Co-dependence on At Home

Deidre Beales

May 02, 2020 12:29 PM

Co-dependence by Deidre Beales

CW: Alcohol black-out, depression, suicidal thoughts.

Deidre Beales was having a rough year. It started with her car breaking down. Driving in Boston was wretched at the best of times, but one of her jobs was outside the city where she couldn't just take the subway to. So she'd lost that one because she couldn't get to it anymore and without the job, she couldn't afford to repair the car. Even with the job, she'd have been hard pressed to pay for that and the apartment and food for herself and her daughter. So the car didn't get fixed. And then she lost another job because she was late too many times because the buses didn't run on time, and that lost her the apartment.

She found a cheaper one, but it was bad and the State came in and took Mallory away. Mallory hadn't been gone more than an hour before Diedre was, too. No need for an apartment she couldn't really afford if she didn't have Mallory. She hadn't sold the car yet, hoping that she'd eventually be able to get it working again, so she moved her stuff into there and that would provide sufficient shelter until she could get a place the State approved for habitation. Then, while she was working her last job, the car got towed from failing to pay the parking rate.

That was just about the last straw. She didn't have two thirds of her normal income. She didn't have a home. She didn't have a car. Most distressingly, she didn't have her daughter. She had no phone, no address, so it was nearly impossible to reach out to find out how to even get visits with Mallory until she could sort out her situation.

When she finally did, she learned Mallory had run away and nobody knew where she was. That was the last straw. Diedre couldn't handle any more. She didn't actually remember the next few weeks, just that it started with an Irish bar and a guy offering to buy her a drink. She'd . . . had a lot to drink. For a lot of days.

When she eventually sobered up, she was in a bathroom she only blearily recognized and she was looking at a plus sign. That must have been what finally cleared the alcoholic haze.

This wasn't happening again. She looked at the plus sign.

It was happening again.

She used the handily convenient toilet to throw up. She had to get out of here. She had to stop. She couldn't do this again, not like this.

She got into a program. They got her through withdrawal. They got her a place to stay. They got her prenatal care. They were already talking about taking the baby away if she couldn't get stable before he was born.

They lost Mallory. They weren't getting her second born.

She was seven months pregnant, walking around the streets of Boston. It was December, and everything was decorated to Christmas. Deidre had never felt more depressed. She stood on a bridge and was seriously considering just jumping off.

"Don't," the voice said. Male. Older. She turned, and saw a man easily old enough to be her grandfather. His hair was white. Face lined. He seemed healthy and spry enough for his years, but his eyes were old.

"Why?" she asked.

"They win," he said.

"Who?" she asked.

He shrugged, and looked down at the road below the overpass. "Those that don't want you anymore."

She thought about that for a long moment. There were a lot of people who didn't want her anymore. She wasn't sure she cared if any of them won or not.

"Don't let them win," he told her again.

"Why?" she asked again.

"Because they're wrong."

"How do you know?"

He looked at her. "I don't. Prove it to me."

"How?" She paused, then added, "Why? I don't even know who you are."

"David," he said. "David Price the Second."

Oh, the Second. Not Junior like a normal person. Some hoity toity rich white dude then. "Why do I need to prove I deserve to exist to you, David Price the Second?"

"You don't. You need to prove it to yourself. Just as I do."

"And how do we prove that?"

"Keep living."

She frowned. "That's easier to do if you have somewhere to live."

David Price the Second hummed. "My apartment has an extra room," he told her. "You're about my youngest son's age. He chose to live with my ex-wife when she left me. I never got to know him as an adult. I have never met my grandsons."

She felt a brief wash of pity for him. "I'm not sleeping with you," she said, to be clear.

He looked at her in surprise, white eyebrows raised. "Young lady, this is misplaced guilt, not lust, I assure you."

She frowned at him a little longer. "Will you sign a paper verifying that I have stable housing and food so they don't take my son from me?"

David Price the Second thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I am not changing any diapers," he qualified. "And you cook the food. These newfangled contraptions burn the toast every time."

She couldn't help a short laugh. "Deal."

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