gonna be g o o d

but she wishes he did.

          it cuts him to the bone. knowing she things he doesn't           care. her thinking he's not hurting too. as if he's some           emotionless statue, like losing his son hasn't hit him as           hard. as if he doesn't sleep at night because he's afraid           that diana might wake up in the night and need him. he's           scared more than anything. scared that all the things he           loves are going to vanish and pull the ground out from           beneath him. she's always been there, and dan's not sure           what he would do without her.           not that he's going to let himself say the words that want           to jump to his lips. he's not going to shout, to tell her about           how work has grown hard because he can't draw a straight           line. how he's so tired that standing up makes him woozy           sometimes. how the image of gabriel, tiny and silent in his           arms, is always caught behind his eyes. but the words are           locked behind his teeth.      "diana."           he's going for firm, but his tone waves just slightly as he gets           to his feet when she does. hands hover uselessly about her           shoulders for a moment before shoulders go slack and his           arms fall to his sides.      "i love you, and we're going to be alright.       i'm still here. you're still here. we have       natalie. as long as we all have each other       we're going to be alright."

(video, lyrics and sheet music)

her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she tries to take the breaths the doctor told her to try when she is having one of those days.

          he keeps holding her close and gives a soft sigh.           something went wrong, he's not sure what, but he           knows. maybe it has something to do with the meds.           another try, another week of side-effects, another           week of hoping this time it'll be right. until it isn't.           sometimes dan wishes he didn't always hope it's           gonna last. that his dosage will be right this time           and she'll be alright.           it's not like he doesn't know it might not ever work.           they might not ever find the right treatment. but he           can't afford to think that way when some days he           considers hiding all of the blades and razors in the           house when he's at work. or staring at the phone,           just waiting for a call from diana in tears or worse.      "it's okay. you don't have to know. we'll       push through it, right? like we always do."           he pulls his face from her hair and offers a solid smile.           just like he always does. a hand brushes some of the           hair from her face with a gentle touch, a gentle smile.           they'll be okay. they're okay. dan's good at saying that           to himself. in his head, at his reflection in the mirror.           we're okay. and sometimes it's true.           not now, though. his hand lingers on her cheek for a           moment before he withdraws, pressing a kiss to her           forehead. they'll be okay. diana will be okay.      "we'll just tell the doctor what happened at       the next appointment. things like this happen.       it's okay. do you know if natalie's alright?"           maybe he can take her mind off of it. feed the baby.           call a sitter, maybe, so he and diana could go out for           dinner and a movie. he'd cook, but the last time he           tried all that happened was charred hamburgers.

“fucked”

he taunts, knowing that there’s not— well, there is, dan could just quit imagining him and go and get some more help, but where’s the fun in that?

          dan tries to remember what's been told to him, what           dr. madden would tell him to do in this situation. it's           hard, though, to try and remember this isn't happening.           it's too real. this is all too real and he can realize why           diana would have trouble distinguishing fact from fake           in this manner. his nails dig into his skin and he shakes           his head. maybe it's a nightmare of some sort. maybe           he's just managed to doze off and now can't wake up.           shaking fingers pull at the ever increasing plumage in           blind fear. gabe's laughing, his words, they aren't doing           much to help his mental state at the moment. he shakes           and seems to fold into himself, fingers pausing in the           ceaseless scratching as he looks down at his hand. it's           starting to become caked in blood and suddenly he's           thinking of when he came home from work, found the           living room coated red, found the trail of it leading to           the bathroom. found diana near lifeless. it has his hands           shaking even harder.      "what do you want?"           is this what gabriel does? eyes turn up to the teenager           who was never really a teenager in a harrowed question.

❝ sorry. ❞

          he can't but let out a relieved sort of sigh, arms coming           up to form a shield around diana as he leans his forehead           against the top of her head. lips press there after a quiet           second and he carefully considers his next move. it's shaky           ground. the wood floors and painted walls seem one blow           away from collapse, they have since gabe's death.           it hurts him, too. it hurts to lose a son. to have his wife in           this state, to watch her struggle day after day. it kills him to           feel so useless. he can't help her like he wants to, like he so           often feels he should be able to. why can't he make her feel           safe? he shakes his head a bit at the apology and shuts his           eyes, kissing her head again, all slow and gentle movements.      "sh. it's fine. you don't need to apologize, di.       this is just...you're just getting used to natalie,       it's gonna be alright."           why does it feel like he's trying to reassure himself with those           words as he cradles diana close and tries to block her destruction           from the outside in. it's like trying to hold thousands of grains of           sand in place, though, and he's so scared she'll crumble to bits           before his eyes, sink into the floorboards. the thought makes him           want to hug her more fiercely, but the doctors said to be sure she           could stop the contact if he wanted. so gentle, light touches it will           be. he needs to be helping her.           dan's growing pretty good at pretending he doesn't need someone           to be helping him.

                                  not a single word.               ┕                                                            ┛

❝ dan! ❞

          it's become common, just staring at his desk           phone during the day, waiting for it to ring. and           he stands up when it does, tucks the handset           between cheek and shoulder as he shoves his           arms into his jacket. his voice is calm as it can           be when his wife is breaking down on the other           end. as soon as he hangs up with promises of           being home soon he's out the door and down the           elevator and in his car.           maybe he speeds more than what's safe down           the streets. maybe he ought to keep a better eye           on the lights so that he didn't run that red. but           his wife is at home breaking down, and his baby           daughter is home too, and his mind spins as he           thinks of all the things that could possibly go wrong.           the door is pushed open fast and he tries to think           of where she might be. when her voice filters in           through the kitchen dan starts that way, pace quick           as he masks any fear in his eyes. at the sigh of           diana on the floor he kneels before her and gently           rests a hand on her shoulder.      "di. what's wrong? did something happen?"

"Hi, Mr. Goodman." 

          diana's not having a good week. it's a no driving           sort of week, so dan's running some errands di           would usually be taking care of. he'd parked a ways           away from the grocery store, telling himself he could           use the fresh air and the walk. it's just an excuse to           collect his thoughts before going home to diana and           natalie. he blinks at the boy before smiling at him           from over the top of the brown grocery bags in his           arms.           it's...harry? no, henry. natalie's friend, the one who           had come to dinner that night. damn. dan should have           remembered it was gabe's birthday, that diana wouldn't           have been alright. it's a yearly occurrence that he forgot           in his momentary excitement.      "henry. it's nice to see you again."

     a                                   simple                                       smile.             」

                             She  took  a seat next to him, books  in  hand,                                        crossing    one   ripped   nightpant-clad    leg                                        over another. It was little stretches like these:                                        making  attempts  at  conversation  that   one                                         could  see  that Natalie was trying.  It  wasn’t                                        without  its  flaws, of  course, sometimes  the                                         girl  thought  her  attempts to  not  be  worth  it.                                        This time, though, seemed different. Perhaps                                        it    was    the   night;    perhaps    she    simply                                        bargaining. Perhaps, they were all bargaining.                                                

          the sound of feet on stairs has his eyes snapping           up from the blank stare directed at the dim screen           of his laptop. a name he knows isn't right wants to           leave his tongue, but the steps are too balanced to           be diana. she always ran up and down them with           such boldness, a clatter of words and smiles that           were too wide but didn't reach her eyes. so he keeps           quiet and silently reprimands himself, taking a long           drink from the scalding hot mug in his hands. it           burns his tongue and throat and he winces at the           feeling.           it's too late for her to be up and he hates that she is.           that she's used to being awake at four in the morning           on a thursday night— friday morning? on a school           night, either way. she shouldn't be staying up this late,           shouldn't be coming down the creaky stairs to find her           father staring at nothing on a computer screen so early.           he can't sleep. it's too cold without her heat beside him           in bed. she had been a furnace, has stolen the blankets           with mischievous laughs so that they would have to lie           close and huddle under the duvet. now it's just him and           it's too quiet in that room that he can't bring himself to           call his own. eyes follow natalie silently and he forces           a small smile.      "i'm just doing some work. homework?"           no he's not. he'd planned on doing some work, getting           ahead while he could. but he'd brought the laptop down           here and just wound up staring at the home-screen with           a hot cup of coffee. eyes land on her books and nod at           them when he asks before he sets his mug down in an           aborted sort of motion, jerky, like a wind up toy.      "do you want some coffee, natalie? or some toast?        might as well have breakfast now."           he's already getting up, slowly. his knees crack a bit           as he stands, shivering a bit in thin shirt and night pants.           this house is cold. it never seemed this arctic before.           frosty at times, yes, but never like this. never cold enough           for him to want to layer on sweaters and socks. that smile           keeps up on his face in an attempt to hide the circles           under his eyes, the way shoulders slump slightly.

                    he couldn’t be prouder.

          nails bite into his skin as he scratches at the           feathers. they come out in clumps but there's           just more of them every second and they're           making him cough a bit as he scratches, tugs,           pulls them out in fistfuls. a cloud of black is           forming on the linoleum tile around him as the           things are pulled. underneath his nails is getting           tinged with red.      "gabe. what. what's happening to me?"           he chokes it out and tried to breathe deeply, to           count to ten like he'd been told by doctors in white           coats in cold rooms even whiter. it's not working,           though, the breaths hitching in his chest as nails           keep dragging against raw skin.