In Our Darkness - 9. Chapter 9: Pain

When Kat responded to a noise complaint from the Andrews’ neighbors, she was expecting that the culprit was David, and she wasn’t wrong. He answered the door in a white bathrobe and in sunglasses. She could see the chaos behind him, smashed glass, paintings ripped off the walls, furniture in shambles.

“Where’s your wife?” she asked, wanting to make sure Elisabeth was alright.

“She left, went to sleep in a hotel.”

“Is she okay? Are you okay?” He moved the sunglasses from his eyes to the top of his head.

“Yeah, we’re fantastic, can’t you tell,” he replied sarcastically. His eyes were red.

“Mr. Andrews,” she started but he cut her off.

“Stop with the Mr. Andrews bullshit, just call me David.”

“David,” she began, but then a surge of pity overtook her. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” he replied, moving aside to let her in. She tip-toed around the mess on the floor.

“Let me make you some tea,” she said, walking into the kitchen as he followed behind her. She poured water into the fancy electric kettle and turned it on. Then glanced around the kitchen. It was modern and spacious, the type of kitchen people dream of. The type of kitchen used in commercials for making the perfect Thanksgiving dinner. But in this kitchen, there was nothing but pain and grief.

“You’ve been through something really traumatic. It’s okay to ask for help,” she began. He pulled a stool from under the kitchen island and sat across from her and suddenly he looked like a small boy waiting for his mom to hand him breakfast.

“How can anyone help with this?” he asked.

“A therapist can’t hurt. They can help you process the grief. Work through it. Come out of it on the other side. Get back to the business of living, instead of just trying to survive.”

“That sounds like something they taught you to say at the academy,” he replied, skeptical.

“Hey, it may sound crazy, but if it helps, wouldn’t you want to try?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes I’m scared that I’ll wake up and it will be gone. The pain. And then all I have left of him will be gone,” he replied and broke into a sob and she regretted coming in. Now she was faced with emotions and tears, and none of it was her forte. The kettle turned off and she poured the boiling water into the teacup and then pushed it across the kitchen island to him.

“That makes sense,” she replied. “I felt that way about my father too, when he passed. That if I stopped being angry, I’d forget him. But you never forget those you love. They are a part of you forever.”

“It’s just…I got so little time with him. And Elizabeth hates when I pull out the pictures to remind myself of what he looked like. I’m sorry, you probably think I’m a blubbering mess. I swear I’ve never cried like this in my life. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about the way you love your son, David,” she replied.

“Do you think it ever goes away?” he asked, suddenly.

“What?”

“The pain.” She thought about it.

“No,” she replied, and he seemed surprised by her honesty. “I don’t think you’d want it to go away. Forgive me for saying this, but pain can be a blessing. Otherwise, none of it would matter. If the loss didn’t hurt, it wouldn’t be a loss.”

He looked at her for a long time then nodded.