All right, I'm supposed to be writing a paper for US History on Frederick Douglass, and unfortunately for me (but I suppose fortunately for you) I got sidetracked. So here is the result of my procrastination, please read and review and let me know what you thought of it. The title and the lyrics come from the song by John Mayer (I heart him). So read and review please!

Disclaimer: Well, I don't own the characters, and I don't own the song, and I don't really own anything right now except some receipts….

I don't know where you went when you left me

But it says in here in the water

You must be gone by now

I can tell somehow

Sandy hated to see her cry. Every bone in his body ached to walk over to her, hold her, and make things better for her. Apologize for being such an utter and complete ass. Kirsten looked up from where she sat perched on the edge of their bed, her eyes showing the tell-tale signs of crying. Red, swollen, and shining.

The look on her face broke his heart.

"What now?" Kirsten whispered. He didn't walk over to her. He couldn't. Somehow his legs and his mind were on two very different pages, and while his head whispered to go to her, his legs disobeyed and stayed put. He didn't answer her right away, instead shrugging, and turning to look out the window.

How beautiful the view was. The ocean sparkled and the sun was beginning to set, and he thought about how for so long he had thought that he had found paradise. The perfect place, and the perfect house, and the perfect family. But they were not perfect. The cracks had always been there, but they had been getting deeper and more noticeable, and they couldn't pretend anymore.

They had been held together by a string, and he had known that soon it would snap, and they would be broken. And he had tried so hard, they had both tried so hard, to try to piece their fragmented family back together. Tried to apply a little more glue that would never stay. Every time he thought that he had done it, that they were okay again, that they were whole once more, something would come along and he would drop it. Lose it. And they would go back to being broken.

And it was his fault this time. There would be no one to blame for the destruction of their family but him.

"I don't know," Sandy said just as softly. No one else was home but them. Their sons were gone for the night, thankfully. They had missed the screaming match, they had missed Kirsten throwing vases and picture frames and anything else breakable and blunt that she could throw at Sandy's head. They had missed their father begin to scream back at her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! What else do you want me to say to you? What else can I do? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I'm a terrible person, but it's done, I did it, and I'm so sorry, but you need to tell me what you want from me now." When she had angrily replied,

"Don't you think you've done enough?" He had gotten so frustrated with her that he had gone to the bedroom door and slammed it shut over and over again. He was just so very frustrated and he needed to take it out on something. He would never take it out on her, no matter how angry and frustrated she got him.

He could never hit her. He could never hurt her.

But he had broken the door. On the fifth time that he had slammed it, it had splintered and she had gasped and her hand had traveled up to her mouth, and she had stopped screaming and instead sank down onto the bed and began to weep.

He was sure that the weeping was worse than the screaming. He could take screaming, he could take anger. But this. This he could not take.

This hurt.

"I don't hate you," Kirsten said finally. Sandy was surprised at this, and didn't bother to hide it from her. He had expected for her to loathe him with every fiber of her being.

"You don't?" He asked turning back around away from the window to face her.

"No," she said and he was relieved to see that she had stopped crying. There was a but there, he could see it. He could see it, and he wanted her to stop. Kirsten didn't hate him. She should hate him. He would completely understand if she hated him. He almost wanted her to hate him, and at the same time was so very relieved that she didn't.

But there was something else she needed to say, and he knew, instinctively that whatever it was, he wouldn't want to hear it.

"But," he started for her. He knew her too well, and he almost saw a smile form on her beautiful face.

"But I can't forgive you," she finally said. "At least not now. I don't know if I ever will be able to forgive you."

With those words, Sandy sank to his knees and wept into his hands. It was Kirsten's turn to fight with herself on whether or not she should go to him, and in the end, she rose from the bed, walked right past his huddled form and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Sandy felt her walk past him, he heard the door shut, and he heard the water from the shower turn on. He sat on the floor, and continued to weep.

He cried because of what he had done.

He cried because of the look on her face when he told her.

He cried because she had cried.

But mostly he cried because he had lost her.

Kirsten stood in the shower, letting the steaming hot water run over her body, and letting the water mix with the salty tears.

She wondered if she could ever forgive him. She wondered if she could take him back, and she wondered even if she did take him back, if there would ever be a time that she didn't close her eyes and think about what he had done.

She thought about her sons. She thought about what this would do to them. It killed her to imagine their reactions when they found out that their father was moving out. She knew that they would beg to know why, and she wondered if she should tell them the truth.

Sandy was still their father, despite what he had done. They regarded him as a hero, could she really taint that image? As angry as she was, could she really do that to him? To their boys?

She wondered briefly who the boys would want to live with, and she shook the thought out of her head as soon as it popped in. It wasn't even a relevant question, Sandy would insist that they live with her. He wouldn't try to take them away from her, and she knew that.

Kirsten didn't know how long she stood there underneath the water. She stood until the water turned cold, and then she got out and in the mirror saw that her skin was red from the hot water. She wrapped her robe around her body, and opened the door, half expecting to see Sandy still on the floor crying. Instead she found him with an open bag on the bed, packing shirts and pants.

"Where are you going?" He hadn't heard the bathroom door open, and her voice startled him. He was still crying, and he saw that she was done for the moment.

"I thought it would be better if I went to a hotel for a little while," he explained.

"Oh." Kirsten didn't tell him not to go. She didn't beg him to stay. Had he really thought that she would?

"I just figured that I would give you some space," he said shrugging, and wiping away the few tears that continued to fall. She just nodded and went to her dresser and pulled out clothes to change into. Without another word in his direction, she went back into the bathroom and closed the door.

He finished packing the bag and went to the closed bathroom door.

"I'm sorry," he said once again. The door opened and Kirsten stood there, her blue eyes flashed something that he recognized as anger, or sadness, or maybe a mixture of both. Her face was flushed, and she had never looked more beautiful to him.

"But that doesn't change anything, does it?" She stated sadly. Her hand reached out and touched his face, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "You should leave." She removed her hand and watched as he gathered his things.

"I'll call you when I get to the hotel, let you know which one I'm staying at…" It dawned on him that she might not care where he was staying, as long as it wasn't their house. But she said that she didn't hate him, and if she didn't hate him then surely she would want to know that he was safe. "You know, just in case the boys want to get a hold of me." The boys, he hadn't thought about the boys. He hadn't thought about anyone but himself really.

She was sure that she had run out of tears, but they came as soon as she heard the front door shut and the car start up. They came and she sank to her knees again and she wept.

She cried because he had betrayed her.

She cried because of the look on his face when she told him that she couldn't forgive him.

She cried for her sons.

But mostly she cried because he was gone.

Okay, so there's the first chapter, and I swear I will clear up what happened between the two of them and what happens now. But you have to review, okay? Okay, awesome, get to it. Now back to Frederick Douglass for me….