Sonya

This is the second story I wrote for my Writing of Fiction class. It's a happy little gothic melodrama =D Much darker than my last story, I hope you enjoy it!

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Two months ago today, she stopped smiling.

Jonathan fumbled with the contents on his desk, knocking the majority of the empty beer bottles and a paper plate with a half eaten sandwich from the previous week onto the floor. Cursing to no one in particular he stooped low to pick up his keys that had fallen during his attempt to grab them from atop the cracked computer monitor. He swayed dangerously as he righted himself and had to steady himself for a few moments. He wobbled towards the kitchen and sure enough there were grocery items inside that hadn't been there before. He turned and took off at a slow but determined pace to the medicine closet in the bathroom.

The door was already flung open. He located his Cymbalta pills and popped two of them into his mouth, then lifted the Bacardi 151, that hadn’t left his hand all evening, to his lips. The medicine closet was closed with more force than necessary and he stared at a face that he couldn’t recognize as being his. Everything in the reflection before him was dulled down and pitiful. Dark rings under bloodshot eyes, hair in disarray, chapped lips downturned and he was in desperate need of a shave.

What would she think if she saw what had become of him, he wondered as he stumbled out of the small bathroom towards the front door. He needed to get out of his apartment. Everything in it reminded him of her, of Sonya. The couch she’d fallen in love with at first sight, the pictures that now hung askew on the walls, the kitchen which was cluttered with dirty dishes and takeout boxes that, when she was around, was always pristine and had filled the house with delicious scents every time he came home from work. Even the flat screen TV that was currently broadcasting flash flood warnings reminded him of her. They’d spent the better part of their afternoon in Best Buys arguing back and forth over the set and he’d found it an immense victory when she’d finally caved in and let him purchase it. She’d given him that smile of hers when he whooped in the middle of the aisle loud enough to startle several people browsing nearby. He’d loved her the most when she was smiling.

By the time he realized his mind had drifted back to thoughts of her again, as it usually did, he was already a block and a half away from his apartment complex and his jeans were soaked and clung to his legs uncomfortably. The rain plastered his hair to his head and he spared a second to wonder when he’d had enough forethought to grab his worn leather jacket, another reminder of her. A Christmas present three years back. It was probably the only thing keeping his body from shivering uncontrollably. That, and the 151 still gripped tightly in his hand. He took a swig, enjoying the burn of the alcohol down his throat and the warmth that settled in the pit of his stomach. As he trudged through the empty streets his hooded eyes took in some of his surroundings, eyes lingering in every darkened corner and darting back and forth searching for anyone else who may be out in the storm, possibly following him. Despite several stumbles caused by looking behind him too quickly his feet still managed to lead him onward.

Sonya had hated his love of booze, he recalled. They had argued about it often, but it wasn’t until that night, when he’d come home late in the afternoon already drunk that she’d really blown up. It hadn’t helped that he’d driven himself home despite his inebriated state. He’d yelled and cursed and thrown things, and when she’d shouted for him to get out he’d left; yelling over his shoulder that he’d go stay with his friend in the next city, someone that could appreciate alcohol like he did. He had hopped right back into his car and had headed to the nearest bar to drink some more. That had been a Wednesday, because in his haste to get away from their apartment, he’d forgotten to take the trash out so it could be picked up Thursday morning.

He stopped under an awning for a shop, long since closed, he’d never paid attention to for another drink from his bottle, eyes scanning the streets for other people with nocturnal tendencies such as himself, and for the small bit of shelter the awning provided from the storm. The entire block looked like hell. Water was rushing along both sides of the street carrying all forms of debris. The sky was dark and angry and was rumbling with a vengeance, promising nothing but more harsh winds and heavy rain. He shifted off the wall he was leaning against and nearly fell over, sloshing some of the contents of his bottle into the stream trying to come up over the curb. He frowned in distaste and continued walking.

That night had changed everything. Two hours into his next binge of drinks he realized that Sonya had been right, and he’d been an ass. He’d ended up staying at the bar an extra few hours sobering up enough to attempt driving again. He’d wanted to see Sonya so bad, wanted to apologize to her for things he’d said and done, for being a dick, for being an asshole. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to make her worry so much. He was almost home, and with thoughts of what he would say to make things right with Sonya racing through his mind, his foot pressed on the gas before he noticed the figure stepping out into the darkened streets.

Time slowed down when he noticed the figure a split second before a sickening thud was heard, followed by the bump and jerk of the car as the person in the street was pulled under then left sprawled several yards behind the car. Jonathan had sat stone still in his vehicle staring with wide stricken eyes at the figure that was lying in the street still as death. Without thinking of the consequences, he put the car into drive and drove out slowly enough that the tires didn’t squeal, but fast enough to flee the scene before anyone came out to investigate the sound of his car smashing into a human body at 75 mph in a residential area.

Jonathan pushed through the heavy metal gates, struggling more than he thought he should have given that the rain was less dense here because of all the trees and foliage than on the empty streets. He slipped through the opening in the chained wrought iron gates and stumbled forward over a cobblestone path. Losing his footing on the wet stone he fell off to the side, elbow coming down hard on a slab of concrete and the rest of him landing in a muddy heap. The sudden movement upset his stomach greatly, and he heaved to the side, choking on the vomit and partially digested alcohol that burned just as much coming up as it had going down. After his body ceased its heaving fit, he glanced around for his bottle of 151, and found it nearby, its contents safe. He grabbed at it, and then clung to a moss covered stone and fought to right himself once again. Cursing his legs for refusing to cooperate with him and his stomach for rolling in protest, once again he fell back to the muddy earth and just sat. He stared at the bottle cradled in his hands. He could barely make out the golden liquid’s color in his darkened surroundings. The bottle had been full that morning but was nowhere near full now. Fuck, Sonya would be pissed. She’d probably have said something along the lines of, “They don’t give new livers to alcoholics!” His head tipped back, and he let the cool rain wash over his face.

After the accident, Jonathan hadn’t returned home. In fact, he had left the city and gone to his friend’s house in the next city, as he’d told Sonya he was going to do in the first place. When he arrived there looking like death warmed over, he told his friend everything that had happened that night. His friend had been such a pal. He’d directed to him to the kitchen, shown him where the beer was, took his keys, told him to get trashed, and in the morning it would be like that night had never happened. He did as he was told, and the next morning he woke to the mother of all hangovers, and the knowledge that his car had a new dent-free front bumper didn’t seem to faze him in the least. He’d spent the next three days staying drunk with his friend before he decided it was time he went home to Sonya. She hadn’t called yet and he hated thinking that she was still mad at him, never mind how upset she would be if she found out he’d been involved in a hit and run.

When he’d gotten back home he’d been expecting the police to break down his doors the moment he set foot inside. So when he came home to an empty apartment, and opened the door to two uniformed police officers several minutes later, he wasn’t surprised when they started questioning him about his whereabouts for the last few days. He explained that he’d been with his friend, his heart racing in his chest and a cold sweat breaking out upon his brow as he waited for them to cuff him and haul him off to the electric chair. One officer cast a look to the other and destroyed his world with his next sentence.

“We regret to inform you, sir, but three nights ago the woman you lived with was involved in a hit and run between the hours of 10:00pm and 12:00am. Your neighbors witnessed to hearing something that night, but no one saw the vehicle that hit her. We suspect she’d been taking the garbage out when a drunk driver raced through the complex. She didn’t make it.”

Jonathan managed to drag himself into a crawling position, slipping only once as he attempted to climb to his feet, and continue forward. He passed by stone header after stone header. Pillars as tall as him loomed menacingly in the distance making him feel anxious. He could feel eyes on him, but knew that he was probably the only person in town crazy enough, or stupid enough, to be out in this type of weather in the middle of the night. Still, his eyes searched, movement to his left had him paralyzed momentarily with fear until the heavy wind shook the bush again. Moving with even more difficulty than before, he stepped off the cobblestone path and started walking over soft covered mounds; some he assumed were covered by wet grass, and others by fresh earth. He really didn’t care either way what he stepped on. His chest ached something hollow, if that were even possible. His right hand rubbed at his chest, how desperately he wanted Sonya with him. She'd know how to make the pain go away. She always knew how to fix him, heal him. Headaches vanished instantly when her fingers would touch his temples. She had a homemade remedy to cure his hangovers too, it tasted god awful but her sweet smile as she combed her fingers through his hair had always made it manageable.

Thunder boomed loudly above his head and his drunken steps sped up. He had been walking blindly all night but somehow he knew his journey was coming to an end. Eyes were everywhere, he was sure, staring accusingly at him. The trees twisted their unfriendly branches towards him to claw at his arms and trip up his feet. He started to run, which wasn’t the smartest of ideas because the path was littered with stones of every size, glistening with rivulets of water that refused to cease pouring from the sky. He tripped over a cement plate, but caught himself on a large ornate figure just next to him, a ghoulishly snarling gargoyle with folded wings glared at him from its perch. This creature hated him, wanted to hurt him, and he didn't blame it. He released the statue and stumbled back when a trick of the lightning made it look like the stone figure had moved. At some point, he realized, he’d lost his jacket. He fell to his knees dropping his precious Bacardi and watching the glass shatter over the nameplate in front of him.

Sonya stared up at him in big Roman type. His face fell, the lettering looked so cold compared to how warm Sonya’s personality used to be. How warm she would still be if he hadn’t killed her. At that moment he truly hated himself with every fiber of his being. He softly stroked his fingers over her name, hating himself for leaving their home angry as he had, hating himself for loving alcohol the way he did, hating the booze for spilling all over her when he knew how much she hated it, hating his friend for helping him out like he had. Hating the police for taking so long to come back and arrest him for killing Sonya yet and leaving him to torment himself, a free man living with incredible guilt and self-loathing. He knew they knew already. They'd come back several times after the day he had found out she died. He had caught them questioning his neighbors across the street once. They had given him odd looks before they moved indoors to, no doubt, continue their discussion. On another visit they'd spent a lot of time looking at his car. He wasn't quite sure why he told them it was okay instead of asking for a warrant. They must have found something, because the next time they returned, warrant in tow, and took the car with them when they left.It was only a matter of time before they showed up with their handcuffs and read him his Miranda Rights. Sonya would be so sad when he was put in jail, she'd absolutely hate it.

Sonya hadn’t died immediately, Jonathan had found out later. She had died two days later in the ICU. He’d hit her, after she’d gotten upset about him drinking and driving, and then had left her for dead in the middle of the street. He hadn’t gotten the chance to apologize about the fight, the reason why he’d been in such a rush to get home to her and distracted while driving. He hadn’t remembered to take the garbage out. He shouldn't have let his friend talk him into that second round of drinks. Maybe if he'd left earlier instead of watching the game... He’d fucked up so bad, and he was the only one that knew the truth. Him, and maybe Sonya. A set of shivers wracked his body and he clutched at himself for warmth. Sonya's hugs were always so warm. He wanted her here with him, looking over her grave, comforting him. But he'd killed her, and was failing miserably at comforting himself.

He glanced longingly at the broken Bacardi 151 bottle beside Sonya’s grave, before he caught himself, and sickened by the whole ordeal, turned to the side just in time to avoid heaving all over his beloved’s resting place. He stayed stooped over for a while, the numbness that had embraced his body wearing off and his body practically convulsed with the strength of his shivering and raw emotions. He wondered what death was like, and if in death, if but for a moment, he would be able to see Sonya’s smiling face just once, before nothingness took over. He scoffed at his train of thought. Nothingness or hell. He nodded to himself, believing that people like himself went straight to Hell. Maybe the police would find him before death. He swore there was a car constantly parked on his street. They were watching him, waiting for the right moment to grab him and haul him away. His head jerked up as he looked for them, sure they were hiding behind the tombstones, laughing at him in his vulnerable state, stroking his dead girlfriend's nameplate. He needed to leave, the sky was rumbling threateningly and the rain hitting his body felt like ice cold fingers prodding and jabbing at his frame.

He whispered a soft apology that was lost amongst the howling of the winds, and stood to his feet with difficulty. As he walked away from her, lightening streaked across the sky and lit up an ornate headstone directly in front of him. For that split second, Sonya was standing right in front of him, looking down on him with an emotionless expression. Jonathan let out a startled scream and moved too swiftly on the loose soaked earth. He lost his footing and fell several feet, landing in waist high murky water. Panic turned to sheer terror as he looked up and noticed the opening of the rectangular hole he’d fallen into was several feet above his head. He grabbed at the sides of the grave he'd fallen in, but the muddy walls kept gave way under his grasping fingers. He repeatedly slipped under the surface of the water that was steadily creeping up his body. Another streak of lightning lit up the sky as water came running over the edges of the grave pressing him downward and away from safety. Calling out would be no use for the muddy water invaded his mouth and burned his lungs.

He felt he was struggling to survive when he saw her again. Sonya was looking down at him, crouched on the edge of the grave. Blindly he reached his hand out towards her, as she leaned down to grasp his hand, and the thick murky water fully submerged him, he was happy again, for the first time in a year he was able to see her smiling face.

He stopped struggling.