Chapter Two: Vices

July 8th 2009, 7:00 PM

Three days. Three days they'd been in the hotel. The manager was giving them a deal, since they really had no where else to go. The husband was returning from a trip to the ice machine, holding his daughter's hand. Handing her the room key and the bucket of ice, he told her to go back to the room. Continuing alone to the vending machines at the other end of the hall, he stuck a dollar in (a dollar he really shouldn't have been wasting on a Twix bar, but oh well) and claimed his treat. When he reached the bedroom door, he heard his wife speaking through the door, in a hushed tone. Frowning, he pressed an ear to the door, and listened.

"No, I told you, you can't come here."
"No, look, you don't understand, he might know..."
"I love you too, but that's not the point."

The one sided conversation made him sick to his stomach. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he bit down, a shudder passing through his whole body. He knocked on the door, hearing the wife's quick farewell to... well, who knew who she was talking to. Moments later, she opened the door, giving him a smile. It was all he could do to not say anything. He handed her the Twix bar-- no way he could eat it now. "I got you this." he mumbled. "And I was just stopping to get my wallet. I'm going out."

She frowned. "Out?"

"The hotel walls are paper thin." He said darkly. She looked up at him, obviously terrified. "I can't relax here. There's too much noise." he finished, and she seemed relieved.

"Fine. Just don't waste too much money." she snapped.

The man snatched his wallet off the bedside table, and kissed his daughter on the forehead. After that, he was practically running from the room. All of his suspicions were confirmed, even though there had barely been a shadow of a doubt before. Still, he felt like an avalanche had crashed over him, burying him in a freezing, numb sensation. There were tears threatening to escape his eyes, and he blinked viciously, determined to keep his emotions locked away for now. Everything was happening in slow motion. He felt like he was wrapped in cotton, and everything was muffled and dull. Start the car. Drive. Find a bar, any bar.

Unfortunately, the one he found seemed like a late night establishment for drugs and prostitutes. Regardless, he went inside. The music was live and loud, some band screaming at the tops of their lungs about betrayal and pain. It was a fitting anthem for the night, much as he hated to admit he identified with 20-something headbangers. Sitting down at the bar, the bar tender glanced over at him, and went back to polishing a glass. After a few moment, he set the glass down. "What can I get you?" he asked.

The husband barely thought about it. "Seven-seven with lime." That would keep him safe-- whiskey always had the ability to make him forget everything.

When the drink was set in front of him, he didn't hesitate. Slamming it down, he coughed once, then ordered another. The whole place was crowded and smoky. He really didn't like it but what else could he do? He had to get the thought of her out of his mind. Her arms around him. Her lips on his. A jagged picture of her with another man, this one faceless, flashed in front of his eyes, and he cringed, downing another shot. As he became more and more inebriated, the ideas of the wife with other men were gone, the pain half gone. He knew he wasn't going home. Or what was a pale imitation of his home. Either way, he'd rather sleep on the street, in a gutter maybe. The thought of spending one more minute in bed with her was despicable.

He got up, moving clumsily through the crowd of people. Someone grabbed his arm, and he turned. A girl. Brown hair, blue eyes. He had no idea who she was, but there was a glitter in her eyes that made him want to know. "Dance with me." she shouted over the noise. There was no dance music, but she started moving, and he had to move with her. She was pressed up against him, hands caressing places only his wife had touched. She looked down at his hand, noticed the ring and laughed. "Come on, married man." she said, "Dance WITH me."

Without thinking, he obeyed, putting his hands on her. She spun, her back to him, and got too close for comfort, grinding against him like they were playing club techno, and not rock. He blinked a few times, trying to let go of his worries. Suddenly, she was facing him, pushing him back against the wall, lips finding his. For a moment, it only made sense to go along with it. His tongue found hers, and his left hand slipped up her shirt. He could feel the devilish grin slide across her face through the kiss. Who was this girl?

No. The thought surprised him. But he knew it was right. He pushed her away, wiping his mouth. "I can't." he said, probably not loud enough over the music. Fight the temptation. He thought to himself, terrified of ripping their family apart even more with his stupid, drunken actions. There were already enough lies going around, enough of them fed to him and his daughter without him feeding them right back. But...it would be a great payback. Help him cope with the disaster. Anything would help more than just sitting here.

The girl was watching him with a sly grin, obviously enjoying the struggle. She kissed him slowly on the lips again. "Come on. I'll show you a good time, and she never has to know. Your wife, I mean."

"...No." he said, shaking his head. His answer surprised both of him.

The bar was crowded. Too crowded for his liking anymore. He needed to be alone. The place was full of sin, anyways. He'd had enough of sin. Pushing past the girl, he rushed out, muttering to himself that he wasn't going home. "I'd rather sleep on the streets." A stray thought of the brown-haired girl came back. He could sleep at her place. "No. I won't sleep with the devil." he snapped to himself, realizing he probably looked crazy, but half the people in the city were drunk and wandering about, rambling to themselves.

Stumbling into an alley, he found himself falling. He was too drunk to brace his fall, and he ended up lying on his face. The idea of getting up seemed ridiculous. Maybe sleeping here wouldn't be such a bad idea... His eyes fluttered shut, and he just let go. There was nothing to care about anymore. The city street was his bed tonight.

Chapter One: A Great Fire

[this story is based on the album "A Shipwreck In The Sand" by Silverstein. No copyright infringement is intended, I'm just doing this because it's an amazing story... and because Tara asked me to like, two months ago and I promised I would. Comments are greatly appreciated.]

July 5th 2009, 1:36 AM

The smell of gasoline didn't faze the wife. She was awake, and she could smell it, but the car was a leaky piece of shit, and it was probably just dripping in the garage again. She turned over in bed, eyes open, searching for her husband in the dark. When she didn't find him next to her, a frown crossed her face. Sighing, she sat up, scanning the whole room, but he wasn't there. The smell of gasoline had intensified, and her frown only deepened. Something was wrong. Her gut told her she needed to move; some instinct was warning her that everything was not all right. As she moved to stand, two things happened at once: the smoke alarm began to wail, and the door to the bedroom slammed open. Now she could smell the smoke as well. Her husband stood in the door, panting, shouting. "The house is burning down!"

A tremor of fear ran through her whole body, and she jumped from the bed, following her husband, who put a protective arm around her. Leaning into him, she breathed for the first time since he'd spoken, and noticed the scent of gasoline heavy on his jacket. For now, she couldn't be bothered to think about it. The crashed into the room of their daughter, who was already sitting up on the bed, her eyes wide and fearful. It was amazing to see her calm down at the sight of her parents. "Daddy, what's happening?" she asked, but before she received an answer, the husband was stumbling across the room to her, throwing her over his shoulder easily. Her tiny fingers flailed as one hand kept a tight grip on her teddy bear, the other clenching her father's jacket.

The husband led his wife down the stairs, and she saw that the fire was spreading rapidly, and the room was filled with smoke. A small sob escaped her lips when she realized exactly what was happening. Their home, gone, their posessions, gone. The memories... well, they were just that now, weren't they? She wanted to stop and grab at things like a stubborn child who refused to go without her toys. But one look at her husband's serious face told her that they weren't stopping until they were away from the house. However, she managed to grab one thing as they hurried through the living room: their wedding portrait, which had sat on the piano since they'd moved into the house. She saw her husband glance down at her, and felt sheepish for being foolish enough to grab the sentimental item.

All the husband could think was that it was ironic she should choose to grab that. He tumbled through the open door, leading his wife across the street. Sirens were chiming in the distance; someone had already called the fire department, it seemed. Breathing a sigh of relief, he ended up coughing heavily, his lungs burning with the smoke he'd inhaled. He set his daughter on the ground. She clutched her bear tightly, like it was her anchor. Looking over at his wife, he could already see the gears in her mind turning. Walking a few paces away from the daughter, he motioned for his wife to follow. He turned to her, feeling a peculiar mix of anger and relief filling him. "What?" he asked quietly.

"You smelled like gasoline." she accused, her eyes narrowing.

Immediately, the relief was gone. He just felt angry and exhausted. Looking up at her with tired eyes, he simply felt sick. "So it must be my fault?" he sighed.

"What do you want me to think?" she hissed.

"Don't try to turn this around on me!" he snapped. "I'm the one that saved you!"

A snort of a laugh escaped her lips. "Out of some sick sense of responsibilty."

"Sick? Saving my wife from the fire is not a responsibility, it's a choice." As soon as he said it, he felt horrible. Her face twisted into a sorrowful expression, but he knew that she would know why it was a choice.

"How lovely of you to make the right choice." she sneered.

"You think I did this?! This was my home, my life! It's not always just about you!"

Looking at her, silhouetted against the burning house that the firefighters were now trying so desperately to extinguish, he wanted to hurt her. So badly. Everything he'd seen and known from the past few months boiled under his skin, and he had to clench his fists behing his back to keep from acting on the impulse. Then, a small voice from behind him surprised him. The daughter had crept up behind him, her face sad, but surprisingly calm.

"Daddy? Why are you fighting?"

He knelt down to her level, brushing the ashes from her hair. She didn't appear to be scared, just a little confused. Suddenly, he felt horrible. She was only six, and now she had to deal with this... So much pain, in so few years. All the fights they'd had in front of her came rushing back to him, and he reached out to gather her in his arms and hug her tightly. "We're not fighting, sweetie, we're just angry about the house."

Looking up over her head, he saw the smoke billowing into the night sky, and held his daughter just a fraction tighter. Thinking about his wife, he could only come to the conclusion that she'd done this. She was burning down their lives, but in the figurative sense. One day, he'd have to tell his daughter the truth. All of it. But tonight, he wouldn't, it would only confuse her young mind.

A lone fireman was walking towards them. The husband stood, and nodded to the other man, walking to meet him. "Sir, do you have any idea what could have caused this?" the firemand asked.

"I don't know." he asnwered, meeting the other man's eyes.

"Well, we've got it under control now, and it's almost all put out, but I can't say there'll be much to salvage. You and your family should check into a hotel somewhere for now. Contact family members as soon as you can. We'll be investigating what happened. Your car is intact, and we've moved it out onto the street, there."

Nodding, the husband reached out to shake the fireman's hand. "Thank you."

The other man walked away, and the husband went back to his wife and child. "They want us to go to a hotel. They'll be investigating what happened." His voice was surprisingly cheerful. He wondered, momentarily, if he was going insane.

"We have no money." his wife said dryly, her voice almost fearful.

"I have my wallet in my pocket." he said. "Luckily, we have the credit and debit cards, the savings account..."

The wife nodded, and they all went to the car. Driving away from the charred, still smoking remains of their house was one of the hardest things the husband had ever done. The feeling that he could've done more crept through him, and he sighed, simply driving to the nearest Motel 8, and, after explaining what had happened to the night manager, secured them a room for an indefinite amount of time. Who knew how long it would take to get a new place-- the home had only been theirs for seven years, and it had been the the purchase of a lot of hard work.

They shared the king-sized bed that night. The husband pondered on how the child had trusted them so completely, without a single doubt in her mind, and decided, quietly, that trust was the mother of deceit. They both were lying to their daughter, and she still trusted them wholeheartedly. Feeling that same nausea building in him, he rolled over, facing away from his wife, and tried to sleep.