Some days later.
It still felt like a dream when the Vet told Orla that Betty had suffered from Feline Cardiomyopathy. The sudden collapse was due to exhaustion. The illness had gotten to its last stage and it was incurable.
Orla protested. She had treated Betty a few months ago and nothing about the illness was said to her. It suddenly happened and was too late to stop.
Betty couldn't make it, she died without a proper goodbye to her best friend.
Orla's whole world crumbled when the news of Betty's death was delivered to her. She didn't believe it was true. It'd been two days, and she still didn't want to believe that Betty was gone for real. She was gone, leaving her alone in the cold world. There was no best friend anymore, and there was no Betty anymore.
There was nothing to make her happy anymore, there was no one she could vent to anymore, no one she could cuddle up with, rant to, kiss, and play with. Even though Betty couldn't talk back when she ranted, she was relieved whenever she talked to her about issues bothering her and she didn't know how she was going to live without that.
She was a mess as she curled up in the centre of the bedroom, staring at all the pictures she'd taken with Betty over the years. They had been inseparable, she'd been her only hope in life, the reason she stayed alive and strived not to put an end to the uneasy life she was living.
"Betty!" She yelled in agony, hot tears cascading down her cheeks.
She wanted her best friend back. She wanted Betty back. She wouldn't survive without her, she would lose it without her. She didn't know where to start without Betty.
Callan walked into the living room, examining how hushed the place was. Betty would have rushed out to welcome him if she were still alive. Even when he was gone for a week, Betty still recognized him whenever he came back home and she would wiggle her tail at his feet, ushering him into the house.
He was accustomed to that gesture, and he looked forward to it every day, but today was different. There was no Betty to welcome him back home, the house bleakly empty and everything was… Dry.
He sighed, knowing Orla was probably mad at him for being away for three days without letting her know and she must have hindered Betty from coming to welcome him into the house.
A call came that night that he had to be in Dublin for an important conference the next morning. Unbeknownst to Orla, he travelled down with Rosa. He still didn't feel the need to tell her about his movements.
He was welcomed into the bedroom with the strident sound of Orla's wails. She was sprawled out on the tiles, legs folded against each other. Her phone was on her chest as she bemoaned her dead cat.
He walked closer to his closet, totally avoiding Orla but the sound of her sobs got louder, arching his ears. He turned back to her and sighed.
“What's with the tears?" He asked, taking off his suit jacket.
Orla remained on that spot, clutching her phone to her chest and wailing. Callan's voice was low and only the sound of her wails was heard in the room.
With guilt wearing him down, he walked towards her and towered in front of her. He couldn't look at her after what happened that night, he wondered if she was still crying because of that night. It'd been three days and she should have gotten over it by now, especially when she hadn't seen him since that night.
"Orla?" He called, her name sounding firm in his mouth. She stopped wailing and looked up at him. He had seen her sad, but not that dejected. Her eyes were so red, tears poured down in uncontrollable folds. He wanted to hold her, wrap her in his arms and comfort her but he held himself back. She was probably still mad at him for leaving her that night. "Why are you crying so much?"
Orla scoffed, gently wiping her tears with her thumb.
Exasperation upswung in her veins in heavy ripples. Who does he think he is? He could just leave her for days and come back whenever he wanted to ask what was wrong with her? Fuck him and all that had to do with him. Fuck him a million times.
"What the hell do you care about, Callan?" She briskly jumped up.
She was angry, frustrated and tired of it all. She had been holding it in for too long, but now that Betty was gone, she couldn't hold it in anymore. She wasn't certain the kind of person she would be now, but one thing was sure, she could never be the old Orla.
Callan lost his balance but immediately steadied himself. He had never seen her that mad.
“What happened when I was away?" He asked in a reserved tone, hoping she would calm down and talk to her, but that question only triggered her aggression.
"What happened when you were away?" She laughed softly, tears dropping down her cheeks. "What can you change, Callan? What the fuck can you change? How bad you made me feel? Your mother coming here to heckle me? Leaving the house for three days without my notice? Or," she stared at him, laughing hysterically. "Betty's death? What can you change? What the hell can you change?" She yelled, looking into his eyes, unwavering.
"What do you mean by Betty's death?" He was shocked but sounded relaxed to conceal his emotion.
"Betty is dead! She's dead. What do you want to do about that?" She asked in a shaky voice.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He wasn't sure what to ask, he was lost for words. He didn't want to believe that Betty was really dead. He knew how much she meant to his wife. Orla's gloomy expression hurt him but he knew he had no right to calm her after what he did.
Orla laughed, "Your mother called me daft. I guess she forgot her son is the daft one." Callan shut his eyes, not letting the words sink in. He knew that she was mad at him and he deserved it. "Do I have a number I can call you with? No! Have you been at home for three days? No! So, how? How do I want to tell you that Betty died? Do you even care?" She wanted to act strong, but it was too much and the feelings overwhelmed her. She went down on her knees, bursting out in tears. "What do you care, Callan? You didn't want her anyway. She's dead now and I hope that you are happy." She curled up her legs to her knees and cried hard.
Callan looked at his wife. She was wrong, he had grown to love Betty and he wanted her around, but there was a point in crying over spilt milk. Betty was dead now and he had been an asshole.
He kneeled close to her, sorry for everything that he had done. He was close to touching her, but she repelled. "Don't touch me, I don't need your sympathy. I don't need anything from you, Callan."
"Hmm, do you care to know why I was away for three days?" He looked at her, and their gazes met. Orla furrowed her brows in confusion. "Orla, calm down and listen to me."
She shook her head, "I don't care about what happened to you because it's clear you don't regard me as your wife. You were gone for days and didn't call to let me know where you were. You could reach me if you wanted to, you could but you didn't." She shook her head, still crying so hard.
"Orla," he called, closing his eyes.
"And even if something happened to you, it should remain with you. I am hurting, I just lost my best friend. You don't care about me, I don't want to care about you either. That was what you've always wanted, let it remain that way." She raised her head to finalize her words. "From now, I will stay away from you and I want you to do that too."
"Hmmm, I have never tried to get close to you." He muttered before realizing he shouldn't have said that to her.
"I know it, Callan. I know that you are an asshole and you never fail to prove that to me."
"Orla." He called sternly.
He was mad at himself for being a terrible husband. He looked into her eyes, they were soaked with tears, almost blinding her vision. Her shoulders were shaking as she sat in front of him.
"Don't worry, Callan. I don't want you anymore." She rubbed her aching chest. "Forget about everything that has happened between us, things will change from now." She stated calmly, but she meant her words with every fiber of her being.
A small wave of trepidation rushed through Callan as he stared at Orla's fierce eyes. He rubbed his temples in worry and shrugged his shoulders.
They stared longer into each other's eyes, strong emotions cramming them. Her eyes flickered with fury, but he could clearly hear the whispers of her heart that needed him to hold her in his hands, hold her until she was free of all the pain.
Callan fought back the urge to succumb to her heart's whispers. Orla had a strong grip on him, one that no one had ever had on him and he hated that.
Before he could turn vulnerable, he turned his back on her and walked out of the bedroom. Staying in the same room with him will haunt him, he couldn't bear to see her swollen face and he couldn't console her too.
He had to stay far away from her, and do things that didn't relate to her. So, he headed towards his study, slammed the door shut, settled on the armchair and buried his head in unfinished office work.
Guess you guys weren't expecting this, hmm, it was hard to write this too.
Let's drop a love and comment in honour of Betty's death.