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chapter ten, always an angry man [ march, 1982 ]
Remus opened his eyes. His throat was dry and his head hurt. Actually, everything hurt; he'd been sleeping on the couch for weeks. Or months? Who cared. It was uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to enter their bedroom. Most nights he was too drunk to move anyway. Most days he was too drunk. He didn't have hangovers anymore, just breaks between bottles.
When he realised he was in the bedroom that morning, he felt a shiver down his spine. He instantly got up, making his way down the stairs to find his wife making breakfast.
Everywhere he looked he was haunted by thoughts and memories of his friends, of the things they could never do, and the things he had not done in time. He attended the funeral for the Potters, followed by a memorial for Peter. Remus sat at the back, and left before the wake, in case anyone tried to speak to him.
The marauders might never have existed at all. Better that they hadn't.
For a while, Remus wondered when it would end.
After long enough, he realised it never would, and so just tried to dull the pain. It might have been selfish, but what else was left but to be selfish? He had sacrificed plenty.
Don't, that voice whispered wickedly, you cannot sacrifice Charis' love for you.
Remus pushed that thought away. He did not want to be so selfish about his feelings when his wife was trying and trying and trying. She was doing everything she could but his rage overpowered everything.
"Remus?" Her voice startled her, and he sniffed a little before blinking and allowing his vision to focus on her as he blinks sharply, "can we talk?"
She explains it to him. How she got fired due to her reckless behaviour which is justified, she makes excuses up for herself.
He listens. Nods. Glances to her hands, fingers fiddling with the wedding ring.
Charis is hopeful, praying things don't go south especially after she got her hopes up due to his somewhat pleasant behaviour with her last night. She's holding her breath.
Remus gulps, and some comforting words poises into his mind, ready to tumble into sentences. But he discards then, and instead blurts out—
"Is there anything you can do right?" It's all easier this way, he tells himself.
"I'm sorry," her waterline was brimmed with tears, begging to fall down her cheeks. "Maybe... maybe you can try and find a job. We have to keep a roof over our head, Remus."
She rested her hand on his broad shoulder. His skin was more than heated; possibly from the level of alcohol flowing through his bloodstream.
"I tried really hard," she said, "I tried to ignore the way they treat me at work. Is it implausible to think that it's difficult to neglect their words 'cause it hurts me — I tried to be strong, I promise, I did."
