Chapter Text
'Come on Alyssa you have to do this there are people relying on you. You know the drill by now, the sooner you’re done with this, the quicker you can start your shift and then once that’s done you can go home, the earlier you’re home the easier tonight will be plus if you don’t get these all done there won’t be enough spare for Eric’s dinner which will only make things worse.'
Sugar.
'What if you just didn’t go home? It’s not like you want too anyway. What if you text him, told him you got caught up baking for tomorrow and then went home with Kaylee or Shelby? It would be safe until he found you. You’d never have to see him again, you would be free to live your authentic truth, the life you’ve been dreaming of since the day you were married.'
Sugar, Butter.
'Stop it. You can’t think that way, you’ll only let yourself down because it isn’t an option. Only quitters run away from things, and you are not a quitter. You’re better than that. It’s going to work out, once he gets the promotion you can take a few less shifts. You’re going to be happy again, just like when you first met, like before you’d worked out where your preferences lied, because that’s all they are- preferences.'
Sugar, Butter, Flour.
'You love him and he loves you. He’s just not very conventional in how he shows you- that’s what your mother always said. Your mother. She wanted this for you, she approved of him, it was her idea for the two of you to get married and she always had your best interest in heart. She didn’t want you to end up like her and how could you do the same thing your father did to her, how could you put your own husband through that by leaving him. You saw how it destroyed her. She might be dead, but you still can’t let her down. If you learnt anything from those countless Sundays in church, it’s that just because someone is no longer alive doesn’t mean they aren’t always with you. You have to love him.'
Alyssa slammed the worn wooden rolling pin onto the bench, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh as she ran a hand through messy brown curls that had fallen loose from the ponytail she’d pulled them into prior to getting started on her task. She didn’t have time for this, there was a list of desserts that needed baking in time for opening that weren’t going to bake themselves, despite knowing this she just couldn’t concentrate. This was so easy, she’d lost track of the quantity of times she’d made these same recipes in the past but even but without even knowing the exact figures she knew they were high enough that she should not be finding this so hard, her thoughts were just too loud.
She took a breath, composed herself and continued on with the job at hand- making the infamous ‘Berry the Bullshit Pie’ (a fitting name given her current thought process) that comprised of heaps of fresh summer berries and a hint of citrus to balance the sweetness of them. If she could just focus on bringing the simple ingredients to become something spectacular like she had done so many times, then everything just maybe would be ok- at least for that day. But she couldn’t focus, no matter how hard she tried.
Baking had always, without fail, been the one thing that had been able to still every idea or fear that passed into her conscious. She’d relied on it through elementary school when bullying had gotten the better of her, when her father left before even saying goodbye. The first time she’d stepped into a kitchen wasn’t long after her fifth birthday, her mother had taught her everything she knew, and Alyssa often pinned that as the one good thing the pushy parent had done, only slightly in jest. She might have pushed her to breaking point during High School and led her to run herself bone dry with the amount of extracurriculars she partook in, but she also gave her the skills she needed to immerse herself in her one sanctuary. It was her therapy, her one relief, the thing she liked most in the world and probably her first love. Though it wasn’t working now, not when her life had ended up so hopeless that she needed it more than she ever had before. She still baked of course, it was basically her job and even if it didn’t provide the usual respite, she still enjoyed it.
To Alyssa it was almost funny, maybe that was just her dark humour coming through but there was something amusing in the way the universe had nonchalantly uttered a ‘fuck you’ after it realised that she’d filled the metaphorical pie dish that she so desperately relied on far past overflowing, no matter how deep she’d thought it was. She’d poured one too many cups of hurt into it. Baked it with just a little too much of her pain. Her only escape was now as effective as the end of a wooden spoon in stirring her conflicts until she could find some sort of resolution to them- she needed respite from somewhere soon or she was going to overflow like a badly sealed lattice, only this time the aftermath would be far less sweet than a caramelised black cherry filling.
It wasn’t all bad though. Alyssa had her work that served as much needed respite from her less than perfect home life. An old diner off of the main road into Edgewater, Indiana where she got to bake for so many people to enjoy, even if the main demographic was unsavoury truckers who seemingly couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. That was made just a bit easier by the fact that she worked alongside her two best friends, Kaylee and Shelby, whom she wouldn’t trade the world for. She wasn’t sure if she’d have made it as far as she had if it wasn’t for them and although she’d outrightly admitted to anything that may or may not have happened between her and her husband she knew that they knew something wasn’t right, and she could go to them if anything ever got so out of hand. If they hadn’t have known her so well the two other waitresses would have no reason to believe there was a problem. She kept an expertly crafted brave face on during her shifts, because nobody liked a downtrodden server, but that bullet-proof mask was only drawn higher once she got home.
He had been sweet once, taking her on dates to get ice cream and strumming vaguely tuneful melodies on his beaten up ole guitar- everyone had told her that he was the perfect boyfriend and she had listened attentively, pushing her doubts and concerns as far down as they’d go. But once they gotten married something had changed. He didn’t respect her anymore, he wasn’t gentle and soft spoken, he was forceful, shouted often and found fault in everything little thing Alyssa did, even if she’d been trying to do him a favour. The bruises that covered her body were easy to hide, he made sure of that because he knew what it would cost him if anybody found out, but it wasn’t like that ever deterred him. Instead, Alyssa tiptoed around him in her own home, living in anguish that he’d take offence to the way she folded his laundry or the way she made his coffee or some other stupid misdemeanour and strike blindly at her until a steady flow of apologies fell from her lips and he felt as if she’d learnt her lesson. It was the very definition of a toxic relationship, an abusive one but Alyssa couldn’t admit that to herself let alone anyone who could try to help her.
She didn’t want to be in the situation. She’d read enough horror stories in the news to know what might happen and she’d been in situations with her husband, fuelled by alcohol and anger that weren’t too dissimilar to the tales. She found herself wondering deep into the night, as the man laid beside her, if she’d already missed her five second window to escape that every website she’d secretly googled had told her about, but she didn’t get to run, she didn’t get to leave it all behind. Everything was in Edgewater, her job, her history, her family, her friends. Alyssa had to survive it and survive it graciously, for lack of a better phrase, so that nobody would ever suspect what she was hiding. She had to remember that no matter how alone or weak he made her feel, she was strong, and she could do it.
So, each day she had to pour every single negative feeling, all the terror and the heartache she dealt with, into a tarnished metal mixing bowl alongside expertly proportioned ingredients and turn them into deliciously delectable pieces of art comprised of whatever recipe she’d thought up to save herself from drowning.
And that is what she did.