Miller had been in several uncomfortable situations, it seems. We’ve scoured the ends of her scattered memories and it’s safe to say that there’s very little happiness there. And whatever happiness there is, it seems to be mired, submerged, surrounded by connected sadness. No wonder she’s so resilient to the programme. She’s had to spend her entire life hardening her mind and – in a manner of speaking – hardening her heart.
One of Miller’s most ambivalent memory surfaced today. At some point in her timeline – and we imagine this is how she remembers it, rather than how it actually was – Miller found herself in an ill-lit room alone with a hideous stranger. A woman, from what we can tell. Blonde hair, blue eyes , Scandinavian most likely – but hideous. Miller couldn’t see her any other way. True enough, she refused to see her any other way. This woman had given her nothing after Miller had given her everything she wanted from her.
The memory of the conversation hasn’t emerged, only a shred of the aftermath.
The woman raised her head, having scribbled numerous notes in her A5 notepad – her face disfigured with warts and pustules on the verge of bursting like ooze-filled balloons. She snorted like a hog waking up at Miller and removed the small, thin spectacles from her bulbous nose – setting them down lightly on the polished grey desk.
“Thank you for telling me all this, Aria,” she said.
There was a pause. Miller had been expecting more. More than simple thanks from this Trainwreck of Nature.
“Is there nothing else?” Miller asked.
The Trainwreck snorted like nobody’s business, “No, that is more than enough information.”
“But my child…” Miller mumbled, rubbing the hem of her shirt with her fingers to stave off the sick feeling of low expectations, of bad outcomes, “what will you do for my child? For Elliot?”
“What do you mean?” asked the Trainwreck.
Miller felt that sensation. That dreadful, anxious sensation, “Don’t I get him back?”
The Trainwreck looked at her. Though, with a face so disfigured and malformed, Miller didn’t know if it was sympathy or amusement. The Trainwreck reached out her fat, swollen fingers and stroked Miller’s arm with them.
“I’m afraid not,” she said.
For a moment, Miller thought she had misheard her. The words sunk in – slowly. Like a animal sinking its blunt teeth into her heart – and Miller felt the beginnings of hot tears form at the corners of her eyes.
“But everything I’ve told you!” Miller spat, her voice rising with each word, “About Bileth! About the Advocate! About what they did! To me! To my son!”
The Trainwreck righted herself on her chair, the poor lifeless instrument squeaking under her enormous weight. She placed her hands together on the desk and said, “With all due respect, Aria, the information you’ve provided me with is quite dated. You haven’t seen your son or his father in over a year. Had you come sooner…”
“It took me this long to find you!” Miller protested.
“Quite frankly, the things you’ve told me – though it is valuable knowledge – are irrelevant at this point. Bileth – you’re abusive husband with whom you left your son – has made great progress in taking responsibility for the household you abandoned.”
Miller’s vision flashed and blurred, “I ran to spare my life!” she cried, pounding down on the desk.
“In any case-”
“You really believe Bileth would behave without your constant eye on him? I know that man,” Miller insisted, “I know him to the grain of his being – all he is, all he has ever been, is a fraud! You’re just too gullible, too stupid, too irresponsible to believe it.”
“Whatever your complaints, Aria, your son has no complaints about his father. Though he has quite a weighted amount to say about you!” the Trainwreck snapped.
Miller froze. Her knees became weak and she slumped into her seat. She couldn’t see the Trainwreck. She couldn’t see anything. She just cried. For minutes, hours – she didn’t know. Time was unreadable. Time was irrelevant. She could never un-hear what she had heard.
After some time, she began to receive that horrible voice of the Trainwreck.
“Putting the facts into perspective, we have decided to close the case on your former family,” her fat, ugly mouth said.
“If you close that case,” Miller said through her teeth, “Something horrible will happen. So don’t you dare close it.”
“It is not your decision to make, Aria.”
Miller raised her head, “You do something about that fat, ugly shit that I was forced to marry,” she warned, “Or I will.”