FicWad

It had been a few weeks after Brian’s untimely death, and Lindsey had recovered, returning to her normal routine. Fortunately or unfortunately, I wasn’t sure which, I had barely reacted at all to the loss of our friend. I was glad my emotions didn’t overcome me as they usually did, but at the same time, it was unhealthy, even if it was unintentional, to keep all of that in. Still, I felt better, and decided, finally, to get the ring I would use to ask Lindsey to marry me. I had received the very same ring my father had used to propose to my mother, as did my grandfather and his father, too. I had no idea, though, when I would ask her, so I kept it with me, in my pocket, just in case. The thought of the aged but beautiful diamond ring made my heart jump with excitement and nervousness, and I habitually placed my hand to feel the little bump the box created in my pocket.

It was a dry, windy day, and I avoided going outside so I didn’t get caught in any swirls of dust that started to come up in small tornadoes. We usually didn’t have such wind in these areas, but nonetheless, this was inevitable. I only hoped it wouldn’t do any damage. It was Sunday, and just as we usually did, Lindsey and I lounged around the house and did nothing. Sometimes we went out for lunch, and other times met up with people, but usually, we just relaxed. It seemed like we needed a lot of that anyway. I’d made the decision to move my gallery to a different area; it just seemed wrong to keep working where Brian had been killed, and I was exhausted from doing all of the work by myself. I was so used to having Brian’s help.

Lindsey sat in the family room, where the majority of the ceiling was made out of glass, and flipped through an art supply catalogue that we received in the mail monthly. The wooden structures of our house creaked a little in exhaustion from the constant push of the wind, and I turned up the volume of the television to block the sound out. I had to say, while relaxing was fine and all, I hated not being busy, and felt a little restless. I forced myself to get up off the couch and entered the kitchen, starting to wash the dishes. Lately I hadn’t found much inspiration for art, and the criminal that the police had yet to catch had destroyed most of the pieces I was working on, and I abandoned the ones that I had salvaged.

I rubbed my hands under the faucet of the sink, enjoying the hot, steaming water as it flowed over my soft, unused hands. I always found warm water to be calming. I smiled to myself and thought that I should started making a list of relaxing, palliative things I could do when I found myself seeing red. Eventually, I started to slowly clean the used plates and glasses from out dinner the night before. Usually, I put some music on, but this time, I only listened to the rush of water and howling wind through the apertures and crevices of our refined house with the occasional cleared throat from Lindsey. The muffled clinking of ceramic found its way to my ears through the combined sounds, and my shoulders dropped in alleviation. Just as I finally got myself to completely relax, am enormous crash came from somewhere in the house and reverberated through the walls along with a surprised squeak from no other than Lindsey. The house shook from the turmoil, and the previously stifled wind could now be heard whooshing through the house. I dropped the plate I was cleaning into the sink and stumbled out of the kitchen to see what had caused this incredible disturbance.

My heart was pumping, scared what the scream from Lindsey could have meant, whether she was hurt, or god forbid, dead. The state of the family room was horrific. A huge tree had fallen through the glass roof, hitting the couch only several feet from where Lindsey was sitting. The glass was scattered everywhere, along with more debris from the tree and walls, and Lindsey, thankfully unharmed, stood with one hand on her mouth, staring at the tree, and still clutched the catalogue in her hand.

“Lindsey!” I shouted over the increasing wind, and ran over to her. The glass crackled under my feet, which luckily had shoes on them, and I grabbed Lindsey by the shoulders and pulled her away from the tree, placing her somewhere away from the glass, and asked,

“Are you okay?” looking seriously into her eyes. She nodded, clearly unable to talk from the shock. She had several scratches on her face, arms, and legs from the glass that had fallen, but none were too severe. I turned around to the tree and looked at the massive hole in our wall. There, I saw that it wasn’t our tree, but in fact, our neighbor’s. Actually, quite expectedly, it was the very tree that I had complained about to dear old Mrs. Watson, who was undoubtedly the worst and most negligent neighbor I had ever had. It had been dead for years, and being that it was dangerously close to our house, and I frequently asked that she take it down so neither of us would have to face any complications in the future. Lindsey realized this as soon as I did, and ran over, stepping over the glass in only her sock covered feet, and held me tight enough that I couldn’t breathe. She knew as well as I did that I would start growing more and more furious the more I thought about it. But in my defense, I had a right to be angry. Our negligent, practically senile, unfit-for-society neighbor almost killed my wife, and caused thousands of dollars of damage to our house. As much as I wanted to calm down and view this diplomatically, I couldn’t. The unbelievable closeness of Lindsey’s demise was too much for my ability to think rationally. I struggled to get out of Lindsey’s arms, which surprisingly had a pretty strong grip. She had buried her head into my shoulder, and I felt her tears bleeding through my shirt.

“No,” she said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here, baby, I’m here.” Confused and disoriented, I disregarded her pleads, and finally ripped her arms off of me. I ran towards the door and swung it open, not bothering to close it. I skidded down the driveway, and angrily strode up to Mrs. Watson’s front door. It was a large house, unkempt, yes, but still, she must have had a fortune to afford a house that big while she was that old. I banged on her door, sure that she was inside. The lights were on and smoke was coming from a small chimney on the side of the house, presumably a fireplace. The smoke dissipated as soon as it came out of the brick structure from the harsh winds, but nonetheless, it was evident. There was no answer. I peered into the crystal glass windows of the front door to catch any glimpse of her. The lights in the foyer and main hallway were on. I banged on the door and again and rang the doorbell several times, growing more and more furious the more I waited. Through the window, I saw the figure of a stout, thick old lady shuffling across the hallway, disregarding me. I swear I saw her glance over and turn away, making red with rage. My face grew hot.

“Take your responsibility!!” I yelled at the house. Just as I was about to knock again, much harsher this time, Lindsey pulled me back by my arm.

“Come back to the house. Please, Gerard,” she said, twisting around so she stood behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders and pushing me back to the house. I spun around, trying to evade her, but she caught me again, saying, “Please, Gerard, please, please!” pleading over and over. She grabbed on to the front of my shirt, and pulled me to the ground to our knees, then held me in her arms. The wind whistled in my ears, blocking out most of her cries. Spots of blood were scattered on my shirt that I hadn’t notice before. I realized that they had appeared when Lindsey buried her face into my shirt before, trying to calm me down. Streaks of blood still ran across her face from the several cuts made by the broken glass. Seeing this enraged me to an even further extent.

“I don’t want to…” I heard Lindsey say. I supposed that somewhere in me said that was enough of a reason to calm down —her not wanting to deal with my problem— but again, my mind was not rational. As far as my ulterior-self was concerned, she did not matter.


How wrong I was.



A/N: Hello my lovely readers! I'd really like to know what you thought about this chapter! Anything at all, criticism or praise, would be greatly appreciated! Thank you!