Willpower Of A Lifetime

Never give up

Susan rolled over and felt her arm sliding into something slick and sticky. A groan rose from the depths of her throat as the stench of regurgitated liquor filled her nostrils. Dragging herself out of a restless sleep that felt more like oblivion, her eyelids slowly opened. Her eyes couldn't quite focus, her blurry vision landed on what had woken her. Susan was sprawled in a puddle of slimy vomit. In a surge of self-loathing and revulsion, she slung her arm with a cry of disgust and flung the vile, chunky mess from the bed. The sickening splatter left trails of bile and foul liquid oozing down the cherry wood dressers and taupe walls. She kicked her legs wildly against the tangled sheets in a desperate struggle to free herself from the filthy imprisonment. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she slowly sits up. Her body swaying like a pendulum, back and forth. Another wave of nausea churned in her stomach, the acrid taste of bile rising in the back of her throat. Clapping a trembling hand over her mouth, she half-ran, half-stumbled towards the bathroom, her bare feet slapping into the unseen streaks of vomit.

Walking back into the bedroom, she grabs the phone off the charger. The lit-up screen confirmed the horrifying fact: three days. Three whole days swallowed by another drunken stupor.

A silent scream echoed in her mind: Oh Lord, I have to stop this.

A stark realization hit her with brutal force: I'm in my twenties, drowning myself in liquor worse than I ever did in my teens.

The shame swallowed her whole. She trudged across the beige carpet, now marred by dark, sticky stains – a testament to her many drunken binges. The thought of a long, hot shower would help to clear her mind. A knot of dread tightened in her stomach at the thought of facing her children and husband. Her usual excuse of 'Momma's been sick' felt hollow. Her five and six-year-olds were growing more aware, their innocent eyes beginning to register the dark truth.

The hot water beat against her aching back, a soothing balm for her abused body. Her thoughts drifted to her husband. He's been so good to her. How he put up with her through the chaotic storm of her addiction, she'd never know. A chilling fear fluttered deep in her soul with the image of him walking away with their children, leaving her utterly alone.

Taking in a deep, jittery breath, Susan forced herself toward the happy sounds of laughter. But the moment she crossed the threshold, the jovial noise quickly ceased, replaced by a suffocating silence. The air in the room was thick with unspoken accusations. She threw back her shoulders and put on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hello, my beautiful family".

The kids muttered, "Good morning, Mommy." But their tone lacked the usual cheer.

Robert's gaze may as well have been a punch to her stomach. The harsh screech of his chair scraping against the linoleum pierced the silence as he shot to his feet. You could iron the shirt right on his back; it was so stiff. His words were short and devoid of warmth. "There's spaghetti on the stove." With one hand clutching his mug, as if it were a lifeline, he stalked out of the kitchen without so much as a flicker of acknowledgment.

Susan went through the motions of bedtime. She read the kids a story, tucked them in, and kissed them goodnight. A knot settled in her stomach; the time of facing Robert had come, the painful post-binge conversation.

"Susan, honestly, I'm at my breaking point. How long do you expect us to keep going through this? You stagger throughout the house, a hot mess, spewing slurred words in front of our children. Susan, you need to be back in AA tomorrow. No excuses."

"I'm so sorry, Rob," I try, you have to believe me, I truly do. It's like... like something just takes over. The pressure builds and builds until...'"I'm sorry, Rob. I don't know why I do it. The stress just gets to be..."

"Stress?' Dammit, Susan, I'm drowning in the same stress, plus the weight of your addiction! You parade through town in taxis, a public spectacle, running into our friends, our colleagues! They used to come to me, their faces full of concern, asking if you were okay. Now? Now they just offer these pitying glances, or worse, disgusted stares. Get it under control, Susan! If not for yourself, or me, then at least for the sake of our children!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++

The oldest child, Jenny, is now sixteen years old. She slowly drags her feet up the porch steps, with an insidious dread that fills her entire being. The thought of the next couple of hours alone with her mom stretched before her. During her mom's binges, a chilling pattern had emerged of her mom seemingly trying to terrorize her. She eased the living room door open. A wave of relief washed over her as she scanned the empty living room. Please, please let her be in her room, passed out.

Her bookbag landed with a soft thud on the faded cushions of the couch. She slipped into the kitchen to make a sandwich. The steep staircase leading to her parents' bedroom loomed at the far end of the kitchen. Gently, she opens the refrigerator door, grabs the mustard and roast beef, then eases the door shut. That's when she heard the bedroom door open. Her mom stood at the top of the stairs in her long, flowing, white nightgown, dark rings under her eyes, and her hair disheveled. Susan, now in her late thirties, called out in a haunting voice, "Jennnnneeee, Jennnnneeee, is that you?"

Chills ran down Jenny's spine, her stomach dropped to the floor, like a giant anchor snagging it and dragging it into the deepest parts of the Mariana Trench. Hesitantly, she called back, "Yeah, Mom, it's me. Do you need something?"

"Jenny, I can't go on living like this." The rawness in her mother's voice hung heavy in the air. Suddenly, her mom pulled her arms dramatically from behind her back. Jenny drops the bread onto the floor as she stares at the blood streaming from both of her mom's wrists. Without uttering another sound, her mother falls forward and tumbles head over heels down the hard, wooden steps. A sickening thump echoed from the bottom landing. "Mom!" A strangled cry escaped from Jenny's lips as she ran to the foot of the stairs, her heart hammering in her chest. With trembling fingers, she reaches for her mother's neck, searching until she detects a faint pulse. Fearful, she lunged for the phone to call 911. Snatching tea towels from the counter, she ties them tightly around the bleeding wounds, the fabric turning crimson as she wraps. The pressure finally slowed the bleeding to a trickle, which bought Susan the time she needed until the ambulance finally arrived.

Two years went by, each day a testament to Susan's fierce resolve. The fractured pieces of their family life slowly, painstakingly, began to mend, growing stronger with each passing month.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Brian, the youngest child, now twenty-four years old, hung up the phone, his voice strained with defeat and frustration. "Sorry, Dad, I've called every hotel and motel Mom could afford. She's not registered at any of them."

A knot of dread tightened in Jenny's chest. "And I called all of the hospitals, even the morgues, she's not listed at any of them, and they don't have any 'Jane Does' that match her description."

The weight of not finding her settled on Robert's shoulders. "Then, it's time we call the police."

They spent a week and a half hanging flyers on every available surface. They visited stores and liquor stores. A couple of the liquor stores remembered seeing her about a week prior, but not since. Taxi drivers offered the same dead ends, and Uber did not have her on file. The family was at a loss and went through the days in a fog of fear and anxiety. They wondered if they'd ever see her again.

Then, at about eleven p.m., a jarring bang-bang-bang echoed throughout the quiet house. The family rushed from their bedrooms, in a desperate hope that it was Susan. Robert flung the door open. Instead of Susan, two uniformed police officers stood on their porch with somber expressions. "Sir, we're sorry to disturb you so late. But are you Robert Miller, married to Susan Miller?"

Robert's heart felt like it stopped in the middle of a beat. "Yes. Yes, that's me. Is... is she alright?"

"Your wife was found in the woods. She was nude, and it appears she was assaulted. She's been taken to Saint Mary's Hospital."

A strangled sound escaped Robert's lips. "Oh, no... Susan! Thank you, Officer, thank you."

The drive to the hospital was filled with anxious prayers and choked sobs. Bursting through the emergency room doors, they rushed towards the reception desk, pleading that they would find Susan okay.

The family was shown into the waiting room to wait for the doctor. Robert paced the floors, and the ticking of the clock seemed to be bouncing off the white walls, causing Robert's heart to sink a little deeper with each tick.

Finally, a man in a crisp white coat approached. "Mr. Miller?" he began, his voice gentle but heavy with the weight of difficult news. "Hello, I'm Dr. Winsock. I'm sorry to have to tell you that your wife has been sexually assaulted and has sustained several hematomas from being brutally struck about the face and ribcage. She also sustained a fracture to her radius. It appears she was out there for a couple of days. As you're aware, the temperature plummeted into the thirties, with a downpour throughout the night the day before yesterday. Tragically, this exposure has led to her developing double pneumonia. Your wife is in serious, but stable condition. We will monitor her closely, continue treatment, and dedicate all our efforts to her recovery."

"Oh, Lord. Can we see her? Please?" Robert pleaded.

Dr. Winsock nodded slowly. "I will allow it. But please, don't wake her". They crept into her room. The sight of Susan stole the air from their lungs. A small, choked yelp escaped Jenny's lips, and tears streamed down her face. Robert's hand flew to his mouth, stifling a groan, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror. Brian mirrored his father's emotions, his face full of shock and grief.

Susan's face was full of angry black and blue bruises. Both eyes were swollen to grotesque proportions, one nearly sealed shut. Robert was surprised that no facial bones were broken. She had been badly beaten. The head of the bed was elevated, propping her up, and an oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. IV lines pierced her arm. Susan was deathly pale and clammy. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors revealed an elevated heart rate and blood pressure, while the oxygen saturation reading was lower than normal, a sign of her lack of oxygen. A grim understanding settled in Robert's heart: Susan faced a long and arduous battle. But he knew with all certainty that the family would be right there by her side to help her through each trying step.

+++++++++++++++++++

Fifteen years have gone by since Susan had her last binge and almost lost her life to it. Her family survived the struggles that her drinking had caused, but they have come out of it closer and stronger than ever. Especially Susan. She now spends her time hosting family and friend get-togethers and enjoying her grandchildren. Robert and Susan spend their free time traveling when possible and try to have at least one whole family vacation once a year. They look forward to fulfilling as many items on their bucket list as they're able, and just enjoying everyday life and each other.


1997 Words
Written for "What a Character! : Official WDC Contest"  [E]