Title: The Motions of Falling (1/?)

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Email: faithboscorelli1@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: They are -still- not mine. Damn.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Do you ever feel like you're falling? Just dropping out of the sky so fast and so hard with no net below to catch you? Falling has become a way of life. Occasionally I can grab onto a ledge and hold on for awhile, but then the rock crumbles beneath my hands and I tumble toward the earth again. Toward the black hole of nothingness that has become my life.

Category: Story

Subcategories: Angst, mostly. No deaths involved.

Spoilers: Up through and including "In Confidence."

Author's Note: The entire first part of this fic is based off a dream I had, and when I woke up my muse informed me it would make a good story...so where Holly goes, I must follow. Hope you like it. It's a little different than other stuff I've written.

The Motions of Falling (Part One)

It's a seven hour drive from Manhattan to Buffalo, New York. Not really all that long in the grand scheme of things. But this feels like the longest car ride of my life. The kids are in the back of the SUV we rented for the trip and for the first couple of hours, they were both completely silent. Of course, so were Fred and I.

Now the three of them are talking, but I can't get my mind to concentrate long enough to determine what's being said. I sit silently, staring out the passenger window. No one questions my quietness. They probably figure it's better that way. Because if they question it, they might have to hear the answer. I might have to say the words. And I'm not sure that any of us--myself included--are ready for that yet.

This little trip--vacation, some might call it--was Fred's idea. I think he thought that if he trapped the four of us together for a whole week we would somehow magically transform into one of those perfect T.V. families like the Cleavers.

He should know by now that I am no June Cleaver.

Maybe he was just hoping that if we got away from the city for awhile, Emily and I would relax and work through some of the tangled problems we've been having for the last year. I don't think he realizes just how badly tangled those problems are. And I'm afraid that trying to untangle the delicate threads will only succeed in tearing them apart completely.

Maybe it's just better to leave well enough alone. She blames me for everything. I haven't been there for her, for Charlie, for Fred. I've been a bad mother, a lousy wife, a sorry excuse for a human being. She wishes it had been me and not her dad who'd had the heart attack a few months ago. She's never actually come right out and spoke those words, but she's said it in oh-so-many ways through her actions and in the way she looks at me.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she hates me.

I realize that Fred is talking to me and I turn my head to look at him. When I don't respond, he repeats the question. "Charlie wants to stop at this amusement park. That okay?"

I blink, wondering why he's asking me. He's the one driving. I look out the windshield and can see the top of a ferris wheel just above the tree line. "Sure," I answer mechanically.

He pulls our rental into the parking lot and stops the car. I don't know where we are. Then again, I never do, so I guess it doesn't really matter.

Charlie and Emily scramble out of the backseat and it occurs to me that they are both looking rather excited about going to the park. I am the last one out of the SUV, and a feeling of pure dread grips me and doesn't let go as we make the short trek from the parking lot to the park. When we arrive at the ticket booth, all three of them turn to look at me expectantly.

I dig my wallet out of my small purse and dutifully hand over some money to the man in the booth. They all turn away once my job has been completed. I follow them silently into the park, tuning out their excited debate over what ride to go on first.

The decision was apparently made as they head for a large rollercoaster. Wordlessly, Charlie shrugs out of his jacket and hands it back to me, and after a moment, Emily reluctantly does the same. She's probably afraid I'll search her pockets in an attempt to find drugs or letters from Eric Beckman.

A sheepish grin on his face, Fred, too, turns and hands me his coat. "I know you don't like rollercoasters," he says with a shrug before turning and walking over to stand in line with our kids. None of them give me a second glance.

I can't help but wonder -how- he knows that since we've never been together to an amusement park that -had- rollercoasters before. As a matter of fact, I -do- like them. I remain silent because I know that if I speak up, I'll get this blank stare from him like he can't quite comprehend my words.

I feel nothing as I walk over and sit down on the nearest bench, the coat-holder for my family. If you can call us a family. More like three family members and one inanimate shell of a person who pays for everything, holds the coats and waits for the other three to return and move on while she follows behind wordlessly, too weary to argue or protest or participate. And it's not like they care. It's easier for them this way.

A few feet away there is a child strapped in a stroller crying while her mother chats on a cellular phone. The little girl is screaming at the top of her lungs but no one is paying attention but me.

Yeah. I'm right there with ya, kid.

Niagra Falls is beautiful.

Millions of gallons of rushing water flows freely over the edge of the cliff and into the deep lake down below. The sun is shining and a small rainbow shimmers in the air halfway down the falls. I can feel the cool mist when the breeze blows gently, tousling my hair as I lean against the rail.

I contemplate buying a barrel and throwing myself over the falls.

A lot of people have done it. Few have survived. I wonder if those who did wanted to, or if the act had been one of desperation, an attempt to end the sorrow and heartbreak and loneliness. I wonder if those who didn't survive realized before they met their end, in the motions of falling, that death wasn't what they wanted but now had no choice about.

I wonder if anyone would miss me.

I have serious doubts.

Fred's voice startles me out of my dark thoughts. "We're gonna get something to eat at the food court." He points in illustration to a building which the kids are standing in front of, waiting impatiently.

I nod slightly and let go of the railing. My wallet and I follow them inside. We stand in line, the kids chattering lightly about wanting to see the fireworks that night, Fred smiling and nodding at them. The good parent. I pay for their trays of food and we sit at a table, me beside Fred, Emily across from me, Charlie across from him.

I stare down at my bowl of broccoli and cheese soup. I find it completely unappetizing. It was the cheapest thing on the menu.

After several long moments, I rise from my seat, not bothering to excuse myself to go find the restroom because no one questions my movement. I leave the table and locate the women's bathroom across the hall from the food court.

I go inside and set my purse on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. I don't recognize my own reflection. I don't know who I've become. I'm not even sure who I was before I became this unrecognizable, inanimate shell. I stand motionless for a long time.

I return to the food court, but not the table. I stand by the line of people waiting to get their food and I stare at my husband. My children.

They don't even notice my absence.

I'm not surprised by their lack of awareness. I am surprised, however, by the sudden, very intense ache I feel in my heart. The sharpness of it takes my breath away and tears sting my eyes.

I don't belong here.

I'm not wanted, nor am I needed. I'm just along for the ride. It was an obligation for them to invite me along. That's the way it's always been.

The three of them. And me. The outsider.

I stare at them as they talk and laugh together. That's what families do.

I press a hand against my stomach, feeling the realization like a knife tearing through me.

Fred looks up and sees me, a questioning look on his face.

I meet his eyes for a second.

Then I turn and flee.

Past the crowds of people, stumbling but moving quickly toward the exit, my heart pounding hard against my chest. The pain threatens to overwhelm me before I manage to make it to the door.

I press my hands against the door handle and push, nearly falling as someone on the outside yanks the door open.

I gasp and ignore the mumbled apology from the man and I keep going. The only thing I know is that I have to keep moving. Don't stop, don't look back, just keep moving.

My new mantra.

I hear footsteps behind me and I know without looking that Fred has followed me. I don't know why. I don't -want- to know why. He doesn't call out to me. It's too late.

It hurts too much.

I don't look behind me when I hear the footsteps stop. I know he is staring after me.

I don't stop running until I make it to the main road. I flag down a taxi and manage to crawl into the backseat before I begin to cry. I bury my face in my hands and sob, my whole body shaking with the tears, with pain. The driver asks me if I'm okay and I simply nod and wave my hand, indicating him to just begin driving.

An hour later, he drops me off at the nearest bus station and I buy myself a ticket back to Manhattan. Back to my non-life.

I'll be long gone before Fred and the kids ever make it back to the apartment.

Go to Part 2

Back to X_tremeroswellian's Third Watch Fanfic