Guilt, Sugar and Dept

It’s an awkward time eating with her daughter nowadays, it was as if their home despite its opulent size, had become too small for them and their now discordant views.

She supposed it was money, they needed it and Savina had always done her best to provide. But given her skills it has led to some less than savory realities. 

Still, that she was willing to eat with her at all, even the one day a week, outside without walls. It felt a little bit like her daughter, even at her tumultuous age, was willing to be reasonable.

There’s a ding from the archway of the fence, and she realizes with the fall of her daughter’s face that ‘teatime’ however rare was ruined in favor of business, and as such she rings a maid over to deal with it.

At the archway over her daughter’s shoulder, sees a young girl, not older than her Ruth, waiting with the despondency of a flu-ridden fish. Dull eyed and uncaring of herself despite her position.

The maid informs her a whisper in the ear, “Someone’s sent their recipient here.” She said, handing over the letter for her to read. 

It was rather obvious that they were allowing the girl in, or in this case on property, but it was still business that Ruth was certain to reject.

It was the seat between them both that the girl chose, her name was apparently Vera, though the possibility that her lover had renamed her was not impossible.

People were not always so charitable with their desired.

“You’ve come a long way.” Savina points out, putting down the letter. Proof of affection, last thoughts, the kinds of things that people only mention when they’ve thought too much and dearly want to die.

Vera doesn’t respond, but her daughter, much settled in her opinion, does, “so more victims,” she says sharply, “I wonder what’s been done to make this one act so numb.”

Vera smiles at the question, a jerked movement, “My partner was run over a little while ago, I’m sure it’s just that,” but her face falls as the conversation lulls and she realizes, “I wonder was that a question?”

“It probably wasn’t,” the Doctor answers, “it’s quite alright though. I read this through, but it hasn’t sunk in. Why have you come here?” Savina was many things, but she was never one to force treatment on a conscious individual. 

Vera didn’t know if she had an answer to that, her thoughts were empty of concern though, her Lover had told her where to go after all. Where he’d gone after didn’t matter.

“Isn’t it obvious? She either needs a cure, or the sickness itself,” Ruth said to her mother, “it’s only a question of payment isn’t it?”

“Not if she’s impaired.” Savina pointed out dismissively, her daughter was uniquely hardheaded.

“Isn’t the cure good enough for that?” Ruth said to her mother, the patient whom she was advocating for, still listless and disinterested. She was hearing, but Savina given the situation couldn’t make out for sure that she was listening at all. 

“Do you really want to leave her like that?” Ruth asked, angry again at her mother for their daily bread, leaving quickly after. Vera’s gaze followed steadfast, like love at first sight. Only for the listless nature of her condition to swallow her again

Ruth reentered the house, not bothering to look to Savina, or the patient she’d argued so passionately for. Vera, still staring into the space her daughter had closed, sighed in that hollow manner she’d watched so many times before. 

“So dramatic,” Savina said under her breath before ringing the bell, summoning a maid. She needed more tea before talking to the girl again, and her daughter for all her fire needed to cool down.

Vera looked over at her finally, sitting straight in her chair, despondent at her daughter’s ignorance of her. Of the desire she’d sparked in a barren heart.

She stayed for that time, just long enough to drink her tea, and rest her brow. Vera for her part was still barely there, a little human shape across from her. Uninterested in tea, or food, or the warmth of a mother’s company.

Not unlike her daughter, upon realizing the nature of Savina’s work. She could hope one day, that her daughter would see the sacrifice in her actions. The importance of them, but that day, she was certain, was far off and away from her current grasp.

With little to say, her brow relaxed, Savina left satisfied that Ruth would be ready to talk. 

Calmly she left, if Vera wanted to follow she would, but she needed to talk to her daughter if she ever hoped for peace this week. Upon seeing her daughter again, it was all she could do to speak

“You should know better than to make a scene.” she said finally, recounting her daughter’s manners in her head, had the patient been more conscientious she’d have had reason to blather on, and truly it would be unfair.

“Why the hell would you refuse to help her? You’re a doctor aren’t you?” Ruth asks, like money were no object.

Not that insurance was either. The sharpness of her wasn’t familiar to Savina, Ruth, until recently, was like her namesake, a little friend. But now, eyes sharp as spears she wasn’t certain there was any way to be forgiven by her.

“Yes I am. The patient isn’t exactly on a stretcher right now.” Savina points out, she refuses to be lectured by her child.

“The only reason she can’t consent right now is for what you offer so easily.” Ruth points out, “She will never be okay again if you don’t take some responsibility.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, dear.” Savina dismisses, before recounting a simple reality, “It wouldn't be the first lover sent here in regret of a potion wasted.” looking out the window, at a dingy gray sky, she knew the truer prognosis.

“And do you always refuse their care?”, to this Savina refused to answer, every patient was different of course, but this one, Vera, was unlikely to survive. Her lover, however long ago he’d taken his own life, had not done his due diligence, beyond of course sending her from him.

It might’ve hurt once, seeing someone so young die in the listlessness of heartbreak, but it wasn’t her’s to cure. Not without the voiced will of that little girl. 

Ruth looked away from her, only long enough to realize how dark it had gotten, how fast time moves in the slow doldrums of relative affluence, and she leaves the cloister of the house to fetch the patient. 

Savina, by then is looking out her window seeing the careful movements of the girl as she follows her daughter diligent and fair, before she sees them disappear into her front door.

Knowing her daughter, the maids would be set to task, care for this dying child, good keeping, hospitality and all that. And she thinks of her daughter’s charitable nature, of the heartbreak certain for her if for no other reason, than her own folly.

She doesn’t see much of her daughter personally over the next few days, then a week, then a month. Utterly avoided, with only her maids to tell her the goings on of her daughter and her patient. 

Of every meal, fed carefully even as that doll of a girl frayed apart at the seams, as her mind left and wobbled, and her body followed after, of the joy her daughter held on to at her every peak of consciousness. 

The sheer desire to see her well. 

But all sweet happenings came to an end, when her daughter for all her pride and love could not protect her doll anymore. 

A maid had gone to her, a whisper one quiet morning, Vera, a fraying lover’s mind in a body soon to follow, collapsed in the bedroom that her daughter had decided to share with her.

It was one of the things that her maids refused to tell her, for her daughter’s pride, for the chance to care, and she felt like death himself as she entered her daughter’s room.

“You have to cure her.” Ruth begs, Vera held only too close to her chest breathing quick, heavy, useless breaths.

“Why?” Savina baits, at a distance. “because you’re sorry?”

There’s a breath’s pause, and she chokes out a petty little lie, “yes.” as she chokes on the feeling it leaves in her. Her daughter is in pain, and she still won’t admit it. 

“You shouldn’t lie for this. Just-” Savina can’t say it, but then she does, “You can’t lie just because you hate me.” she says, finally leaving the room to them, certain it’s only Ruth that she’s left behind. 

To Savina at least Vera is gone, but she can’t help but listen to the last words of this corpse in her daughter’s care. 

“I never learned his name.” She said quietly, only half heard by the doorway. “I didn’t think of it before. It didn’t matter. Not to me.”

“I loved him, how could anything about him matter?” the body said, her Ruth holding it close, with the madness of the thought.

Vera in a moment of clarity pushed herself from Ruth, she at least heard the shuffle of it, “I didn’t want to say it before.” 

“Am I bad?”, and her daughter for all she didn’t understand couldn’t help refuting such a statement. And Savina wondered how much of goodness was inaction, or if her daughter in all her charity couldn’t see the boldness of the body’s affection for her.

She leaves the doorway, knowing well that her daughter would certainly grieve this body of Vera’s, the body so easily led by her fire, and the heart long broken before her.