AN:: Updates will be every other Sunday night following this one. If I'm a bit late, I apologize in advance and I'm sure I'll apologize if/when it happens. Thank you for reading - I appreciate you. (Trigger Warning: implied eating disorders, blatant spousal abuse and substance abuse throughout).

She has this way of looking at you - just looking, nothing else - and making you feel guilty about your whole life. She can just cast her gaze and boom. Done. You feel like everything and anything is your fault.

I love her, but I've never known how to get past that look.

She just feels everything so deeply. I don't know how to do that. For some reason or another I'm just detached from so much. I feel for these characters I'm given, but that's about it. I feel like they're people, but they're people without a voice. They have so much to say and so much to give but they don't have anything unless I offer them a way to say what needs to be said.

They're so much stronger than I am in every way, it's ridiculous. I find them so fascinating, I have to put my best effort into them. Maybe it's just because I find them so much more interesting than myself - or maybe because I can focus on them instead of the shit inside my head. It's all worthless anyway. I just feel like I'm never enough for myself, and if I am then I'm not for anyone else. I'm one of those early 2000's music videos where it's all dark and misunderstood, and there's a little girl crying for something or someone to save her. Only I'm happy with the dark and misunderstood - I don't want to be saved from my own head.

I'm comfortable with the dull insanity I've created.

And that's sad.

I realize it's sad but I'm not up for changing it.

Believe me, I run around my twisted mind whenever life quiets down, whether it's for a random moment or the hour after my son's asleep or in the car or anywhere I'm not directly interacting with anyone. Sometimes even when I'm having a conversation, and all the while I just feel like screaming at myself how awful it is that I'm comfortable living in this vast static - never changing, never being open to change, never wanting for anything more than what I feel stifles me every day.

I'm aware I should be seeking some kind of help, but I don't want to, and I don't think it would do any good. I know where I should be, and that's where I am. The problem is, that's not where I want to be.

I start to smile, my stupid word choices making me think back on things that have come out of my mouth on stage. Little images flash through my mind when a string of words comes into my brain.

Yet of all the strings of words there are, I never thought I'd be the one called and hearing, "She's sick."

Sick.

I hate that word. I don't think it makes a lot of sense – why can't they just tell me the truth and say, "It looks like she hasn't eaten in about a year, and she isn't letting us call her parents, so she gave us your number."

I'm glad they called me, but I'm horrified they called me. There shouldn't be a reason for a call because this shouldn't happen. I'm scared and angry and incredibly afraid that I'm the reason for it. My head keeps spinning around the fact that I've probably done more irreparable damage to her than any other one thing in her life. I'm at fault for a lot more than I'd like to let myself be aware of.

But there's no time to hate myself.

I pull in to the hospital parking lot, and I don't exactly know if I lock the car or not, but there isn't anything important in there – we have more car seats, and I can't see anyone actually stealing that.

There are a few women behind a desk when I walk into urgent care. I explain quickly that I don't know this hospital and I'd need someone to show me where Kristin is They talk quickly amongst themselves before the heavier of the three dials the phone and smiles at me without much sincerity.

She says "Chenoweth," into the phone, followed by a "Thanks."

I have to remind myself to breathe when she waves me forward to follow her. We go through doorway after doorway, then in an elevator. She checks her phone as I adjust the sunglasses that I'm under the delusion hide who I am from any random fan who thinks it would be a good idea to come up to me in a hospital. Hopefully whatever or whoever they'd be here for would be more important than seeing me in person. Obviously there are more important things for everyone in play than to ask if I could sign something or ooze over whatever it is they think I'm wonderful for. I'm just-

I'm going on tangents so I don't have to think about what I'll be dealing with in a matter of seconds. Or minutes – whatever.

The little ding sounds and the door opens. The nurse lets me out first, only leaning half way out of the elevator. She points to the end of the hallway. "She'll be in eleven – oh – one."

"Thank you." I nod before making my legs move correctly.

What if she's like struggling for breath and half-awake and all groggy from pain meds like the chick from the Bette Midler movie? I don't know how to deal with this. I didn't have my own baby in a fucking hospital because these places are just scary. I don't like them.

There blinds are closed and there's a thing over the window on the door.

They put those there even for minor celebrities like us, but that scares me too. My hand stays on the handle for a little longer than I'd like, but I need to prepare myself. I haven't seen her in a little over a month. I've been in New York and she's been here – how was I supposed to know?

And there's no way she could be that thin after just a month, right?

God damn it, just open the door.

As soon as I enter, her head just turns just slightly to look at me. Then there's that smile – the one that knows how to win me over and make me feel like I've done nothing but wrong in my life. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but nothing does anymore.

"Hi."

She stands there like she's surprised.

I keep my half smile there because what other expression do I have? I could give her something completely fake, or the blank stare that occupies my expression most of the time. I am happy to see her. Maybe these aren't the best of circumstances, but it might be more than a month until I was able to see her again, so at least she's here. At least she still cares in some small way.

"Hi, there."

After taking a deep breath she sets her purse down in the chair next to me and sits herself on the edge of the bed – if you can call it a bed. Hospital beds are just cyborg cots. Beds are comfortable. This is definitely not comfortable.

Her hand drapes over mine. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I shrug a little, squeezing her hand before looking out the window again. "Better than this morning."

"That's good."

I just nod. There's a Kia in the parking lot with a window, or lack thereof, that looks to be sealed with duct tape and plastic bags that keeps flapping with the breeze. I keep trying to imagine what it would sound like. Then I imagine who it belongs to… why they're here and how long they've been here for. If it's a child or a parent they're visiting, or if they had to drive themselves here because they chopped off a tip of their finger because they don't know how to correctly dice onions.

"Kris."

"Hmm?" I look back to her, wishing I wasn't so groggy. Maybe I could have a bit of an attention span if these drugs weren't so strong. Why wouldn't they give me a smaller dosage? Can't they see how tiny I am?

She shifts beside me and crosses her arms. "What happened?" Her voice lets me know she's already asked me.

"I'm not sure. One second I was standing just out of the shot, ready to say my line and walk on, then a second and a half later Julie's standing over me with her phone in one hand and yelling at someone to get me water…" I stretch a little before lifting my shoulders. "Apparently I have a concussion." A little laugh bubbles out as I lay my head back again. "And we're selling some stupid story… I think we're saying a light fell on me or something."

She nods, looking away from me. She can't even crack a smile?

I take a deep breath and look out the window again, willing the knot in my throat not to get any bigger. "How's little man?"

"He's good." I hear her sigh like she's avoiding everything. "We're looking for daycare or pre-kindergarten options… because he's getting older and he should be around kids his age and blah blah blah."

"That's crazy." I shake my head. "Two weeks ago he could barely point at something."

"I know – time goes fast."

I look down at my fingernails. "I miss him.."

Out of the corner of my eye she's nodding.

One too many seconds float in between us without words. There are no more comfortable silences anymore because when there is silence, there's thinking. And when there's thinking, it means there's thinking of what I've given up to stay or how guilty she is for letting me.

"How's your mom doing?" Her smile isn't even a smile – when I look up at her there's just a straight line on her face.

"Better." I yawn and let my head fall back on the pillow. "Finally got over that cold, and Daddy keeps telling me how beautiful it is down there, that I should come and visit."

"You're not?"

I laugh, but not the kind when you think something's funny. "Idina, what do you think?"

She looks me up and down. "Because of this?"

"No." I itch my thigh – the same damn spot that's been itching me for the past hour. "Because whenever I go down there we talk about the same thing, and I don't want to do that anymore."

"What?"

"Talk about you." I shake my head. "Mamma doesn't like you very much. Then at the same time she's worried for you."

"She has no reason-"

I cut her off by reaching forward and pulling the zipper on her hoody down a little. And sure enough there's another bruise. The same kind that makes my stomach turn, but I've realized it's her choice. She wants to stay there and let herself be thrown in the garbage so her baby can look up to a man that, let's be honest – if he has to do that to show his brute strength and dominance, isn't much of a man.

"If you're going to lie, maybe wear something I can't see the yellowing from the neck line."

As soon as I sit back she zips up the sweater and looks away.

"She asks me how you are then says I should stop talking to you… Almost in the same breath." I don't know why a little smile appears on my face. Maybe it's just thinking about my mother.

"It's not even that bad…"

"Idina, it's old." I look at her dead in the eye. "Don't feed me bullshit – avoid the topic all you like but don't try and pretend like I'm stupid and I'd believe that garbage."

"I'm fine!"

"Right. You keep telling yourself that."

"What about you?" Now she's yelling at me. She's off the bed and pacing with her arms crossed, glaring at me.

For some reason my reaction is to laugh. "What about me?"

"Why are you stick thin and passing out? Let's look at your wonderful choices while we're at it!"

"Go for it." I nod, still with the empty grin.

She paces toward the bed and leans in like she's intimidating anyone. "You're not healthy – I know you notice, so why are you letting it get this bad?"

"What makes you think you deserve the answer to that?"

"You had the fucking hospital call me! If I don't deserve answers out of everyone, Kristin, why am I here?" Her head shakes from side to side as she turns around again, letting her arms raise at the elbow like she's shaking something invisible before they fall again and slap her thighs. "Our relationship should have at least some honesty, don't you think?"

"Relationship?" Little bits of tears pop up in my vision, though I'm still laughing. I wipe away at my eyes before they have a chance to fall all the way. "God, this isn't a relationship."

She just looks at me like she's offended.

"Not anymore." I shake my head as the smile fades. "Whatever relationship we had is so twisted and warped – that's dead, Idina. We're just people. People tied together because there's still some remnant of something that brings us back or makes us feel younger. We're just reminding ourselves that there was something good once and for some sick reason, neither one of us is smart enough to let go."

"You want to let go?"

"Don't you?"

Her eyes move to her feet as she bites her lips and shakes her head like she can't believe what I'm saying.

I look back out the window. The big red van next to the Kia is pulling out slowly – backing out just a tiny bit and stopping a few times before they're out of the spot and driving away.

My voice is quieter, mostly because I feel drained and not entirely from the medicine. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd feel better about myself if you left… or if your life would be easier if you didn't have to make time to sneak away with me for a night every few months."

There's that silence again – but this time it's her wheels that are turning. When her feet move her back to the side of the bed I can't help but look at her, not accusing her of anything with my stare, but helplessly wanting to know what she could say to turn any of this around. Somehow she always does.

She stares at the IV in my hand. "Would you be happier?"

My hand reaches out and takes one of hers, and her arms unfold to let me have it. I answer by shaking my head and lacing our fingers together.

She sits back on the bed and leans in taking a kiss that she knows is always waiting for her. And even through the miles of shit that's piled between us, my eyes flutter closed on their own. In the quiet seconds that pass, I feel just a little better and a little worse at the same time, because what is love without confusion?

She pulls back, only to dot my lips with another, then my cheek before scooting closer and pulling me into her arms. Part of me wishes I didn't want to cuddle into her chest so badly, but I do. I wish I didn't want to feel her next to me, and I wish she didn't have every power over me that can make me hate her and fall in love with her so many times over. I don't think I could change it – at the same time I don't think I'd want to if given the chance. With all the pain and numbness, in the very least it hasn't been boring.

"You need to eat."

"You need to stop letting this happen." I gently run my fingers over where her bruise is under her hoodie.

She pulls back and looks at me. "I'm not the one in the hospital."

"Not yet."

Her eyes almost do a lazy roll that tells me I'm overreacting, but this has been for years. Not consistently, but it's happened every now and again. I never hear the story, if there is one or if he just gets angry and takes it out on her I'll never know, but it happens. I see the aftermath when the lights are dim and she thinks I can't see them and it makes me want to vomit. And if I had anything in my stomach at the moment I'm sure I'd be tempted to wrench it up to stop the horror bubbling there.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Her hand sits on the side of my face while her eyes are tracing different features. "You're too thin. I hate it. It scares me."

"This is what scares you?"

That small huff of a laugh falls out of my mouth again as I push her away.

She nods. "Obviously."

I shake my head, not knowing what else to do.

"What?"

"I don't know. I have no idea."

"Tell me."

My shoulders raise and fall unceremoniously. "This of all things… not.. not everything?"

"What do you mean?"

"The fact I'm a shell. Or I'm alone all the time. You're not worried about how I am… just how I look to the rest of the world. If I look unhealthy people might put the pieces together? Is that it?"

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? If I was in the psych ward instead of the ICU would you be here right now?"

"Of course I would." Her voice has an unusual bass to it, like she means what she's saying. It's hard to believe it anyway. With everything that's happened between us, I don't know how to believe much of anything that comes out of her mouth.

I nod as my eyes go out the window again.

"Let's not do this." She sounds a bit defeated.

"Do what?"

Her hand is on mine but I don't look back. "I don't want to be like this. I want to make you feel better, if I can – make you happy."

"You did."

"You're phrasing everything like I need to ask questions to dig deeper – so you can tell me all the complexities of how awful I make you feel withou-"

"No." I cut her off, pulling my hand away. "You don't need to ask anything. You already know."

I hear her sigh before I feel her move closer. "I love you."

"Love you too."

I don't even look back at her. I don't know what to feel. I don't know if I could feel whatever emotion it is that would be appropriate here. Even her telling me again I don't feel anything other than that ever present ache she put there that I nurse every day.

The door opens and I look away from the window, intending to watch what happens when there's another person in the room – how her body language would change. Instead a small smile warps my face.

"Hey, Denny." I sigh, opening my arms for him.

He glances at Idina with an expression I can only describe as somewhere between contempt and irritation. He tries to hide it, but he's not as good an actor as he thinks he is. I can see his jaw stiffen before he walks into my arms, leaning in the direction opposite her and holding the flowers in his hand out so they aren't crushed.

We kiss each other on the cheek simultaneously. All the years we've been friends and all that we've shared we've become in sync on a few things. I love him like my brother – maybe a little more than my brother now because he didn't hate me when I told him about the married woman I'd been sleeping with for a decade. Not that my brother hated me when he found out. He just got quiet and said he didn't want the girls to know. He didn't know they found out before he did. We were all planning on keeping everything under wraps before Idina got her divorce. Walker even got used to my parents when she left again, and everything fell apart.

Now my whole family hates her. Including Denny. I don't blame them. Sometimes I hate her too, until I remember how much I love her and couldn't ever cut her off like I wish I could. With all she hurts me I still think it would hurt more without her.

"How are ya, doll?" His voice is always so calm and caring, even when he's irritated.

I smile as best I can and rub his arm. "I'm fine. Tired, but I'm not in any crisis."

His smile fades into something of a hard line like he doesn't agree with me before he glances toward Idina. "And how are you?" That one was a little more cold.

She nods, just barely making eye contact. "I'm well. How about yourself?"

His body tilts from side to side. "Worried about his one."

I know the look in his eye – like he wants to bitch slap her with his words. I wish he would. I wish someone would that would make her feel so bad that she actually divorces that idiot and would come back to me. And at the same time I don't want to. I want her to make the decision on her own.

She feels uncomfortable. She's squirming with him looking down at her because she knows how everyone who knew about us feels about her. She's going to bolt, and leave me again, but I'm not actually dying for her to stay now that Denny's here to talk me through my insanity – he hasn't done anything to hurt me, so I don't have quips for his points.

"I should go.." Her eyes find mine and she smiles a small apologetic smile.

I can only nod in return while my face keeps the same empty stare that occupies my expression so often.

She leans in and kisses my cheek and I let her – I lean into it. I wish she'd do it more often when it was just her and I.

"Text me?"

I squeeze her shoulder and nod again. "I will. Drive safe."

And with a rather uncomfortable half-smile toward Denny she's out the door. I called it.

"Whore." He puts the flowers down.

"Denny, don't…" I shake my head, playing with a thread on the itchy hospital blanket.

He sits where she was just a few moments ago and takes my hand in both of his. "I won't curb my opinion on her because you're in love with her. And you can't let her treat you like this."

"Like what? Like I've always let her treat me?" The smile on my face originates from somewhere – not entirely sure where. "Oh… why would I change something that's worked so well?"

"You're her doormat."

"So?"

"So that's not right."

"How's Mr. Boyfriend?" I turn back to him with a smile.

He's not amused. "He's fine. But you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not. If you were fine you wouldn't be here right now. We both know that, so do not try to tell me anything different, because it will make me angry."

I frown at him.

"What's going on."

"Nothing."

"Christi, really." His sigh is heavy. "I can't watch you destroy yourself. I'll call your mamma and she'll come up down here and kick your ass back into gear if I can't."

"Don't you dare."

"I will." He nods, looking me in the eye. "If you don't put on weight within the next few weeks I'm calling her and telling her everything."

My heart drops at that. "Denny… it would crush her."

"But she'd make it stop. At least for a while. I don't want to put that stress on her, but if it makes you better then I need to."

My eyes go back out to the window again. I don't know why I keep looking out there. Maybe I want to see something happy, or not see whatever's going on in here… If the psychology of it makes any sense I'd love to hear it if only to understand whatever's in my head a little bit.

"You deserve better than her."

"I'm not sure if I do."

"What are you talking about darlin'? You're-"

I level my stare and blink a few times. "I slept with her – I was the one intruding on their marriage. I think this is exactly what I deserve."

All he can do is shake his head before changing the subject so I don't have to again.