Jane put on leggings and a long-sleeved shirt and tied back her hair. Her hurried strides crossed the living room to the closet. "Back soon," she indicated, pulling on her sneakers and leaving the apartment before Kurt could respond.
Her feet pounded block to block, her mind focused on keeping running, leaving no room for her taunting memories. "393, 47, 526," she mentally counted, having no logical order, yet motivating each subsequent step.
Her eyes looked for potential threats in garbage cans, behind street lights, and among the bushes. Any person she passed became analyzable, adding to the growing faceless militia in her mind. She turned back when each new person threatened her composure, ducking her head and diverting her attention to the spidering cracks in the sidewalk.
She abandoned her shoes at the door and beelined for the bathroom. No longer running, her mind's taunts came creeping back: "I'm a horrible person, I'm a horrible person." She sobbed under the shower's spray, her hands gripping at the tile in search of a grounding hold that did not exist.
She lingered in the shower longer than normal until she found steadier breath beneath her self-loathing. Wrapping herself in a towel, she found it easier to sit on the floor than to get dressed.
"Jane, are you about ready?" Kurt called from the kitchen.
Her reply from the bathroom was as small as her current stature on the floor. A quiet, "No."
He walked to the bathroom door and hesitated, choosing to speak instead of knocking. "Jane?"
She sat inside the bathroom, leaning against the door. The clothes she planned to change into lay disregarded beside her. "I can't do this today," she said in defeat, shaking her head, yet failing to clear the words that vexed her.
His brow creased in concern, her breakdown the previous day a reminder of her exhaustion from omnipresent health struggles. He shared a cautious voice of comfort. "What is it?"
Her memories wrestled their way to the forefront again, pushing at the ropes. "I can't relax," she admitted. Her chest tightened, and she forced a breath into her lungs. "I," she started, yet her unease entered her voice in a tremble, "I'm going to get upset again."
He flattened his hand against the door, reaching out to her. "Can I come in?"
She didn't want them both trapped in the bathroom. "I'll come out," she said, pushing up from the floor and registering she still wasn't dressed, "I need a few minutes."
"I'll make you some tea," he shared, retreating to the kitchen to give her space.
She managed to get from the bathroom to the bedroom and into a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants. She sunk to the floor, leaning against the far side of the bed, her clothes swallowing her into a rumpled ball.
Jane didn't emerge from the bedroom, so Kurt returned, peeking his head in and wandering around the end of the bed when he didn't see her from the door. He found her on the floor with her head buried in her knees, her arms wrapped around them. Taking in her state of distress, his heart dropped - things were even worse than he thought. He sat beside her and offered a soft, "Hey."
She unraveled and wrapped her arms around him, seeking comfort in him instead of struggling on her own. Her whole body shook against him as she attempted to keep her bottled energy from escaping through more tears. "I've got you," he soothed, sweeping his hand up and down her back.
Her hands jittered behind him. "I don't want to talk," she blurted.
That was painfully obvious by her rushing through the apartment and the few words she had said all morning. "Shh," he indicated, kissing the top of her head.
She focused on inconsequential tasks to try to keep from breaking further. "Can you call Reade?"
"Yes."
And a quiet, "Can you stay?"
With a squeeze. "Of course."
Her doubt remained. "I can't promise to be good company."
He held her tighter, nuzzling her hair. "Ssh."
Jane stayed folded against Kurt, collecting strength from his solid heartbeat beneath her ear and his arms bolstering her. Eventually fortified after absorbing enough of his energy over some time, she lifted her head from his chest and stifled a yawn. Brushing her hair back from her face, he cupped the side of her head. "Can I get you anything?"
She met his eyes and lightly dipped her chin in assent. "I'll take that tea you promised."
He kissed her forehead. "I'm gonna get back in bed. I'm really tired," she revealed, yawning again in punctuation.
She pulled back from him to shift from the floor to the bed, and he lingered his fingers on hers before she escaped.
Kurt retrieved the tea, called Reade to let him know they would not be in, and returned to the bedroom. He handed the tea to Jane and sat beside her on the bed. "It's valerian," he explained.
She took a sniff of the beverage and tested the warmth with her nose. It had been sitting in the kitchen since Kurt had first checked on her, so it was drinkable, and she took a sip. "I could use the extra sleepy Sleepytime."
"Ed says take whatever time you need," Kurt shared. He had attempted to assuage their friend's concern with the notion that perhaps they would be in the next day.
Restlessness kept her fingers busy fiddling with the mug, disguising her silence in finishing the drink. She held onto the distraction for a few extra minutes until Kurt's worried gaze caught her fingers and reflected sympathy in her eyes. Not wanting to talk about it, she set the mug on the end table and curled away from him, facing the window. "Maybe I'll be up to doing something later."
He rested his hand against her side, giving her a last connection of strength. "I'll be in the living room. Call for me if you need anything at all."
She was grateful he knew she needed him and space and briefly grasped his hand in recognition. "Thank you."
Jane woke to the consuming paralysis she couldn't leave the bed, couldn't leave the apartment lest she hurt someone else in her life. Her mind painted every scenario she had hurt Kurt, signing each one with Remi's wicked stare of glee. Every bad deed spun on endless loop, sinking her further into the depths of the bed.
All of her physical ails had been beaten, and she couldn't believe she was succumbing to the mental ones. "Kurt?" Jane called.
He abandoned his book in the living room and sat on the edge of the bed. "What is it?"
The skin under her lower lip trembled, its slight waver barely perceptible. Her hands twisted on the bed, her breaths coming in rough sighs. The manic tempo her foot tapped of its own accord ran away from the drummer's part in the score. "I'm struggling," she admitted.
Her body sought some aspect of control in its repetitive motions, yet she was losing. Salt water eroded every wound and threatened to break her stronghold. Kurt opened his palm toward her, seeking any way to transfer comfort, yet she didn't reach for it. He was at a loss to make things better. "How can I help?"
Seemingly every fault in her mind's rolodex was worth remembering. She lost his question amongst the flipping. "I hurt so many people."
Kurt's response came easy to him, his voice level. "Remi did," he rationalized.
"We're the same fucking person." Her words carried the frustration of being assaulted with the reality of her involuntary actions, yet lacked venom.
The pattering increased, her foot running out of double time. He wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe her with reassurances that everything would be okay, yet she was protecting herself with space to process. And she wouldn't want unwarranted platitudes.
Her memories kept advancing. "H-how many times did I point a gun at you?"
He shook his head. "Jane."
She persisted, her hand drawing tick marks on the bed. "How many? It's terrible I don't even know."
He didn't know either, and it wasn't a path worth following. "I'm right here. You're right here." He emphasized his words by patting the bed. "I don't blame you."
"I blame me," she bared the truth tearing her apart.
Her tears spilled again, falling through cracks in her defenses. She drew in a haggard breath, cursing herself that she couldn't stop their descent. His palm still open, he moved it slightly closer to her, trying to coax her into taking it. Lost and failing on her own, she rested her hand in his, and he transferred his nervous energy into softly brushing the back of it.
"I'm a horrible person," Jane leaked her mind's taunts.
"No, you're not," he disagreed, squeezing her hand, trying to do anything to keep her from being swallowed.
She wrestled with escaping to the floor or turning to her husband. The grounding hold of his hand pulled her toward him, scrambling into his side, her arms clinging to him. Sobs wracked her body, beating her in penance for her crimes. He channeled her pain into tears of his own, his eyes dripping from wrongs he could not soothe. He held her in hopes to keep her from drowning in her own guilt. He on top of the blanket and she below the blanket, they melded into a lump of twisted agony.
Spent from the release of their anxieties, they lay in bed with their limbs askew for a long time and slipped into a lull. Kurt watched over his wife - the soft rise and fall of her chest and her small movements every once in a while telling him she was still awake. Telling him his love was still with him.
Unburdened enough to move again, Jane entwined their fingers, and Kurt pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand. "This is overwhelming," Jane admitted with a soft sigh.
He squeezed her hand. "I need some help," she confessed, her voice wavering with a flood of emotions, "I'm scared to leave the house."
He paused, gathering his words. "Would you want to talk with a therapist again?"
She nodded, wiping a stray tear that snuck down her face. "I think that might help."
"I can look to get you some options," he suggested.
"Thanks. Later. Stay here," she instructed, burrowing deeper into him.
Kurt held Jane tight and kissed the top of her head, warding off her bad memories. "I'm not going anywhere."