For Sierra-Jae, jilly74, PlainJane1 and Wemmamazing. You guys are as consistent in your praise as I am in my updates, and I appreciate your dedication SO much! And of course for traceit, who always challenges me to analyze every character's motivations as deeply as possible so that, um, you know, the things they do make sense...
9
Sundays were usually my one true day off (Saturday didn't count because I tended to spend most of the day grading papers and organizing lesson plans… Teaching involves a lot of preparation outside of the classroom), but I'd spent all of the previous day in some kind of daze so I had a lot of work to do when I woke up. I made neat stacks of tests and worksheets on the coffee table in the living room, set out my two favorite red correcting pens and admired my handiwork, so organized and symmetrical. It's funny because I'm not an especially organized person, normally, but I have a system when it comes to grading papers and I become very upset when that system is disturbed, for example if some fifth period Spanish papers get mixed in with some from fourth period, and yes I realize I'm a little crazy. One of my piles was slightly off-center, which also annoys me, so I fixed it and then decided to put on a DVD to keep me company while I toiled away.
Whenever I'm sick or depressed, I always turn to Singin' In The Rain to cheer me up. Not the manliest of favorite movies, I know, but I don't care, because it's amazing, and anyway I'd rarely felt sadness so deep that the whole Make 'Em Laugh sequence couldn't cure it. The strange thing is that when I'm not depressed, I turn to a completely different kind of film. I've never been able to figure out why, but for some reason when I'm happy the only thing I want to watch is Saving Private Ryan, or if I'm really overjoyed Schindler's List. Maybe because I secretly love anything about WWII but can't handle it when I'm upset already? Not sure, but I suppose it was indicative of how much meeting Honor had affected me that I chose Tom Hanks and Matt Damon over Gene Kelly without a second thought, then settled down on the couch to watch it out of the corner of my eye while slowly chipping away at the mountains of homework before me.
I'd only managed to make a depressingly small dent in them by the time the movie had reached its halfway point, and I was considering taking a break to put together some lunch when I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door. It could only be one person, of course, and I could feel the resentment that had receded so nicely since Friday night slowly rising within me once more. But I was resolved that I wouldn't let Terri goad me into a confrontation, wouldn't let her manipulate me for her own sick pleasure. She wasn't my problem anymore, wasn't going to be ever again, and that was all that mattered.
"Working on a Sunday, Will?" she asked as she entered the apartment, her voice mild and sweet and curious, as though the past week had never happened and everything was completely normal. As much as I wanted to feel nothing, to be immune to her, I wasn't because I couldn't be, not after 16 years. The sight of her standing there, the tilt of her lips and lift of her brows so familiar, filled me with hurt and anger and an ache I couldn't quite identify. And something like defeat. I'd wanted so badly to be strong, had thought I could be stronger than this, but at least she couldn't read my mind, didn't know the turmoil she was causing.
"Yeah," I answered, my voice as indifferent as I wanted to be, standing and facing her. Without conscious thought I crossed my arms over my chest, instinctively trying to put some kind of barrier between us as she looked at me with a gentle smile on her face. It was… Confusing, because I'd known her for so long, loved her for so long, and she looked the same, but she looked different somehow, too. Then I realized she was slim again, no longer pregnant, because she never had been. The realization hurt all over again. It hurt as much as it had the first time, and the visual reminder of her lie obliterated any confusion, intensified my anger. But I reminded myself not to give her the satisfaction of showing it.
"I thought you'd be gone," she told me, which I didn't believe at all; I usually spent Sunday lounging around the house just because I could, and I knew she'd expected to find me here, wanted to.
I shrugged. "I'm not, I'm grading some papers. But if you're here to pick up some things, it's fine, I'll just keep working." It was a not-so-subtle hint that I needed her away from me, but even not-so-subtle was too subtle for Terri.
"Is that really what you want?" Her voice was soft as she drew nearer. "For me to pick up some things, go back to Kendra's?"
She placed one hand on my arm, and I felt an echo of something from long ago, an echo of the desperation she'd once filled me with. I used to feel so whole when she touched me. Now all I felt was a memory of that, contrasted sharply with the new emptiness inside me. It reminded me of stars, the way some are so far away that they're long dead by the time their light reaches us, and I realized my love for Terri had burned out long ago, that the remembered warmth I'd tried to hold on to was the shining of a star that had collapsed in on itself millennia ago. And now even that was gone.
My lips compressed themselves into a thin, unhappy line as I pulled away from her and glared. "Yes, that's exactly what I want. Don't do this, Terri; I don't want to go over it again."
"Will, please," she whispered, reaching up to cradle my face, and this time I felt nothing, no echo, no ache, just a vague sense of annoyance. And strangely enough, that saddened me, because my emotions for her had once been so all-consuming. "Haven't you missed me this last week? I moved to Kendra's for a few days to give you some time, give you some space, but-"
Again, I pulled away, laughed bitterly because it really was funny. "Well it hasn't been enough time, and this isn't nearly enough space. Go get your things. Hell, I'll even help you carry them out to your car. But we're not having this discussion now."
"I think now is exactly when we should be having it," she began, and her voice was still soft but I could hear it sharpening, knew the effort of maintaining her pretense of sweetness was becoming difficult for her despite all the practice she'd had. "I know you're angry with me, but we can work this out, I know it. You can forgive me, Will. It's time for you to forgive me."
I shook my head, wondering how she could be so delusional. Didn't she understand what she'd done to me, to us? Apparently not. I remembered what I'd said a week ago, that she'd made herself a stranger to me, and it was true. She looked like the woman I'd loved, walked like her and talked like her and even smelled like her, all lavender and grass, but she hadn't been that woman for a very long time. It was impossible for me to love this stranger, impossible for me to forgive her. "Honestly, Terri, I don't know if I can, and even if I could it's not going to happen now."
"Was what I did so wrong?" She looked at me with pleading eyes, her entire attitude penitent, but I knew her well enough to know it was just a pose, just an act. I had always known it but hadn't wanted to acknowledge the fact, had preferred a life of willing suspension of disbelief, and in that way everything was as much my fault as hers. But I'd never lied to her, ever. "I love you, I was losing you… I wanted to keep you, that's all."
"You really don't get it," I snapped, fighting to hold my anger in check the way I'd promised myself I would. "And that's fine, I don't expect you to. But again. We are not. Having. This. Discussion. Now." Each word was very clearly enunciated, and I pointed down the hall to the bedroom. "Just get your things and leave, Terri, I have a lot of work to get through."
"You love me," she told me, so utterly certain that I'm not sure how I managed to refrain from refuting her, and her tone was growing sharper with every word. "We both know you can't manage without me. So why put ourselves through this charade? You're just going to want me back next week or the week after."
This was what she always did, what I'd always hated, tearing me down, making barely veiled insults and phrasing them as though they were facts. Just a few days ago, I might have believed them, but now… "Maybe you're right, maybe I will want you back" (no chance in hell) "but it doesn't matter. For now I want you gone."
"You don't know what you're saying, Will," she said. "Half the time you don't know what you want until I tell you."
I wasn't sure if that had ever been true; I think she though that because I'd always been so willing to compromise for her, because I loved her and that's how love works and she'd never understood that. But if it had ever been true at all it certainly wasn't now. "You're wrong. I can manage just fine without you. Better, even. And I don't need you to tell me I want that." And oh god, it felt so good to say those words, felt like I'd always wanted to say them, and the best part was that I believed them.
That statement was apparently too much for her, and her façade shattered. She rolled her eyes, and this was the Terri I remembered, the Terri I strongly disliked. "Don't be ridiculous," she laughed. "I've always been the one to push you, the one to motivate you. You wouldn't have the first clue about how to get by without me. You're nothing without me."
If she had purposely constructed that sentence to taunt me and snap my control (which actually she may have) she could not have done a better job, but strangely I just felt… Calm. I thought of Honor, the way she did the exact opposite of what Terri did, stating her compliments as facts, looking at me like she truly believed they were, as though whatever she saw in me was something anyone could see. She'd said I was amazing and handsome and impressive and maybe I was and maybe I wasn't, but the fact that there was one person in the world who believed all of that about me as a matter of course, without bias, made it easier than I'd have dreamed to hold fast against Terri's abuse.
"That's not true," I informed her, almost gently. "I'm something better without you." She looked at me in shock, opened her mouth to speak, but I continued before she could. "I'm going to go pick up some lunch, why don't you take your time gathering your things? You might as well pack most of it," I added. "I don't think you'll be coming back here for awhile." Or ever.
She blinked at me as though she'd never seen me before, and suddenly I thought maybe she hadn't, and I couldn't help but smile as I exited the apartment, leaving her behind.
TBC
