Title: A Friend in Need II: Sweet Child of Mine 17/22
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Archive: Sure, just please ask first
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and some disturbing imagery
Summary: Jubilee is well on the way to recovery from the physical injuries she
sustained during "A Friend in Need," thanks to the help of Logan and Jean. The
psychic damage, however, has been slow to heal: she is still plagued by regular
nightmares and her memory has not yet returned. And while Jean's endless devotion
to Jubilee is helping her to recuperate, it is starting to put a strain on Jean's
marriage to Scott.
Disclaimer: The X-Men and Generation X are property of Marvel Entertainment.
Characters are used without permission, no profit is being made, and no infringement
on copyright is intended.
*****
A Friend in Need II: Sweet Child of Mine
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 17
Scott watched as Jean absently pushed the food around her plate with her fork.
She had taken only a bite or two, and had been shifting it around into different
piles for the past ten minutes. "Is your dinner okay?" he asked. "Do you want
something else?"
"Hmm?" Jean looked up then, realizing that he was addressing her. "Oh, it's
fine, Scott. I'm just not very hungry."
"I thought it was great, Scott," Jubilee said cheerfully, downing the last bite
from her plate. "Really good."
"You know, Jean, you really should try to eat something," Scott told her. "You
need to get your strength back. Do you want me to make you some soup?"
"I told you already, I'm not hungry," Jean replied, her tone curt, as she put
down her fork. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and placed it onto the table.
"I think I'm going to go lie down."
"Again?" Scott asked. "You just took a nap before dinner."
Jean stared at him a moment, eyes narrowing. "I feel tired."
"Fine. Go ahead and just sleep away the next ten years of your life," he said,
tossing his napkin onto the table and pushing back his chair so that he could
rise. "See if I give a damn."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"What it means, Jean, is that you're hiding. From me. From your friends. From
what happened. Lying in bed all day is not going to change things. It's not
going to make it disappear."
"What would you have me do? Go about on my merry way? Clean the house and bake
cookies and plant a garden as though nothing happened?"
"I'm not saying you should pretend it didn't happen, Jean. But you have to face
it--and your feelings--so that you can get on with your life. So that *we* can
get on with our life. Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you tell me what
you're feeling?"
She shook her head. "I . . . I can't, Scott. I just can't."
"Why not, Jean?" He walked around the table, knelt down beside her chair, and
took her hands in his. "I'm your husband. If you can't talk to me about what
happened, then who? You don't have to go through this alone, Jean. Let me in.
Let me help you. We can get through this together." He squeezed her hands for
emphasis.
"I-I'm gonna go do the dishes," Jubilee muttered. She hastily stacked the plates
and silverware and carried them into the kitchen, leaving her foster parents
alone to talk.
Jean sighed. "I just don't feel ready to talk about this."
Scott let out a loud breath. "When, then?" He felt his frustration grow. "It's
been almost a week, Jean. I've tried to be patient. I've tried to give you
space, time to yourself. But every time I try to broach the topic, you change
it, or walk away, or go to take another damned nap! And I don't know what else
to do, what else to say. I'm at the end of my rope here. I can't help but fear
that if we don't deal with this soon, it's going to do irreparable harm to our
marriage."
"Scott, why can't you understand that I don't want to talk about it? Discussing
it is not going to make me feel better. It's not going to ease my pain. It's not
going to make things right."
His brow furrowed in anger. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe *I'd* like to
talk about it? That it might help *me*? Dammit, Jean, you're not the only one
hurting here. You're not the only one grieving."
"I'm sorry, Scott," she said, getting to her feet. "I can't do this right now."
"So you're just going to walk away? Just like that? Jean, please. . . ."
She paused at the sound of his pleading. But after a moment, she continued
walking away.
"Dammit!" Scott shouted, kicking the chair. "Dammit all to hell!" He stood,
fists clenched, trying to decide what to do. To let her go, or follow. He could
not stand to go on like this any longer. They had to have it out. He could not
let this go any further.
Taking a deep breath, he followed Jean into the bedroom. She sat on the bed,
getting undressed. He watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it over
her shoulders. Below her white satin bra, he could see the outline of each and
every rib. He gave a sharp intake of breath. Jean looked up at him, not
realizing he had been watching her.
"You've lost weight," he said, still staring at her.
Shrugging, Jean rose to her feet to remove her slacks. She turned her back to
him as she took off her bra and pulled a nightgown over her head.
Scott winced. Jean had never been shy about him seeing her body before. When had
this wall gone up between them? More importantly, how could he break it down?
He walked up behind her, and slid his arms around her waist. Wrapping them
around her middle, he pulled her back against him, nuzzling into her hair.
"Jean, sweetheart, please talk to me. . . . ."
She did not reply. She just stood there tensely, stiffly, in his arms. Not
reacting to his touch, or to his words. It was like he was holding a stranger.
"Jean, are you mad at me?" he asked, releasing his hold.
She said nothing as she stepped closer to the bed and gathered her clothes.
"You're angry with me about something, aren't you? That's why you don't want to
talk to me, isn't it?"
Silently, she hung up her pants, put her blouse and bra in the hamper.
"Can you tell me what I did to upset you? Even that would be better than this
silent treatment."
Jean sighed deeply as she picked up her brush from the dresser and began to run
it through her hair.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
"All right, Scott. Yes, I'm angry with you. There, I said it. Are you happy now?
Will you leave me be now?"
Scott was filled with a mixture of relief and anxiety. "But why, Jean? Why are
you mad at me?"
She licked her lips. "It's not so much anger as it is hurt."
He walked closer, looked her in the eyes. "Tell me."
She bit her lip. She was trying to forget this, to work past it. But she could
not. It was nagging at her, festering in the back of her mind, leaving her
unsettled, not at peace. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe she needed to get this off
of her chest, and into the open. It certainly could not be doing her any good to
keep it bottled up inside.
"When we spoke on the phone last, the night before . . . the night before it
happened . . . when I apologized to you for what I had said to you during our
fight . . . I asked you to come home. But you refused."
"I didn't refuse," Scott countered defensively. "I told you that I'd be home the
next afternoon. I explained to you, Jean, that I had made a commitment to the
students."
"I know that, Scott. But I asked you to come home to me. And you pushed me
away."
"I didn't push--"
"All right, so maybe you didn't push me away. But you certainly put me on hold.
Like you always do. You always put the needs of the team first. Me--our
marriage--takes a back seat to your commitment to the team."
He looked at her in confusion. Surely these words were not coming out of her
mouth. "That's ridiculous, Jean. You know that you are the number one priority
in my life."
"Then why didn't you come home to me, Scott? I begged and pleaded with you to."
"You did no such thing. You asked me to come home, I told you I would the next
day. When I asked you if that was all right, you said yes. If it wasn't, you
should have come out and said so."
"But that's just the point, Scott--I shouldn't have to. You should *know*."
His eyebrows rose in disbelief. "I'm not the goddammed mind reader, Jean. And
it's not like you've been bothering to maintain our rapport lately, anyway. Ever
since Jubilee came to stay with us, you've been retreating further and further
from me."
"Oh, so now it's Jubilee's fault that we're not communicating anymore?"
"Did I say that? Jesus, Jean, you're twisting my words around. Hell, if anyone's
putting our marriage second to other commitments, it's you. You're the one who's
focused every waking moment of your life on the care of that girl. At the
expense of our marriage. And I've stood patiently by, letting you push me away,
watching you sacrifice everything--our relationship, your health--for her. And I
haven't said boo, because I knew it's something important to you. But maybe now
you'll realize that you can't focus everything into caring for her. That you
have to leave something for yourself."
"You're saying it's my fault? That I did this to myself--purposely?"
"Certainly not purposely. But who knows? Maybe if you had taken better care of
yourself--"
There was a resounding *smack!* as she slapped him across the face. Scott
staggered backwards in surprise. Regaining his balance, he looked at Jean who
stood with her hands balled into fists, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes
shining with unshed tears.
"You bastard! How can you suggest--how can you even think--that I would
deliberately do something to harm my own child? I did everything in my power to
protect that child. I would never do anything to hurt it. Never."
"*Our* child. You keep forgetting, Jean, that it wasn't just your baby--it was
mine as well. Though that little piece of knowledge seemed to be something you
felt was unimportant for me to know. When were you planning to tell me? When you
started showing? Or maybe you'd have decided to clue me in when you were giving
birth."
"I wanted to tell you, Scott. Why the hell do you think I asked you to come
home? You're the one who ran off to Massachusetts--"
"Because I couldn't stand being in the same house with a wife who refused to
talk to me. What we had at that time was not a marriage. It was a farce. I tried
to open the lines of communication, but you wouldn't hear me."
"I'm not the only one who's got selective hearing. When I finally did speak to
you, you didn't listen to what it is I had to say. You chose to ignore me."
"Jean, I'm not a goddammed psychologist. To me, yes means yes and no means no.
If you wanted me to come home immediately, you should have said just that. 'Come
home. Now.' I would have been on the next plane."
"Bullshit. You would have made excuses about how you only had one lecture left.
That you couldn't disappoint the kids. That it was only one more goddammed day.
Well, what about me, Scott? What about your unborn child? The day I lost the
baby was probably the time in my life when I needed you here with me most, and
where were you? Talking to somebody else's kids, several states away. Where the
hell were you when I lay on our kitchen floor, bleeding? When I lay on a table
in the medi-lab, unable to fight the contractions of my womb as it expelled my
unborn child? When I had to deal with the stone cold reality that my baby was
gone, dead? Where the hell were you, Scott?" She glared at him as the tears
streamed down her cheeks.
"I would have been here, Jean. If you had told me about the baby, I would have
been here in a heartbeat," he told her, his own voice thick with unshed tears.
"You're the one who chose to keep that news from me. You have no one to blame
for your isolation other than yourself."
"Get out!" she spat, tossing the hairbrush at him.
Scott did not bother to get out of the way, or to try to deflect it with an
optic blast. He just stood there as it hit him square in the chest. He barely
reacted to the impact. "Is that what you really want, Jean?"
"Get out, you bastard! Get away from me!"
Slowly, he nodded. Silently, he grabbed his duffel bag from under the bed,
unzipped it. He opened some drawers, pulled out a few garments of clothing. He
walked into the bathroom, gathered a few toiletries, and tossed them into the
bag on top of the clothes. Zipping up the bag, he swung it over his shoulder. He
was halfway to the door when he turned back to face her.
"But just remember, Jean, exactly what it was you asked for this time." Without
another word, he turned and left.
Jean just stared at the empty doorway through her tears. A jagged sob escaped
her lips.
She could hear Jubilee's agitated, tear-filled voice coming from the hallway.
"Please, Scott, don't leave."
"I'm sorry, Jubilee, but I can't stay here right now."
"Please, Scott, I know we can work this out. If you just stay, we can all just
talk about it--"
"I've tried that already, Jubilee. There's nothing left to say. I'm sorry."
"Scott, please!" Jubilee wailed. "Don't go! Please don't go!"
Sounds of sobbing, more of Jubilee's pleading, then of the front door slamming.
Soon thereafter, Jubilee came into the bedroom, her face soaked with tears.
"He's gone," she moaned. "Scott's gone."
"I know," Jean whispered, sniffling.
"How could you just let him go?"
"I couldn't stop him."
"Bullshit! I heard you shouting at him to leave. You told him to go."
The venom in Jubilee's voice caught Jean off-guard. She took an involuntary step
backwards. "I . . . I. . . ."
"Don't deny it, Jean. I heard it myself. You told him to get out. Scott is gone,
and it's all your fault! You guys are the closest I've ever come to having a
real family, and now you've gone and ruined it. I hope you're happy now!"
"No . . . I didn't mean to. . . ." Jean reached toward her.
"No," Jubilee said, shaking her head as she took a step back. "I-I can't stay
here now. Not anymore."
"Jubilee, please."
"I've gotta get out of here." Without looking back, Jubilee fled from the room.
"Jubilee!" Jean called. "Please come back! Please don't leave! Don't leave me
alone!"
Jean fell to her knees, sobbing. Somehow, she had managed to push away those who
meant the most to her. And now she was alone. Terribly, terribly alone. And she
had no one to blame but herself.
She slid onto the floor, burying her face in her arms, and cried. She wept
despairingly, until she had no more tears. By then she was so exhausted
emotionally that she fell into fitful slumber. But even there she could find no
respite, for the nightmares assailed her relentlessly. For Jean Summers, it felt
as though she would never know peace again.
End Chapter 17
*****
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Archive: Sure, just please ask first
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and some disturbing imagery
Summary: Jubilee is well on the way to recovery from the physical injuries she
sustained during "A Friend in Need," thanks to the help of Logan and Jean. The
psychic damage, however, has been slow to heal: she is still plagued by regular
nightmares and her memory has not yet returned. And while Jean's endless devotion
to Jubilee is helping her to recuperate, it is starting to put a strain on Jean's
marriage to Scott.
Disclaimer: The X-Men and Generation X are property of Marvel Entertainment.
Characters are used without permission, no profit is being made, and no infringement
on copyright is intended.
*****
A Friend in Need II: Sweet Child of Mine
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Chapter 17
Scott watched as Jean absently pushed the food around her plate with her fork.
She had taken only a bite or two, and had been shifting it around into different
piles for the past ten minutes. "Is your dinner okay?" he asked. "Do you want
something else?"
"Hmm?" Jean looked up then, realizing that he was addressing her. "Oh, it's
fine, Scott. I'm just not very hungry."
"I thought it was great, Scott," Jubilee said cheerfully, downing the last bite
from her plate. "Really good."
"You know, Jean, you really should try to eat something," Scott told her. "You
need to get your strength back. Do you want me to make you some soup?"
"I told you already, I'm not hungry," Jean replied, her tone curt, as she put
down her fork. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and placed it onto the table.
"I think I'm going to go lie down."
"Again?" Scott asked. "You just took a nap before dinner."
Jean stared at him a moment, eyes narrowing. "I feel tired."
"Fine. Go ahead and just sleep away the next ten years of your life," he said,
tossing his napkin onto the table and pushing back his chair so that he could
rise. "See if I give a damn."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"What it means, Jean, is that you're hiding. From me. From your friends. From
what happened. Lying in bed all day is not going to change things. It's not
going to make it disappear."
"What would you have me do? Go about on my merry way? Clean the house and bake
cookies and plant a garden as though nothing happened?"
"I'm not saying you should pretend it didn't happen, Jean. But you have to face
it--and your feelings--so that you can get on with your life. So that *we* can
get on with our life. Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you tell me what
you're feeling?"
She shook her head. "I . . . I can't, Scott. I just can't."
"Why not, Jean?" He walked around the table, knelt down beside her chair, and
took her hands in his. "I'm your husband. If you can't talk to me about what
happened, then who? You don't have to go through this alone, Jean. Let me in.
Let me help you. We can get through this together." He squeezed her hands for
emphasis.
"I-I'm gonna go do the dishes," Jubilee muttered. She hastily stacked the plates
and silverware and carried them into the kitchen, leaving her foster parents
alone to talk.
Jean sighed. "I just don't feel ready to talk about this."
Scott let out a loud breath. "When, then?" He felt his frustration grow. "It's
been almost a week, Jean. I've tried to be patient. I've tried to give you
space, time to yourself. But every time I try to broach the topic, you change
it, or walk away, or go to take another damned nap! And I don't know what else
to do, what else to say. I'm at the end of my rope here. I can't help but fear
that if we don't deal with this soon, it's going to do irreparable harm to our
marriage."
"Scott, why can't you understand that I don't want to talk about it? Discussing
it is not going to make me feel better. It's not going to ease my pain. It's not
going to make things right."
His brow furrowed in anger. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe *I'd* like to
talk about it? That it might help *me*? Dammit, Jean, you're not the only one
hurting here. You're not the only one grieving."
"I'm sorry, Scott," she said, getting to her feet. "I can't do this right now."
"So you're just going to walk away? Just like that? Jean, please. . . ."
She paused at the sound of his pleading. But after a moment, she continued
walking away.
"Dammit!" Scott shouted, kicking the chair. "Dammit all to hell!" He stood,
fists clenched, trying to decide what to do. To let her go, or follow. He could
not stand to go on like this any longer. They had to have it out. He could not
let this go any further.
Taking a deep breath, he followed Jean into the bedroom. She sat on the bed,
getting undressed. He watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it over
her shoulders. Below her white satin bra, he could see the outline of each and
every rib. He gave a sharp intake of breath. Jean looked up at him, not
realizing he had been watching her.
"You've lost weight," he said, still staring at her.
Shrugging, Jean rose to her feet to remove her slacks. She turned her back to
him as she took off her bra and pulled a nightgown over her head.
Scott winced. Jean had never been shy about him seeing her body before. When had
this wall gone up between them? More importantly, how could he break it down?
He walked up behind her, and slid his arms around her waist. Wrapping them
around her middle, he pulled her back against him, nuzzling into her hair.
"Jean, sweetheart, please talk to me. . . . ."
She did not reply. She just stood there tensely, stiffly, in his arms. Not
reacting to his touch, or to his words. It was like he was holding a stranger.
"Jean, are you mad at me?" he asked, releasing his hold.
She said nothing as she stepped closer to the bed and gathered her clothes.
"You're angry with me about something, aren't you? That's why you don't want to
talk to me, isn't it?"
Silently, she hung up her pants, put her blouse and bra in the hamper.
"Can you tell me what I did to upset you? Even that would be better than this
silent treatment."
Jean sighed deeply as she picked up her brush from the dresser and began to run
it through her hair.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
"All right, Scott. Yes, I'm angry with you. There, I said it. Are you happy now?
Will you leave me be now?"
Scott was filled with a mixture of relief and anxiety. "But why, Jean? Why are
you mad at me?"
She licked her lips. "It's not so much anger as it is hurt."
He walked closer, looked her in the eyes. "Tell me."
She bit her lip. She was trying to forget this, to work past it. But she could
not. It was nagging at her, festering in the back of her mind, leaving her
unsettled, not at peace. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe she needed to get this off
of her chest, and into the open. It certainly could not be doing her any good to
keep it bottled up inside.
"When we spoke on the phone last, the night before . . . the night before it
happened . . . when I apologized to you for what I had said to you during our
fight . . . I asked you to come home. But you refused."
"I didn't refuse," Scott countered defensively. "I told you that I'd be home the
next afternoon. I explained to you, Jean, that I had made a commitment to the
students."
"I know that, Scott. But I asked you to come home to me. And you pushed me
away."
"I didn't push--"
"All right, so maybe you didn't push me away. But you certainly put me on hold.
Like you always do. You always put the needs of the team first. Me--our
marriage--takes a back seat to your commitment to the team."
He looked at her in confusion. Surely these words were not coming out of her
mouth. "That's ridiculous, Jean. You know that you are the number one priority
in my life."
"Then why didn't you come home to me, Scott? I begged and pleaded with you to."
"You did no such thing. You asked me to come home, I told you I would the next
day. When I asked you if that was all right, you said yes. If it wasn't, you
should have come out and said so."
"But that's just the point, Scott--I shouldn't have to. You should *know*."
His eyebrows rose in disbelief. "I'm not the goddammed mind reader, Jean. And
it's not like you've been bothering to maintain our rapport lately, anyway. Ever
since Jubilee came to stay with us, you've been retreating further and further
from me."
"Oh, so now it's Jubilee's fault that we're not communicating anymore?"
"Did I say that? Jesus, Jean, you're twisting my words around. Hell, if anyone's
putting our marriage second to other commitments, it's you. You're the one who's
focused every waking moment of your life on the care of that girl. At the
expense of our marriage. And I've stood patiently by, letting you push me away,
watching you sacrifice everything--our relationship, your health--for her. And I
haven't said boo, because I knew it's something important to you. But maybe now
you'll realize that you can't focus everything into caring for her. That you
have to leave something for yourself."
"You're saying it's my fault? That I did this to myself--purposely?"
"Certainly not purposely. But who knows? Maybe if you had taken better care of
yourself--"
There was a resounding *smack!* as she slapped him across the face. Scott
staggered backwards in surprise. Regaining his balance, he looked at Jean who
stood with her hands balled into fists, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes
shining with unshed tears.
"You bastard! How can you suggest--how can you even think--that I would
deliberately do something to harm my own child? I did everything in my power to
protect that child. I would never do anything to hurt it. Never."
"*Our* child. You keep forgetting, Jean, that it wasn't just your baby--it was
mine as well. Though that little piece of knowledge seemed to be something you
felt was unimportant for me to know. When were you planning to tell me? When you
started showing? Or maybe you'd have decided to clue me in when you were giving
birth."
"I wanted to tell you, Scott. Why the hell do you think I asked you to come
home? You're the one who ran off to Massachusetts--"
"Because I couldn't stand being in the same house with a wife who refused to
talk to me. What we had at that time was not a marriage. It was a farce. I tried
to open the lines of communication, but you wouldn't hear me."
"I'm not the only one who's got selective hearing. When I finally did speak to
you, you didn't listen to what it is I had to say. You chose to ignore me."
"Jean, I'm not a goddammed psychologist. To me, yes means yes and no means no.
If you wanted me to come home immediately, you should have said just that. 'Come
home. Now.' I would have been on the next plane."
"Bullshit. You would have made excuses about how you only had one lecture left.
That you couldn't disappoint the kids. That it was only one more goddammed day.
Well, what about me, Scott? What about your unborn child? The day I lost the
baby was probably the time in my life when I needed you here with me most, and
where were you? Talking to somebody else's kids, several states away. Where the
hell were you when I lay on our kitchen floor, bleeding? When I lay on a table
in the medi-lab, unable to fight the contractions of my womb as it expelled my
unborn child? When I had to deal with the stone cold reality that my baby was
gone, dead? Where the hell were you, Scott?" She glared at him as the tears
streamed down her cheeks.
"I would have been here, Jean. If you had told me about the baby, I would have
been here in a heartbeat," he told her, his own voice thick with unshed tears.
"You're the one who chose to keep that news from me. You have no one to blame
for your isolation other than yourself."
"Get out!" she spat, tossing the hairbrush at him.
Scott did not bother to get out of the way, or to try to deflect it with an
optic blast. He just stood there as it hit him square in the chest. He barely
reacted to the impact. "Is that what you really want, Jean?"
"Get out, you bastard! Get away from me!"
Slowly, he nodded. Silently, he grabbed his duffel bag from under the bed,
unzipped it. He opened some drawers, pulled out a few garments of clothing. He
walked into the bathroom, gathered a few toiletries, and tossed them into the
bag on top of the clothes. Zipping up the bag, he swung it over his shoulder. He
was halfway to the door when he turned back to face her.
"But just remember, Jean, exactly what it was you asked for this time." Without
another word, he turned and left.
Jean just stared at the empty doorway through her tears. A jagged sob escaped
her lips.
She could hear Jubilee's agitated, tear-filled voice coming from the hallway.
"Please, Scott, don't leave."
"I'm sorry, Jubilee, but I can't stay here right now."
"Please, Scott, I know we can work this out. If you just stay, we can all just
talk about it--"
"I've tried that already, Jubilee. There's nothing left to say. I'm sorry."
"Scott, please!" Jubilee wailed. "Don't go! Please don't go!"
Sounds of sobbing, more of Jubilee's pleading, then of the front door slamming.
Soon thereafter, Jubilee came into the bedroom, her face soaked with tears.
"He's gone," she moaned. "Scott's gone."
"I know," Jean whispered, sniffling.
"How could you just let him go?"
"I couldn't stop him."
"Bullshit! I heard you shouting at him to leave. You told him to go."
The venom in Jubilee's voice caught Jean off-guard. She took an involuntary step
backwards. "I . . . I. . . ."
"Don't deny it, Jean. I heard it myself. You told him to get out. Scott is gone,
and it's all your fault! You guys are the closest I've ever come to having a
real family, and now you've gone and ruined it. I hope you're happy now!"
"No . . . I didn't mean to. . . ." Jean reached toward her.
"No," Jubilee said, shaking her head as she took a step back. "I-I can't stay
here now. Not anymore."
"Jubilee, please."
"I've gotta get out of here." Without looking back, Jubilee fled from the room.
"Jubilee!" Jean called. "Please come back! Please don't leave! Don't leave me
alone!"
Jean fell to her knees, sobbing. Somehow, she had managed to push away those who
meant the most to her. And now she was alone. Terribly, terribly alone. And she
had no one to blame but herself.
She slid onto the floor, burying her face in her arms, and cried. She wept
despairingly, until she had no more tears. By then she was so exhausted
emotionally that she fell into fitful slumber. But even there she could find no
respite, for the nightmares assailed her relentlessly. For Jean Summers, it felt
as though she would never know peace again.
End Chapter 17
*****