Music: Pushing Me Away – Jonas Brothers
The Storm Before the Calm
Oneshot
xxx
Shane's hands grip the steering wheel as his narrowed eyes trace the surrounding area with an incredibly intense stare. His knuckles are white as he squeezes the black leather again and again, fretting and hissing under his breath. He catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and he cannot help but glare at himself and the emptiness of the car.
He's all alone. Completely, utterly, alone.
The feelings of terror and almost sickness travel within him, going through his blood with every passing second. He feels alone, and much more than that, he is alone. There is no one on the streets – not pedestrians or anyone. No one. He closes his eyes, envisioning what he wishes he were doing right now instead of driving through town. He opens his eyes at just the right time. The adrenaline in him goes in overtime, and he works quickly – stepping on the brakes and then turning the wheel slightly to avoid hitting the other car. The bumpers barely touch, but his breath is still completely knocked out of him. The other driver does not notice, and for that he is grateful.
How would he even explain it…
So sorry. I'm just looking for my wife. She's gone missing…I think she may have left me. Sorry again.
Yeah, that would be a great explanation.
xxx
On the other side of town, you are in your bedroom, folding the clothes you had left in the laundry last night. When you hear the front door slam shut, you tense and drop the sweater you had in your hands. The cloth falls slowly, half on the bed, half on the floor, dangling in between like a lost soul. You keep your eyes on it, listening intensely as footsteps come closer and closer to the bedroom. Once you know he is on his way to it definitely, you reach for the sweater again, almost crumpling it in your haste to fix it. Your mind pretends to focus on the grays and blacks of the material, but you are truly only hearing, feeling him.
You hear the door behind you get pushed slightly so that it swings open more, and then a slight intake of breath and then a sigh of relief. You don't say a word.
You just fold the sweater and move on to a shirt.
xxx
A second later, he explodes. You hear the sound of his keys slam into the drawer, hitting probably your jewelry case, as well as the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut with a loud, angry thud. You flinch and jump slightly, and hesitantly turn to him. He is looking at you with bright, lit eyes and closed fists. "Where the fuck were you last night?" he screams, and your eyes widen but you don't say a word. You can't remember the last time he used the F-bomb, and thinking back at it, you can't remember the last time he cursed at all. "Don't ignore me, Michelle. Where the fuck have you been?" he comes closer to you, and in that moment, you have never felt more suffocated.
The large room seems like a prison.
You swallow harshly before setting the shirt down roughly, and turning away from him to go to the bathroom to do some other meaningless task. "You aren't my keeper, Shane. I can go wherever I want." You tell him with a trembling voice as you slip past him. You can feel the anger radiate off him as he follows you.
"Really, Michelle? Really? Fucking really? Do you know how worried I was? Do you know that I was so fucking worried about you? You don't do that. You don't just leave a house and not tell the other where you're going. You don't not pick up the goddamn phone. You don't not leave a note. You don't do this. Not to me. Not to your husband, Michelle. And your friends? Your amazing friends? Fuck them. Okay, fuck them. They should have told me where you were. You should have told me!" he continues his screaming, blocking the path to the get out of the bathroom.
You swallow and look at the little mirror.
xxx
Clearing your throat softly, you look to the floor. "You didn't have to do that, Shane." You whisper and he hisses.
"I didn't have to do that?" he repeats infuriated. "Of course I did. It's my fucking business where you are. I get to know that, Michelle. That is one of the fucking things I get to know!" You close your eyes for half a second, hating the words that are spilling out of his mouth. Taking a deep breath, you open them again.
You straighten the tooth paste.
"Can we not do this right now? I have to fix the house. Your family is coming over tomorrow." You remind him, as you slip past him again through the little space he provided. He laughs mirthlessly and follows you as you go towards the bedroom door. You open the door half an inch before it goes crashing back. His hand is loud as it crashes against the wood, shutting the door completely. You freeze, you heart beating so fast as he traps you against the little space. You stare at the wood with tears before bravely turning around and tentatively meeting his eyes.
A single tear has run down his face and anger painted everywhere else.
"Fix the house? Fix the house?" his voice breaks a little. "How about fixing us? Huh?" he runs his hand through his hair roughly, before looking at you confused. "Where were you last night?" he asks again, his eyes trying to search yours. You gulp and shrug, leaning against the door.
"Out." You whisper, looking behind him to the clothes you folded neatly.
He laughs mirthlessly again. "Out."
"Are you going to repeat everything I say?" you snap at him, your eyes fierce for a second as they zero in on him. He glares back and grits his teeth.
"Don't." he warns you in a low and serious voice.
"Don't what?" you say back furiously. "Don't defend myself against your-"
"Yes, don't fucking defend yourself. You have no right to." He yells over you, his eyes filled with so much pain. "I want to know where you were last night. I want to know why you couldn't take five fucking seconds out of being 'out' and call me or text me or fucking email me. I want to know why you had to leave!" he raises his hand, and for a second you think he's going to hit you, but he just hits the door.
He wouldn't hit you. He would never. But then again, you have never seen him so mad.
"Calm down." You snap at him in a tone you didn't mean to come out as harshly. He takes a deep intake of breath, surprised at you. "I'm here, aren't I? In your bedroom. In your house. Here to play the wife, okay? You won." You tell him, tears suddenly slipping from your eyes.
His angers falls for a second, but then it comes tenfold. "Play the wife? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And what the hell am I winning? Your love? I shouldn't be winning anything. You should just give that to me. What the hell is-"
You cut him off. "Oh, my God, Shane. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!" you scream at him, pushing him away to walk past him. "Just fucking stop it." You whisper before sinking onto the bed. You lean down, your face falling into your hands. He sighs shakily and punches the door again. You flinch. "Stop it!" you order him again and he glares at you.
"Caring for you? You want me to stop caring about you, Michelle? Because goddamn it, I've spent the whole fucking day searching for you. I've spent the whole day worrying about you." He reminds you and you look away. He puts a strong stance and looks at you intensely. "Where have you been?" he emphasizes each word.
"Out." You reiterate.
"Mitchie." He says in the same warning voice.
You flinch at your name. He only calls you Michelle when you fight, but within a fight, he only uses Mitchie when he's serious. Not that you have ever fought to this magnitude before."I was over Tess's house." You admit to him finally, anger seeping into your voice. "Do you feel better now? Huh? Does it make you feel better that you know where I was? I wasn't moving out or leaving you. I wasn't with partying it up, and I wasn't fucking anyone else." You spit out the last sentence and his eyes narrow again and he growls slightly.
"Tess." He repeats, his teeth gritted."You were at Tess's."
"Are we back to saying everything I say again? I thought we were passed that stage." You say as sharp as a knife. His eyes get even angrier if possible, cold even, and he just stares at you. For a couple seconds, you stare at him with the same intensity before feeling the pricks of tears return. You look down at the same time the tears start to fall.
He still does not say anything.
"I just needed some time." You whisper. You can see from the corner of your eyes, his fist loosen its grip and his shoulders fall.
"About what, Mitchie. About what?" he asks softly, the hurt coming back. You shrug awkwardly.
"I don't know." You mutter before looking him in the eyes. Some tears fall out again. "Us."
He runs a hand through his curly hair. For the first time, you notice his loose sweatpants and small beater – obviously he never changed out of his pajamas this morning. He has a slight five 'o clock shadow and he looks like he had the roughest night in a while. (But the thing about Shane is that he still looks absolutely magnificent.) "Okay." He says after a second. "And?" he asks pointedly.
"And I don't know, Shane." You say, throwing your hands up. You move to the door again. You open it softly and look into the hallway. "I don't know if I can do it anymore."
xxx
He squeezes his eyes shut, probably wishing this was all a dream like you are right now. "Michelle." He whispers disappointedly, before looking at you with bright, sad eyes. "You went to Tess for this? You couldn't come to me – your husband? Tess doesn't even like me, Mitchie. She's super jealous of my fame and achievements and all she cares about is herself and destroying lives!" he scolds you, flailing his arms wildly.
You look away. "She's a good friend." You mutter into the tense air. After a brief, stunned pause form him, you continue. "Who was I supposed to talk to, huh, Shane? Your mother? Nate? Jason? Caitlyn? They all would have said the same thing: that there isn't a problem, when clearly there is!"
His jaw drops for a second. "Oh, my God, are you fucking serious, right now? Who would you go to? Me, Mitchie! Me. Your husband, the one you're fucking having the supposed problem with. Which by the way, what problem? We don't fight, Mitchie. We don't. We hardly ever disagree. We don't fight, Mitchie." He goes closers to you, his eyes narrowed with sorrow.
You look up with the same sadness.
"We never fight." He mutters softly.
You have never heard him sound so crushed.
xxx
He's looking at you with pointed sadness, waiting for an explanation from you or anything, really. Just wants to hear your voice. "I don't know how to be who you want me to be anymore." You shuffle your feet, your eyes glued to the carpet. His face still is painted with confusion.
"What does that mean, Mitchie? I want you to be my wife." He answers as he slowly goes to the bed. He sits down next to you, the small space between you two seem like miles.
You continue staring forward. "That's what I mean." You whisper after a pregnant pause.
He looks at you in desperation and jumps up again, before kneeling at your feet. "Mitchie, please." His voice chokes slightly. "C'mon. Can you at least tell me what the hell is wrong? Because right now, all I'm getting is that you don't want to be my wife. Do you not l-love me anymore?" he stutters, his eyes bright with tears.
You look at him surprised. "Of course I do." You say with conviction. "I love you more than anything in this world, Shane." You hold the same tone, looking him straight in his eyes. "I love you more than anything." You repeat breathily, before looking away. "That's the problem, Shane. I want you – always. I want you to be here with me. I want you to hold me when I sleep every night. I want you to kiss me awake every morning. I want you to tell me you want kids. I want you to crawl into bed with me to watch TV at night – every night. I'm tired of sharing you Shane. I'm so goddamn tired of it."
He sits there stunned for a while, just looking at you with wide eyes.
"I want a husband, Shane." You conclude, tears streaming down your face. "You're always gone. You're always on the road. In another state. In other country. In other universe. I'm always left behind – even when I'm with you. I can't keep up with your schedule or the craziness – not anymore. I want to be normal, Shane. I want to be normal. It sucks so fucking much to be in an empty house, in a large bed with no one, Shane. Just me and the phone and tears. I miss you Shane. I freaking miss you, and I'm so tired of it."
He looks like you have literally stabbed him in the heart. He's completely destroyed and he falls back so that he's completely kneeling – just stunned. "Baby…" he lets out gently. "You can't…you can't…That's not fucking fair, Mitchie!" he suddenly yells at you, standing up quickly so he's towering over you again. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me. You knew that I was in this business. But I mean, it's not going…it's not always going to be like this, Mitchie. This isn't fair to me. You knew what we were getting into." He is angry but suddenly he's crying. "Please, Mitchie. Please. I can't do anything about…I just…you're my life. Don't do this."
xxx
"I'm sorry." You whisper defeated.
He becomes furious again and he shakes his head. "We have been together for years, Mitchie. Since fucking Camp Rock. Why is this happening now? It's been years. Years." He reminds you, tears still falling down his cheeks. You can feel your own sob threatening to come out of you, and you grip the comforters.
"It's not the same now, Shane. I had people – Caitlyn, my parents, hell, even your brothers – but now I don't. I walk into empty bedrooms and empty hallways. I have no one." You let the last part out in a whisper.
He scoffs. "You have me." He says exasperatedly.
You shake your head, screaming at him like he doesn't understand – because he doesn't understand. "No! I don't have you – not when there's a billion miles between us and the fucking distance is there!"
He looks at you with a cold glare. "Distance? I'm sleeping right next to you. We're in the same room. We've fucked, because apparently we haven't been making love." He adds bitterly. "We've eaten together. I'm right fucking here, Mitchie. Does that mean anything to you?" Tears run down his face.
xxx
You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you.
Of course it means something. You haven't looked at it that way. You just see the past and the pain, and not the future and its possibilities. You shouldn't have gone to Tess…you know that, but she could rant with you, argue with you, listen to you. You should have been with him instead of complaining about never seeing him.
He takes your silence as an answer.
"Fuck you, then, Mitchie." He shoots at you and you take a deep intake of breath, physically stung by his words. His eyes are furious. "Fuck you. I've been here this whole month and you have pulled away, not me! But you want me to really go? I'll go." He tells you angrily before turning around and ripping the closet door open. He grabs a duffle bag roughly before grabbing clothes from the closet and moving to the drawer. He snatches clothes with fierceness, and you can only look at him with wide, scared eyes.
He's leaving you.
He's leaving you.
He's fucking leaving you.
Is this what you wanted? No.
Were you the one that was supposed to leave? God, it looks so good in theory but in actuality, this isn't right. (He's right there Mitchie. He's right fucking there, and you have been ignoring him. You have been the one who has made the distance.) "Shane." You let out in a breathy whisper he ignores.
"Shane, please stop." You say desperately, standing up abruptly to block his way feebly.
He points an accusing, angry finger at you. "No! This is what you fucking wanted, isn't it, Mitchie? Well, fine. I'm out of your life. You can keep the house. You keep the money and the gifts and the clothes and the jewelry. I'll call a lawyer tomorrow and just sign everything to you." He glares at you through the tears. He pushes past you, barely even grazing you but God, you feel like he just shot you. Suddenly, he is stopping – looking at you with the coldest, angriest expression you have ever seen on him, before laughing mirthlessly. "You know what? Keep the ring. Pawn it. I hope you get a shitload of money, Mitchie." He spits out at.
That's when you lose it. You start to sob hard, leaning pathetically against the wall. You didn't want this. You didn't. You don't know what you thought would happen, but definitely not this. Anything but this. "Shane." You whisper in between the tears. He just looks at you for a couple seconds, before shaking his head and going past you. You hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, and it takes you a moment to realize that you are in fact chasing after him.
You go down quickly like him, watching as he crosses the threshold and then goes to the door. You are at the last step when your voice croaks out, "Shane! Stop! Wait!" you scream, your heart beating with hope that he would stop. His shoulders tense and he fingers the doorknob, before turning around curtly.
"What, Mitchie?" he asks sharply.
You run to him.
xxx
He catches with a slight "Omph" and drops the duffle bag to the floor with a loud thump. His arms circle around your back as your legs wrap around his hips. Your lips attach themselves to his own, kissing him with all you can. You don't want him gone. You don't. You don't. You don't.
You just want him to make you feel wanted.
(God, you're so fucking stupid Mitchie. You could have had him all to yourself all this month. He wasn't anywhere. Not London. Not Paris or Brazil or Ireland or Australia or Canada or Ohio. He was here – in your bed.)
He pushes you against the wall roughly, and you hiss at the feel of the hard wall collide with your back. His tongue is rough with yours and his lips aren't calm nor patient with you. He's kissing you for all he's worth, and you reciprocate as best as you can. He is squeezing your hips and grabbing at your skin. He is biting your lip and pressing your chests together with tremendous force.
You moan into his mouth, your eyes shut tightly. But suddenly, he's letting go. He's not touching you anymore. He's letting you fall.
You look up at him, your body leaning against the wall. Your eyes are wide with tears and vulnerability. "What was that a goodbye kiss?" he starts it out icily, but his voice catches. It's like the same memories are going through both your minds: the good times, the dates, the kisses, the times in bed, the tour bus, the wedding, the honey moon, your first time, the love, the jokes, the songs, the laughter.
You shake your head desperately. "I'm sorry." You spill out. "I'm so sorry. Please, please, please don't leave. I just…I freaked and I thought I was losing you, but it turns out I was the one that was…I'm just…sorry, Shane. I'm sorry. Don't go." You whisper the last part and tears fall from his eyes again.
He moves forward, almost defeated, and brings his hands to your face. You push up desperately and bring your lips up to kiss him again.
xxx
You find your way back to your bed that night, him holding you protectively as he thrust in and out. The normal gentleness is gone, and in its temporary place is a light roughness. You both rip at each other, gasping and moaning and groaning – trying to find pleasure in all this. It's all emotions, and when you finally get to that point, when he finally gets there too, it's so fucking emotional, that you feel like you might break.
The tension and the anger and the everything circles the room, and as you lay there panting, you don't know what to say to him. He looks over to you with wide eyes, and then suddenly, he's kissing you again. His mouth feels better this time – like home – and he rolls on top of you again with a softer edge.
The next time around, he treats you like a princess.
Like how he normally treats you.
When he is done, when you are done, he falls to your side again. After a second of staring intensely at one another, still out of breath, he goes to touch you. A sharp electricity blot goes through both of you, and there are two surprised gasps that come out of you.
He laughs – an uncomfortable, scared laugh – and you reach up and cup his cheeks to kiss him fully on the lips. "I'm sorry." You whisper against his lips.
xxx
The next morning, you are alone.
You wake up, your muscles feeling completely over life and your mind throbbing. Shane's absence makes you heart beat loudly and quickly, and you think of all the bad things: he left, you assume right away. But that's a lie, because his duffel bag is still spilling out with clothes on the floor.
Pulling on one of his shirts, you stumble into the hallway before sluggishly going downstairs. Your shoulders loosen up when you hear the unmistakable sounds of Call of Duty ring through the living room. For a while, you watch as he kills soldiers from afar. His legs are thrown carelessly on the coffee table and he's on the recliner, his long curly hair blocking his view of you.
After a couple seconds, you move forward until you reach the sofa. Reaching down, you kiss the top of his head. He tenses but doesn't say anything as he continues the game, his eyes focused on only that. You stand awkwardly for a while, before going to his right side. You poke at his arm, but he still doesn't move even as you lift your leg and put it on the sofa's arm.
He sighs when you nudge his arm again. He pauses the game and raises his arm, allowing you to crawl over him and settle in between his legs. He puts his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your thin body, as you settle into him. You press a light kiss to his neck. "I'm sorry for scaring you yesterday." You say, your voice sober – free of the emotional state you were in yesterday.
"What happened, Mitchie?" he asks, still not looking at you.
You shrug. "I don't know. I get I got jealous of Tess and Baron, and Lola and Caitlyn and how their husbands are always around, and I just…" you trail off not knowing how to finish the sentence and shrug again.
He sets the control down with a sigh. "You want a divorce?" he asks seriously.
"No!" you answer loudly, pushing forward to look him in the eyes. "I don't." you say softer. "I just freaked, and…I didn't know what I had until you…I'm sorry. That's all I can say." You tell him, before digging back into his body. He hugs you tightly into him, leaning back into the recliner.
"Okay." His neck hums as you speak, your lips pressed against it. "Can you not do that anymore, please?" he asks awkwardly, "Or at least, talk to me if freak out like this again. I'm first, okay?" he says gently. You nod against his chest. "It won't always be like this, Mitchie. I'll be here full time – probably within a year or so. And then… and then, we can start trying to get pregnant, to start a family. And I'll be a hundred and ten percent there for that, Mitchie. You know I love you, and you know that I'll love any child of ours with all my heart." He rubs your arm up and down comfortingly.
You nod again. "I know." You whisper.
He frowns. "I hate this…this feeling of pain and anger and blah." He scrunches his nose, and you let a slight smile fall on your lips. "So, let's not do that, okay?" he presses a kiss to your forehead. "You scared the shit out of me yesterday, Mitchie. It shouldn't be that way." He shakes his head. "We have to be able to talk. I'll try my best to understand and I hope that you will do the same."
"I will, and thank you." You tell him, putting your hand on his cheek. You feel the slight pricks of his hair before bringing yourself up to kiss his cheek. You hug him awkwardly, your body twisted uncomfortably. He takes a deep intake of breath. "I owe you so much for last night, Shane." You confess to him. "For forgiving me. For not leaving. I owe you."
He pushes you backwards a little to rub his nose against yours. You smile again and lean forward to capture him in a kiss. His fingers travel up your shirt, a grin on his lips. "I know how you can make it up to me." He says suggestively and you giggle.
"Oh really?"
"Uh huh."
He kisses you again.
xxx
The next time he is gone for months at a time, it isn't any easier. It hurts a lot still, and going into empty rooms suck more than anything.
You are alone one day, watching some random tv show, when he calls. "Hey!" he says, excitedly. You smile and roll on your back, staring at your bedroom ceiling.
"Hey, lover."
"Okay, so Connect Three's last tour date for a while will be on November seventh. Our last film date will be in December. Then, I'm free. I have acting jobs, but all of those are in L.A. anyways." He says all very quickly. You raise an eyebrow; you know this all ready. "So I purpose we start trying when I come back on the seventh. What do you think?" he asks, finally taking a breath. "I did all this calculations and if we do, we can have it around my birthday – and that's fun!"
You laugh. "Shane. I have no idea what you are talking about." You tell him honestly.
He chuckles. "I guess you should know that, huh?" you giggle and roll your eyes. "To have a baby, duh. Maybe we can get twins? Do you think we can have twins? Do you have twins in your side of the family?" he asks, still too fast half the time. He's too excited. You take a deep breath.
"Twins?" you ask, you eyes widening. "God, I hope not. Are you insane, Shane? Do you know how much work that is?" you remind him, sitting up on the bed.
He smiles. "Um, yeah. For one person, it would be hell. But for two people? As stellar and amazing and loving as us, it will be a piece of cake." He tells you.
Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you almost feel like crying at his words."You think so?"
"I know so." He says with conviction.
When you hang up the phone a while later, you sit back and just think. You think about that day and that fight and how bad that could have been. One little slip up on your part, and one major almost move on his part. In the end, you are still partly glad that you had the fight. Everything has gone better since. You talk more. You listen more. You understand more.
It's funny how you have to face a storm to get to the calm.
XXX
Just a small oneshot dedicated to Valu86 since it's her 21st. I'm sorry that it wasn't the happiest thing in the world, but this is what had already done for a while. It is based on something I read a while ago. Hopefully you guys like it!
Thanks!
Sandy