette break. Upon reaching into my pocket, I felt my keys, pocketknife, coppers and cash. No cigarettes. Shit. I gestured a two-finger motion over to Harry which triggered a move into his own pocket, whereby he pulled out a crimpled pack of sterling dual and tossed them over. Harry was my saving grace here. He was short and had shaggy dark hair coloured with more streaks of grey than he cares to admit. When he wasn’t mooning over the food pantry manager Georgia we spoke pretty frequently before sessions and after. Georgia would come in during sessions to restock teas, coffees, snacks etc, as she among many others here think that the best way to help us delve into our most regrettable moments is with a cup of tea and a bourbon biscuit.
Harry frequently asked me for advice on how to approach women as a recovering alcoholic, something I’d do for very few including him. We share a familiar sense of regret concerning our pasts Harry and I, and it’s surprising how strongly that can bond a pair.
So, I caught the sterling pack, left the hall and exited towards the front. As I stood outside the September breeze teased my freshly lit cigarette, so I walked round the back of the building towards the car park, where I would be better sheltered. But something wasn’t right. Just to my left, vaguely lit underneath a streetlamp was a small, blue Skoda…it was Joan’s car. This didn’t make sense. In an effort to gain some, I walked towards it.
My steps rapid in pace. As I approached the vehicle a sense of dread began to brew within me. As I got closer, the fear of the unknown became overwhelming. But I remained on course and reached the passenger door…I knelt in line with the window and peered inside…there was something in the back. So, I shifted myself to get a better view. I opened the door and there laying limp and distorted, was Joan. Her neck was raw with vertical claw marks and her eyes open. Neither feature was accompanied with a rising chest, so it was clear to assume that she…was dead. This realisation struck me still, before I started to hyperventilate. The quicker my diaphragm rose and fell the sharper my breaths became. The lack of oxygen to my lungs made my legs quiver and I fell. But I didn’t hit the concrete. My torso was swiftly caught by a pair of fair skinned arms before I was hoisted against the car body whereby, I could regain footing. It was Georgia.
‘You need to breathe for me alright, keep focus on me and breath’ she said. Georgia
mimicked this behaviour and I followed for enough minutes to regain control of my lungs where I explained what I had seen. Trembling from the panic attack aftershock Georgia sat me on the entrance steps whilst she rung for the police and ambulance. Alarmed by the sudden sound of sirens, the rest of the group came outside only to be dazed by blue and met with the universally alarming strips of black and yellow. Having just gotten over the shock myself the last thing I needed was to hear the piercing cries of Amy and erratically formed questions from the rest. Having become numb to the situation herself, Georgia and I decided to leave. I made my way towards the bus stop before she stopped me again and insisted she drive me home herself. ‘You mustn’t go home like this, not on your own. Please let me drive you’. I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to go to a bar. Any bar. No amount of fucking sobriety chips was worth sitting idlily as my brain replayed that sight in the car. I was fiercely desperate for liquid relief so I needed a distraction and Georgia’s company would at least do that, so I accepted.
It was a few minutes into the drive when I first noticed scratches on Georgia’s forearms. Fresh ones. So, I enquired, and she told me that she’d recently got a kitten and it was overly playful. Having no reason to question this I felt her answer a satisfiable one so returned my gaze to the dimly lit streets in front, decorated with glimpses of a silver crucifix that hung from the rear-view mirror. It wasn’t until we passed over several speed bumps where my attention shifted from streets to sounds. The sound of clinking boomed behind me. Immediately fixed on this all too familiar sound, I looked around to have my assumptions confirmed. In the back of the car was a box full of spirts, I’m talking Bacardi., Smirnoff, all the good stuff. Euphoria was an arm’s reach away.
‘Oh, don’t mind those, they’re for a get together this week’ she remarked. Unbeknown to Georgia this had sent a wave of anxiety through me. Upon this realisation Joan’s image remained glued in my mind. Every attempt at a distraction was interrupted by images of her caved in chest and peeled neck. My distress became noticeable to Georgia, and she offered me a Xanax. In dire need of chemical soothing, I took it and immediately felt alleviated. To try and prolong my pacified mind, I shut my eyes…
Now, I don’t know how long I was out for. And I don’t know how Georgia managed to get me inside my flat. But what I do know, is that wasn’t Xanax. I couldn’t move, the only movement I felt was internal pressure attempting to will my body into motion. I analysed every aspect of my surroundings in the line of vision I was granted. But nothing was out of ordinary. My breathing began to quicken which triggered movement, steps were made against the lino flooring and into plain sight…stepped Georgia. She entered clasping a small bottle of Bacardi, with some already drunk she swigged from it again before closing the proximity between us both. She was so close now that her breath screamed with an all too familiar scent. This jarred me. It was clear from the look of her eyes that she had malicious intentions this night. God help me.
She stood again and reached for a bedazzled picture frame on the cabinet. This shot a wave of anguish in me as Georgia’s attention was now on a photograph of my daughter. ‘You see, I had one… once’. Her gaze remained on the image, the subject of this Georgia began to emphasise with a pointed finger before meeting my eyes again… ‘Shall I show you mine?’ she remarked, she shot her glance from Ellie in the picture…to a worn and faded image. Pulled from her back pocket. She met my eyes once more. Approached my currently paralysed body and angled the image in plain sight. I looked up…dread plunged into my gut. ‘Pretty isn’t she? Of course, she wasn’t so pretty after…four broken hip bones, a fractured forearm, blunt head trauma, 4 cracked ribs and…one, shattered, jaw’.
My heart dropped.
It did so because this was not the first time I had seen the girl in the picture, nor the first I was hearing of her injuries. 11 years on and I can recall those details as clear as the day the prosecution told them…Georgia kept silent. She wore a look like I had never seen before. Seconds passed before all emotion ran from Georgia’s expression. She appeared vacant and derelict. Unable to express any sincerities of my own, any ownership or remorse, I watched desolately as she swigged the rum once more and pulled up her sleeves. This exposed a field of scars across her. She reached once more for the frame on the countertop and smashed it against the wall*.* Shards now scattered across the printed flooring, she bent to retrieve the piece most prominent and as her eyes locked mine, daring me not to look, a strip of red appeared across her wrist. Vibrant in colour, a strip of blood dripped down to her fingers. ‘I do that to remind myself there is life still in me. As you can imagine, the loss of a child can make you forget.’
I ached with emotion. As hers flowed ruby mine did remorse, regret, sorrow, fear, everything. This had what she had been waiting for I suppose. I never divulged details of why I joined AA in the sessions, meaning that Georgia on her stop inns would have no way of knowing that I killed a little girl drunk driving, no way of knowing unless…unless this. She mothered that child and ruthlessly mourned her since that day, she never forget the faces of the women that took the joy out her life. It seemed today was inevitable.
Georgia exited the lounge and returned upon her retrieving…instruments. I was helpless. Still. With the city that neighboured sleeping and lights lowly lit, Georgia needed to wait no more. She stepped towards me, slowly, taunting me, she traced over my jawbone with the jagged knife she held. After minutes of teasing me with my final moments, she lowered her lips to my ears and simply uttered… ‘you reap what you sow’.
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I wish my story ended here, that I got what I deserved and my life was taken as revenge for Georgia’s daughter. However, when I came to the very next morning Georgia was gone… and so was Ellie.