Disclaimer: I put my bid in, but I'm still waiting on the results.
- Chapter 7 -
What after all
Is a halo? It's only one more thing to keep clean.
--Christopher Fry, The Lady's Not For Burning--
Michael pulled his head back sharply, looking at his girlfriend's face in disbelief.
"Okay, first of all, what? Secondly, what? And third, WHAT?!"
Sarah stared back at him mutely, the enormity of her mistake just dawning on her. Something told her this was not going to go over well. It was just one of those things that guys seemed to have hard time dealing with, fragile egos and all.
"Michael—"
"Oh, so you remember now?"
"I don't know… what… I mean… I didn't mean… I'm sorry?" Wow, she knew alcohol destroyed brain cells, but she was certain she couldn't have destroyed so many in a single night.
Michael sat up on the couch, untangling his limbs from hers, and Sarah hastily reached up to pull her sweater back into place before she followed him.
"Um…" So, what are you supposed to say in a situation like this? "Look, Michael, I'm… that was so…" Her mouth opened and closed a few more times before she finally accepted the fact that there wasn't anything she could say to make amends for what she'd done.
The awkward silence was finally broken by Michael's bitter laugh. "Funny how this guy keeps coming between us when we get to this stage. And this time, he didn't even have to show up."
"Michael…"
"I think I should take you home, Sarah," he said quietly, staring down at his hands.
Sarah sighed. It seemed that she had a penchant for saying the perfectly wrong thing in every situation. "Alright."
The ride home was long and quiet, unbearably so. She supposed she would have felt better if Michael had gotten angry, said something spiteful that would cause her pain and ease her conscience. But he didn't. He just watched the road in silence, seemingly far too engrossed in the whole task of driving to comment on anything else.
When they pulled up in her driveway, she tried once again to engage him in some sort of conversation. "Michael—"
"Not now," he interrupted, but not harshly. "You just get some sleep, and we'll talk about his later when—you're feeling better."
Suddenly very sober and very tired, Sarah managed to make her way to her room without waking anyone up. It was late, but not too late, and her dad had apparently already headed off to bed in testimony of his faith in her. Or maybe his faith in Michael. Yes, that would certainly make more sense, because right now she felt anything but worthy of such confidence.
She rubbed her temples and emitted a groan as she felt the onset of the headache she would be babysitting tomorrow. Kicking off her shoes and hastily exchanging her skirt and sweater for her pajamas, she flopped facedown into the softness of her bed. Her voice muffled by the pillow beneath it, she muttered, "Damn you, Jareth." And then she was out.
Moments later, or so it seemed, Sarah felt herself being shook awake. "Sawah."
"Ludo?" she mumbled, confused. But the voice was much higher, younger, and the touch much too light for a body of that size. Sarah turned her head, opening bloodshot eyes to find herself looking into the baby blues of her younger brother.
"No. Toby."
"Toby? What is it?" she asked, sitting up in alarm. Her instinct told her that something must be wrong, or why else would her brother be waking her up in the middle of the night?
"Mum says you have to get up. She says you can't stay in bed all day."
"All day? What is she talking about, I just went to bed," Sarah exclaimed before she glanced around the room and found herself staring out the window at the bright blue sky. "Oh. What time is it?"
"Um, one… four… forty—three!" Toby announced proudly as he read off his sister's alarm clock.
"One-forty-three?" Sarah repeated, blinking in surprise.
"Uh-huh."
"Um," she rubbed her eyes again, "Did Michael call for me?"
"Nuh-uh."
Sarah sighed and lay back down on her bed. Even the alcohol she'd consumed and the hangover she was currently enduring weren't enough to suppress the memories of the prior night. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to quash the emotions and the nausea that rolled over her in alternating waves.
Suddenly, she felt a small hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and gazed into her Toby's solemn eyes. "How come you're so sad, Sarah?"
Startled, it took a moment for her to reply. "What makes you think I'm sad?"
Toby stared back at her, his nose scrunched up in that adorable manner that conveyed he was perplexed by the question. "'Cause you look sad," he finally replied.
Sarah stared at her brother and wondered what kind of answer she was supposed to give a four-year-old who would pose such a serious question. "I guess," she said slowly, "I'm sad because I said something to someone and now I feel really bad about it."
"Why don't you just say you're sorry?"
"Because, sometimes, it can be really hard to say you're sorry, or to make that person believe that you actually mean it."
Toby pondered this statement a moment, trying to present his sister with a solution that would put an end to her pain. "Yeah, I guess I know what you mean." Then he continued as an idea dawned in his mind, "Sometimes, when I'm sorry, instead of saying it, I do something. Like, with mommy, I give her flowers, or something. It always makes her like me again."
Sarah watched him thoughtfully, surprised by the maturity of his advice despite his few years. Then a solution began to form inside her head, and she graced Toby with a beatific smile. "Thanks, Tobe," she said, ruffling his blond hair. "You're a great brother, you know?"
Toby smiled back proudly. "Yeah, I know."
When Toby left her, Sarah dragged herself out of bed and into her bathroom. Taking one look into the mirror, she decided all plans of putting things right would have to wait until later. For now, she had to concentrate on the task of making herself look at least vaguely human again.
Her eyes were red and puffy with dark circles, her face pale and drawn—a testament to the monster headache she was currently experiencing—and her hair was matted in a strange manner from all the products she had applied to it the night before. But nothing a long shower, a few extra-strength Tylenol, and a lifelong abstinence from alcohol wouldn't fix.
Both her father and stepmother determined the cause of her haggard appearance immediately upon seeing her. However, neither commented upon it. Her father, she assumed, because it was her last week at home and she was an adult now, responsible for making her own decisions; Karen, on the other hand, because of the explicit request from her husband to cut Sarah some slack for their remaining time together. Of course, Karen did not see this as extending to housework, for despite Sarah's condition and her impending departure, she was required to complete all her usual chores.
By the time she had finished with everything, the Tylenol had long since done its job, and she was feeling much better. Physically, at least.
Michael hadn't called all day, not that she could blame him. After all, it was her grievous mistake responsible for their current circumstance, and she should be the one to make the first move.
But it was only later that evening, after a second refreshing shower, that Sarah decided to act upon the advice she had received from her brother earlier that day. Sitting on her bed in a t-shirt and shorts combo, she stared into her vanity mirror as she ran her fingers through her drying hair.
These things were easier said than done. But nevertheless, they had to be done.
Finally, gathering her resolve, she pulled herself together and called out in a voice steadier than she would have thought possible, "Jareth, I need you."
