Chapter 27
Eris
It's okay, Darling
The sun will rise again
Bigger and brighter than before
― K.P. Knupp, This Mess We Live In
There had been a time when Eris had wondered if jail might fix most of her problems.
She’d gotten an earful from the social worker she’d been assigned when, at fourteen, she’d plainly stated she wouldn’t have minded getting incarcerated.
She’d seen documentaries about it, women expressing how tough and lonely it got when you were locked behind bars for years, away from your family and comforts.
To Eris, it had sounded like an upgrade.
Three granted meals a day.
A roof over her head.
Plenty of free time
Close to luxury, from her perspective.
Growing up, that thought hadn’t left her. She’d dreamed about a nice five-year stretch like anyone else would’ve dreamed of a holiday.
Now that she was standing with Denny in front of a fancy building, staring at the equally fancy plaque that spelled ‘Russel it just sank in when the damage was already done. “I can’t control my tone.”
“I know you don’t do it on purpose. We just need to let Mikey get used to it, too.”
Denny often said ‘we’, even when it wasn’t really about them both.
Eris had that peculiar feeling again that she would always get when she’d just started to get to know Denny, the impression of her edges fraying, her seams giving in from how full she was of a love she wasn’t built to withstand.
“Did I offend you?” she asked in a meek tone that was so unlike her, flicking at her cuticles with the tip of her thumb, over and over and over. “When we’d just met. Was I hurtful?”
Denny’s long fingers wrapped carefully around the cup, golden rings twinkling under a timid ray of sunlight.
She was a watercolour painting in autumnal shades, the ivory coat buttoned snug around her willowy figure, cheeks brightened by the bite of a cold breeze.
Refined and graceful as ever. Nervous, too.
“You weren’t doing well. You were injured and overwhelmed…”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A tightness crept into Denny’s shoulders as her lips flattened into a thin line.
“You were… unpleasant. It was a bit off-putting.”
Way too many words, and too polite, to say yes.
“Why did you put up with that?”
There had been another option all along: Denny could’ve walked away, abandoned Eris to her own devices, as anyone else would’ve done. She should have. Thinking back to it now, Eris was furious at Denny for taking such a high risk so recklessly.
You should’ve left me there to bleed.
That was what Eris would’ve done―what virtually anyone with a grain of common sense would’ve done. Denny didn’t lack critical judgement, but her gentle soul always got in the way of her decisions. Eris had the opposite issue: too much brain, not enough heart.
Never enough heart.
“I could see it was a defence mechanism,” said Denny with a helpless lamb expression that seemed to stress that she’d had no other choice. “It was like… like letting me near you pissed you off but you couldn’t walk away.”
“And you still chose to help me.”
“I was used to worse.”
The past tense made it a little less painful, although not painless, to take. It sent a shock of anger through Eris’ veins. People like Denny didn’t deserve to be mistreated, let alone be used to being mistreated. It was a guilt Eris would never be able to wash from her conscience.
“I wish I could take it back.”
“I think taking accountability for our mistakes is more important than always doing everything right.”
“Yeah?”
Denny granted her a smile. “Mistakes are an opportunity to learn. It’s kinda why we’re here, isn’t it?” She glanced at the plaque by the building’s door.
“Just because this country wrongly labels choking a crazy bitch as a crime, it doesn’t mean it was a mistake.”
Denny puffed out a giggle over a sip of latte. A few drops spilled on her coat. Eris reached out to wipe them with the hem of her sleeve before they soaked into the wool.
The screen of her phone lit up to signal a notification. It was a text from Micah. Opening it, Eris couldn’t help but wonder how long it’d take for her heart to stop skipping when she read ‘Mikey’ on the screen.
“My brother’s late, says to start without him.”
She said ‘my brother’ casually, like it was normal. As if she hadn’t spent over half of her life with those two words stuck in her throat like a scream she couldn’t let out.
They rang the brass bell and the door buzzed, releasing the latch with a crisp clack. Denny held it open for Eris, who let out a low whistle as they walked in.
“Holy shit. I’m used to meeting public defenders in shitty council offices.”
“I still can’t wrap my head around that.”
“Imagine when you have to visit me in jail.”
“Please, don’t joke about that.”
Matthieu Auclair personally came to greet them, a big smile spreading under the slat-and-pepper beard. The office was too bright for Eris’ taste. She didn’t like how her and Denny’s rubber soles squeaked over the marble floors, either.
“Welcome, ladies. You must be my client.” He stretched his hand out to Eris. She made herself shake it. She didn’t want to appear childish in front of the man she was entrusting with her fate.
“Denny, my goodness! Last time I saw you, you were a toddler. You look so much like your mother.”
Denny humbly accepted the compliment. “Thank you for your time, Mr Auclair.”
“Please, call me Matt.”
They were ushered to a private parlour, an informal space with a simple coffee table surrounded by a large couch and two armchairs.
Pale sunlight poured in from the wall-wide window, which offered a broad view on the neighbourhood.
On the table, next to a few bottles of San Pellegrino, lay a folder with a phone on top.
They sat, Eris and Denny on the couch, Matthieu on the nearby seat. He pulled the folder closer, flipped it open, and spoke. Eris didn’t know for how long, nor did she absorb anything he said until a specific name triggered a shudder.
“Miss Mead has a solid line of accusation, documentary evidence of her injury provided by her GP that backs up her version of the incident. All we have is contextless audio clips.”
“Which prove that she’s a sadistic psychopath,” Eris argued.
“Yes.” Matthieu slipped a pair of glasses on to thumb through the documents. “She does have quite a few stalking complaints in her record. However, not one reports violence.”
“Blake’s not the physical violence type,” Denny murmured.
“Whereas you, Eris…”
Eris sprang to her feet. “She came after me! She followed me! She put her bloody hands on me first!”
“I understand.” Matthieu seemed genuinely sympathetic. “Unfortunately we can’t prove it.”
“Hey, c’mon.” Denny tugged at Eris’ hoodie. Eris sat back down.
“Eating out of the palm of her hand like a loyal puppy...”
Eris wasn’t ashamed of how malleable she was with Denny. It was like having a separate conscience plugged into her head. No one else had that effect on her, no one ever would.
Matthieu reprised his discourse, but Eris was hardly paying attention.
She had never been afraid of the consequences of her own actions before.
She’d always been alone: her mistakes had been her own and nobody else’s, her troubles had only ever affected her.
But she had Denny now. She couldn’t just toughen up and brush it all off with a simple ‘I don’t even care’.
Because she cared now. She cared about what happened to herself because Denny cared, and Eris would rather crawl at Blake’s feet begging for mercy than be the cause of just a drop of grief for Denny.
A hand laid on top of hers. Stilling, Eris sensed the burning at the tips of her fingers: she had picked her cuticles bloody. Denny was observing her with concern.
“Shall we have a pause?” Mattheiu enquired.
“No.”
“As I was saying, it all depends on how Miss Mead’s…”
Without a word, Denny gathered Eris’ hair into her hands.
The very moment her fingers brushed the scalp, the tension in Eris’ neck dwindled.
The awareness of what was happening swelled a lump of gratitude in Eris’ throat.
She gulped it down, staying laser-focused on Matthieu’s voice to keep a rein of the raw emotion pulsing in her chest.
“... the CCTV footage is a valuable asset, but we have to consider…”
Denny combed through the long tresses, pulling half aside to drape them over the shoulder. Eris held on to it by pure muscle memory, used to assisting while Denny plaited her hair. In doing so, she took Denny’s hand, giving it a brief, thankful squeeze before letting go.
“... worst case scenario, I’m confident we can obtain…”
The relief was immediate: the deft movements, the tinkling of Denny’s bracelets while her hands worked to part and braid with so much care that Eris nearly crumbled.
Something familiar.
Soothing.
Denny’s touch, her caresses.
Love.
Love.
Love.