More silence. More loneliness. Except this time, it's not the way it should be.
I try calling her multiple times for the rest of the day. Each time the line rings and then goes to voicemail. Actually, the 16th time I called, it went straight to voicemail.
I'm slightly aware of the fact that I probably seem like a stalker, but I'm not sure what else to do. I've never been on this side of the relationship—the one who's trying to reach out. I'm so used to people always reaching for me that I've never had to reach for somebody. Now I'm much more appreciative of my suitors in the past, especially those who put up with all my bitching.
As soon as my shift is over, I change quickly in the locker room and head straight over to Holly's apartment. I knew her apartment being so close to 15 Division would come in handy. Just…not in the way I expected.
I knock rapidly on the door and wait.
No answer.
I know for a fact her shift is over—it's already 9pm. So she's either avoiding me, or…she went out? It's a weekday night and Holly is hardly the type to go out on weeknights. She likes to curl up on the most comfortable couch in the world with a good cup of tea and just read.
I press my ear to the door to see if I can hear any movement inside.
No movement. No noise.
Damn.
This might constitute as stalking actually. I pace back and forth in the hallway, unsure of what to do. Well, I'm already here. I might as well wait a bit to see if she comes home.
Good plan; I nod to myself to affirm the decision.
I lean with my back against the wall by her apartment door and slide down so I'm sitting. I feel like a child who accidentally got locked out of the house and who's waiting for her mom to come home.
After I've been waiting for about 10 minutes, I see an elderly woman walking my way. She notices me and gives me a strange look. I smile courteously.
"Just waiting for a friend," I say disarmingly.
Apparently, it doesn't help, because she starts to look at me even more suspiciously. She slows down at the door before Holly's and takes her keys out of her bag, all the while shooting me nervous looks.
I sigh. I really didn't want to pull this card, but I really don't want her to call the police and cause extra trouble. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my police badge.
"Ma'am, I'm a police officer. Please don't worry, I'm not here to hurt Holly. I'm really just waiting for her."
Instantly her expression changes, and she beams at me instead. Much better.
"Oh! You must be Holly's new friend! Gail, right?"
I'm flabbergasted that she knows my name and I stand up in shock.
"How do you know my name?" I demand slightly brusquely.
The woman waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, Holly mentioned you!"
Huh? She's mentioned me? I've barely even mentioned her to my own friends, but she's mentioned me to her…elderly neighbor?
The woman continues on, apparently relieved that I'm not a stalker. "I ran into her a couple weeks ago on her way out in the morning. Us elderly people, we like to be out and about in the morning, but I know she usually doesn't work that early, so naturally, I asked her what she was doing out so early, and she told me she was having coffee with a new friend from the police station."
The woman peers closely at me. I'm completely taken aback by her open scrutinizing.
"You must be a special new friend, Gail. In the 4 years that I've lived next to Holly, I've never seen her up so early before work. She likes her sleep, that one does. And she should! She works so hard at that lab of hers. She never gives herself a chance to relax. She just works and works—" the woman continues on and on about Holly
I'm speechless. I never even considered the fact that our morning coffee talks were burdensome to Holly. But maybe I've just been entirely selfish this whole time.
"—well, anyway, I'm surprised she's not back from work yet!"
You and me both, lady. You and me both.
"But I do have to get in to because my television show is about to play! It was nice meeting you, Gail. I hope Holly comes back soon," she finishes and enters her apartment without a second glance at me.
Well…at least now I don't have to worry about the police being called on me. I sit back down and I continue waiting.
The time passes slowly, but I wait. I wait because I need to explain myself. I wait because I want to return the favor. Thinking back to the night of the Ford fiasco, I'm pretty sure Holly waited for me in the hallway to find me to talk to me. She waited for me. So I'll wait for her.
Without intending to, I realize that I've pushed Holly into her own hole. I kept trying to think of ways to avoid being pushed by other people that I overlooked the fact that my own actions caused pain to somebody else.
I put my head in my hands and close my eyes. The mental image of Holly's posture in her lab is burned into my mind. I never meant to do it, I think. That consequence never even crossed my mind. I know I've hurt her, but I don't know how to fix it.
So I wait.
It's past 11pm now and I can hardly believe that I've been sitting outside Holly's apartment door for more than two hours. Half of me is upset because Gail Peck is not desperate. But the other half is desperate.
Maybe I should just try another day.
I stand up and I'm stretching my legs out when I hear a voice swearing coming up the stairs. I hear uneven steps, like the person is struggling to walk up the stairs.
I freeze and I wait.
She comes struggling up the stairs, hanging onto the railing next to her for balance, with her head down. I run over to Holly and immediately get a very strong whiff of alcohol all around.
I run next to her on the stairs and I grasp her waist all before she even looks up. She stops walking and looks up at me and I notice her eyes are unfocused. Holly is completely wasted. If this were any other time, I probably would have wanted to laugh and make fun of her, but this is not that time.
She doesn't seem to recognize me at first, and remains holding onto the railing while peering at me. Her vision remains unfocused and she seems like she's about to fall over any second. She reaches out with her hand and touches my face. For a split second, I wonder if she's forgiven me.
Then in the same motion, she slaps my cheek. It's stinging and definitely unforgiving.
I'm rendered speechless again for the second time tonight. I'm shocked, but I don't let go of her.
"You."
I guess she recognizes me now. Holly readjusts her bag over her shoulder and struggles to stand upright without my help. She tries to shove me away, but nearly falls over in the process. I keep a firm hold on her waist.
"I don't need your help, Officer," she spits out. She bats at me with her hand, but the motion is weak.
I instinctively recoil from her words. Her tone is unlike anything I've heard coming from her before. Even though she's drunk, her words contain venom. They are cruel, but with a hint of pain.
"Holly, just let me help you get inside," I beg. I hate seeing her like this. I caused this. I made her into this. And the guilt comes crashing over me in waves at the same time the distress of her words do.
Before she can try or say anything else, I readjust my grip on her waist and crouch down so I can throw her arm over my own shoulder. She doesn't resist, and I take it as a good sign. I take her bag from her and move slowly up the stairs, waiting for her to slowly move her legs too.
Slowly, stumbling the entire way, we make our way to her apartment door. When we get to the door I realize that I need her keys. I carefully lead her so she can lean against the wall while I search through her bag for her keys.
Holly slides down the wall so she ends up sitting on the floor. She puts her head in her hands. I look down and I feel like I'm looking at myself a couple hours ago.
She rubs her face with her hands and takes several deep breaths.
"Gail, you don't need to be here."
Her self-control is amazing. I find the keys and open the door.
"I want to," I tell her simply. I crouch down in front of her and reach out to her hands. I gently move them off her face.
She looks up at me with her bloodshot eyes and another lightning bolt of pain shoots through me.
"I want to," I repeat again.
"I don't want you to," she explains softly. I see her eyes tearing up. Oh god.
"Why not?" I don't know how much of this she'll remember in the morning, but I ask anyway.
Holly puts her head in her hands again. Her words come out, but they're muffled.
"I don't want you to run away again. I don't want to spend days wondering what I could have done differently. I don't want to spend days wondering if I pushed you too far. I don't want to be hurt by you running."
I can't stand this. I extract her face from her hands for the second time and I hold her face so she has to look straight at me.
"I—I didn't mean to run," I try to explain. "It…it just happened."
"Bullshit," Holly swears, and it's a strange feeling hearing the word come out of her mouth. "You know, I tried to understand you. But I told you I'm not a mind reader, Gail. You can't just disappear on somebody like that without any explanation."
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I'm not sure what else to say.
She struggles to get out of my hold and stand up, all the while still leaning against the wall behind her for support. I stand with her.
The door to her apartment is open but we both stand in the hallway, unmoving. I look into her eyes and she doesn't avoid my gaze. But her expression is hard to read. I think it's a cross between wanting to yell at me and wanting to just give up.
Her mouth trembles and the tears in her eyes are still there, threatening to escape.
Without thinking about the consequence, I move swiftly and take her by surprise by kissing her. I can't help it. She makes a slight squeak of surprise, but it's muffled by my lips.
She moans into my mouth and the noise echoes through my own body, all the way to my toes and I push harder. I press my body against hers until I feel like I can't get any closer. She kisses me back fiercely and I think of nothing else but her body against mine and her lips against mine. I can taste the alcohol in her mouth, and it's intoxicating.
Her arms come up between us and she places her hands on my chest. She grips my jacket and pulls me even closer—so close I feel like I will suffocate her, so close that every inch of my body is touching hers. Dimly, I register the action as something she did in the lab. In the back of my mind, I add another obsession to my list.
I've never felt like the bigger one in the relationship—the one who's doing the pressing against the wall. I've always been pressed against the wall by somebody else.
I like this feeling. It feels like she is mine and mine alone.
My legs almost give out from under me when her tongue slips into my mouth. It's hot and relentless. Even in her drunkenness, Holly still holds power over me. Her hands move from my jacket to my waist and suddenly I feel her hands underneath my shirt.
Her hands are even hotter and they burn against my skin as she touches me underneath all my layers of clothing. I almost forget which one of us is intoxicated. And that thought brings me out of the fog.
This has to stop. This isn't right. This is not how I want to do things. I don't want to take advantage of her broken state.
It takes my entire willpower to tear my mouth away from hers. I grab her wandering hands and still them before they move any further up. I don't want her to regret anything. I don't want her to think that I'm only using for her physical reasons. I get the feeling she wouldn't be doing this if she were sober. If she were sober she would want to talk it out. She's not herself right now.
I want to do this the right way. My body is still pressed against hers, and our faces are almost touching, but not quite. I can feel her breath coming out as hot puffs of air against my cheek, and I groan on the inside. I bite the inside of my mouth to resist the urge to devour her again.
I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have kissed her. I hate myself for giving her mixed signals but I couldn't help it. Now that the obsessions are out of the box, they are unstoppable. But she is in a weakened state right now, and it's not fair of me. So I reluctantly take a step back from her.
"Why?" She's the first one to react.
"Huh?"
"Why did you do that? Why did you kiss me in the lab? Why do you run away one second and come back the next second, forcing yourself in? It's not fair when you know I can't resist," her voice wavers but she tries.
With those questions, I realize that Holly is not the only one who holds power over me. I realize that I affect her in the same way. The old me would have been gloating, but instead I realize how selfish I've been. I realize I've only been seeing things through my eyes.
"Because I want you. But I don't know how to make this work," I tell her honestly.
Voices and the sound of steps coming up the stairway remind me that we are still outside. Holly's head turns to the source of the noises, but she doesn't move.
"Come on," I say hastily, and I usher her inside her apartment.
I turn on the lights for her and lead her to the couch. She collapses on it immediately. She grabs a pillow and buries her face in it.
"It's not fair," she murmurs into the pillow. I stand nearby, unwilling to be any closer to her than I have to, lest my urges take over my control.
I don't respond, because I want to have a conversation with her when she can remember every word that I tell her.
"It's not fair," she repeats into her pillow, louder this time. Then suddenly she lifts her head to search for me.
"I know."
"Then why?" she pleads. "Why do you do it?"
"I…I don't really know," I answer truthfully.
"Well then," she says slowly with effort, "tell me when you do." And with that, she turns and lies down sideways on the couch, facing inwards. I take it as a sign that she is done with this conversation.
I'm still standing in her living room. I don't think I'm supposed to leave a drunken Holly alone. What if she needs something?
Within a couple seconds, I hear deep breathing coming from the couch. Wow.
I've definitely learned a couple things about drunken Holly tonight, I reflect.
She can get violent.
She swears.
She is still able to somewhat carry a conversation.
She falls asleep really quickly.
She can get kind of handsy.
Most importantly—she can be vulnerable, just like me. I kept thinking this entire time that I was the only one who was afraid of being hurt. But it turns out she's afraid of being hurt at the same time as I was. And I hurt her.
I creep silently around the couch and into Holly's bedroom. I try not to let my eyes wander around because I don't really have permission to be snooping in her room. I grab a blanket from her bed and go back out into the living room.
Holly is definitely sound asleep. I'm guessing she doesn't get piss drunk too often, so the combination of the emotional roller coaster that I accidentally took her on and the effects of alcohol knocked her out completely. I cover her with the blanket and look around her kitchen for a glass so I can fill it with water and leave it next to her, just in case she needs it.
I don't want to leave, I realize. If I leave, who knows when she'll let me back in.
So I peruse her bookshelf and I find one of those books on philosophy that she used to always rave about. I take a seat at her desk in the living room and turn on the small lamp, so it doesn't disturb her.
I read. And I wait.
A/N: They'll be okay. You'll see.
