A/N: This chapter is the beginning of my attempt to bring more insight into Gillian's marriage. It's full of flashbacks of their life together, to show how they got to their "current" point. There will be at least 3 of these, and I'll separate them with installments of "current" storyline, so you (hopefully) don't get too bored. Cal will most certainly be making appearances in these flashbacks, beginning (sort of) with this first one. Also, there's a small bit of M content in this chapter, but probably not with the characters you'd expect. Just a warning... :)
As always, thanks for reading! Much appreciated!
Gillian had flown right past 'nervous' and was now in full-blown 'panic' mode. It was stifling hot, and her body couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to upend everything she'd eaten, or faint right there in the middle of the crowd. Oh, there were so many people.
Paranoia told her that everyone else probably had family in attendance – proud parents sitting in the audience with cameras and tissues and genuine smiles. But Gillian didn't. She didn't volunteer the details, and no one asked her to share them. After all… there really wasn't a 'good' way to spin the fact that since it was Saturday, her father was busy drinking himself into oblivion, while her mother blamed his behavior on everyone and everything that didn't deserve it.
The crowd would be "too stressful," they'd said. It was "too far to drive"… "too hot in the audience"… "too many rules to follow." And they'd paid for her tuition, hadn't they? Financial support still counted as support. They didn't need to actually see her accept her doctorate to appreciate the fact that she'd earned it.
Alcoholism first. Denial second. Gillian third. Everything always fell in that order.
Minutes passed, and she knew they were getting closer. It would be her turn soon. Just a few more rows and then she'd have to stand; to parade with the others, with her fake smile and her shaky stomach and her pale, clammy skin. A Graduation ceremony, they called it. It felt a bit like torture, instead.
A beat later, her section rose and collectively shuffled right. They flowed out into the aisle… walked in a straight line… didn't rush. And she could not breathe. Literally, she could barely catch her breath long enough function, let alone actually walk. In a sense, it felt like she was drowning. She was just one of several thousands of graduates, all in identical caps and gowns, all wearing the same predictable smiles, all feeling a terrifying mix of euphoria and fear, because they'd been on this path for years. Years. And really, none of them had a damn clue what came next.
Left foot… right foot… shuffle forward… wait.
She scanned the crowd for Alec's face. He was the one person she knew was there to see her. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
There was a difference.
But they called her name before she found him, and her heart began to pound even harder, though she hadn't thought it was possible. Up the stairs, and across the stage (Dear God, why had she worn such high heels?)… please don't trip, everyone will laugh... and then there she was. Diploma in hand.
She'd made it.
Finally.
Inhale… exhale… for better or worse, it was over.
When she came down the stairs on the other side, Alec was right there waiting for her. He was smiling brilliantly and opening his arms toward her, and suddenly it didn't matter that her family wasn't there, because he was.
He always was.
Wrapped in his embrace, she heard his sweet voice whisper a hundred things she'd likely never remember, and above them all stood one simple thing she'd never forget.
"I love you, Gilly," he said, dropping kisses against her cheeks and her eyelids, and her mouth as he spoke. "And I'm so very proud of you."
And in her heart, she knew he meant every single word.
Ordinarily, they did not fight. Not ever. But she hadn't slept in what felt like days, and Alec was just so damned perky – so uncharacteristically 'on' all the time, like he had caffeine mainlined into his body and he just couldn't hold still. Work was wonderful. Their apartment was wonderful. The city was wonderful. Taxis were wonderful.
It was ridiculous.
She stomped into the bedroom, tossed her jacket aside, and waited for him to follow her – certain that he would, because he always did. And six steps later – just like clockwork – his head peeked around the bedroom door.
"You're angry with me, aren't you?" he asked.
It was one of the stupidest questions she'd ever heard, and she tried to force herself to calm down, lest she stab him in the eye with the heel of her shoe. He could be such a jackass sometimes.
He smiled, trying to charm his way out of trouble and said, "Come on, Gilly, it didn't mean anything. You know that. I was just having a little fun, that's all. No harm in that, right?"
Correction: he could be such a stupid jackass sometimes.
She was fuming. "Well then you must hate all of this then," she said, waving her hands around the room to try and emphasize her point. "Living with me, and working with her. It must really cramp your style."
There was a tiny voice in the back of her head that tried to tell her she was being irrational and overreacting, but it fell away a few seconds later when Alec spoke again.
"Best of both worlds," he said, trying to be cute. "Beautiful girlfriend at home, beautiful friend at work, and…"
She turned away before Alec could finish, letting his half-assed explanation hang between them.
Truth was, she didn't want to listen. She'd seen this pattern before, with her own parents. One drink became a few… a few became several… several became an addiction… and for reasons she could not name, she was terrified that this would become a similar thing, just with women instead. Innocent flirting here, a friendly peck there, and then poof! She'd either be left with a broken heart, or with a habit of second guessing every single move he made. She didn't want to be that woman.
She didn't want to turn into her mother.
And so it was her own inexplicable fear that caused most of her anger. "Maybe your 'friend' is the real reason you've been so happy lately, then," she reasoned. "Because ever since you took that job, it's like you're a different person. Everything makes you talk about how wonderful your life is, and until today, I've been stupid enough to think it was me. That I've been the one to make you smile or laugh…"
Trust her to choose that moment – that exact moment – to kick off her shoes. Literally. The first one went just fine, but for whatever reason, the second one got stuck. So she flicked her ankle just a little bit too hard, which then sent the shoe sailing high and fast, until it collided with the window frame with enough force to actually crack the heel off. Snap.
That's right: she'd broken her own shoe by kicking it at the wall.
With a humiliated sigh, Gillian shuffled across the room, noting that if she still wanted to stab Alec in the eye with her heel, the logistics had just gotten a whole lot easier. Stupid shoe. Stupid wall. Stupid blonde Rachel.
Behind her, Alec chanced a chuckle. "Does it count if I laugh now, sweetheart? Because I'm sorry, but… I just can't help myself. That was priceless."
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Gillian sighed again, fighting back the smile that appeared out of nowhere as she faced away from him. She had to admit, the whole thing was kind of ridiculous. But…
No. Not yet. She'd seen him with that other woman – that tall, beautiful, blonde woman. And she'd seen the look on his face as he stood there, flirting his ass off and touching her shoulder, then her arm, then her hand as if it was nothing. As if it could've ever been nothing.
Gillian wasn't stupid. She'd read that book (Doctor Lightman, wasn't it?) about micro-expressions and facial muscles; knew what it really meant to have dilated pupils, and labored breathing, and for a man to square his entire body against a woman. It was obvious. And she was pissed.
Unable to ignore her stubborn silence any longer, Alec sighed. "This is about that book again, isn't it?" he said. "Funny how that works. You've done nothing but quote passages at me for the last week, but you still haven't asked my opinion about the content."
Gillian rolled her eyes. Nearly two years of togetherness told her that Alec was in 'duck and cover' mode, now. With a side of charm, just for good measure.
"You haven't asked my opinion, but I'm going to give it to you anyway," he continued. "Ready?"
"Doubt it," she retorted, spinning around to face him again. He was looking at her with such an openly adorable expression that it was all she could do to hold on to the anger. She could feel it slipping away from her, inch by inch, as he nudged closer to where she stood. Damn him. At times, his smile could be downright dangerous.
"Micro-expression," he started. "Using arbitrary pseudo-science and facial muscles to decide when someone is or is not lying? I think it's all just total crap."
Another eye roll. Of course he thought it was crap; he hadn't even bothered to read the book. "Based on what, exactly?" she asked.
Still smiling, Alec stepped closer. "Based on the fact that the author is an idiot, primarily."
Gillian frowned. "He's a scientist, Alec. A doctor. He's not an idiot."
"Men can be many things, Gill. Good or bad, right or wrong… idiot or genius. Sometimes it's a mix and match deal. And so I think the guy may very well be intelligent, but his so-called science? Trust me: it's all fake."
"Convenient to bash it now, when it tells me – with certainty – that you wanted to screw that woman, just to prove you could. Just to boost your own ego. And I'm sorry, Alec, but I can't help but think that maybe it's best if we just end things now, before they get even messier than they already are."
Wait a minute… what had she just said?
Trust her, as soon as the words were out, Gillian regretted them. She loved him, and she didn't want to leave him, but sometimes he just made her so flustered that she didn't know which end was up anymore. They were that wrapped up in each other. It was hard to tell where she ended and he began, and it was scary and wonderful and – in a sense – risky. She'd never trusted anyone so completely before. He held her whole heart in his hands, and sometimes… self-preservation made her wonder just how careful he'd be with it in the long run.
Lucky for her, though, he was even more stubborn than she was.
"Do you really want to know why I was talking to Rachel?" he prodded.
Gillian scoffed, the sound of the other woman's name instantly leaving a bad taste in her mouth. "Oh, I don't know… maybe because you were horny, and she's beautiful, and you just thought…"
Two strong hands stilled her body as he inched toward her with kind eyes. Which felt out of place, somehow, because hadn't she just tried to break up with him? Kindness didn't quite fit the moment.
"She's not you, Gill. She could dance naked into my office and climb on my desk, and she'd never compare to you. I don't want her. Never will. And trust me, this was not how I wanted to do this. Not by a longshot. But I'm going to do it anyway, because I need to make sure you understand that I'm telling you the truth. And that I love you with all my heart."
Gillian frowned. Everything seemed heavy and slow, and her heart was pounding like it had an inkling of what was going to happen next, even though her brain didn't yet understand. He was moving away from her, tucking one hand into his pocket to pull out a small black box, and he was still smiling at her – standing close but not quite close enough for her to touch him. Then he was kneeling… down, down, down onto the carpet, right there where they stood. God, she still had her broken shoe in one hand.
Alec's left knee hit the floor right about the same time her jaw fell open. Her stomach began to tremble, and her eyes began to water, and what in the hell was he doing?
This was happening now?
Here?
It didn't seem real.
She was seconds away from kneeling down next to him – insisting that she was just being crazy… that she didn't want to break up with him, and that she'd stop quoting that book and start using her own words… that he didn't have to propose just to keep her in his life. That she'd still wanted to be with him, and that she loved him.
But…
He reached up and touched her waist, and she could not have moved if her life depended on it. She was just… frozen.
"I couldn't keep it to myself," he shrugged, unable to hide the color that flamed his face as he spoke. He was so proud; so happy. "I showed it to everyone at the office, and Rachel just happened to be the last one. I was showing it to her when you stopped by today. That's why I reacted… like that. I was trying to keep it a secret."
Oh, God she was an idiot. Hormonal and raving, and why had she ever decided to read that book in the first place? Stupid Doctor Lightman and his trouble making theories.
"The ring," he continued. "I bought it weeks ago. And I've just been waiting for the perfect time, that's all. Which, obviously, is not this. Not here. I know this isn't perfect. But you are, Gill. You are. And I love you so damned much. You make me want to be a better man, one who can give you… everything. Family, fortune, security, happiness, love. Forever. And I'm serious, sweetheart: you are the only one in here – in my heart. It could only ever be you."
The guilt came immediately – when he was still inside her body, and the consequences of what they'd just done made him feel like the biggest piece of shit in the entire world. He and Gillian had been married less than three months, and he'd already failed her.
A few flirtatious conversations led to hugs… which led to lunches… which led to drinks… which led to kissing…and so on, and so on for weeks, until he wasn't even sure how they'd ended up there: in the backseat of his car, half naked and physically spent. He was groaning into the side of her neck – random, broken curses and a string of apologies that did nothing to make him feel better, or to erase the damage they'd caused.
After all, they couldn't "fix" it, and they certainly couldn't undo sex.
Truth be told, it wasn't even very good sex. Rachel was beautiful and kind… she was more-than willing… but she wasn't Gillian. She wasn't his. Not really. He wasn't in love with her – not even close – and as shameful as it felt to blame his indiscretion on hormones and alcohol, in this case it was accurate.
Drunk, horny, and stupid were pretty fitting.
Yes, he and Rachel were attracted to each other. They were friends. They flirted. But it should have stopped there, long before he'd ever kissed her, or touched her, or put any part of his body inside any part of hers. 'Let's create a line,' he'd said. 'A boundary. Something that will stop us from acting on our attraction before it burns us alive.'
How idiotic. A 'line.'
As if that would've ever stopped anyone.
God, Rachel was still on his lap – tangled with his body, and he was still half-hard inside of her. And he knew he needed to withdraw as quickly as possible before they did something insane. Like do it again.
But…
When he'd shifted his hands off of her breasts and down to her hips to lift her, she misread his intentions and ground herself down on him again. Enthusiastically. Complete with sound effects, swearing, and the nearly indecipherable chanting of his name between her lips.
'Harder, faster, please don't stop…'
Half-hard became fully engorged in seconds, and then before he could even realize what was happening, she was squeezing him. Rippling around his length, and groaning nonsensical praises, and everything felt so damned good that he literally couldn't stop himself. The second round was over before it had barely begun, leaving him physically satisfied but emotionally broken in the backset of his own car.
How pathetic.
Oh, he was such a bastard. A weak, weak bastard who'd just cheated on his wife (twice) with the one woman he'd promised he didn't even want.
"She's not you, Gill. She could dance naked into my office and climb on my desk, and she'd never compare to you. I don't want her. Never will."
Fantastic. Now he was a liar, too.
It didn't look scary. Now that it was lined up in front of him, it actually looked… oddly innocent. Like powder. Which it was, of course… but… yeah. This kind was different.
Jesus, what the hell was he doing?
He didn't belong there. Not again. This wasn't some college party, or frat house initiation, or anything even remotely casual, so why was he just sitting there? Tolerating it? Sitting tall in his seat next to someone who was supposed to be his friend, and allowing himself to get pulled right back in?
'Cocaine, Alec?' he asked himself. 'Wake up, you idiot. This won't help anything. It'll just make everything worse.'
From the other side of the table, Jacobs scoffed. As if he'd read Alec's mind and literally heard his hesitation.
"This is just what you need to help you relax," he encouraged. "After a few lines of this, the last thing you'll be thinking about is that piece of tail you caught last month. Seriously, Alec – that guilt is toxic. It'll eat you alive if you let it. And besides, what's done is done. Can't change the past, right? So what are you supposed to do? Confess? Tell Gill that you screwed Rachel in the backseat of your own car – twice – but that you're sorry? That it didn't mean anything? Wake up, man. Honesty never works."
Alec Foster wasn't some innocent choir boy. He'd experimented with coke in college… knew the risks and the side effects. Knew that, sadly enough, Bill was probably right – it probably would make the guilt easier to handle. That it would be a… distraction. And so long as it was just this once, where was the harm, right?
Besides, Rachel was long gone – out of his life, out of his office, just a memory. Time would pass, and he'd forget all about what they'd done. He'd keep Gillian, he'd behave himself, and he'd never even look at another woman again.
No harm, no foul.
Sensing his hesitation, Bill laughed. "If it makes you feel any better, just consider all of this as one last hurrah, alright? Kind of like the bachelor party you never had."
Despite the ache in his stomach that tried to warn him he was about to make a huge mistake, Alec moved toward the white powder, rather than away from it. He was anxious to try anything to erase his guilt, short of growing a big enough pair of balls to actually confess his affair.
And so in the end, he just closed his eyes, took a big breath for courage, and said, "Bachelor party, huh? God help us both then, because you are one hell of an ugly stripper."
