I gaze out of the window of the cab, watching the
city lights zip by. They blur a little in the light fall of summer rain, the
colours merging and sparkling like a giant kaleidoscope. It's beautiful really,
not at all the dark emptiness I used to see, but more a living, breathing
organism, pulsing with life. The city is always moving at a million miles an
hour, a twisting spiral of birth and death, sadness and joy, love and
heartbreak – sort of like a roulette wheel, really, spinning continually to
decide the fate of its players. Only the prizes are so much more significant
than just money.
John reaches over to touch my lightly on the arm, his
breath hot on my cheek, the scent of his aftershave enveloping me like a cloud.
"Are you okay?"
I turn back to him, smiling nervously, though I don't
know what there is to be afraid of, since this is my best friend I'm here with
right now. I've laughed with him, cried on him, yelled at him, even screwed him
over a couple of times, and he still sticks by me. So, what possible reason
could I have to be insecure with him right now?
"I'm fine. Really."
He pulls away, leaning back in the seat and raising one
eyebrow at me. "Uh-huh."
"No," I say hurriedly. "This was a good idea – it really
was. You know, going on a proper 'date'," I suddenly find the urge to make air
quotes with my fingers overwhelming, then drop my hands hurriedly, ashamed of
doing something so blatantly tacky. "It was really nice," I finish lamely.
He chuckles. "It was a disaster."
I can't help but grin too. "Okay, but it was a nice
disaster."
John flashes me a sceptical look. "My car broke down so
we were late to the restaurant and they gave our table away. Then we had to
wait until gone ten o'clock for dinner, by which time we'd eaten so many of the
complimentary breadsticks that we didn't enjoy the meal anyway and it was too
late to go on elsewhere."
"Maybe dinner and dancing isn't exactly our thing,
though," I suggest pragmatically.
He screws his face up in a mock frown. "Then what is our
thing?"
I think for a few moments. "Uh…going on pointless road
trips to little towns that don't even exist on maps? Gambling in Las Vegas?
Going to the ballgame and yelling abuse at the players?"
"Letting down the tyres of your ex-husband's car?" He
adds, laughing.
"Bitching about Kerry Weaver behind her back?"
"Oh my God," he interrupts sighing loudly. "Did you hear
about her new plans to colour code the charting system? Different pieces of
paper for each person's separate complaint."
I try to choke back a giggle and fail. "Somehow I think
that one's doomed to failure."
"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs. "I would have thought the
six extra tonnes of paperwork it'll create every week will go down extremely
well."
We laugh together over the joke a little longer then
lapse into a companionable silence. This is what I wanted, you see. I never
needed fancy restaurants or flowers or mushy romantic gestures. Just him and me
being ourselves together, letting loose, having fun, understanding one another.
I'm not good about expressing my feelings, and neither was Luka. We'd keep all
of our anxieties and emotions pent up inside, afraid to let them spill out and
take over our lives. Then we'd hold one another in the hopes that the simple
touch alone would make things better. But it didn't, because it was an empty
touch. Our bodies met but nothing further, the comfort was cold, the
metaphorical distance between us ever-present.
But with John, it's different somehow, in a way I could
never explain even if you asked me to. He gets me. It's that simple. When I
laugh with him, it's real – not just a way of being polite in the situation.
When he looks into my eyes, he sees the emotions I'm hiding behind them. And
when he touches me, it's because he knows that I need it and why I need it.
He's in tune with the real Abby, the one I sometimes fail to acknowledge.
That scared me for a long time. I spent so much of my
life afraid of who I was, where I came from and what I felt. Then I met this
guy who loved me for those exact things I hated about myself. So, it was easier
just to push him away, to keep up the pretence of being the Safe-Abby, the one
who guarded her heart so tightly she could never fall in love back. But at the
same time, a part of me revelled in it. I just wanted to be loved and accepted
and he did both completely, so how could I not take solace in it?
The taxi comes to a stop outside my apartment building –
it's the end of the line, the inevitably awkward conclusion to the evening. I
always hated this part, because I never knew what to do or say. Mainly because
I never even knew what I wanted to happen next. Do I say a quiet goodbye then
slip out of the cab up the steps to spend a night alone? Or do I take a risk
and gamble all my feelings on a chance to fall in love? First dates are always
the worst, because there's no precedent, no history to help guide your
judgement or your heart. Ironically, despite the disaster that was my first
date with Luka, it was probably the main reason we got together in the first
place. It gave us a starting point, a common bond. We shared something horrible
that evening, when he killed that man, and the trauma was enough to catapult us
into a relationship without any need to suffer through the difficult opening
stages.
With John, though, it's different again. We're different,
because we already have a relationship already. Not the one we're trying to
build here, of course, but a friendship. He's been in my apartment a hundred
times before, so asking him up wouldn't be that big a deal, would it?
"Abby," John nudges me gently. "We're here. Are you going
to get out?"
"No," I blurt out without thinking. "I mean yes. I mean
you should…you should come too. Upstairs for…coffee! I can make us some
coffee."
Way to go, Abby. Very smooth.
~ ~ ~
Somehow we get to talking and suddenly it's four a.m.,
the coffee pot is empty and it's just me and him sitting in silence at opposite
ends of the couch. This is it, the little voice inside my head whispers.
This is that make or break moment where my entire life could change in an
instant. That is if it hasn't changed beyond recognition already.
I've lost a parent and a lover all in a short space of
time, and now I have no idea where my life is supposed to go from here. I'm
still the same Abby as I've ever been, just with less inclination to hide from
the truth, anymore. I'm an alcoholic. I destroyed a career, a marriage and a
baby. But now I can accept those things as part of me, mistakes I need to learn
from then put behind me. Mom was a part of me too, more than anything or anyone
else I ever met and I hope she taught me things too. Like how to feel real
emotions. I think she felt them too much, that was her only problem. Her highs
were too high and her lows too low, but the principle is still there all the
same.
Feel. Love. Live. She practically killed herself,
but that's still the message I'll take from her. Because when she was with me
she was always so vivid, so vibrant and so alive. Even when depression sucked
every ounce of hope out of her, she still got mad. She was still a hurricane
that swept through my existence and she still fought tooth and nail for what
she wanted, even if what she wanted was the end of it all.
And through it all I sat there with my heart locked up
inside an iron box. Whenever I had a single twinge of feeling, I stomped on it.
I crushed it before it had the chance to spiral out of control and lead me
suddenly into a world of painting on walls, or road trips to Disneyland, or
trying to gas myself in a sealed garage. Every time the sun shined a little too
brightly or the clouds looked a little too grey, I worried. I was petrified of
becoming her and in the process I became someone even worse. Someone who didn't
care.
But I'm gradually changing. It won't happen overnight,
but I can feel the difference creeping over me already. I miss her. I actually
miss having Mom around. I remember more of the good times and less of the bad.
I'm beginning to have more faith in myself. I haven't told anyone yet, but I'm
seriously considering taking that next semester of med school. I want to make
more of myself than I have already, to actually earn some of that pride Mom was
brimming over with for me. And, most significantly, I kissed John. I wanted to,
so I did it. And he kissed me back – it was that simple.
I still feel a little self-conscious about it, like a
part of me is screaming that it's my best friend and all I'm going to do is
ruin things between us. But that part is easy enough to silence, because the
rest of me knows I did the right thing. He was going to leave, to walk away
from County and me and the spectre of us that has hovered in the air for
so long. And all at once all these feelings bubbled up inside of me. I couldn't
let him leave. I need him. I love him.
I love him. I think that's the first time I've admitted
it even to myself, because the mere thought of it terrifies me. I'm not someone
who falls in love easily. I'm not a romantic who wears her heart on her sleeve
and gushes endlessly about how wonderful her boyfriend is and how she couldn't
possibly live without him. And I've never wanted to be like that. All I ever
wanted was someone I could laugh with, someone whose hand would be there when I
reach for it, someone who accepted me for who I am, someone who didn't need to
hear the words to know how I feel.
I don't know even now whether John is that person or not,
but I guess I want to find out. I want to take the risk that was never there
with Luka, to bet my heart on a chance I might finally win.
But wanting and doing are two completely different
things. So, instead I just sit here, the last of my nerves holding me back as I
stare intently down at my fingernails.
"Well…" John begins with a heavy sigh when at last it's
clear I'm not going to say anything further. "I should probably be going, it's
getting late."
He rises stiffly from the couch, his manner distant and
formal. My stomach begins to sink – I'm losing him again, he's drifting away
because I'm too chicken to say anything, because this is so important to me
that every time I even think about it my heart pounds in my chest and my throat
begins to close up…
"No!" I blurt out suddenly, almost choking on the word.
"You don't have to go yet, it's not that late," I add hurriedly, desperately
trying to think of some reasonable excuse for him to stay, to return to that
comfortable status quo of being friends having coffee together, instead of two
strangers awkwardly parting after a date.
"It's four in the morning," he points out softly, smiling
his little ironic smile that seems to communicate his complete understanding of
the situation. He's done everything he can for our relationship, said the right
things, made the right moves, and now the balls in my court. If I don't act now
then we won't even be friends, he'll leave and we'll just be those strangers
who once came close to loving one another.
I kissed him once before – I can do it again. I can just
lean over now and touch his arm and lose myself in his lips, in his embrace, in
the silk of his skin and the musk of his scent.
But I'm afraid to be lost…to be out of control. So, so
terribly afraid.
"Why is this so hard?" I ask with a short, bitter laugh.
John takes a small step closer, his eyes meeting mine.
"It doesn't have to be."
I shake my head. "Yes, yes, it does. Everything in my
life is hard – that's the way it is for me. Or hadn't you noticed?"
"No," he exhales a long, tired breath. "You've been
through a lot Abby, but things are only as difficult as you make them. It was
easy enough before, wasn't it?"
"Before when?"
"Before this, between us," he gestures vaguely with his
hand. "When we were friends."
"Friendship is simple – you don't risk anything and you
don't get hurt." I argue back at him, emotions bubbling up inside me. I can
feel tears pricking the back of my eyes and an aching deep in my throat that
usually means I'm going to cry, and I hate it. I shouldn't be getting upset,
not over this. It's stupid. I'm stupid. He's just a guy, a guy with kind eyes
and gentle understanding…and I don't need this right now. I don't need him.
Oh God, yes I do.
"You're not going to get hurt, Abby," he says softly,
advancing ever so slightly towards me.
"You don't know that," I babble back at him. "Mom never
meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to hurt Luka. You love and then you
hurt – it's a fact of life."
"Then deal with it!" He raises his voice in impatience.
"Suck it up, feel it, learn from it. Just stop hiding away in this
fucking cocoon you've built around yourself. Let yourself go for once and stop
being so goddamn scared of living!"
"I am NOT scared!" I yell back at him, screaming in the
hopes that the sheer volume of my voice will cover the lie. It doesn't, instead
I just sound irrational and crazy. Like Mom.
I sink back down on to the sofa, holding my head in my
hands. "Why are you still here?" I ask in a mumble. "Why do you put up with all
of this?"
He sits lightly down next to me. "You know why," he tells
me quietly, and I do.
"But aren't you afraid too?"
John reaches out and softly brushes a strand of hair from
my face, looking into my eyes. "Of course I am. Everybody is. I worry that I
won't be able to get through another day without taking anything, that I'll be
so busy fighting off the urge I'll make a mistake at work and hurt a patient,
that the shadow following behind me is another man with a knife coming to
attack me. But I face those fears – I have to, otherwise I wouldn't have
anything left to live for."
I shake my head. "But I think I've forgotten how."
"How to live?" He questions teasingly. "It's easy – it
just goes like this." He leans over and kisses me softly on the lips, causing
my heart to race in my chest and sweat to break out on my skin. But it's not just
fear, it's exhilaration too and I find myself wanting more.
I kiss him back, breathlessly, clinging to him with
desperate hungry fingers. My head spins and it's like drinking five beers all
at once, like that rush of alcohol that hits your blood, like the feeling of
all uncertainty slipping away…
~ ~ ~
It's light when I wake up, sunshine insistently forcing
its way through the gaps in the blinds. At first I expect a hangover – not in
the literal sense but more of an 'oh-god-what-did-I-do-last-night' attack of
nausea. But none comes, no cold sweat breaking over my skin, no throbbing ache
starting in my head. No regrets.
Instead I feel peaceful, calm, like the storm brewing
inside me has suddenly blown itself out. This might be what it's like to be
happy, but I'm not sure, it's been too long since the last time I was to
remember.
I turn slowly over onto my slide, snuggling deeper under
the warm covers as I do so. John's face greets me on the pillow next to mine, the
corners of his mouth turned up in a stupid grin, his eyes dancing in amusement.
"Mornin'," he drawls sleepily.
"Hi," I respond shyly, memories of last night (or rather
this morning) flooding back in vivid, NC-17 detail. A blush creeps over my
cheeks and I roll back into supine position, staring up at the ceiling.
John reaches his hand out for mine, entwining our fingers
tightly, and I let him, the momentary awkwardness already slipping away at feel
of his touch. Because it just seems so utterly right.
"Sleep well?" He murmurs into my ear and I can't help but
laugh, closing my eyes tightly so that my entire world is the sensation of his
hand in mine and his hot breath against my cheek.
"No," I reply in mock grumpiness. "You kept me up.
Repeatedly, if I remember correctly."
He chuckles in return. "I'd like to say I'm sorry, but I'm
really not."
A long pause breaks up the conversation, during which I'm
acutely aware of his body lying next to me, his leg brushing against mine, his
arm draped across my stomach. And I don't want him to move, not ever.
He shuffles slightly closer to me and I revise my
assessment. Maybe he can move, just a little bit.
"How are you feeling?" He asks softly and my mind races
quickly through the possibilities. How do I feel? – safe, loved, content, like
I'm falling through the air at a million miles an hour straight into his
waiting arms. But still a little afraid too, unsure of what the future may hold
and not entirely ready to let him consume my entire life. Like an ordinary
woman waking in the embrace of her extraordinary lover – that's how I think I
feel.
"Hungry," I settle on, trying to lighten the mood. I'll
talk to him about my emotions soon, but for now I just want to make the most of
the moment, live a little before I have to start analysing it all again. "Make
me some breakfast."
"What d'you want?" He crawls automatically out of bed,
then does a double-take. "I don't believe it – you've got me waiting on you
hand and foot already."
"Yup," I reply teasingly. "That was the plan. And coffee
and toast will be fine."
"Yes, m'lady," he performs an exaggerated bow then kisses
me softly on the mouth, before pulling on his boxers and heading towards the
kitchen.
I smile after his retreating figure, my lips still
tingling from his kiss, my thoughts laughing at the irony.
One night and I'm already addicted.
THE END
A/N ~ My God, finally it's finished. My most humblest
apologies for taking so long to complete this, I went off sunbathing in France
halfway through writing this chapter, which I'm sure won't make any of my
distressed readers feel any better but did do me some good *grin*.
Thanks for all the wonderful
feedback I've had on this from both people who've reviewed and sent emails, it
was a real inspiration to write more and very flattering, especially
considering this is my first foray into ER-fic.
And one final note – if you
liked this story my friend Cath is writing a Carter POV to it, which you will
find (alongside the rest of this) on her website http://geocities.com/button_mush.
Thank you for reading.