She needs to breathe.
The problem with this is that she knows she won't be able to the longer she stays in this place, because it's gotten to the point where she feels like she's suffocating. And it isn't exactly the greatest feeling in the world. Once upon a time, she was convinced it could work out, but now, she isn't so sure, and she doesn't like it.
He's gone. He left after they finally stopped yelling, and she knows better than to follow.
Once upon a time, she might have. Once upon a time, she knew him well enough to be able to read what he was feeling, but now, she knows nothing. Looking him in the eye is like looking through a window into a dark room, where you can't see anything. There used to be a light there, but of late, it seems to have disappears. And she knows better than to say anything, because she knows that he'll deny that anything's wrong, just because that's how he is.
But she hasn't lost track of him enough that she doesn't know when something's wrong.
And she knows she shouldn't have yelled that accusation at him, either, but it slipped. Yeah, right, says the voice in the back of Kathy's head, it didn't slip. You damn well meant it and you know it. There's no excuse. They're lucky the older two are off in their own worlds, and that the twins like to listen to music while they're doing their homework. She can hear two different songs drifting from upstairs, and she wants to call up and tell them to turn it off, or at least turn it down, but she can't bear the thought of dragging them back into reality just yet.
It always used to seem like she couldn't breathe when he wasn't around.
The funny thing about this is that she knows she hasn't fallen out of love with him, but she's not exactly sure what to do with him, either. He doesn't talk, and she doesn't want to push anymore, for fear of an argument like the one they've just finished. She blinks, and isn't surprised to find that she's this close to tears. Her hands are shaking, and the plate she's holding is wet and soapy, because while he storms out of the house, she washes the dishes that get left behind, because that's her way of coping, somehow.
The plate falls to the ground and shatters, and she can't help but think it's a metaphor.
This can't be what we've become, she thinks, staring down at the glass fragments. This can't be what we are. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, but then, things don't always go the way they're planned. She wasn't supposed to get pregnant on the night of their senior prom (something that seems a lot more clichéd now than it was then, she muses), and she knows that she would never regret it, could never regret it. He wasn't supposed to have had to go into the service to provide for a family that he more than likely hadn't been ready for. It wasn't supposed to have gotten to this.
And she still can't breathe.
It's amusing in a twisted sort of way, this time, because now, it feels like she can breathe just fine when he's not around. She's known for a while that she could survive without him if she had to, and wonders when she came to that conclusion. Wonders when it didn't hurt to think about leaving, and wonders when she came to the conclusion that it wouldn't exactly rip her heart out if she had to walk away.
You're too damn complicated for your own good sometimes, Elliot, she thinks.
She knows a few things about why this might be, though. Knows why he thinks he has to hold everything inside and not say anything. Knows why he can't really express things in a 'normal' way when he's upset…She knows a lot about it, and gets the feeling that he doesn't think she's figured him out, but the truth is that she's known him for way too long not to know. And she wonders when along the line they started not talking, not telling each other things, and no matter how hard she thinks about it, she always comes to the conclusion that it started when he took on SVU.
All volunteer, he'd said, and she wonders now why she'd never asked him why that was.
The so-called trance she's in finally breaks when she realizes the water's still running and the glass is still on the floor, and she bends down to pick it up, not paying attention, and cutting her palm open. Blood wells up and starts to drip slowly onto the floor, redder than she shirt she's wearing, and she rolls her eyes. She disposes of the glass and watches the blood on her hand for a long moment before sticking it under the hot water.
It burns, like she'd expected it to, and like her heart is because she knows she's hurt him.
What's stupid about it is that they've been in heaven only knows how many arguments before this one. And in all those arguments, she'd never thought to demand to know if he was sleeping with his partner. Stupid question, says the voice in the back of her head. You know he isn't. You've always known he isn't. He couldn't do that to you the same way you couldn't do that to him. So what changed?
The feeling of suffocating comes back. She closes her eyes and leans against the counter.
Sooner or later, a decision about all this has to be made. He can yell all he wants, she thinks, but it doesn't particularly scare her anymore the way it used to. She opens her eyes again and leans forward, looking at the phone that sits near the clock radio on the island in the middle of the kitchen. She wants to call him, but doesn't know whether or not he's turned off his phone, and she doesn't want to take the chance of him not answering, or answering and hanging up without a word, because he's done it before. The thing between those times and this one, however, is that before, they both laughed about it, because it had been an accident. If he does it this time, it won't be.
And it's your fault, too, says that voice in her head, you shouldn't have said that.
An apology is definitely in order, she decides, but if she can't reach him, then what good is that going to do? All this relationship of theirs is doing is hurting them both, and she doesn't want to leave him, but she's starting to wonder if she really has any choice but to do so. If that's what it'll take for him to realize that he can't just take it all for granted, that one day, it might not be there, and then what is he going to do? She hates the thought of leaving, though. Hates the thought of just taking off, leaving all the lights in the house off, and a note on the kitchen table for him to read.
But she knows she'd never be able to face him and tell him she wants to let it go.
The water running catches her attention again, and Kathy pulls her hand from under it, shutting it off. There will be no more washing dishes tonight. Reaching into the cupboard, she grabs a bandage and starts about fixing her hand. How ironic is that, she wonders, that I know exactly how to fix this, but I'm at a loss as to how to fix this relationship, if I can even still call it that? The music continues to come from upstairs. She's lost all desire to tell the twins to tone it down, because she doesn't really want to hear herself thinking.
But a thought hits her anyway. She really does need a chance to breathe.