A GSR story- isn't this something?
But things are not how they seem...
Please review- let me know if you want me to continue.
Disclaimer: I own zilch.
This City is Contagious
(1)
The dim light caught the furniture in the room as the sound of the clocks ticking in unison throughout the house reminded him of how long it had been. Time seemed to move too slowly as he sat in the arm chair by the fire. The heat from the crackling orange flames seemed to be doing nothing to warm him as the shivers came from his soul.
It was the third night this week that she had been late, the third night this week he had been sitting up waiting for her. She had called to inform him that she would be late; she was grabbing a drink with the team after a hard case.
She had not invited him and he hadn't bothered asking whether he could meet them; he had learnt not to interfere while she got on with her everyday life because it had only seemed to upset her more. But it had been a good four hours since her shift had ended.
He could almost predict her entrance back into the house, her drunken 'hellos' as she avoided his eye. Turning away from him to collapse in bed still dressed for work and the way she pretended she was asleep when he finally made his way to bed a confused and hurt expression masking his face.
Taking a deep breath he attempted to distance himself from the way that things had become.
A battered old copy of 'The Scarlett Letter' sat in his hands asking him to pay attention to prose rather than the reality that seemed to be hanging over him like clouds on a rainy day. But he realised he could not focus; he could not let his thoughts break away from doubt.
"She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom."
The line seemed to resound from the walls, filling his consciousness with a sense of dread as he acknowledged truthfully to himself what was happening.
He had found himself detaching from his wife; he had found himself losing the memories that made her the person she was in his mind. And in the space of their house the pain of the five thousand four hundred and eighteen miles that had previously been between them had not disappeared.
She was the same, he had insisted to himself. But that was not the truth; he was not being honest with himself if he believed that because that was not the case at all. She had learnt to live without him. She had started her own life- alone.
The house was filled with trinkets she'd collected, photo's that she'd taken- she'd build it with her memories. And even though he was a part of these memories- it was as if he was a ghost to her; someone who haunted her, rather than someone who was a part of her life.
He realised that he had no one but himself to blame for that fact, perhaps he should have fought harder to make her stay in Paris with him. Perhaps he should have followed her back to Vegas if it was what made her happy.
But he'd been so busy, with work that he had barely noticed how bored she was sitting at home waiting for him to return. It had amazed him so much that he had been the one that she had chosen that he had forgotten who'd she'd been before.
All of those things that he had loved about her; her passion, her dedication, and her sense of justice had mellowed. But he had never realised that she was losing herself as she walked the streets of foreign cities.
As much as it hurt he could almost understand why she had sought the companionship of someone else while he'd been gone.
He realised that he should have cherished his wife in the way that he had promised he would. And perhaps he wouldn't have been here, in this situation waiting for all of the things they've build to collapse.
Over the last few nights he had begun wondering, who it was. Who had been slowly tearing his wife's heart away from him?
Was it a friend? Someone she barely knew?
"...but let her cover the mark as she will, the pang of it will be always in her heart."
He imagined how someone else made her feel the things he didn't- desired, loved, and wanted. And it felt like he had been struck down. He'd found himself studying her form, looking for marks of him upon her skin; ghosts of his caresses.
Sometimes he would imagine asking her. Looking in the eye and calling her out about what was happening between them. But each time words would fail him. He realised he didn't know what to say, or how to respond to her were the truth to be revealed.
It was the fear of losing her that kept his heart at ransom.
The sound of an engine coming to a halt caught his attention; he made the small walk to the window peering out on to the street. A black car had stopped on the street and after a few moments the door opened.
She climbed out clearly unsteady on her feet, slamming the door shut she blew a kiss to the driver before stumbling to the steps of their town house.
Taking a deep breath he prepared himself for what was about to come.
"Honey...I'm home." She slurred giggling slightly as something hit the floor. He made his way to the door to find her in a collapsed heap, the content of her hand bag spilt across the hard wood floors.
"Opps" she laughed again attempting to gather the things. It was an empty laugh, he noticed, it wasn't happy.
She wasn't happy.
"Sara...it's late..." He began but realised that there was nothing else he could say, he couldn't bring himself to confront her.
"Yeah...sorry about that..." She sighed, pulling herself onto her unsteady feet avoiding his eye as she did so. "We got a bit carried away..."
He could smell the whiskey on her breath- he could almost see her sitting in a bar with whoever he was drinking as they shared kisses and jokes. A part of him wondered if the drinking was because she wanted to forget the guilt- if she wanted to forget him.
"You should have called- I could have come and picked you up." He said softly, taking her arm in order to help her stand up straight.
"Its fine, I got a ride with...a friend." The paused in her sentence seemed to hurt more than anything.
Why hadn't she just told him who she was with?