Disclaimer: The Mediator belongs to Meg Cabot. And the song belongs to Evanescence.

Rating: T

Summary: AU. OOC. Suze has a problem other than seeing ghosts. Both are things Jesse can't understand or help with, no matter how much he tries. But when Suze's cure for dealing with her demons comes to a head one weary night; Jesse has to come to the heart-breaking conclusion, that someone has to walk away to stop the pain.

A/N: This is something I should have written some time ago, but was too afraid to try. I was trying to work through my own questions, while laying some things to rest as I was writing. And this is what emerged. It's just a way for me to release my own demons, which chose to do so in the early hours of the morning of course. I don't know if I'll keep it up long-term, I think I just needed it written and out there, if that makes sense. o.O

I'm using Suze being able to see ghosts, because it was easier to stick to the main basis of it all. You can review if you like, but it's not necessary. Considering how cringe-worthy this probably is, lol. But thank you for reading. :)

Listen to each drop of rain, Whispering secrets in vain, Frantically searching for someone to hear, Their story before they hit ground, Please don't let go, Can't we stay for a while? It's just too hard to say goodbye, Listen to the rain, Weeping...

Listen To the Rain

I felt Susannah kiss me on the cheek before she collected her stuff and disappeared out of the bedroom door, softly closing it behind her. I'd laid where I was, keeping my breathing shallow and my body motionless. Trying not to let her know I was awake and aware of every fumbled step she'd taken around the bedroom when she had pulled herself from our bed and headed for the shower. But even with her perfume and the sweet scent of her damp hair; I could still smell the faint lingering traces of alcohol on her.

And it was starting to take all my patience not to cringe and pull away when I did.

When I finally heard the door to our apartment close shut, indicating I had the space to myself, I finally released the pent-up sigh of defeat I wake with most mornings. Sitting up I swung my legs from the comforts of the duvet and leant forward resting my elbows on my knees, dropping my head into my hands. When was this going to stop? I asked myself over and over again. I didn't know how much more I could handle with Susannah. How much longer I could go on living a lie and pretending everything was okay; when it wasn't.

"What are you doing to yourself, Susannah?"

The words were strained and hoarse as I muttered them. I scrubbed my hand down my face, past my un-shaven chin. I was exhausted and lost. With no sleep the night before and none coming to me for the rest of the morning, I heaved myself off the inviting bed where I could try and pretend I wasn't going out of mind with worry, stress and failure. The appeal of going to sleep and wishing to wake when something was changed or different was always something I wished for at night. Or during the arguments and scenes that were becoming a too regular occurrence between us.

I dragged my feet over to the bathroom, going through the usual morning rituals before switching on the shower and letting the room fill up with steam. Each time was the same. I would scrub and cleanse myself of any bad memories that might have happened the day and night before. Always telling myself things were going to get better. They had to get better. Because Susannah is strong enough to pull through it.

I always hope that she would see the destruction she was causing to herself with the path she was following. The stress she was inflicting on the other people around her, namely me. And for a while, I would almost smile and think; yes. Today is the day it will change. That she would pass going straight for her comfort not five minutes into her walking through the front door at the end of the day.

But those hopes are always gone by the time I go to see the mess of why that was a useless dream to hope with.

I scrubbed my hair with the towel when I stepped out of the shower. Angry with myself for not doing something to help Susannah before now. For not trying harder in making her see what she's doing. Because I always back down from the fight. I flinch when her angry slurred words hit me harder than any physical assault ever could. I turn my head away from the embarrassing display she tumbles herself into, even when it's just the two of us at home.

Sometimes, it's those moments that are worse than any other. And after every disturbance, I end up going through my own sick cycle of emotions. Denial; it will get better. Anger; with Susannah and towards myself. And dejection; because I just can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I go about the bedroom, picking up the laundry and tidying up the mess she makes from rushing for work in the mornings. I'm stalling time, just like I always do. All in the hope that when I go out into the living room, I won't find what I'm expecting to see. But all it does is make my job and task even harder to do. Makes that bitter resentment I know is building, dig that much deeper in my gut. Churning and coiling with acid.

Until eventually, I leave the bedroom's haven and step out into the hall, following the chaos

A broken picture frame that was hanging on the wall of the hall, now sits on the floor at a jagged angle. Susannah's shoes she had kicked off in different directions with the added memory of her loud laugh with the fun she thought she was having from seeing what she could aim for. Walking further in, her coat is in a heap on the floor by the coat rack, where she tossed it from coming home after her need for some fresh air.

As if I don't know where it is she goes when she disappears on those long walks. The stain on the rug I have scrubbed relentlessly over and over again from one spilled drink after another. Where the faint hue of Jack Daniels always causes my stomach to recoil and threaten to bring up its contents. And there, across the room in a corner, is the broken bottle to go with the spilled drink.

Broken glass to go with my battered patience.

For an hour at least I work around the apartment, picking up the evidence of another night in the home of someone out of their depth and control. I remove the evidence of what she did before she comes home, so I don't have to see that puzzled expression and frown from trying to pull up the memory, she never has. It's easier that way, to just pretend for a few short seconds. Because the outcome of Susannah finding it first is always worse than the little effort I put in for those short peaceful moments.

But I always leave the last task until the very end when I know I can face it.

I collect the different bottles of liquor she has around the room; the wine in the fridge, the vodka behind the cereal and the Jack Daniels underneath the couch. I line them all up in a row and methodically make my way through each one, watching the vile liquid pour down the drain one after another. From one side full, to another side empty. Until all the different shapes and sizes of the bottles are ready for destroying. Where I look at them and question why it had to be alcohol, Susannah used as an excuse and scapegoat.

Why she had to choose something as soul-destroying as alcohol to help her fight her demons.

When I had first met Susannah I knew she was holding something back from me. She was wary and tight-lipped about anything to do with her personal life. Our first half a dozen dates had all been in very public places where our time together was un-personal and cramped. But I stuck it out, because I was intrigued by her. I had been watching Susannah arrive at the same coffee place I went to every morning, for months. Ordering the same drink and chocolate chip muffin to go, following the rush of the city outside.

Until I finally plucked up the courage to ask her on a date and she reluctantly accepted. But the time we did spend together, when we weren't somewhere loud and busy, I enjoyed and was what made me encourage her to trust and open up to me as time went by.

Until the day when she eventually told me what was troubling her. Giving me the reason for her wary behaviour she still hadn't released. I remember how she sat on the edge of the bench in Central Park. Moving away from my arm I had stretched across the back, staring off into the distance with the sun setting behind us. She'd taken a deep breath and finally told me her secret. Sitting in silence for a time, before turning to me to see my reaction to her news.

She'd looked confused by my questions when I had finally found my voice. She answered them slowly, waiting for my true reaction to come through. And still, there was none from me. She asked me why of course. Explaining that every other relationship she had been in, where she had opened up and told the secret, the guy had walked away without so much as a goodbye.

But I'm not like every other guy and I told Susannah so.

I accepted her gift of being able to see and speak to spirits no longer on earth; back then, just like I still accept her gift now. Only, Susannah see's her ability as a curse that should be ignored and loathed. Her face had twisted and sneered when she spoke of the trouble she had gotten into as a child, the shrinks her mother had sent her to, trying to work-out the cause for her need for attention.

They got in the way of her life and her career. They were a nuisance and pain she didn't want to deal with. She had never done what a medium had once told her to do with her gift. Susannah brushed it aside and ignored it for all her worth. She carried on as much as possible. Even when they appeared beside her on the train to work, or followed her around relentlessly. They shook her awake in the middle of the night, even with me beside her.

And it got worse, the more I tried to help and understand what she was going through.

With Susannah's secret in the open, and her adamant objections she didn't anything to do with ghosts, it didn't take long for our relationship to progress and turn into something I wasn't expecting. Susannah opened up more in the face of not being given the title of 'crazy' or 'weird', like she had from others she had thought she could trust. And I soon fell in love with the other sides and aspects to Susannah.

She still had her moments that only showed just how hurt she had been in the past. And I did everything I could to give Susannah her space when she asked for it.

But it was already too late.

Over the three short years we had been together, Susannah grew dependent on that support I offered. She hadn't had it before me. There was no-one willing to listen when she ranted about how much of a bother and a curse her gift was. No-one to understand when she came home hurt or injured, with a logical explanation, no-one could believe. I held her when she cried and soothed her when her anger grew too strong. I wanted to share her gift, so I could Susannah on a level I'll never reach.

And I know, for all her dependence on me to listen and be there when she needed me, that she resented me for not hitting that final mark.

I collected up the empty bottles of liquor Susannah has been hiding and put them in an empty card-board box, ready to dispose of them properly. With the heavy urge to escape the apartment, I put on my coat and shoes and left. Sending out a silent wish that tonight, wouldn't be a repeat of the one before. I took the bottles to the recycling centre, throwing the glass in with enough ferocity to hear the satisfying smash as it hit the pile. It was one of my own therapeutic ways of dealing with being in a relationship with an alcoholic.

Being able to destroy the cause as much as seeing it wash down the drain. It made me feel good for a while at least.

For the rest of the day, I filled up on doing the errands. Going to the supermarket to stock up on the cupboards and the fridges contents. Making sure to buy things that were quick and easy to cook, so that at least Susannah could make the effort to eat in the evenings. Anything and everything to keep myself occupied in an effort to ignore what the day was and subsequently, what the night was no doubt going to turn into.

Something stopped me as I was making my way out of the supermarket. It could have been someone cutting in front of me with their trolley, or fate taking a hand and laying it on my shoulder, asking me to stop. But when I happen to glance to my side and see I was standing by the notice and advertisement board, my gaze instantly snapped to the sign shouting out in big bold letters;

ARE YOU SHARING YOUR LIFE WITH AN ALCOHOLIC?

It suddenly felt as though I had a large neon sign flashing down on me with an arrow for all to see. I turned away from it quickly, rushing out of the crowded place, trying to leave the notice board, with its bold lettering and helpful leaflets behind. If Susannah had seen it, she would have scoffed and walked away without a second glance. Muttering something under her breath that would have been forgotten by the time we reached the car.

Because Susannah doesn't see what I do. She doesn't notice how much more pain she's really putting herself through, when she's is trying to numb her mind and body.

It hadn't always been like this. It never used to be so hard to love someone, but want nothing more than to walk away in defeat. It had started with it just being a glass or two of wine with her dinner. Something to help her relax and calm in the bath after a stressful day of busy work or pestering ghosts. A beer over take-out on the weekend when our friends would come over. And then it turned into more.

Visits to bars were becoming regular jaunts straight from work. Never taking notice of the amount of alcohol she was pouring into her already drowning soul.

I would comment on it; 'Maybe you should slow down, Susannah.', 'I think you've had enough.'

But all I would get was a bland look and a snide comment for being, 'too bossy'. She didn't want the help I was trying to give her. She was too comfortable in a life where she had someone else to help pick up the pieces when she couldn't. Too used to passing the buck to some other poor sap who didn't know any better, because I was constantly waiting for her to wake up to the problem she was indulging in more and more. I was foolish and afraid of what could happen.

But I was also afraid of Susannah.

I've had my own fair share of nights out with friends where the drinks were flowing and the atmosphere was thriving. I shared a few of those experiences when out with Susannah during the first year and a half of our relationship. I enjoyed the wild abandon it gave me. I was relaxed, calm with not a care in the world. I was having a good time and nothing else mattered.

But when the mornings came and I would wake with a sore head and a fuzzy memory, realization soon dawned and I stopped being so irresponsible. I still have a drink, but only one or two. Never to the point where I start to lose my inhibitions and follow the easy temptation. I have a better time knowing what I have done the night before; instead of false lies people feed you to make it seem worse.

But Susannah has never known where to draw the line. She has never known when to stop and say enough is enough. She goes and goes until she runs out of steam. And I'm left sweeping up the disaster again. She's not being irresponsible to her. Susannah is enjoying the life she never had the chance to enjoy before she met me. She's safe and cozy in her comfortable lifestyle and dependence on someone who would never deny her, no matter how much it hurts.

And it's made much worse by the memories and knowledge, that Susannah is not a very nice drunk.

xXx

I watched the end credits of the film I hadn't been paying attention to, telling myself I wouldn't glance at the clock until the film ended completely. I tapped my foot on the floor, finding my patience just wasn't that strong and looked anyway. And groaned when I saw just how late it had gotten with still no sign of Susannah. It was why I dreaded most Friday nights. Why I wished she would take my offer of picking her up from work, so she wouldn't get sidetracked and disappear for hours on end. Leaving me behind worried for her and dreading the state she will be in when she does arrive at last. The endless tripping over her feet as she tries to make it from the door.

12.57 am.

Two minutes from the last time I looked up at the clock. I threw the control to the other side of the couch and got from my seat. And that was when I heard the sounds of a key trying to fit into the lock of the front door. Drunken giggles echoing through the wood and down the hall no doubt disturbing some of the other residents sharing our apartment building. I crossed the floor in sure quick strides, opening the door to find Susannah hunched over, key poised where she was trying to find the lock.

She looked up at me and giggled again.

"Hey, babe," Susannah slurred, peering up beneath glazed eyes and smudged make-up. Her hair was dishevelled and messy, made worse when she ran her hand through the tangles in a rough shaky gesture. "What you still doing up?" She picked up her bag dropped at her feet and stumbled through the door, cursing when she did what I thought she would do; trip over her own feet.

"Shit!"

"Where have you been?" I questioned closing and locking the door behind her. Susannah muttered something to herself, kicking one high heeled shoe off into the kitchen area and the other over by the couch. "I thought you would come home straight from work. I was going to make us something nice to eat. Maybe spend the night together with just the two of us for a change."

"Sorry, sorry," She waved, shrugging out of her coat awkwardly. "But a couple of the girls from work twisted my arm and persuaded me into going for a drink or two. How about we go out tomorrow instead, yeah? I'll be all yours for the day and night." She smirked, waggling her eyebrows as she sauntered over to me. Wrapping her arms around my neck to pull me down for a lingering kiss.

I could smell the mixture of alcohol on her before she had even stepped into my personal space.

I pulled away before she could deepen the kiss, turned-off from the small taste I got just from a short kiss. She frowned up at me, seeing my dis-pleasure even in her drunken state. She huffed and pulled away completely, shrugging me off before walking into the kitchen with me following close behind.

"What is your problem Jesse?" She asked, her eyes sweeping around the kitchen unfocused. "I told you I'm sorry I missed your dinner or whatever. It's not every day I go out with my friends you know, you could at least give me some leeway, for cryin' out loud."

Susannah walked over to one of the cupboards, moving the cereal's and sugar aside, looking for the bottle of vodka I removed earlier on in the morning and poured down the sink. She frowned, closing the cupboard and heading for the living-room barely skimming the doorway on her way through.

"You've been out with your friends three times this week, Susannah," I argued, even though I knew it was useless. We had the same argument or something similar every time she got defensive. It never got us anywhere and she more often than not forgot what she was saying half way through.

"Just last night in fact! And you've drunk on the nights you haven't. Shouldn't you be asking yourself what your problem is?"

She got down to her hands and knees, looking underneath the couch for her favourite drink, Jack Daniels. I even tipped away the soft drinks she could put with the Vodka and JD. Including the bottle of coke and pure orange juice from the fridge. But if she was desperate, that wouldn't stop her. It never has in the past.

Her head came back up with an angry, flashing scowl shooting daggers at me.

"Where's the JD, Jesse? I had a bottle under here yesterday, now it's gone. What did you do with it all?" She pulled herself up from the floor, swaying backwards a couple of steps before she caught her balance. "I just don't get what your big deal is! It's only a drink! It's not doing any harm. So I've had a stressful day and I wanna have a drink to start the weekend. Don't blame me 'cos you don't know how to have a good time anymore.

You're more of a stiff then the ghosts I'm cursed with seeing."

She barged past me with an arm catching me in the chest. Missing the hurt and pained look on my face as she dropped to one of the lower cupboards, routing through everything there until she came back up with a bottle of red wine I didn't know was there. When she got back to her feet, she lifted the dark bottle up for me to see, grinning triumphantly at winning the game.

But I wasn't finding it amusing and I definitely wasn't playing by her rules anymore.

I strolled across the tiled floor and grabbed the bottle of wine out of her hand. "No. No more drinking tonight, you've had more than enough." I walked over to the sink, prepared to smash the bottle so she couldn't have it, if I had to. But what I wasn't prepared for was Susannah suddenly grabbing at my arm, pulling and yanking me back with the bottle a battle between us.

"Susannah let go! You've had enough!"

"Don't tell me what to do, you bastard. Give me the fucking wine, Jesse!" She growled furiously, making my eyes widen in shock at her sudden flared temper. She had only gotten so bad a few times before. The last being when we were out and someone made the wrong move of getting in her face. Now she was treating me like I was any other person she would bump into in a club. Her face twisted and snarled, her anger combined with the alcohol making her stronger than normal.

And she was nigh unstoppable to control when she was fired up.

"Susannah, STOP!"

On my bellow, the bottle slipped through our hands and smashed on the floor spraying red-wine up our legs, across the floor and up the cabinets. I looked down at the mess of glass, seeing Susannah's bare feet standing too close to the danger. I lifted my head to tell her to step back until I cleaned up the mess. But I wasn't prepared for the fist to suddenly come flying for me, knocking me back a step or two until I bumped into the counter behind me.

"Look what you did! Now I have to go and get another. I wouldn't have to if you didn't pour what I had down the sink. It's your fault. Dammit!"

Remarkably, Susannah moved around the shattered glass managing not to step on any sharp shards and walked out of the kitchen. Leaving behind the sudden suffocating silence and complete shock for everything that had happened. Shakily I raised a hand to my sore and burning cheek, wincing when my fingers pressed the tender area. I couldn't think straight, it was as though the world had flipped into reversal and I had misplaced my mind and body in the transfer.

And no matter how many times I tried to blink past the haze that I later discovered was moisture, the more confused I became. By Susannah, our life, the broken bottle with red wine trickling like bloody vines over the floor. And most of all, by everything that had come to a crashing standstill within seconds.

And that was it.

I stepped away from the counter hearing the sounds of Susannah muttering to herself in the living room, no doubt looking for more liquor she'd hidden around our home. And this time, I didn't go out there and try to play-down the problem. I didn't let her ramble and mutter about stupid things that made no sense. I didn't try to talk her into going to bed where she could sleep it off. I didn't act like everything was normal and I wasn't terrified by the very thing, Susannah was trying to run from.

I didn't want to be a person, trapped in a relationship with someone I loved with every measure of my being, with the hurt and terror from their demons

I was tired of waiting around for her to come in at night, tense and wary as I waited nervously for that first sign to tell me what affect the alcohol was having this time. Would she be chipper and light, with a bounce in her step when she gave me an enthusiastic greeting? Letting me relax knowing there wouldn't be any drama. Or the times I wouldn't be that lucky and the night would be filled with screaming and shouting as Susannah pushed and pushed for an argument she couldn't always find with me.

Why should I be the partner sitting at home, shoulders constantly aching with tension, exhausted from dealing with a problem I had no power or control over? I didn't want to be that person anymore. I couldn't be.

My cheek sore and bruised, I stepped clear across the spill and mess I wasn't cleaning up anymore and walked out into the living room. Susannah was pacing the floor, her eyes bloodshot and fiery from our confrontation. I had a fleeting thought if her hand hurt from hitting me. But soon disregarded it when I knew, she had punched a lot harder, more solid things when drunk; and she had never felt those.

I swept my eyes over her once taking in her rumpled clothes; such a contrast to the normally classy, well-dressed Susannah I had fallen in love with. Her hands balled into fists as she hissed at me through gritted teeth.

"What?"

I didn't back-off and avoid her eyes like I would have done any other time. A ruse I soon learned helped to dispel whatever lingering anger she held, for not getting the rise she wanted with me. She didn't have an audience and she hated that. So I turned towards the coat-rack, slipping on my tan jacket and headed towards the door. Not saying a word to Susannah, even as her voice came closer, shrilly ringing through my ears.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

I just pulled the door shut behind me and walked away.

xXx

I got back to the apartment just over two hours later. I had no destination in mind as I'd wandered around town. I sat in an all-night cafe and drank two cups of stale cold coffee. The only thing making me swallow the drink was that I'd rather it was that, then turning to the bottle like Susannah found too many excuses for. I'd sat in the cafe, contemplating how everything was, what went wrong and what I could do to change it all.

And only one solution came to mind in the whole of that time.

The fat middle-aged man sitting behind the counter reading his two week old newspaper had taken one look at my sore cheek and winced himself. I could already imagine the scenarios running through his mind for how I got it. A bar fight over a girl that I walked away from the loser. Maybe even a scuffle I was trying to stop but got caught in instead. I doubted the possibility of my girlfriend being the cause entered his mind. It wouldn't have entered mine.

Because looking at me, you wouldn't think I was living a nightmare.

You never do when it comes to the men, woman and children sharing a life with an alcoholic. We become too practiced with keeping the act up, that no-one pays attention anymore. They don't see the faint cracks and strains slowly being pressed down from the inside because there is no-one there to support you. You're too embarrassed to ask for help, but too lost to know anything else. I

In a situation like that, it's hard to see a solution.

The apartment was dark and quiet when I'd arrived back. I had no intention of staying out all night. I just needed to escape before I broke. Leaving Susannah to deal with the consequences of her own actions for once. I stuck my head around the kitchen, noting the stain on the floor from the wine, but the glass otherwise gone. I took my coat off and laid it across a chair in our room. My eyes fixed on the heavy breathing of Susannah, her body sprawled across her side of the bed with her head resting on my pillow. She looked peaceful and innocent.

No traces of the hell she made herself and me go through only hours before.

I pulled the chair I'd lain my coat across, over to the bed. Unbothered by any noise or disturbance I made, because Susannah wouldn't wake again until late morning. When the liquor was absorbed into her system and the after-effects took hold again. I sat in the chair until the sun rose and for a while afterwards. Gazing at Susannah and wishing for a different solution. But I still couldn't come up with one. And by nine o'clock, I was pushing clothes into a duffel bag and making a call to my family.

Putting the first steps of my heart-breaking plan into motion.

Once I was done, I set the bag by the door with my coat and keys and wandered into the kitchen. Standing before the window with my hands braced on the edge of the counter. Stiffly aware of every minute that was passing and the unforgiving moment of when Susannah would awaken. I bowed my head and took a deep breath when I heard the sounds of the tap running in the bathroom. Soon followed by the shuffled steps of Susannah coming into the kitchen behind me. Yawning and stretching wide.

"Morning, Jesse," She said with a smile in her voice. She wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. Pressing up against my back and placing a kiss to the base of my neck. "Mm, I've missed you, hon."

I clenched my eyes shut listening to her sweet words and un-affected voice. I knew I couldn't do it anymore, no matter how much I thought I could. So I swallowed down my nerves and pulled away from Susannah's arms.

"I've not been anywhere, Susannah," I answered, trying not to let the stiff annoyance enter my tone. "I've been right here, watching and waiting the entire time. It's you who's been the missing one." I turned around to face her when I got to the doorway. She gasped and furrowed her brow when she saw her creation.

"We need to talk."

"What happened to your face?" She quickly asked, coming across to reach out a hand and touch it. But I couldn't control my reaction quick enough and flinched away from her touch. Susannah noticed straight away, pulling her arm away as if scolded. I tried not to take my eyes away from hers, not holding back my emotions this time. And it didn't take long for her to connect the thick black dots. "Did I - ?" She took a deep breath and tried again. "Was that me?" She gestured to my face, her hand falling back to her side uselessly.

For all her drunken behaviour and destruction of our home, including broken windows and impacted dry-walls from her fists, Susannah had never once lashed out at me. Until last night.

"Yes." I replied matter-of-factly. She huffed and threw her hands in the air, moving around me to enter the living room. I ran a hand through my hair, my only sign of weakness before following her. "I need you to get over your self-pity Susannah and listen to what I have to say," The words felt like they were being forced from my mouth. They felt ugly and foreign. I didn't want to say what she needed to hear. "There isn't any more time for you to try and work out what's going on, that's already gone."

She spun to stare at me, showing an expression that clearly read she had no idea what I was talking about. Or knew, but refused to hear. "What are you talking about?!" She exclaimed. "What the hell is going on and since when did I start punching you and not remembering why?"

"Since you started to develop an alcohol problem, Susannah." I cried out suddenly, stalling her from carrying on with her rant.

I took another controlled breath before I tried again. "Since you started ignoring your gift and choosing to take the easy option. Because I let you become too dependent on my support so you didn't have to deal with something you should have accepted a long time ago. I'm as much to blame here as you are." I couldn't stand and watch angry tears spring to her eyes as for once, I talked and Susannah listened. I walked down to my bag, picking up my coat.

"Which is why I'm doing what needs to be done, and leaving."

Susannah marched around the couch to come and stand as close to me as her feet would let her. "What are you talking about leaving? Since when? Why?! So I like to have a drink every now and again, that doesn't mean anything. You're looking in to it too much, Jesse. I don't have any problems other than the ones you're suddenly throwing at me."

"I've tried to make you see what's going on around you Susannah. I've tried to step in and ask you to take a look at what you're doing to yourself, at the self-destructive mode you're on. But you won't listen to me and I don't know what else to do anymore, querida. I've tried to help you and understand gift Susannah. I want to be able to understand what you feel and why you use it as an excuse. But I can't do it, continuing the way we are."

"So you're leaving us. You're giving up and walking away at the first sign of trouble?" She questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and shook her head, shifting her response. "You're never going to understand what I go through, Jesse. You couldn't begin to dream of what it's like being haunted every-day and night, with no way to escape it."

"I'm not giving up, Susannah. I'm not walking away from this relationship and I never will. No matter how much you un-intentionally try to push me away, it won't work." I stated fiercely, taking a step closer to rest my shaking hands on Susannah's arms.

"But I can't come back, until you've learnt to deal with your demons. You say I'll never begin to understand what you go through, no matter how much I wish I could. But you need to take heed from your own words. You need to learn to understand your gift, before you can truly let anyone in to try. Stop wasting something that precious as an easy excuse of not facing the truth.

Step up and admit you have a problem, that your gift has no connection with. Stop hiding behind the lies. Because I can't watch you destroy yourself any longer. I love you too much, that it kills me to try."

When I stepped away, Susannah's shoulders were shaking with suppressed tears, that still escaped confinement by running down her red, flushed cheeks. I fleetingly pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead, brushing away her hair when I pulled away. And then I did the one thing that would start the healing process and push Susannah into action. I took away her support. Picking up my bag and stopping to turn and speak to her, before I closed the door on one stage, ready for another.

"I'm never giving up on you, or us, querida."

The one thing I have learnt with alcoholics is that there is rarely a true reason for their pull to drink. They barely realize how easy it is to just let one small thing spiral out of control, until it's too late. To cover it up with excuses and lies that they truly start to believe it themselves.

But I refused for it to be that way for Susannah. Not while I had the chance to help.

I stand alone in the storm, Suddenly sweet words take hold, Hurry they say for you haven't much time, Open your eyes to the love around you, You may feel you're alone, But I'm here still with you, You can do what you dream, Just remember to listen to the rain...