Chapter 2 - Goodbye Stranger

Goodbye, stranger, it’s been nice / I hope you find your paradise

Tristan walked up out of the subway station into the dim light of a Summer sunset. The humidity was oppressive this time of year and Tristan felt like it pressed in on him like a vice. The old brownstone he and Lilith rented did not have any kind of central air conditioning and August evenings tended to be hellish hot and muggy affairs. Still, the night was clear and he was amazed to see a few stars twinkling in the sky. It was a good omen.

He’d stay late again, working on finishing the Peters proposal. He lived in this dual edged world where Lilith encouraged him to be ambitious and climb for promotion at work but every time he did the things necessary to accomplish that, it turned into some sort of issue about why he had done it. Why the hell couldn’t she make her own supper for once?

It was that constant, low grade tension that infected their relationship. He worked so hard to mitigate it some days that it felt like a full time job in itself. But no relationship was perfect and he knew what she had dealt with as a child. If this was all going to work, it was up to him to put in the effort to do it. And he did love her, there was just something back in that ancient, ancestral part of his limbic brain that clawed at him. Was this the way it was for everyone? This had been the way for his parents, her parents. Maybe this was just life?

Tristan sighed and let his shoulders drop as he walked through the front door.

Lilith was there in the living room, fixing him with a dead stare and a glass of red wine in her hand.

Tristan quickly plastered a smile across his face. The smile he always hoped would placate her but never did. The absurdity of that thought struck him just then. Why did he feel the need to placate her? Wasn’t she the one that was always telling him to do everything to advance at work and live up to his full potential? Wasn’t she always the one that questioned why he didn’t make more and why they were reduced to living in a walk up when her sister had a veritable mansion on the outskirts of the city? Wasn’t she always the one constantly buying him expensive clothes and telling him to dress for the job he wanted and not the one he had?

But she was probably half a bottle in and he could see the storm brewing in her eyes.

“Hey,” he started as he intentionally pitched his voice with a happy tone, “I stayed late again tonight — finalizing the Peters proposal before Friday. It felt good to make progress.”

She smirked and flipped her long black hair back across her shoulders. The smirk. The hair flip. She had tells. He could see them.

“You always do that — work obsessively,” she seethed, “It’s like nothing else matters to you. Don’t you ever think about balance? You look exhausted.”

It didn’t matter if he saw it coming or not, it always caught him in the same spot. A quick jab in the middle of his stomach. Not a hard punch per say but it lands for sure. That ancient part of your brain booting up for another round.

“I do think about balance,” he again placated, “I just wanted to get this done so the team can move forward. I’m proud of the push.”

And why the hell aren’t you proud of me doing exactly what you always say I should do?!?!?!?, the voice in his head yelled angrily.

“Proud? You’re proud of working late instead of being present,” she dismissed, “That’s a weird thing to be proud of. Are you doing this to impress someone? It sounds a little insecure.”

Bloody fucking hell!, the voice yelled again.

It was this duality of conversation that exhausted him the most about these conversations. Why couldn’t he just be angry and yell and scream and tell her how he felt? What held his tongue? How could he hold it together when he was a seething emotional mess inside?

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he soothed as he reached for the hand that didn’t have the wine glass in a death grip, “I just care about doing a good job and supporting the team. When you say it like that it hurts — it feels like you’re minimising what I do.”

When I’m doing exactly the thing you wanted me to do!

And now he was placating two people; Lilith and the voice.

“Hurt? Really? I was only making an observation,” Lilith punched back harder, “You’re so defensive. I can’t even make a simple comment without you getting upset. Why do you always turn everything into a fight?”

Tristan’s shoulders slumped visibly and his head tilted forward ever so slightly. This was always the point where he felt like he’d slept walked into a swamp and now he had woken up in waist deep mud. How best to get yourself back out? Notch up the placating? Fight back? Try to back away quietly and hope it dies down?

Surrender.

He rose and walked into the middle of the room. Maybe a little space would calm things down a bit? Maybe if he just explained himself a bit better?

No. Surrender. White flag time.

“I didn’t mean to make it a fight,” he offered, a tone of pleading entering his voice, “I’m saying the tone — it sounded dismissive, like my effort didn’t matter.”

Again a smirk. A subtle dismissive laugh.

“Dismissive? That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one who decides you’re working for validation. I was trying to help you see you’re burning out. Now you’re being dramatic. You always overreact when I point things out.”

And as if to punctuate her point, she rose and turned towards the kitchen. The brisk walk and her body language said only one thing; you better follow or my wraith will elevate.

He didn’t feel like ducking a wine glass again tonight so he followed faithfully.

He quickly covered the space between himself and the kitchen and pushed his way through the swinging butler door. His body was on high alert. He could feel it. How would this end tonight? He could feel the energy accumulating, like static electricity collecting at his fingertips. He was so tired of this dance but what else could he do?

Be home on time next time you jerk. I sat here all by myself all night.

Oh, there’s the other voice in his head. The one that sounds like her. The one that chastises him when he goes out with his friends or doesn’t want to do the things she wants to do.

How selfish of you.

She already had the wine bottle in her hand in the instant it took for him to get to the kitchen. Good, it wasn’t empty. That wouldn’t be a projectile tonight.

“I appreciate concern, but the ‘obsessively’ comment felt like an attack on my goals; our goals. I’m allowed to be ambitious without being labelled.”

She snorted dismissively as she poured more wine. She seemed energized now, warmed up, and ready for a fight. But suddenly he felt drained and overwhelmed. Why did it always go like this? He did something she wanted and encouraged him to do and when he did it . . . this . . . again.

“Labelled? I didn’t label you;” she extolled as she waved her free hand in the air, “you labelled yourself. Stop inventing insults. I’m the one taking the high road here, trying to protect you from yourself, and now I’m the villain? That’s not fair. You’re making me feel attacked."

Tristan slumped in a chair and rested his elbows on his legs, leaning forward. More of that pleading tone leaked into his voice. Sometimes she would break off the attack. Sometimes she would press it until all that was left was his shattered husk.

“I’m not attacking you. I’m telling you how that phrasing landed with me. Can we talk about it without flipping blame?”

Oh. Bad word choice. He said the b word.

“No! You always make it about your feelings!” she bellowed, “I was honest, and now I’m being punished for it. You’re so sensitive; maybe you should ask yourself why you need everyone to approve your ambition.”

Fuck!, the voice cried out. The Shadow wanted its pound of flesh. He pushed it back down again.

“I wish you’d ask me questions instead of assuming motives. It’d help me explain why this matters to me,” Tristan tried with all his might to stop this convergence of oncoming trains. His emotions and her frailty.

“See!?” Lilith yelled, slamming down the empty bottle for emphasis, “There you go again! Deflecting!” I can’t have a normal conversation with you because you turn everything into analysis. I’m done being lectured by someone who can’t take a comment!”

And in that instant something snapped inside of him. He felt the physical crack somewhere deep within his body. It was like that bottle slamming into the cupboard broke the trance. He looked over at her with a dead stare, locked eyes, and rose. It was like he’d lost all control of his body but he was thinking clearly for the first time in his life. Lilith looked genuinely stricken by panic; not in a way that she feared anything but in a way one does when something has gone horribly off plan.

This was the moment, so many times before, he’d crossed the floor to her, hugged her, and asked for forgiveness for something he hadn’t done. This time though, he felt different. He walked toward her but instead of stopping he kept going past her and out the butler door; still ashen faced. He stopped only briefly to grab his messenger bag and walked out the door, down the stairs, and into the unknown.

Across the street, in the bus shelter, she opened her eyes and stopped the chant. It wasn’t exactly true that she couldn’t help him. He needed to make the decision and then she could help. He’d made the decision and she helped. Purely defensive magic.

She waited for him to get halfway down the block and turned to follow. It was going to be a long night.