Glad you all enjoyed our surprise guest! We knew you would! ) For the first time, Sara has someone who knows what to do with her, how to handle her, and who isn't afraid of her anger or pain...

Part IV: Chapter 6 - I'm Trying Hard

The splitting pain in my head is the first thing I notice. There is the momentary disorientation and the blankness that lasts only as long as it takes all the awareness and recollection to flood back. So I am thinking of Tegan with a sharp ache when I open my eyes in my brightly lit bedroom. It must be late afternoon by now. Ah, Emy. Is she still here?

I start to sit up but my head throbs and I groan. A moment later, I see Emy's face in the doorway.

"I was wondering if you were going to wake up today." She comes in with a glass of water and puts two Advil in my hand, passes the glass to me and sits on the edge of the bed. I swallow the capsules with the water and lay back.

"What time is it?" I ask groggily.

"Around four. How do you feel?"

"Pretty rough," I admit, as I remember throwing up on her while she kept me upright.

"What part of you hurts the most?" she asks, and I look in her eyes for a moment, wondering if I can answer that.

"My head is demolished," I answer.

"Not surprising. I made some soup," she says with a warm smile.

"I don't know if I can eat. Even your soup," I say doubtfully, my stomach lurching a little at the thought.

"I think you should try," she says on her way out of the room, and the heaviness settles back in and I want to be unconscious again. Instead, I drag myself out of the bed and stand, shakily, noticing the shorts and t-shirt that I vaguely remember Emy picking out and dressing me in. I feel ridiculous all over again for the disaster I was last night. Still am today. I make my way into the kitchen where Emy is ladling soup into a bowl for me. I sit down at the table and suddenly I dread the conversation that's coming. I can feel her concern, her doubt. I wonder what she knows or what she thinks she knows and if she does know, I wonder how she could possibly be here. Because she's honest and good and I'm a fucking freak. The way she touched me in the bath was as tender as she's ever been. If she knew about me and Tegan, she wouldn't be so gentle and sweet with me still. She'd be disgusted and horrified and she wouldn't be here. I feel a momentary swell of relief as she brings a bowl of soup and a spoon and sets them down in front of me. I can only sigh.

"Eat," she says, sitting down across from me.

"What about you?" I ask.

"I ate while you were sleeping," she says and I pick up the spoon reluctantly, wondering if she was with me in what used to be our bed all night while I was unconscious. I taste the soup, chicken with barley, good enough to serve at a deli. My stomach doesn't know how to respond for a moment, and after what it's been through, I can't blame it. I eat more of the soup.

"This is so good," I say. "I've missed your cooking." The silence makes me anxious. I keep eating the soup slowly, my eyes on my bowl and not on hers.

"So, when is the tour back on?" she asks, and I find that I really don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it the way I don't want to pull out my own fingernails.

"Uh, three weeks," I say, and it comes out flat. She's so quiet and thoughtful. It makes my stomach quiver nervously.

"I guess things have been pretty rough. Since the video," she says gently, and my heart starts racing. I put my spoon down; my appetite was tentative at best, and now it's gone.

"Yeah," I admit.

"All that self-destruction I saw in the Amsterdam video is because of that? The video?" she asks and I feel my face starting to heat up.

"Yeah, I mean. . . that kind of, like. . . can you imagine when our mom sees it? If she's. . . if she thinks it's real, and like. . ." I'm suddenly finding it very hard to lie to her. I always have.

"Have you talked to your mom yet?" she asks and I pick up my spoon again because I need to do something with my hands.

"No," I mutter, and my hands tremble a little as I lift my spoon to my mouth.

"She must be pretty worried. Why haven't you talked to her?" she presses me and I can only look up for a second because her eyes are on me and they see my trembling hands, the colour in my face.

"Because. . . the video, it's like. . ." My voice fails as my logic fails. Her look is even, her voice soft.

"But Sara," she begins softly, "if that video isn't of you and Tegan, then why can't you talk to her? Just tell her that? She'll believe you." She'll believe you. . . there's not a hint of irony in her voice. I am going to lose it. I feel another wave of nausea. I drop my spoon with a clatter, pushing down the bubbly sickness in my throat. "Sara, who's in that video?" she asks me, gentle but insistent. I can't look at her; I can't eat; my hands are shaking in my lap. I want to go back to sleep. I want to sleep until the end of the world.

"Tegan and Casey. Some fucking bitch she was dating," I say back quickly, testy, unnecessarily hostile about Casey. I sound bitter. That won't support my argument. I look up at her for a second and her face just looks sad. Patient and sad.

"Sara, what are you doing?" she asks. My pulse is in my throat.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Why are you trying to bullshit me?" she asks.

"What? You don't believe me? Why ask me questions if you aren't going to believe my answers!" I shoot back at her, provoked. She is calm still.

"I thought it would make it easier for you to tell me the truth if I left a door open for you," she says.

"Fuck your fucking doors! How can you even ask me that?" I snap, and I'm so ashamed, it's making me angry.

"Okay, Sara. I'm sorry," she says, and then I feel bad for snapping. Maybe she really does believe me? I feel sick, sick. "Take it easy." I take a breath, my heart pounding, making me dizzy. I don't know what to do. I can't sit there in front of her, with her watching me, reading me like that. If she looks long enough, she'll see everything. I close my eyes for a moment and just try to settle down, settle my stomach. I take another breath. She's quiet across from me. The wave starts to pass and then she speaks again.

"So, how's Tegan?"

I burst into tears, shocking myself, shocking us both. I can't stop it, didn't know it was coming, and it silences her for a moment. I put my face in my hands and sob and I can't breathe. I see Tegan's face. Nightmare, she repeats. I see her face when I am between that girls' thighs and I turn and look over my shoulder and she sees me, only me, and doesn't even look at that girl when she walks by. She looks at me and asks why. I see her face when I remind her of Jamie and tell her she cheated with her heart. Finding that weak spot inside of her and twisting it, twisting it. I did it on purpose. I'm so fucking ashamed.

"Hey, Sara," Emy says gently because she wants me to tell the truth but not for her sake. She comes around to my side of the table. She'll hold me, touch me and try to comfort me and I can't let her do it because I don't fucking deserve it. She puts her arms around my shoulders and I push back, push her away the way I pushed Tegan away in the shower, on the bus, when she thought someone had hurt me and she was in pain because of it. I push her away the way I pushed Tegan away when she tried to stop me from leaving her again, if you don't want me to be alone, then don't leave me alone! "Sara, stop it!" she is saying as I push her, panic engulfing me. I'm crying hysterically and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Go, get out! Leave me alone, fuck!" I wail and I hate my words.

"Sara, no!" she says to me, and I get up out of the chair so quickly it topples over, to escape from her touch. But I look at her eyes and she isn't Tegan and she doesn't look like her heart is being chopped in half. She is a little freaked out but she's fine, she's steady. "Just stop it," she says.

"You have to get out! Fucking leave me alone!" I scream at her but she doesn't move, not even an inch, so I step up to her quickly and put my hands on her shoulders and start pushing her back towards the door. She grabs my hands, restrains me.

"No, Sara! I'm not leaving you here to fucking destroy yourself over this! I'm not leaving!"

"You have to fucking leave! This is my house! You dumped me and moved out and now it's my house!" I shout at her like a snotty, bratty child. As I push her, she's trying to put her arms around me again.

"I won't leave. So you can have all the tantrums you want," she says. Struggling against her is useless; she's stronger than me and she hasn't been on a five-day drunken binge with no proper sleep and no food. Her arms are around me, trapping my arms against my sides and I struggle and cry and she holds tight. "Just stop. Stop it. I'm not letting you do this to yourself so you can just stop fighting me and save us both some energy." After a few more seconds of struggling, I feel light-headed and my knees weaken; we slide down onto the floor together and she keeps hold of me. And then she speaks and I didn't realize what she was thinking but it made sense. "Sara, is Tegan okay?" she asks, afraid, and I feel sorry because when she asked me about Tegan, I burst into tears and so what does she think? I can't stop crying now so nothing will make sense if I tell her Tegan is fine. Is she fine? I can't bear to even think about her. What can I say? I nod. "So what is it? What happened?" she asks me, her voice so worried, so sad for me. I realize now that I've never deserved that kind of love and that's part of why I fucked it all up. I don't know what to do. She knows when I lie. I'll have to tell the truth and she'll leave and I will lose her too but it's only fair. She loosens her grip on me and shifts, her hands on my face softly turning my eyes to hers. "It's okay, Sara. Just talk to me." Okay, I think to myself. I need to. I will.

"I fucked up," I whimper. "I fucked up and I. . . I hurt her so badly. . ." I'm so tired of crying. Will it ever stop?

"What did you do?" she asks, furrowed brow. Where do I even start? I take a long, deep, shaky breath, and steel myself.

"I knew she would. . . never let go," I start. "I had to make her." Remembering that makes the trembling breaths start again.

"How?" she asks. There's no way to explain this that won't disgust her. But she should be disgusted, so fair enough.

"I told her we. . . it had to end. I told her. . . never again. I fucked some stupid groupie in her bed. . ." I'm crying again and her face is shocked, but only for a second, and she's steady again. "I had to. . . she would stay. . . just like. . . she'd stay in bed with me while the ship sank! While everything just fucking. . . went to shit! And our mom. . . our career, all gone! Fuck. . ." I can't believe I got that much out before the insane sobs return. "Her face, oh God, she's never. . . she won't. . . she's gone!" My head is against Emy's neck now because I've given up. She's holding onto me.

"She's not gone, Sara. She's your sister." I cry harder at that because it should be that simple.

"I broke her heart!" I cry and she rubs my back, kisses my temple as my head rests on her shoulder.

"She won't die from a broken heart, Sara. You'll go back to her and tell her you're sorry. You'll make it better."

"I can't, it's done," I say.

"It's never done. You're family," she says softly and she gently touches my hair. I want her to be right but I don't think she understands. If she understood, she wouldn't still be holding me.

"Yeah, she's my sister but. . . you saw the video," I say, sick and ashamed, the nerves in my chest making my body nearly convulse in her arms. I may as well throw it all up.

"Yeah. That wasn't the only time, was it?" she asks gently, her mouth close to my ear. I shake my head. "I think it's been going on for a long time. Right?" I nod again.

"Oh my God," I mumble into her shoulder, clutching her shirt. "Oh my God, I need her. . ." I want to stop crying but my body isn't even mine anymore.

"Shh," she says. "I know." She rocks me a little, the way you would a child, and it is strangely soothing. I let her do it. I just go limp and let her hold me like that, swaying a little, on the dining room floor. "She needs you too."

"I'm afraid. . . I'm scared she's not okay. She's alone," I say, and I think of Jamie with another pang of regret. If she's with Jamie. . . I hope she's with Jamie. The idea makes my heart clench but Tegan being alone is worse.

"She'll be okay. The boys will take care of her. You should talk to your mom." She's right but I can't. I think I'd rather die. That was the plan until Emy came and fed me chicken barley soup and fucked that all up.

I'm all done. My body is so heavy, so weary, I can't even cry anymore, so why am I still crying?

How long until I can sleep again?