"He doesn't always bring you what you want," was his only response as he begrudgingly trudged up the stairs, his light up reindeer slippers glowing with every stomp.
She wanted to scold him for his behaviour, but he was right. The fabled old man couldn't work miracles. Christmas Day was pleasant nonetheless with Auntie Kat dropping off gingerbread for Henry and a rum cake for Regina. The only reason the brunette knew Kathryn was heading out of town for the holidays leaving David to fend for himself was for the suitcase she could spot in the front seat of the sedan. She felt she should ask, but how could she when she spent the better part of the year evading her friend's invitations.
Regina watched as the calendar days dwindled, feeling her mood shift before her mind could even register the fact. Henry was asleep in his bed the evening of the 28th when Regina sat in her kitchen, losing herself in a rum cake that was more alcohol than pastry. She was never one to eat her weight in feelings, but there had been a time or two when she'd drown her sorrows in alcohol, and the rum cake was her best bet. When every piece was eaten, she moved on to the real thing, grabbing the closest bottle her fingers found — Absolut leftover from months ago — and strategically evading her office and living room and kitchen and any room where Emma left her mark.
Out of options she dropped to the foot of her stairs, downing more than a shot from the tumbler she managed to grab as her body doubled over on her knees, her shoulders shaking and her breath coming out in hard, erratic gasps.
This was real. This wasn't just some never ending nightmare she was living. It wasn't some cruel prank or alternate reality.
I'll be back before you know it.
Fucking liar, Regina hissed to herself as angry tears came to her eyes. It's been a god forsaken year!
Her make-up ran down her cheeks when she lifted her head up and poured herself a healthy dose. And then another. And another. And soon she was taking a swig from the bottle and leaving the bottle barely capped at the foot of her stairs.
Merry Christmas to me, she toasted herself bitterly as she stood.
"Yes it is," she slurred aloud as she took determined yet haphazard steps to her side table. "And what a wonderful new year!"
The drawer in her table wouldn't budge, but her depth perception wasn't much to bank on at that point. She finally got it open and grabbed at the pens and scrap paper hidden there before moving to lean her back against the wall and missing entirely. She fell to the floor, her ass hitting the hardwood with a thud, and the momentary shock was enough to dim the pain to her backside and lower back. Her suppressed laugh echoed in the foyer, snickering and wheezing in place of boisterous laughter. She needed another drink, but who the put the bottle so goddamn far away?
Rolling her eyes at fool's incompetency, she brought her knees up and used her thighs as a board against the paper and started to write furiously.
"To the woman who stole my heart," Regina voiced out loud. "Go to hell."
She underlined the words twice, the pen ripping through the page and ink marking her silk pyjama bottoms, but continued on, a snarl forming on her lips with every word.
You left me today. You left me and sent some second-rate soldier whose life is apparently more valuable than your own to tell me that you weren't coming back. You didn't even have the decency to tell me yourself!
"Idiot," she huffed and growled when her flesh was too soft to write on. Her hand moved to the table and grabbed, spilling bills and keys and small toys until her fingers settled on a magazine.
The doctor wants me to write to you, then so be it! A year. It's been a year. No phone call. No note. Not even a fucking telegram. I thought you liked it here. I was waiting for you. Henry was waiting for you. You never showed up because you had to go and be some altruistic idiotic saviour. Why does Neal get to live, and you get the short end of the stick? What, because you're a woman who needs to prove herself? Because he had a family? You have a family! Get that through your thick skull. Why couldn't you just for once think about yourself? After how many times did you promise me you'd be careful and you'd be safe? You had people waiting for you. You can't just come into our lives and claim to love us and then suddenly disappear. That isn't fair, Emma Swan! That's not how this works. You were supposed to come back! You don't get to leave us like this. God, how dare you? I loved you. I love you, doesn't that mean something to you? It hurts. Every single day I wake up and everything reminds me of your stupid face.
"I just have one thing to say to you," she seethed and balled up the paper, throwing it across the hallway along with the pen and magazine. The pen cluttered to the ground, and the magazine whirled before thudding. All the anger and misery Regina felt came out in gasping, breathy sobs as she leaned against her side on the floor and cried.
Regina's body woke her up at 6:00 AM precisely, hangovers be damned. She didn't know when she had wandered over to her couch, but if the remaining fifth of tequila was any indication, she wouldn't be remembering any time soon. Her silk tank top did nothing to shield her from the early morning chill. Goosebumps prickled on her arms as she sat up, straightening the kinks in her back and neck. She was never drinking again.
Grabbing the bottle, she moved toward her office to replace it back in her liquor cabinet then made her way toward the stairs to check in on Henry. He was a fairly heavy sleeper, but God forbid he witnessed anything particularly scarring. Her foot stepped on something prickly yet it yielded to her weight. A pen lay tangled in between the banister and a magazine was open in the middle of the hall. Squinting, Regina moved her foot and found a crumpled up ball and picked it up, her eyes widening as she unravelled it.
Guilt lay like a brick in the pit of her stomach as she read every word, sloppily crafted by her own hand. What was she thinking last night? If Emma had read this—
She quickly darted to her side table, double backing to retrieve the tossed away pen before returning and finding more scrap, quickly scribbling down the words with such a need that even in her sober state the pen leaked through the page.
Emma, I am so sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything I said to you last night. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. I love you so much. Just please. Please come home.
The next letter Regina wrote was under the careful watch of Dr. Hopper four days later. She was sober and clear-headed, and though it was no sonnet meant to inspire those just like her, it was enough.
January 2 2007
Emma,
Dr. Hopper is watching me write this, so I promise I won't yell at you again. Apparently he doesn't trust me to write these letters on my own anymore. He insists that talking to you, genuine conversation, so to speak, will help. It's a new year, and I promised myself and Henry that I would be better. It's funny. I can already hear your claims that I'm 'awesome', but truth be told, I haven't been.
You were the first person I let into my life in a long time, and I will never forget that. I don't know where you are. I don't know if you're alive or dead. I don't know if I'll ever get to see you again. I don't know a lot of things. I don't like not knowing. That terrifies me. It's still terrifying that you've been gone this long. I've never found myself to be dependent on others, but with you it's different. Somehow you became my best friend, and I'm sure we've said as much, but I regret that I don't get to tell you that again. I wish I could see you one more time. I wish I could kiss you and hold you and watch you play with Henry. He misses you too. I think he may actually miss you more, but that's impossible.