Every Day

Every day was the same but worse. That was really all there was to it, Victor reflects casually, stepping onto the very edge of the bridge. Nothing was necessarily bad… and nothing was necessarily good. It was just the same. The sort of numbness that strides confidently past comfortable and settles at torturous. He could see it in Petunia, too. The way she avoided getting out of bed and the bitterness in her gaze. He’d catch her staring out the window, to the world he knew she could take if she wanted to, and he’d wish he could grieve for her.

But he doesn’t really feel anything for Petunia half the time. Much less grief. What they were going through, was just how things were. They’d known how it would be and they’d dared to hope for more. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But, he decides as he sets his coat aside, making sure the collar is flipped correctly, he wouldn’t be like his father either. He’d been spending every evening and weekends in bed as of late, only really making conversation with Jesse with a fake smile and laugh so that his little boy didn’t have to know he was suffering. No, he’d learned his lesson from his own father, and if there was nothing to take care of no one would have to take care of him.

Victor pauses to yawn. He wonders how he can sleep so much and still be so fucking tired.

With a sigh, he slides off his shoes. He should have probably written a note, he realizes with a grim swallow. They’d want answers. Not that he really had one other than he felt like dying, and those words felt too harsh to put on paper. No, what if Petunia blamed herself? What if Jesse got ahold of it? … No. No, no note. He pulls off his wedding ring to leave in the pocket of his coat, hesitating when his hand brushes a toy Jesse had insisted he take with him that morning so he “wasn’t too bored.”

He reminds himself Jesse would be happier if he just died already, and turns to face the water. … The night is pretty brilliant, full of stars and the sounds of the sea and the faint sounds of the quieting city. So many people were settling down with their families, wives and husbands swaying to records and being happy and satisfied. An ounce of bitterness seeps into him. Why did he have to be born this way? Why did he and Petunia have to be born to be so wrong and so miserable? If they had turned out how they were supposed to, he wouldn’t be here. At least, he hopes he wouldn’t.

It’s his stomach growling after a long period of reflecting on what life could have been like that snaps him out of it. He’s swaying slightly on the edge now, and his legs feel numb. He’d been there for longer than he realizes, and he takes a bit deeper of a breath, clutching to one of the bridge supports a little tighter. The height had been comforting before, but now it’s dizzying. He leans forward, then leans back. Reconsiders his options. Tries again. Fails again.

Sucking in air through his teeth, he glances up at the sky again. The stars could be the last thing he sees- they twinkle so softly, especially the ones next to the moon. … Realistically, though, the last thing that he’d see is the spot on the bridge he was standing seconds prior. And by then, it’d be too late. He’d be halfway down and it’d be too late.

He was certain he wouldn’t regret it. … But what if he did?

Victor’s hands feel suddenly clammy, and his entire body begins to shiver despite the warm spring air. With a gasp, he lunges backwards, falling to the ground safely, but with little dignity. He pulls on his shoes and coat and turns to rush away from the bridge, gasping for air he hadn’t needed a few seconds ago. The world is too big and he feels like he can’t get anywhere fast enough- even as he’s sprinting.

He arrives home after an eternity, wheezing and half crying and unable to stop shaking. Petunia, who’s idly reading in the front room, jumps at the slam of the door. She opens her mouth and says something, care and concern in her eyes, and hates himself all over again. … She could have been free of him. Instead, she has to deal with him approaching her and hugging her and softly weeping apologies against her hair.

Her hug feels nice, though. Nice enough to move the ever-encroaching numbness back to comfortable.