Falling Apart-
A short story by Voirey Linger. 
(c) 2009, any reproduction or reposting without the express consent of the author is prohibited. 

Deborah Madison-Willows listened to her lawyer work his way through the thick legal document without really hearing him. His voice droned on, outlining the provisions and clauses and she'd murmur an agreement here and there. She tried to make sense of what he was saying long enough to make a decision when needed, but the sad fact was, nothing stayed in her head.

Jasmine Purdy, secretary and assistant to one F. Randall Scott, attorney at law, set a full cup of coffee on the conference table in front of Deborah, who managed to offer a polite thank you. The subtle scent of the other woman's perfume wafted after her, evoking images of petals and sultry, Southern nights.

Deborah hated coffee. God knew she didn't need caffeine right now. She was too tense, wound too tight, but she accepted it. She even curled the corners of her mouth up in some semblance of a smile for Ms. Purdy before turning to face Mr. Scott again. His mouth was still moving, and she could still hear his voice. He was also looking at her instead of the document in front of him. This meant the words had to be important, some dark corner of her mind prodded, so she struggled to focus.

“While it's not what we hoped for, it's still a very fair and reasonable settlement,” the lawyer was saying.

He looked like a bulldog. She understood this observation wasn't really appropriate for the conversation, but her flighty brain couldn't stop making the comparison. Short and barrel chested, his build reminded her of her husband's dog. She'd tried to like the disgusting little creature, but had always found the slobbering, wheezing animal repulsive. When Butch's vet told them nothing more could be done, Deborah had felt nothing but guilty relief.

Her stomach quivered violently at the memory of that day, the pink fluid in the syringe and the sound of the vile beast's labored, snorting breath slowing and eventually stopping, the dry eyed expression of grief and rage combined on her husband's face. “I hope you're happy now,” he'd said as they left the vet's office, without the dog. She'd denied it, of course, but she had been happy. No more doggie smell. No more finding her best shoes chewed up. No more having her legs nipped while her husband laughed, calling, “Get'er, Butch. Get momma.” Hell yes, she was thrilled.

She realized her bulldoggish lawyer was watching her expectantly.

“Are you recommending I take the settlement?” she asked. She didn't know how or why her voice sounded so steady when inside she was going crazy, flying into a million little pieces with no way to stop it. She couldn't let go, let herself fall apart. If she did, no one would ever find all the pieces, no one could ever put her back together.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses and all the kings men,

Couldn't put Humpty together again.

“That, of course, is up to you. I'm sure we can get more, but that will take time.”

“What do you think we can get and how much time are we looking at?” She didn't care, really, but she had to keep him talking. She had to keep him focused on her and her alone, paying attention to her, distracting her from the reality of what was in that stack of papers sitting on the table between them. She didn't care if she was paying him by the fucking minute to do it.

He flipped through the pages with his broad hands and stubby fingers some more. The diamond in his gold pinkie ring glinted as he pointed out a few places he could make counteroffers or flat out refuse. What kind of man wore a pinkie ring? What was he like away from this office, away from the courtroom? Did he drive a sports car or a Hummer? A man with a diamond glinting off of his little finger was certain to drive some kind of penismobile.

Dollar amounts, possible compromises and time frames flew around her, chipping away at her one little bit at a time. Watching those pawlike hands made her shake inside. She wanted to scream, to throw herself on the floor and fucking scream. She wanted to bash her head against the wall until her body hurt as much as her soul.

Can't you see me hurting? Can't you tell this is killing me?

She lifted the coffee cup to her lips and sipped the bitter brew, her professional mask in place while F. Randall Scott and his doggie jowls explained, then explained again.

She couldn't listen to this anymore. She'd heard enough. Too much. Make him stop, someone make him stop! I can't hear it any more. I can't sit and listen to him give me the choice of how to rip my life apart.

With another nod, Deborah encouraged him to keep talking.

She had, of course talked to her best friend on the phone about everything, and she had been very understanding. Too understanding. She knew what Deborah was going through. Had gone through it herself a few years ago. Deborah had been there with her, holding her hand, going to court with her for moral support, so she knew Amy understood how hard this was.

But then she didn't. Not really.

Amy had been surrounded by her family and friends. She'd had a shoulder to cry on every night. She'd had her mother there, and her brother. By the time it was all over, she even had a boyfriend to take the pain away. Last year the two of them moved to another state and were happily settled down and making babies together.

“Just be glad you don't have kids. It's so much harder when there are innocent little children involved,” Amy said.

No kids to hurt, to be torn between two parents at war. No sweet little body to curl up in her lap at night and give her a reason to move through her days.

No one to keep her from going though this hell completely and utterly alone.

Deborah didn't have anyone. Her parents were dead and she was an only child. Since Amy moved, all Deborah had were coworkers with whom she was politely friendly. She kept her game face on during the day and poured her grief out into her lonely pillow at night. It was a new pillow. Everything was new, the bedding, the mattress, the headboard and frame. She couldn't bear to sleep on her old bed. It felt dirty, contaminated.

She lifted the cup again, shocked to realize it was empty. She'd sipped her way through the entire nasty thing.

“I think I've heard enough.” She set the cup back on the table. “I don't see anything to be gained by stretching this out any longer. Lets get it over with.”

Her lawyer nodded and pointed out where she should sign.

The screaming in her head turned into a long keening wail. With her signature came a death of sorts, and the grief that went with it. She had an insane desire to throw herself in her lawyers arms and beg him to hold her. Just fucking hold her. She wanted to break down and sob in his arms, to have him, someone, anyone tell her it was going to be alright, that her life wasn't disintegrating around her. Someone to let her know she mattered.

She needed someone to care about her.

No one fucking cared.

She was twisted so tight she was breaking on the inside. Shattering. There was no way to put her back together. How could she, when the pieces of herself were so small and scattered?

She signed the paper that would make her Deborah Madison once more and gave Mr. Scott a cool smile, thanking him for his help. He assured her she that she shouldn't have to be present in court; her signature on the agreement was enough.

She stepped outside and blinked as the bright sunshine stung her eyes. The pain she could welcome. This pain was real. This pain would go away.

The cash and investments had been neatly cut in half, divided between them. He had his car, a new bulldog and the house with the marital bed, now kept warm by another. She had her car, her grandmother's china and her condo with it's new, empty bed.

It would have to be enough.

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