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Sun streaks through open blinds, rears its ugly head around the dark grey curtains. Those curtains that had so haphazardly been shimmied closed the night previous do a shitty job at keeping the sunlight out - but that has more to do with his shotty ability to close them than the general quality of the fabric. Through his delusional, snoozing state, he thinks he can make out his alarm blaring away in the background, and he promptly slams his palm down on the insistent screeching. The horrid creature lets out another boiling scream and dies, the cries of despair silencing.
Marvin blinks his eyes half-open, sighs. He has to remind himself he’s alive. He feels a little like he’s dead. A ghost or a corpse. He doesn’t bother waking up the whole way, just rolls over to face away from the window, blinking blearily at the grey wall the sunshine hits. The back of his head warms as the sun beats him, giving him a pounding headache.
Groaning, he closes his eyes again. He’s just not feeling it today - whatever it is. Actually, he’s not feeling much of anything. It’s worse that way, not sadness, just a gnawing emptiness settled heavy in his stomach, like a stone. It swells and presses at his temples until he feels like he might explode, may burst into flames, only extinguishable by tears. But he can’t cry, he just can’t.
He just slides the pillow from under his head, he sleeps with them doubled up, and presses it over the side of his head, pushes the air into his ear, blocking out sound and light. He squeezes his eyes until they sting, but he still doesn’t cry. He’s not sad. He’s not angry, or happy, or stressed.
He’s tired.
The door cracks open, and for a moment, dimly, in the back of his clouded mind, he thinks it could be Charlotte or Cordelia. They’ve got their own key, the spare, that they use frequently - popping over with armfuls of lasagna or cookies or (god forbid) poor attempts at matzo ball soup. Sometimes they’ll turn up at odd hours, ten, eleven at night - bottle of wine in hand, smiles so wide Marvin just can’t turn them down. They know he has good days and bad days, and they’ve seen him on both. They’ve laughed and drank and chatted with him on the good ones, and lifted him up on bad days.
And since bringing Sadie home they appear more and more often, they went insane when he brought her back.
“Mendel, thanks for helping me cart all this stuff up.” Marvin smiles back at his ex-wife’s new husband, (his ex-shrink, which is still weird to him!) holding a red dog bed under his arm. The user of said bed, Sadie, sits calmly between his legs, pawing at his loose shoelaces, tongue hanging lopsided out her mouth.
Mendel heaves the three bags with him and places them by the front door to Marvin’s apartment, around the single plant-pot outside. (They need to be watered, Marvin keeps forgetting, but he doesn’t want the pansies to die. God if he can’t care for some flowers how is he going to take care of a dog?! Maybe he’s making a huge mistake-) “It’s no problem, thanks for taking her off our hands.”
Marvin glances down at the dog, who looks up at him in return, tipping her whole head back, smiling. Can dogs smile? The dog looks like she’s smiling - that’s what matters. All his panic melts away as she pants, then barks excitedly.
“Need any help taking it inside?” Mendel gestures to the apartment, knocking his hands together in an attempt to get rid of the red lines left by the handles of the plastic bags.
He shakes his head. “It’s okay, I got it from here.” Mendel nods.
“See you Tuesday?”
“See you Tuesday.” Marvin confirms, cracking a gentle smile at Mendel’s back as he walks away. He fishes out his keys and unlocks the front door. “Welcome home,” he nudges the door to his house open and Sadie hesitates, wide, brown eyes, meeting his own. “On you go,” he beams. Sadie trots in.
He tosses the bed inside into the hallway and grabs two of the bags, hauling them inside. As he emerges to grab the last one, Cordelia pops her head out of her doorway - eyebrows raised, eyes darting around the halls. “I heard barking, is there a puppy out here?”
Marvin meets her gaze, as it finally stops flicking around the hallway. “She’s inside.”
Cordelia’s whole face lights up. “Oh my god, you got a dog?!” Marvin nods and she barrels out of her own apartment and into Marvin’s, cooing after Sadie who stares her down. Marvin takes the last bag inside and brushes past Cordelia who is attempting to acquaint herself with Sadie. Sadie, a dog who's just like Marvin. Luckily, he warmed up to Cordelia swiftly, due to her bubbly, ray-of-sunshine nature - so he thinks Sadie will come around quite quick too.
But it’s not them, hell, it’s not anyone. Jason won’t be around until that evening, Charlotte’s at work and Cordelia’s certainly still asleep.
There’s a whining, the soft scrape of nails on wood, then soft padding as the thing hits the rug, and back to scratching as it trots off. Then silence, before a gentle weight lands on his feet.
The dog pants, nuzzles against his calf, which is blocked by the duvet cover and scoots up the bed. Marvin just groans and tosses his pillow across the room, it hits the wall with a soft thump. “Sadie, down girl, off the bed,” he knocks his hand out blindly, hoping he’ll pat her on the side and she’ll get the message.
He does not. She takes the opportunity of his slightly raised arm to push her way into the new crook, licking at his chin. He barely smiles, just squeezes his eyes shut, pulls his hands up and presses his palms over his face. She drops her head onto his shoulder, yawning, pawing at his side. Demanding food.
“Okay,” he mutters, shoving aside the storm cloud gathering above his head. The thunder claps above him and as he moves, Sadie hops off the bed, sitting patiently by her owner's slippers, tongue hanging out her mouth joyfully. He rolls out of the way of the rain, grabs the stirring storm and shoves it under his duvet, suffocating it for now. He knows he can’t outrun the feeling forever, but he can sure as hell try. “You hungry, girl?”
She barks the affirmative, stands and spins in a circle, showing off. Marvin doesn’t laugh. The corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly. He ignores the distant rumbling of thunder, the clash of lightning.
Marvin pulls his slippers on, grabs a fluffy housecoat that feels more suffocating than it does warm and starts out the door, feet trailing, limbs heavy. His whole body aches in a dull sort of way, but it sits at the forefront of his mind, making his surroundings feel fuzzy - out of focus.
Today is a bad day. On bad days he typically wants his neighbours to visit, wants Jason to light up his life - but sometimes they’re so bad, that he doesn’t want to see anyone. This is one of those days.
He feels like his knees may give out at any moment, head clouded as the storm seems to catch up with him. He’s stood in the centre of a hurricane, with everything swarming around him - it’s only so long until the walls close in, until the thoughts and pain fills his lungs, choking him from the inside out.
Marvin creaks down to his knees, rifles through his bottom cupboard in the kitchen, managing to take note of how Sadie waits patiently by her food bowl. She doesn’t lunge for him or the bag like Trina texted him - warning him of her faults. She doesn’t do any of the things Trina cautioned him about, the only issue Sadie still has is chewing at the legs of his kitchen table - but he's working on that.
He pours her some dry kibble before filling her water bowl, watches her with a blank expression as she eats and drinks. He doesn’t have the energy to drag himself back to bed, but gathers all his remaining strength in order to drop onto the couch, pulling his dressing gown tighter around his form. It doesn’t provide any comfort, but he lacks motivation required to sit up, untie it, slip it off, toss it somewhere else and lay down. So he pushes his face into the plush couch, pushes his problems into it too.
He can’t today. He just can’t.
This is worse than being sad. This is total numbness. That feeling when he doesn’t smile seeing his dog, doesn’t light up when he realises the imperfections in the weather outside, doesn’t want to see a single person for the rest of his sorry days. There’s a few memorable times he’s felt like this, they’ve never ended well. The time where he felt nothing as a two-year-old Jason clambered into his lap, grabbing at his shirt, at his hair, at his face. The bad days with Trina that dragged into bad weeks, weeks where he couldn’t get out of bed, went from saying he was sick, to not saying anything at all. The days where she’d scolded him, demanded he not be so lazy - and he hadn’t explained what he was feeling because he wasn’t feeling and that was the issue. That moment where he’d awoken to Whizzer, standing in his room, running gel through his hair by the mirror - and hadn’t had the energy to say a word, couldn’t muster a smile or a crude comment. “Look who’s finally awake!” Whizzer had quipped, none too kind. Marvin had grunted and rolled over, unable to come up with a snide remark in return, unable to care at all.
Marvin finds himself staring blankly at his television, which isn’t even on. His own pathetic reflection stares back, watery eyes threatening. Maybe he should shower. That’s one piece of damp advice he remembers from his time with Mendel, at least make the effort to complete your daily routine. And Sadie would need a walk. He had to find a reason to get moving.
So he managed to pull himself to the shower, where he sat under the spray, a habit he had picked up since leaving Whizzer. He wasn’t sure why he did it, it provided no comfort or warmth - maybe standing on his own two feet was just too much. Lazily, he towl-ed his hair dry and skipped brushing his teeth, because he wasn’t planning on meeting anyone and who cares. He was pulling on yesterday’s jeans and picking up the t-shirt he’d worn, sniffing to see if it was still good when Sadie trotted limply into the room. Maybe she’d picked up on his decrepit mood. God was he such an awful pet owner he’d managed to depress his dog in a matter of five days?
Forcing a weak smile, he reaches for her pink leash, sitting atop his dresser and holds it up. She perks up. He puts it down and tugs on the t-shirt in his other hand. It’s definitely not still good to wear, but again, who fucking cares.
“You wanna go on a walk? Huh, girl?” He questions, voice lost to an exhale, words barely registering. For all Marvin knows, he could be thinking and not speaking aloud.
Sadie barks merrily, nuzzles against his ankles, sits between his legs as he stands, seemingly her favourite place. Marvin caves and cranes down slightly to pet his Jack Russell. He clips the leash onto her collar and shoves on the same dilapidated off-white Target sneakers he wears everyday (aside from work), grabs his keys on the way out. Second piece of advice from Mendel: go outside, get some fresh air.
Look at him go, following two pieces of advice from his ex-shrink. Yes, the first piece had done jack-shit to make him feel better - to make him feel at all - but maybe advice number two would prove positive results.
Sadie pulled every so often on the tense leash, sniffed her way about the streets, barked at ants and licked garbage on the cement. She would peer round her shoulder back at Marvin every so often, bark at him to get his attention off the cracks in the sidewalk and back on her. She basked in the love from him. He didn’t seem very happy. She was an intelligent dog, dogs pick up on stuff like that. She turned back to face where she was walking and barked at another bug scampering across the ground. Another predator deterred, Marvin would be safe.
He cringes when she tugs the leash, pulls it harsh and makes him feel like he’s about to fall. He resists the urge to clamp his hands over his ears every time she barks, every time a cab passes, every time someone walks past on the street,talking into their phone. It’s all so much, too much, all at once. Deep breaths. God, New York City air (if it can even be classed as such) isn’t the most calming of aromas. If today were a good day, Marvin would’ve slipped on clean clothes, made himself eggs, and taken Sadie to Central Park to run around, But it’s not a good day, it’s a bad day. And on bad days he wears yesterday’s clothes and doesn’t eat breakfast and takes his dog on a short trip around the block to stretch her legs.
Marvin wants to go to bed. Succumb to darkness. He doesn’t make it that far. When he gets home, after Sadie’s terrified a significant portion of his neighbourhood's bug population and smelt enough trash to satisfy her for now, he barely manages to kick his shoes off before making home for himself on the couch again.
He draws his knees up to his chest, makes for the remote to create some form of white noise and flicks on whatever show plays at eleven o’clock in the morning on a Friday. Some rerun of Property Brothers or something. Whizzer used to like that show. Said he could use the design knowledge he gained from it to really do something nice to the place. He’d only ever called it that, ‘the place’ , never ‘ their place.’ Hell, never even ‘ Marvin’s place.’ That wasn’t Marvin’s place anymore. He’s glad he moved. His apartment is nice. It has things . He never used to have things. He had stuff - sure, clothes and books and a desk. But he didn’t have his own things . Trina owned things. Trina had ornaments and photos and plants. And now Marvin does too. Marvin has his comics and his nerdy Star Wars poster in his room. He has LEGO sets he and Jason have built together. He has a ceramic panda that he bought in the zoo once, and he has pillows and fake plants and framed pictures. He has things. He likes his things.
He sniffles into his knees. Maybe this is progress. Feeling sad, it’s better than feeling numb. The people on TV are yelling about pricing and interior decoration or something, he doesn’t care. Who cares? Why would anyone care?
Marvin buries deeper into his knees, wondering if the world could open up and swallow him whole, would it? If his floor could split in two, drag him into the depths of the underworld, would it pick him? If it was possible to fall into the hidden planet between his couch cushions, would he have the balls to do it? He presses his palms into his eyes, enduring the unsatisfying pressure it provides. His whole head feels like it may explode, like a fizzling stick of dynamite. A ticking time-bomb.
He holds back a sob - as far as he’s come along the lines of self growth - crying is hard for him. He rubs his eyes as hard as he can, letting the sparkly odd shapes dance across his eyelids. There’s a wet nose nuzzling against his arm, a panting in his ear, the feeling of fur scraping his cheek as Sadie pushes her way under his arm. She presses into his side, rubs her face across his shoulder, sniffing. He drops his knees down, lets his feet hit the floor, lets Sadie cuddle closer.
“Hi, girl,” he rubs behind her ears, watches her eyes close and mouth turn into what could be a smile. She seems happy enough, tail beating away on his side. “I’m sorry we didn’t go to the park today,” he mumbles, kisses her forehead, smiles minutely as she snuggles into him. The feeling of her short fur against the underside of his chin is oddly comforting, and when she presses her wet nose into his neck he cringes away with a tiny laugh. “If I’m better tomorrow, we can definitely go. With Jason! How about that? We love him, huh?”
Sadie barks.
“I love him,” Marvin scratches under her chin and she flops down to lay across his lap. He smiles a little more down at her, TV show forgotten, not that he was ever really paying attention. “Which means you have to put up with him too, you hear me? You like Cordelia, you like Charlotte, I love Jason. You have to like him at least.” She whines against his knees, yawns on his legs. Marvin rubs his palm across her head, hums absentmindedly. The world around him regains a little colour as he lets his gaze settle on his dog. Crazy how she brings a little light to his life, just by being there.
“I’m gonna take a nap until Jason gets here,” he says, to himself, but to Sadie too. He doesn’t know why he speaks to her, but having someone listen without spewing words back at him is lovely. He loves her. “You coming too?” He nudges her and she jumps up, trots after him as he moves to his bedroom. Maybe he’ll take a quick hour nap, shower again, put on some clean clothes, check what’s in the fridge for dinner. Make the effort. He feels a little more ready to make the effort. It’s good. He doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel fine - but he feels okay. He feels , and right now that’s what matters.
He kicks off yesterday's jeans, drops them in his hamper, the t-shirt following. He puts his pyjamas back on, because they don’t need to be washed as often. He flicks the lights off, closes his curtains properly and slides into bed. Sadie jumps up onto the foot of the bed, lays across his feet as he sets an alarm for an hour and a half.
And when he wakes up, it’s three minutes before his alarm to the sound of Sadie snoring, obnoxiously loud. But he doesn’t smack a pillow across his face, just chuckles and slips out of bed, sliding his legs from under her without waking her. He showers and puts on fresh clothes. He checks the cupboards and fridge and decides he can make lasagna later when Jason turns up. He drinks a glass of water - his first of the day - eats an apple and feels…
Better .
Not great, but better.
Maybe better can be his good, for now.