The Other Housemate

Oh, what in the – “Molly!!!”

Violet let out an exhausted groan. The day had been long, hot, fruitless, a challenge she never asked for; her patience tested, her tolerance reduced to a wisp of forced breath that stirred up a sickly war-like storm in her chest. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and tightened her grip on the damp duffle bag laying limp in her hands.

She took in a deep breath, her chest shaking as she exhaled, her lungs unable to deflate smoothly with her anxiously pounding heart.

“Violet?” Molly’s appearance did nothing to break Violet’s manic spell. She pressed her hand deeper into her chest, wishing for the storm to be over, searching the windows of her mind for a way out of her panicked situation before she said something she would most certainly regret.

Violet could feel a sharp pulsing around her eye sockets. She opened her eyes slowly and stared into the abyss, lucidly choosing words to use, sifting through the index of appropriate responses for Molly’s incompetence. Again.

“I needed this” was the least conflicting thing she could think of in that moment, though her shaky and angered tone said otherwise. With her continued stare into nothingness - a pained gesture of disrespect towards her closest friend who had always been by her side - she kept the dark cloud of judgement looming between them.

Molly looked down at the empty, scrunched duffle bag in Violet’s hand. Even from where she stood only a few feet from Violet, she could smell the cold mustiness emulating from what had clearly been a result of being left in the laundry tub a day too many. She edged her way cautiously towards Violet.

“Violet, you know I saw Lucy-”

“Don’t start Molly!! There’s no one else here, we’ve been through this! My work trip is tomorrow, and I need this bag - and look at it! What’s wrong with you?!”

Molly paused and tried to compose herself a moment, but her heart sank a little. She wasn’t mad, was she? Violet’s insinuation that she was completely and utterly bonkers, and responsible for this situation was brewing up doubts Molly knew all too well. She had, of course had a history of making up stories as a child. But no, surely. Their housemate Lucy arrived home from work a little over an hour ago, she was up in her room, she was –

Violet shot her a piercing look. Molly’s thoughts of Lucy dissipated as she studied her friend’s rage-filled face. Violet’s mouth was clenched shut, trapping her words behind it, and for good reason. Her eyes, reddening, pleading, shining from a thin layer of tears she was visibly fighting back with little success. Her dark hair, matted with sweat, webbed across her forehead which, with a glint of returning to the moment around her, she slowly swept back into the nest on top of her head.

Molly had seen this before in Violet. Years of witnessing the turmoil that unfurled after emotions were sparked by the meekest of flames. Her fight to control her conflicting reactions, like a battle no one else could see but her. Her eyes darting back and forth as though she were watching a game of tennis. Perhaps she held herself in a legal court and was watching the defence and prosecution going at it like two territorial silverbacks, arguing over whose moral ground was higher. And with the battle came the confusion, morphing into frustration, unexplainable outbursts, disassociating from rationale, reality too. And then, the aftermath, where the emotions become cloudy, court goes into recession, and Violet slowly returns to the present moment.

Molly watched her friend play out the disillusioned sequence, bound for a few moments by her reactive state as her expression transformed from anger to frustration, to distress. Knowing the clouds were taking hold, leaving Violet no choice but to readjust to the reality around her, her eyes darting around the room like someone who had just woken up from an episode of wild sleepwalking. The tears flowed heavier now. Molly moved towards her, gently placing her hands on her arms.

“Breathe”

“I’m sorry I - ”

“I know”

Molly guided her to the lounge nearby and they sat together in silence, synchronising their breaths, Violet’s heart rate eventually giving in to a restful rhythm.

Molly placed her hands on Violet’s damp cheeks and looked into her glistening green eyes. Eyes, she knew, that held all the memories of her pain.

“I love you” she said with a warm smile.

Violet felt the weight lift from her chest.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how that even happened.” she looked down at her feet. As soon as she said it, the guilt began taking up space in her exhausted mind.

“Who are you talking to?”

Violet looked up, startled.

Lucy was standing in the doorway, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her, her hair bundled in a wet towel.

“Oh” Violet said quietly. She held her hands tightly together, each rubbing the other nervously, unable to seperate for fear that any kind of release now would open up the floodgates again.

“Are you ok?” Lucy sat in the empty spot beside Violet. “You look like you’re having a shitty day.. Were you on the phone, sorry I didn't mean to interrupt..”

“Just, thinking out loud" Violet relaxed her hands and turned to her housemate.

"I’ll be ok.” She gave Lucy a small, tired smile. “I always am.”