I wrote this back in March and never posted it because I wanted to write more than just the two chapters I have. I may or may not still do that. It's kind of sad; it's a variation on how "POV" could have ended. Anyway, hope you guys like it. And what's up with not letting you put in separation lines anymore?
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.
Even through the gentle patter of rain on the roof and the dull clack of the videotapes he's riffling through, Adam notices Joan quietly enter his shed. He casts surreptitious glances at her as she cautiously makes her way to his workbench.
She flashes an uneasy smile. "You can, uh, throw me out if you want…I'll understand."
Adam nods ever so slightly and removes his hands from the tape box. He carefully stuffs them in his pockets before changing his mind and placing them on the table, fingers splayed as if he's trying to ground himself. "I just…I don't understand," he says softly into the awkwardness. He wished he could say the awkwardness between them is new, but he knows that isn't the case. "How could you have thought…what you thought?" he asks lamely, not wanting to give voice to Joan's accusations.
She shrugs sheepishly as she sits on the stool opposite him. "Well, it just…" she pauses, brow furrowed as she picks at her cuticles, "seemed like…you were saying we were such a drag."
That's it, he thinks as his chest tightens briefly, painfully. He hunches deeper into his hoodie. "Things are changing so fast," he begins as he struggles to find the words he needs. "I…I didn't know who we were, and…and having a video of that? I don't know—I couldn't handle it." He stops though he knows it's not enough. There's so much more that needs to be said. He just doesn't know how to say it.
"Yeah," Joan murmurs and looks down at the table. Her hands twitch as if she wants to close the distance between their fingers but doesn't. Adam keeps his hands firmly in place. "Nothing's the same, is it? It…we aren't the way we used to be."
"No," Adam answers with a sad shake of his head. "Not for a while. Not since…" Not since she told him about talking to God.
Joan's eyes close and her lips press together to hold back…something. Adam watches, uncertain, waiting for some kind of clue on how to proceed. She hangs her head, gives it a little shake. Her hands curl into little balls across from his. "I needed you to believe me," she whispers, her voice clogged.
"I do believe you," Adam says, surprised that they're talking about the God thing at all. "I told you that but you haven't wanted to talk about it." He reaches over and lays his fingers on her trembling fist.
She pulls her hand back and Adam notices tears slipping down her cheeks. "Then. I needed you to believe me then."
Adam frowns, shakes his head in confusion. "I don't…"
"You don't believe me," Joan cried softly, raising wet eyes to his stunned face. "You believe the books you read over the summer. I needed you to believe me." Joan stops and draws a shaky breath. "I needed you to believe in me."
What is he suppose to say to that? Adam doesn't know how to answer this new accusation. He doesn't know if he can defend himself. She has a point, doesn't she? He had researched her claim over the summer, but speaking to God…that was too spectacular for anyone to accept at face value, wasn't it? Even if it was Joan. And she'd been sick, laid down by a disease that caused delusions. How was he supposed to believe her after hearing, knowing that? He feels his fingers begin to curl against the wood, a thought nagging at him. He should have believed her because he always had before. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't…" know, empathize, understand? "realize. I should have."
Joan shrugs, her gaze focused on her balled hands. "I've been trying to hold on to what we were but that's not who we are anymore, is it?"
The sentence chills Adam and he's not entirely sure why, but he shakes his head anyway. "No, it's not." He thinks he should say more—something tells him he doesn't want to hear what she's going to say next—but remains quiet and waits.
"I think," she begins slowly, "I'm the problem. I don't…I don't seem to fit anymore."
This scares him more than her last comment, but what can he say against it? It's true—she doesn't seem to fit anymore no matter how much they want to pretend otherwise.
Her gaze turns inward even as her eyes gradually rise to his face. "I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm not even the person the old me was becoming. I don't know how to get back to that. To her. I don't know how to get back to the me that trusts my parents or the me that trusts you."
Just like that, everything shifts to a place he never wanted to go. Somehow, Adam manages not to react too badly. Vaguely, he supposes the tears stinging his eyes and the sharp pain of his nails digging into his palms is expression enough. He knows he should say something, try to stop this from becoming worse but he can't even process it all, let alone act against it. Joan has always been a greater force than him anyway and he doubts he'd be able to stop her now even if he knew how. "What are you saying, Jane?"
Her head tilts to the side, apologetic yet defiant as if she suspects he already knows the answer and hates him for making her say it. "I think, maybe, we should just be…friends for a while," she finally says.
"You want to break up." It's not quite a question, not quite a statement.
"I don't want to," she answered, her voice pleading with him to understand as she draws her hands into her lap. "I just…I need to figure out who I am again."
Adam frowns, chews his lip as he considers her words. "And you have to do that without me?"
"I just need some distance, not from you so much as from us."
He feels like he's sinking. He feels guilty like he's broken Jane. That seems to be the gist of this conversation, isn't it? Not that it matters. Does it? He doesn't know what to think or how to feel, so he acquiesces—a short nod because he's not sure he can talk even if he knew what to say.
Joan nods and slides off her stool. She wraps her arms around her waist—something he's no longer allowed to do—before leaving as slowly and quietly as she came.
Adam merely sits, too stunned to do anything else. Then he carefully takes the box of cassettes and stows them back in their hiding place in the corner. He's not ready yet to confront the other unavailable woman in his life.
