Let me carry your story in my heart

Helen and Cleo, "Why don't you love him?"

“Why don’t you love him?” 

Helen freezes, and turns. 

Sprawled in a chair, legs over one arm and back against the opposite one, Cleo is watching her from a little corner of the living room. There’s a glass in her hand, mostly empty, but Helen doesn’t trust that for a moment. Cleo is a woman more in control of herself than most people notice. 

“A century is a long time to-”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You still love everyone else.”

“And I love John. But not like that. I’ve grieved him, and he-” She swallows, hard, thinking of their last meeting. “He’s not the man he was.”

“But he’s not the one who killed those women, either.”

True - the creature is long dead. But...He’s still not her John. Too much has happened.

“Cleo, things are too complicated between us, and-”

“Your entire life is complicated. That’s no excuse at all.” Cleo polishes off her drink, then swings her legs down and stands up straight. If she notices Helen’s irritation at being interrupted, she doesn’t show it. “I’ve been through every possible reaction you could have, and none of them justifies letting him go.”

“Even if that were true, he’s with you. I won’t hurt the relationship he’s built with you for my own satisfaction.”

“Awe, isn’t that sweet.” Cleo coos, voice dripping with saccharine mockery. “You’re so thoughtful.” 

“And you’re drunk.”

“Very, and yet, not enough.”

Cleo stalks across the room, and stops in front of Helen.

“If you’re going to take him from me-”

“All right, that’s enough!” Helen’s patience snaps, as does her voice. “I am not going to allow you to stand in my house and make accusations about me! You can either go to bed and sleep off whatever mood you’ve drunk yourself into, or you can leave. Take your pick.”

Cleo smirks slightly, and then sets her glass down on the dresser. 

“As you wish.” She whispers. 

She stalks off, heels clacking as she goes down the hallway, and Helen watches, trying to fight her rising temper. 

One of these days, they’ll have to put this subject to rest. She’ll not allow Cleo’s insecurities to keep irritating them all like this. Not forever. 

Sherry and Curtis, "I'm sorry."

So, still experimenting with how good/bad Curtis is - he’s a Provider, but he’s been. very jilted and is Not Happy with suddenly becoming the sole caretaker of an 8 year old girl he hardly knows. Especially because he didn’t even know Sherry EXISTED until he was basically marrying her mom. He is not a good dad. So I’m debating like, what’s Too Much and what’s Too Soft. 

So take this with a grain of salt, I might soften Curtis up as I continue to work on this. And either way, he definitely grows some dad skills the longer that he has her. 

~~~

“I’m sorry!”

“Sorry? You’re sorry? You’re not sorry, Sherry, you’re a-”

“I am sorry!” The girl stamped her foot at him, despite the tears in her eyes, rage winning out momentarily over her supposed repentance. 

Curtis grabbed her shoulders and shook her. 

“I’ll show you sorry, you little thief!”

Her sniveling turned into a choked sob, and she jerked back. He let her go, but jabbed a finger at her, hand shaking in rage. 

“Because of you, we don’t eat tonight! Do you get that? No food! Not for either of us! That was all the money I had, you little-” His mouth clamped down on a worse insult, but his blood boiled as he looks at her, in a new dress that had cost, apparently, every penny in his wallet. 

How did this become his life? How did this happen? He was supposed to be happily married, not struggling to get a divorce from a woman he couldn’t find and having to scramble for food for some random kid dropped on his lap. He wasn’t supposed to have people in his house who stole from him and broke his shop tools and whatever else the brat was up to. 

His stomach growled at him, and he let his hand drop to his side. 

Think, he told himself. Pay day in four days. Nothing in my cupboards except two canned beans, unless she took that, too. 

Dragging a hand down his face, Curtis groaned. The rage started to abate, only to be replaced with dread. 

Maybe he could borrow some money? But from who? Certainly not his boss, not his coworkers, he’d already borrowed enough while trying to hunt down his wife. Banks were done with him. Short of going to a pawn shop, or...Just waiting it out. Going four days on coffee and beans. 

Curtis wondered, not for the first time, if he dared try to find Sherry’s actual dad. But no - the man might be even worse than foster care, and Curtis knew first hand how the government took care of kids. Neither of those options were feasible. 

Biting back another threat at Sherry, he shoved past her and rummaged around the cupboards. He heard her sniffling as she followed him in and watched from the sidelines. 

He found three cans of beans. If they split one a day for dinner, it might get them far enough. He could mix it with the leftover milk in the fridge. It wasn’t that spoiled. And maybe he could ask for advanced pay, just a day in advance. He doubted it would work, but...He could try. Maybe he could pick up a side job, or see if a soup kitchen...Yeah, there was that Catholic place a few blocks over, they might be able to help.

Continuing to muse over the food options, he dumped a can of beans and a third of the milk into a pan, and started to heat it up. It took mere minutes. He dumped them into bowls, and dropped Sherry’s bowl on the counter.

“You ever steal from me again,” He growled as he stalked past her to his room. “I’m gonna drag you to the police.”

An empty threat - and not the first one he’d made. He wouldn’t give some girl to the cops any more than he’d give ‘er to the social workers. But maybe it’d keep her hands out of his stuff long enough that they didn’t starve to death.