The Still Point
Chapter 1
It smelled the same. That's all that kept going through Ruth's head, "It feels so different to be back in London, but it smells the same." At least she had that, because as she saw it, the only other thing that was a constant in her life was loss. A life of nearly 40 years and all she had to show for it was loss and the smell of a fall day in London as the rain began to fall. Shit. How had she allowed herself to get back to this place? How had she allowed that life she had carved out of a sheer wall of impenetrable loneliness to slip through her fingers? She guessed she wasn't surprised. All along, it had felt like it was on loan anyway. That was why she had never really been in love with George, with Nico. Loved them to distraction, yes, but "in love"…no. That part of her was firmly boxed up and stowed away in a safe place and if she had anything to say about it, would remain there. She had lost everything, but at the very least she could keep her heart, her sanity, her soul to herself. They couldn't ask for that too, could they? Harry couldn't ask for that. He must know it was too much. She got angry just thinking about Harry. Harry, sitting there, looking at her with those sad eyes. Harry cavalierly making decisions that always ended with loneliness, heartache, death. Harry thinking he understood but really understanding nothing. How dare he ask her to care? How dare he ask her to sacrifice yet again? Good, kind Ruth…we'll ask her and she'll give it all up in an instant. Well Ruth was furious and she was fighting back. How dare he make feeble gestures towards her to "fix" things and "sort things out"? How laughable. Even the Great Harry Pearce couldn't bring someone back from the dead completely intact. The gods were angry and they were laughing at Harry and she wanted nothing to do with it. Was he to blame for everything…well, yes, he was. She would have quit the service years ago if it wasn't for him. He made her believe that what they were doing was ethical, moral, valuable, a "service" if you will, and it was all a lie. It was all a goddamn lie. Being in the service was the equivalent to flushing your life down the toilet and he knew it. She wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. If he wasn't so goddamn good and caring and ruthless and clever and gentlemanly and…Harry. Damn him. And damn this shabby apartment with ugly furniture and ugly chipped teacups…couldn't they at least give me some decent teacups? With a roar, Ruth suddenly picked up her full cup of tepid tea and flung it at the wall. It hit with a splat and a crack and exploded into grey dingy fireworks. Wow, now that felt good. One more time. Hurl, splatt, crash! Again, again, again!!!! Now the plates, now the cheap tacky art, anything that would break and shatter into a million pieces, just like her life.
Chest heaving, tears rolling down her cheeks, Ruth suddenly stopped and in the stillness, she heard something: a knock at the door. If she sat quietly enough they'd go away. There was no one she wanted to see anyway. No one. Again, the knock sounded, this time louder, not so polite…"Ruth, what are you doing in there? Open the door!" Silence. Pounding. "Ruth, open the goddamn door!" Harry's growl echoed through the door and incensed her. Screaming, Ruth ran to the door, "You want me to open the door? I'll open the door you bastard! You goddamn bastard!" As the door opened, a surprised Harry stood immobile while Ruth, sobbing, launched herself at him with the full force of her pent up rage and pounded on his chest. "You've ruined it! You've ruined it all! I've thrown away my life because of you! All because of you! I was happy and then I saw you and everything I had was snatched away - everything! You bastard!" Ruth continued raining blows on Harry's chest and he stood his ground, a steel door that would never give way. Ruth sobbed, her punches becoming more and more feeble, until she slid to the ground. Harry stood awkwardly over her. He was honestly confused, but knew that he probably deserved it. Regardless, it was the least he could do for her: the least he could bear for Ruth. He had done nothing but bring heartache into her life. His Ruth, and she was the worse for it. Harry finally bent down, awkwardly patting her shoulder as her sobs subsided into hiccups.
Ruth's mind was blank. She was empty, completely drained and incapable of independent movement. Harry bent down, gently helped her up and led her obediently to the couch; sitting her down and placing a blanket overtop her. Ruth's eyes were blank and unseeing, but Harry knew she was in there somewhere. He just had to be patient. Ruth curled into a small ball underneath the blanket and Harry perched on the end of the couch, just out of reach of her feet.