Grocery Shopping [Citra]

Perhaps this was a bad idea. A very bad one. Less bad, if she could condone using a nanny. But she could never condone letting a stranger take care of her children, ever. So she had to settle for tying the three of them together to go get groceries, and put the baby in the cart. Citra was determined to prove that she could take good care of her children without anyone else, especially her husband.

The problem was it was not a pleasant thought, nor a pleasant experience. She still had a credit card, and could not imagine living with just her own income while raising four children. Citra was faced with staying with Niels (he was a good enough person... but nothing else good, after that fact.) and being unhappy with happy children or leave him and struggle to maintain a good life. Or worse, not get to see her children at all. That was certainly a terrifying possibility.

She shook off the notion and crossed a few more things off her list, before turning back to her children to let them know it was time to go. One was climbing into the freezer, another was rolling on the floor, and the third was trying to open a pack of bologna with sticky fingers. How long was she expected to hold out?

"Beni don't eat the bologn--" Now that had to be paid for, too.

((What this is madness, what kind of Asian children are these--they should be following behind her like mute ducks. :I Obviously they need to be threatened with abandonment more, to keep them in line--/SHOT))

Was he stalking? No, of course not. He was grocery shopping. Without a cart. Or a basket. Or even any items in his hands. What was he here for, then? Tomatoes...or something... Yeah...

Watching intensely from around the corner of another aisle, he followed his wife with his eyes longingly. He hated the weekends. At work, he could keep his mind occupied, and away from his personal heartache. But no amount of overtime could spill over into Saturday and Sunday. Then he was forced to be home. Home, where all he did was cry, sleep, stare at nothing despondently for hours, contemplate fleeting thoughts of suicide, and most of all: loathe himself. Because he couldn't hold onto her.

But he didn't have to stay home. He could still watch her, and his children, from a distance. And so he did, seeking them out and trailing them covertly every single weekend. It only eased the pain and the longing marginally, but being just a shadow close enough to touch them was better than being nothing at all.

At least, in his mind, it was.

And he had not, indeed, had reason to yet touch them--to alert them of his near-constant presence. Until now. As Citra's attention was occupied with Beni, Niels instinctively darted out to catch another child as he attempted to climb a freezer shelf and slipped. As soon as he was out in the open, there was a collective chorus:

"Pappje!"

As he crouched to set down the one, he was mobbed by the rest. It was difficult for children to understand why a parent would leave them--especially one as doting as their father had been. And in that moment, his spirits lifted for the first time in what seemed like aeons, as he embraced and greeted his children in Dutch. But the moment passed, and his heart began to thud uncomfortably hard as he stood up again to face their mother.

Blushing and fidgeting uncomfortably, he managed an awkward laugh that mostly just caught in his throat, and muttered, "Citra... What...what a coincidence..." As if he'd just happened to be there in the very same place, at that exact fortunate moment. Beneath the pained grin and the thin veneer of a professional businessman, it was clear he was unwell. A wreck of a person.

((They're indonesian, they will only do that if someone tells them there's a ghost that eats bad children that haunts the grocery store, and besides, citra can't pull 4 ears at once-- /shot XD))

Citra loved her children, no one could say otherwise. But being the only one to watch them was proving to be hell. She never had to worry about household chores when she lived with Niels, there was a whole host of maids to make sure she only ever had to worry about children. Now she had to worry about the byproduct of children-- everything they touched became sticky and slobbery and it had only been a week or a bit more and the countertops in the apartment seemed glazed from toddler fingerprints.

"Pappje!"

She didn't turn around, as long as she heard them all yell from the same general area. "Yes, we can call Pappje at night, remember, he can't come with us on vacation, he has to be at work--" It wasn't until she heard Dutch that didn't carry a speech impediment that she turned around, barely hanging on to the oldest boy by the arms before nearly dropping him to the ground, startled. She was a tired, stressed wreck, too... but for different reasons. Eventually Beni wriggled away and joined the throng gathered around his father-- Citra barely managed to surpress a grab for his little jacket, to pull him back to her.

"Niels..." It wasn't a coincidence. But at least she could understand not being away from one's own children. "You could have called. You didn't have to come here to see them..." She hated that she no longer felt she loved him. When she did she didn't remember being any happier-- in fact, she still wore the ring. Nothing was worse to her than seeming unmarried, with children, especially. She still cared about him enough, but that was different than love. "I don't really have the time... and... you look sick. You should go...." Home? Her home? She decided not to say anything, because she was still undecided if it was her home anymore or not.

((FFFFFF Someone call up Sonya and Adilet, we need our resident ghosts in here--/SHOT))

She turned around, and he finally got to see her up close for the first time in what seemed to him like ages (really, it hadn't been that long by healthy standards). And she looked like just as much of a mess as he did. But still every bit as beautiful as when he first met her--whether from an unlimited capacity for infatuation or a serious psychological problem, he had never completely gotten past his initial, awed attraction for her. Even after they'd been married, slept together, and had children. It made the separation all the more impossible for him to accept. 

But he had at least gotten over his inclination to stammer when talking to her--though it didn't make him any more comfortable, in moments like this. "It wasn't only them I wanted to see..." He muttered, painfully. It was agony every time he was reminded that she didn't love him anymore, though he did get a small spark of hope when he'd noticed that she still wore her ring. His own never came off; he'd sooner superglue it to his finger than willingly remove it.

"Please come back, Citra," he pleaded (he wasn't above begging, and certainly not when he had a real opportunity to--as opposed to nagging phone calls, text messages, letters, and emails), "The children need a real house, with two parents that have a stable income. And I need them...and you... That's why I look sick."

Was it possible to fall out of love and then fall back into it? Maybe just a different kind? But he'd lied to her, guilted her, and when he felt it might be ending, slowed her down with opium. She knew it was likely he hadn't changed at all.

"It's not about the children..." She argued, but trailed off. Hadn't she brought the children with her because she was afraid that if she didn't, she'd never see them again?

But she couldn't keep living like this-- she couldn't keep them living like this. She was having a life crisis in a supermarket... she felt hollow. Like there was no choice but to give up. She couldn't make him change. Living on her own wasn't an option. "I give up," she said tiredly, to no one in particular.

"Just... let me get all this... and we can go to the apartment and get my things out..." Not as if there was much there. The only thing hopeful about going back to live with him was that she would at least be at home. She'd figure out the rest later.

Triumph. A flood of absolute triumph. But also confusion--for all the manipulative and even outright abusive things he'd done to keep her on a chain, the majority of his conscious way of thinking was still a naive and awkward one, in matters of love. She wasn't supposed to sound like she was giving up. She was, she even said so, but she wasn't supposed to sound like it. She was supposed to sound like she loved him again and was thrilled to come back.

Perhaps, in a sense, part of what drove him to need to control her was exactly that he wanted her to reciprocate everything he felt--just as every lover wants to be loved equally, in turn--when it was impossible for anyone in their right mind to reciprocate such an obsession. Consequently, he feared that she might not care for him, might leave him, might not feel the same way he did. When really, it was that he'd set the bar too high to begin with.

(Her love for him was like a teacup, in his mind, that fell to the floor and shattered every day. And every day, he would go to any extreme to glue it back together. But he lived in constant fear that the terrible day would come when the little cup was too broken to be mended--and so he held ever more tightly to it, refusing to let go. Not realizing that it was cracking beneath his own grip.)

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel and look distinctly thrilled. "I can call someone to go fetch your things, if you'd like, we could just go straight home," he suggested eagerly, before addressing the kids, "What do you think? We get to go home!" As if they'd all been away from it, together.

And in a way, they almost were, considering how much he'd been trailing behind their every step.

A few of the children exclaimed their agreement with a resounding "Home!", while the others, still grasping the basics of language and motor functions, simply squealed or smiled, trying to mimic his reaction. Seeing that cheered Citra up a bit, but she couldn't help (who could) feel still troubled, like she was still wondering why she left. It was because she wasn't happy, wasn't she?

Yet, looking at her happy children and her happy husband, she couldn't help but think that she was the problem (he hadn't ever tried to convince her otherwise, to the contrary, actually, he was always telling her in some backwards way that it was really just her... she just didn't recognize it as such). Only beaten women left their husbands, or adulterous women. Not only that, but the entire time she was gone, she'd used his money to support herself, and he hadn't said a word about it.

She'd tried it on her own, it did no good. So maybe she was the problem-- she was the one that had to change. Her heart still felt heavy when she replaced the children into the stroller, though she tried to smile. It didn't come close to his. "Okay..." She didn't want him to see how she was living. After they'd walked back to the car and loaded the children in, she felt emotionless. It wasn't until she was in the car herself, completely given up, going back, that tears began to automatically fall from her eyes. She quickly wiped them away and sniffed. "I... don't know what's wrong with me... I'm sorry..."