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None of the words were right. Maybe it didn’t matter. His handwriting was nearly illegible anyway. Will just wanted the letter to be sent; its contents didn’t matter as much as it arriving did. The room was dark, with the only light illuminating the paper being the strips of sunlight seeping through the closed blinds and the glow of The Joe Schmo Show blaring on the television in front of him. He paused his writing for a moment to grab his bong and immediately shoved it behind a pillow as he heard Heather’s voice.
“Seriously, Will? Johnny hasn’t sent you anything in months. He’s living his life; you have your own to focus on.”
Will swallowed and sat up, leaning himself against the back of the couch and avoiding Heather’s gaze. She was right that Johnny hadn’t responded to any of his letters in ages, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important to send them. He wasn’t going to confine himself to only having contact with her. “He’s reading my letters. He’ll respond when he has time.”
Heather’s response was dripping in sarcasm. “Yeah, he’s reading them.” Will felt disdain burn on his face as she spoke. “Months, Will. If he wanted to he could’ve taken ten minutes in months to send you a letter back.”
Will didn’t respond. She wouldn’t understand. He could never say anything right; anything he said to her would just start another argument and he couldn’t handle five more minutes of yelling and berating. All he wanted was to be left alone for a year, a month, even a day. Heather was always there, ordering him around and ignoring his feelings as though the past year hadn’t happened. Rubbing in the fact that Johnny refused to write back was an extra knife wound in the back.
“Give it up. I’m tired of this shit. I told you to clean up after yourself and you haven’t moved.”
There it was, another demand. Will could do nothing but sit as he felt the contradictory burn of numbness and anger eat at him. “I’m gonna do it.”
“No, you aren’t,” Heather snapped. Will looked away as she stormed over to him and grabbed the discarded beer bottles that sat on the floor in front of the couch.
“I was gonna do it,” he said, quietly.
Heather just scoffed as she took his garbage away and came back a moment later with the baby strapped into her car seat. “I really don’t ask you to do a lot around here,” she said as she placed the car seat on the couch.
Will would have laughed if he was still capable of doing so.
“Watch the baby for a second.” She paused before walking out of the room. “Or is the answer to that no, too?”
“I never say no,” Will said.
“No, you just say nothing.”
Will said nothing. He stared at the baby. She was pale and chubby, with a ginger lick of hair and her mother’s big blue eyes. She looked around and vocalized before reaching towards Will with expectant open hands. Will looked away. Anxiety festered in his stomach when he heard her vocalize, laugh, or cry; he felt like throwing up every time Heather forced him to sit down and have dinner with them. It was like having an alien living in his home. It was worse than just a stranger; the baby was completely foreign and unwanted. She was the physical manifestation of his worst mistake. His friends were happy enough in the city to ignore him while he sat in Jingletown, unable to communicate with Heather or the baby. Alcohol and marijuana were the only things that made everything remotely tolerable and even they were losing their power. It was just better to use the substances than deal with the repercussions of withdrawal.
“Are you coming?” Heather was back, standing in the doorway with her denim jacket pulled over her shoulders and her diaper bag at her hip.
“Am I invited?”
She sighed angrily as she walked back to the couch and grabbed the car seat by its handle. “I’m not the one trying to turn you into a deadbeat dad. You’re doing this all by yourself.”
“I’d like a little sympathy,” Will snapped. There never was any anymore. It was just constant bickering.
“You always want shit you don’t deserve,” Heather snapped back. Will was silent. Heather sighed again and paused to look at him. Will shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and stared blankly at the television. “I’m not your enemy, Will,” she said. Her voice was firm, not soft. He didn’t believe her.
“Just let me smoke up first,” he mumbled.
“This is what I’m talking about, Will! All you do is sit around and smoke weed. All you do. And around the baby too! Don’t think I haven’t seen you snuffing out a cigarette next to her when I walk in. Look, I get that you’re sad. Okay? I get it. Everything that’s happened to us in the past year was totally unexpected. But I was there for you. And you pushed me away because getting high and drunk is better than having to face reality. Well, reality’s right here, Will. You’re fucking me up. You’re fucking up my kid.”
“Your kid,” Will said.
“My kid,” Heather said. “What have you done, Will? How much of a father have you been? At least my dad had the decency to leave rather than force my mom to take care of him.”
Heather disappeared again and returned with a suitcase. Will bolted off the couch, grabbing her by the arms and yanking her away from it; they’d done this song and dance before. Every time she’d stayed. Will was miserable but Heather was the only person he had left that he cared about—or had cared about—at least vaguely, he had cared. He couldn’t be alone, not when it wasn’t in his control. If she left, she’d be lowering him into his grave herself.
Heather pulled away from him, as she always did. “I’m leaving,” she said, grabbing the suitcase and pushing him away with her free hand with as much force as she could. He stumbled slightly before jerking the suitcase out of her grip and carrying it back to the couch. “I’m leaving, Will,” she said, her voice rising.
“No, you’re not,” Will said; desperately, he clutched onto her as she tried to shoulder past him. “You had that shit packed already?”
“How would you notice?” she retorted. “When was the last time you were in our bedroom?”
“I sleep better out here!”
“Yeah, away from all of your responsibilities!”
“Away from you fucking nagging me all the time!”
"I'd rather just take care of one baby instead of two!"
She pushed him away again and they engaged in a back and forth of pulling and pushing before it reached the boiling point.
“I’ll see you in Hell!” Heather yelled.
“Fuck you!” they screamed at each other in unison. Will ducked down and scooped Heather up, carrying her to the couch as she protested. He sat down and curled around her, gripping onto her as hard as he could. He pressed his face against her shoulder and held her tighter as she struggled. It was just like the previous times, she wouldn’t really leave. She couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t imagine what he’d spend his days doing without anyone. Although he was sick of the baby and sick of Heather, the thought of being alone, forever, terrified him. There would be no one to care for him, no human connection to draw him out of the primal fear he felt when he considered what it meant to be lonely. He would be confirmed as expendable and unnecessary. What lay ahead of him looked black and empty.
Heather broke free, pushing herself off of Will’s lap and spinning around to yell again as he flinched into the cushions. “It’s too late!” She slung the diaper bag over her shoulder and carried the car seat and the suitcase in each hand. Will stood as he watched her storm to the door, unable to make himself run to her and try to stop her again. She flung open the door and turned to face him at the last moment. She said nothing; the smoldering disappointment plain on her face said enough. She slammed the door behind her.
It was real this time. Will collapsed back onto the couch, left to rot next to his bong and the empty pizza boxes sitting on the floor. The apartment was suddenly quiet except for the quips coming from the television. The silence was deafening. He sank down and shuddered.