I can't believe it's posting day again - but here it is! Hope you enjoy it.
Thanks to Weewoman1 for being a doll and reading over my work before it's posted!
As always, I own nothing. Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball own these characters.
"Can I come in?" Pam asked carefully.
"Sure," I held the door wide and she stepped through. Her high heels clicked on the wooden floors as she followed me into the living room. I'd been back in Bon Temps five days now, and this was my first vampire contact since my return.
I plopped onto the corner of the couch and wrapped my blanket around me again. The night was cool and I hadn't mustered up the strength or the interest to light a fire.
"Can we talk?" she asked bluntly.
"Depends on what you want to talk about," I replied.
"I think you need to know what's happening." Her pale blue eyes pierced through me. "With Eric."
"I don't think that's a productive way to spend my time," I replied mockingly.
"You don't know the truth, Sookie, and I'm not leaving here until you have it." She looked at me stubbornly and I smiled grimly. Stubbornness was also one of my most enduring traits.
"I saw all the truth I needed to see, Pam," I said staunchly. "He made his choice."
"Actually, Sookie, he didn't make a choice, because he didn't know he had a choice."
"Don't you dare," I sat up angrily. "Don't you dare try and defend him."
"Trust me, my friend, I am not going to do anything of the sort," she snorted derisively, "but you do need to know one important piece of information."
"Okay," I replied, giving a very put-upon sigh. I sounded like Maxine Fortenberry, I thought with disgust. "What is it?"
"He doesn't remember you, Sookie." Her eyes were grave as they met mine. "All of his memories came back, except for you."
I gaped at her inelegantly. Of all the things I was expecting to hear, that was not one of them.
"What do you mean, Pam? He doesn't remember me at all, or he doesn't remember the time we spent together that week?"
"He doesn't know who you are, Sookie. When you appeared in his office that night, he thought you were a stranger. He cannot feel his blood in you, either. The bond appears to have been removed."
"Oh my God!" My mind raced as her words sank in. What in the world happened to him? "Are you serious? How could that have happened?"
"We don't know. In every other respect, he's the Eric we've always known. All of his memories are intact, except for his recall of you." Pam shook her head.
"Are the witches working on it?" I asked. My mind was frantically casting about for answers, even as a part of me questioned why I cared. His memory loss did not wipe away the pain I endured.
"No, they are not," Pam enunciated each word carefully and slowly. I got the idea it was a question she didn't like.
"Why not?" I was genuinely curious anyhow, but I really wanted to know why she was edgy about that question.
She sighed, as she was wont to do in my presence. Her eyes broke away from mine to study the hem of her sleeve. "Eric doesn't feel it's necessary."
My body was still as a stone as her words dropped onto my head like bricks. One by one, pain by pain. I didn't know what to say. He didn't want to remember me. He thought I wasn't worth the effort.
"I see," I finally replied through stiff lips. "What does this mean for me, Pam?"
"I'm very sorry, Sookie." I looked up to meet her eyes. I could see her regret shining, but it didn't faze me much. I was drowning in fresh waves of pain. "I wish I knew what to tell you. Without his memories, we haven't really been able to explain you to him. I know you probably never want to see him again, but maybe if you talked to him? It might be what he needs to see straight again, Sookie."
It wasn't what I meant; my question had been directed at my status as Eric's asset, not his girlfriend. As his girlfriend, I'd had my heart broken one too many times. Did she really expect me to go crawling to the man who'd rejected the very idea of me?
"I don't think so, Pam." A short bark of laughter escaped my tension filled chest. "Like I said, he's made his choice. If he doesn't even want to know me, what can I do to change his mind?"
Pam stared at me for a very long minute. Ice had taken over her eyes by the time she spoke. "I had thought better of you, Sookie. I thought you would fight harder for him. Do you think he would give up on you like this?"
"He has given up on me, Pam! He doesn't want to remember me!" I argued my position fervently.
"That's because he doesn't remember the love you had, you foolish girl!" Pam nearly roared at me. She took a second to calm down before she continued. "Eric's mindset is like it was before you entered his life. He doesn't understand the meaning of love, and can't fathom tying himself to a human willingly. All of that changed when he met you the first time. I think he would change again if he would spend some time with you. If he could see what he was missing out on, Sookie." Her voice grew soft as her words finished.
Was I being unfair? Was I allowing my broken heart to stand in the way of common sense? He didn't remember me. Was any of this his fault?
My thoughts consumed me, my resolve wavering back and forth like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. Was I truly giving up? I knew I didn't want to expose myself to that kind of hurt again, but was I walking away from the greatest love I could imagine too soon?
"I don't know," I stated after some time. "Let me think about it and I'll let you know. I can't promise you anything, though."
"All I ask is that you try," Pam spoke simply. "I love him way too much to see him unhappy."
"Is he unhappy?"
"He thinks he is not," she said, "but I know the difference. He was truly happy with you, Sookie. During his memory loss, and before." She paused and gave me a beseeching look. "I know you can't be happy, either. I know you love my master."
"Loved," I corrected automatically. "I did love him. But I don't know how I feel about him now. It isn't love I feel." A small part of my brain began mocking me. Liar, liar, pants on fire. You still love him. I ignored it.
"If there is even the smallest chance you could have that love again, isn't it worth it?"
"That's what I'm going to think about," I replied honestly.
"Then I guess that's all I can ask," Pam replied.
Pam left not long after, telling me she would be in touch soon. I stood in the foyer and stared at the door after she left. My mind was a mess. I made what seemed to be the only sensible decision at the moment.
Taking the keys from the occasional table beside the door, I got into my old car and travelled the short, familiar route to Merlotte's. It felt a little strange to not park in the employee's area. A smile briefly lit my face when I saw Lafayette's car in the lot. I was hoping he was working.
I grabbed an empty seat at the bar and waited until Sam noticed me. I saw his nose twitch first, then his eyes met mine unerringly. I don't know how I always missed that about him. Sam smelled people before he saw them.
"Hey, chere." Sam greeted me with a smile. "What are you doin' slumming round here?"
"You stop that right now, Sam Merlotte!" I waggled a finger in his face playfully. I knew he was just joking. "This here is my favorite part of Bon Temps."
"Glad to know it," Sam grinned back at me. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Yup," I replied with a smile. "I'll have a beer, please."
I was waiting for my beer when Lafayette came up behind me, wrapping his strong arms around me. "I's thought I's heard you out here," he drawled out. "What you doin'?"
"Hoping I could convince you to have drinks with me when you are done?" Yeah, I'm a lush. Sue me.
"Twist this rubber arm of mine, baby girl," he replied with a happy grin. I could always count on him.
"What time are you done?"
"I gots to finish cleanin' the kitchen," he stated. "I's yours after that, hookah."
"Perfect," I replied. "Got any booze at your place?" It wasn't too late to make a run to the gas station cum liquor store out on the edge of town.
"Come on, Sooks," he replied with a 'what the fuck' look. "Who you talkin' to?"
"You're driving," I said, waving my newly delivered beer in salute. "I've started without you."
Lafayette gave me a measured look from under a fan of fake, red-tinted lashes. "That kind of night, is it?"
"You have no idea," I retorted with a short laugh. "Go finish up and I'll tell you all about it."
Three hours and one and a half bottles of Jamaican rum later, I had spilled the entire story to my best friend. He'd known parts of it, of course, but I let every dirty detail out of the bag tonight.
It was a cathartic experience for me.
We'd examined every angle, every word, every thought I ever had. It was a routine we'd settled into in high school with Tara. We had a system for examining problems with boys. Lafayette was in charge of list making, a task he took increasingly more serious after he smoked a joint. He'd passed it to me at one point and I took a tentative hit from it, passing it back quickly when I began to choke on the potent fumes. I'd never gotten into pot, even though Lala was a devoted fan of the bud. I figured I was getting high enough just from the thick layer of smoke hovering in the air.
"Ima thinkin' yous gotta talk to the man," he finally said, although slurred might be a better descriptor. "There's no other way. You's got to know if you can fix dat vamp, Sooks."
I nodded drunkenly, struggling to hold my head up at this point. We had looked at every side of the equation. I had no other choice. I couldn't walk away, no matter how damned mad I was with him. I sighed and laid my head on the coffee table.
I don't remember much more from the night. I woke up only a few hours later, tucked under a quilt on Lafayette's couch. I was still wearing my clothes from last night. Lafayette snored lightly in the next room.
I tried to close my eyes and drift back off to sleep, but it didn't work. My body protested mightily, but my mind was awake and already revving up to run in circles. At the very least, I was going to need caffeine to deal with it.
I put on a pot of coffee before I went to the bathroom to take care of business. I found a bottle of Tyelenol in the medicine cabinet and swallowed a couple with a handful of water before washing my face. My nose eventually led me back to the brewed coffee and I poured a cup as I said blessings for the caffeinated elixir.
The first sip was nearly a religious experience. My eyes closed and my mind cleared for a moment, allowing me to fully appreciate the gift coffee truly is. The sacred moment didn't last nearly long enough.
I sipped on my coffee as I recalled my drunken confessions from last night. A small amount of color returned to my face as I remembered telling him some of the incredible ways Eric made love to me. It was embarrassing in the harsh morning light. The pitiful sobbing which accompanied some of those confessions was even more humiliating. I was intensely grateful it was only Lala who'd seen me make such a fool of myself.
After fixing myself another cup, I went back into the living room and flopped onto the couch. After staring at them for a full two minutes or more, I caved and picked up the lists Lafayette had made. I held them in my hands for another minute as I sipped my coffee and pondered my situation.
I was still mad at Eric, for better or for worse. I couldn't turn my anger off that easily. I'd been deeply hurt by his actions; I would likely bear the scars of that moment forever.
But he didn't know any better. He didn't remember me; he didn't know there was someone he was supposed to be faithful to. Could I hold that against him? Would it be fair to blame him for doing what was in his nature to do?
I took another mouthful of coffee to stop myself from sighing yet again, like a maiden in distress. The realities were, though, that even if I decided he was worth another shot, he didn't want that. He'd been clearly willing to have sex with me, but he didn't want to get to know me.
I put down my coffee mug and turned my attention to the note papers I held in my hands. One was a list of pros and cons we'd made. Lafayette had made me tell him everything about Eric I'd loved, admired or respected in an effort to decide if he was worth my time at all. The things Lala had considered pertinent were listed on the second sheet.
The third piece of paper was clearly from later in the evening, judging by the scrawled handwriting and more colorful wording. It was a list of things Lala thought to be important to my decision. I scanned the list, alternately wanting to laugh and cry.
His opinion of Eric wasn't terribly high, judging by his underlined desire to strap him down and inject silver into his private areas. On the other hand, he was willing to overlook a whole hell of a lot simply because Eric was endowed with 'a gracious plenty'. He'd written the words in big capital letters and underlined the term three times. Three exclamation points finished his point.
His words about how happy I had been before all of this mess made me want to cry. Lala was the best friend ever, and it was obvious he loved me as much as I loved him. His drunken, slanted handwriting told me so. He wanted only the best for me.
What was the best for me, I wondered as I drained the remains of my coffee. Was it really the best idea to open myself up to the ultimate rejection? Or was it really best for me if I opened my heart and pursued what I really wanted. Whether he remembered it or not, he did love me. He loved me when he'd been cursed, and I was pretty sure he really did love me before that, too.
It would be best for me if that love could be salvaged. I could agree with that idea. It would take me time to let him fully in again, but I would be ultimately happy if I could be certain I would be loved that way again.
But how far was I willing to go to get Eric to want to know me? How many times was I willing to put myself on the line for that elusive love? It was almost a guarantee he would turn me away at least once. He didn't want to know me. Would I keep going back, keep getting turned away? How would that make him love me?
I stretched out on the couch again and let my eyes close as I thought of what to do. I opened them to find it was past two in the afternoon. I'd slept solidly for hours. There as a note from Lafayette on the coffee table telling me he was gone to work and my car was outside. Sam had brought it over – I was grateful he still had my spare keys – and had driven back to the bar with Lala.
All I wanted was my toothbrush. I hurried around the house, grabbing my things and hitting the road. The short drive home was spent fretting about what to do. I'd pretty much decided that I would try, at the very least, to see Eric and talk with him. But how would I go about it? Walking into the bar unannounced seemed to be the fastest route to rejection, but what was I supposed to do?
The light on the answering machine was blinking languidly when I walked through the door. I ignored it in favor of my toothbrush and a shower, a desperate need at this point. I eventually remembered the blinking light and made my way back to the kitchen. I pressed play on the old machine and waited for the tape to start rolling.
The tinny, automated voice told me there were five new messages. My eyebrows rose in surprise. I don't think I'd had that many messages ever, unless it had been Tara when we were kids.
The first three messages turned out to be hang-ups and I felt a strange sense of disappointment each time I heard the telltale click. The third message was a little more interesting, but still told me nothing. There were muted voices on the tape, but the message was completely illegible. I thought I heard a door slam before the call disconnected and the message ended.
The fifth beep was followed by an actual message, but you could have knocked me over with a feather when the identity of the caller was revealed.
"Miss Stackhouse." The familiar voice sent a shaft of pain into my heart. "This is Eric Northman. I wish to speak with you in person. I would have preferred not to leave a message, but it appears you are" a lengthy pause was heard, "out for the evening. I will be at Fangtasia tomorrow evening. I would appreciate it if you would stop by."
A beep signaled the end of the message. I sank weakly onto the tall stool Gran always kept beside the phone. Eric Northman wants to see me. I shook my head slowly.
I guess I'd found my reason to go to Fangtasia.
Let me know what you think - is it getting any easier for you all to read? There is a light at the end of the tunnel!
Thanks for reading!
