Disclaimer: None of the ER characters belong to me. But, mine don't belong to them, so there.

Author's notes: So much for this being the last chapter, huh? I guess I just love pain. I have no clue when this story is going to be over. Let's say, oh, July of 2043. Mark your calendars.

"24 Steps: Part 17" by Carolina

"I don't really know what I'm doing here."

"That's ok."

"I just saw you downstairs and before I knew it..."

"It, it doesn't matter."

"I guess not."

"But I'm glad you're here."

"Thank you."

"You know I've always been here if you needed to talk, always."

"I know... I'm sorry it took me so long."

"You're here now."

"I'm here now."

"So what's on your mind?"

"... I just, uh, I don't know."

"Don't be nervous."

"Yeah... well I've never done this before."

"Never?"

"No... why?"

"Just wondering. How's work?"

"Eh, you know."

"Yeah."

"Actually, it's not work what's been bothering me lately."

"Your mother?"

"Huh?"

"How's your mother?"

"Oh, um, she's ok. Actually, she's getting married."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Does that bother you?"

"Uh, I don't, I really... maybe a little."

"Why?"

"... I, uh, I don't know. She's... Maggie."

"Right."

"Maggie doesn't get herself together, ever."

"Maybe it's time."

"Right, she's just gonna get married and live happily ever after."

"What does that mean?"

Abby let out a sigh and looked to the side, watching as an airplane flew close by. She followed it with her eyes, until all of a sudden, it was gone. The clouds engulfed it in a mantle of whiteness, eating it whole.

"Well, she's, sh-- she just... forget it."

DeRaad kept looking at her intensely, probing deep into her with his eyes. The pad resting on his lap held blank papers, and the pen on his hand simply kept tapping the side of his leg, over and over. He gave her a couple of seconds to continue, but she only continued to look out the window.

"Do you feel like maybe she didn't get herself together for you but she did for a man?"

Abby shook her head, but not in a replying manner. She looked down at her chipped nails and tried to hide them with her fingers. Mental note: get a manicure. Then she frowned, and looked past DeRaad. "That's kinda selfish."

"No it's not, it's a perfectly rational human emotion."

"I, I mean, I don't know. I guess it's fine, I don't really care," she sank lower in her seat.

"Ok," DeRaad said, still looking at her, but not pushing in any way. He wrote a couple of things on his pad quickly and looked up at her again. "But other than that, do you feel happy for her?"

Abby let out a sigh, as if the questions were an annoyance. She looked out the crystal window once more, but the sky was empty. "She says she's happy," she said, avoiding the question.

"Good, good for her."

"Yeah," Abby said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You said work wasn't bothering you so much. What is?" DeRaad asked, looking at the three single words written on his pad 'Distanced and Removed'. He awaited for her to prove his theory right, and to what degree.

"I told you I don't know," Abby said, almost irritated.

"When you saw me downstairs, what went through your mind?" he asked.

Abby kept avoiding eye contact, knowing this was a bad idea, not to mention the biggest embarrassment she had felt in a long time. When you saw me downstairs, what went through your mind?"

"Richard."

"Richard?" DeRaad asked, writing the name down.

"My ex husband," Abby mumbled, peeling layers of her nails away.

After writing that down, DeRaad looked up. "What made you think of him?"

Abby let out another sigh. At that rate she'd walk out of there breathless. "I don't know, he used to say I should talk to someone."

"A therapist?" he asked.

"Who else?"

DeRaad waited once more, but she didn't continue. "Was there a specific reason for him to feel that way?"

Abby shook her head, a sarcastic smile taking over her face. "I don't know, he thought I was miserable."

"Are you?"

She looked at him for the first time, but not for long. Her index finger had turned red, the nail almost completely gone. She pressed on it hard, and a small dot of blood appeared. She continued to play with it.

"Not particularly," Abby replied.

He shifted on his seat, indicating a change in the conversation. "I heard you were in rehab recently."

Abby didn't react. "Yeah."

"What happened?"

"I relapsed," Abby said with a chuckle, making it clearly evident.

"You had been sober for... 5 years?"

"Yeah."

"Anything happened?" he asked, trying to touch this topic only slightly on the surface, then go deep into it later.

"Not really," Abby said as she played with her ID card. "I guess you can call it a fluke."

"I don't believe in flukes," DeRaad said.

"Too bad," Abby said.

He ignored that. "When did this happen?"

Abby's math abilities were faulting her, and she just shrugged her shoulders. "Couple months ago."

"After your mother left?"

Abby smiled sourly. Everything just had to be about Maggie. Everyone always assumed her life was a mess because her mother happened to be sick. Maggie and Abby; Abby and Maggie. She left her house years ago because she wanted to stop that, cut those ties. But it was useless. Sometimes she wondered if people thought of her as more than the daughter of a Bipolar woman.

"Ok," DeRaad said when she didn't continue. "Are you going to meetings? Got a sponsor?"

"Check and check," Abby said.

"Is this part of the reason why you're here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, something like that can affect your life greatly. Job? Friends? Family?"

"I- I- I wouldn't say greatly," Abby said nervously, shaking her foot a little faster.

"How did it affect you?"

She pressed her lips together, knowing it would be like this. She wished there was a thrown over the couch she could use to cover her face. Maybe if he turned his chair around, she wouldn't have to see him, face to face. But she had to do this. She had once scheduled an appointment with him years ago, while she was still working in OB. But when the time came, she couldn't even get on the elevator. Things went downhill, and a little after that, she found out Richard had been cheating on her. He was right. She had always been miserable. She was sick of it, of waking up in the morning in a bad mood, and going to bed tired, exhausted, and void. It drove everyone out of her life, her family, her friends, and now Luka. She didn't want to die alone.

"You know," she started. "I guess... I thought I had it all together, and I was wrong."

DeRaad smiled. "Sometimes it's harder to accept we were wrong about something, especially when we're stubborn."

"Yeah," Abby smiled. "It's ok, though. Project."

"Personally, I find art much more appealing," he said.

"Yeah, but then you don't get to go through steps," she joked, feeling just a little better now that they had chuckled together. She cleared her throat, and looked discreetly at her watch.

"You wanna stop here?" DeRaad asked, detecting her discomfort.

"I just... sorry, I..." she stammered.

"It's ok, we did well," he said as he reached for his planner. "You wanna make another appointment?"

Abby looked away. Seeing a therapist, this is what her life had come to. She knew people who went to therapy often, they were always talking about their sessions, saying how great their doctors were, how much it had helped their lives... didn't seem like something she could do. Isn't seeing a therapist the same as saying, "I can't deal with my life. Here, you put it together." And what would people think when they found out? First a relapse, now therapy. She used to think she was a strong person. She just didn't know anymore.

"Yeah, um, next week?" she stroked the sides of her chair and stood up.

"Great, see you next week."

~*~

It was a very weird morning. Not weird as in the sun was still not out, or the garbage truck was outside making noises. Weird as in awkward, as in something felt different. Well, of course something was different. Luka and her were no more. In Luka's mind, they were taking a break. But how can a couple just take a break and not entirely break up? How was that possible? How were they to react around each other? Were they still allowed to kiss? Hold hands? Spend time together? Sometimes when an umpire calls time out, the players keep throwing balls at each other, practicing, warming up. The idea made her not only upset, but confused.

She hadn't talked to him since that night, because he had had two days off in a row. She hadn't called him and he hadn't called her. It was better that way. If they weren't a couple anymore, technically or not, it would be best to set some distance.

She had to admit that her stubbornness had somehow diminished with her relapse. She didn't know if it was the meetings, or the recovery per se, but she did feel a little more willing, less of a pain in the ass, as she had been called often. As much as she hated to admit it, Luka was right in some of his points. And even if he wasn't, well at least he wouldn't be around if things went downhill for her again.

Everyone at work was leaving her in peace as well. She didn't know if they gossiped or not, but hardly anyone asked her if she was ok, or if she needed to talk. It was nice to know that no one pretended to care around here. Maybe they didn't, that was even better.

"Hey, how's my favorite nurse?"

Abby looked back to see Dave walking into the room. Why did he always have that goofy smile on his face? He looked like one of those men who waited outside high schools with telescopes and a box of donuts, checking out the young girls.

"Favorite," Abby replied skeptically. "You mean nurse of the week, or?"

Dave smiled. "I have a heart, Abby."

Abby shook her head and put on her jacket.

"You look good," Dave said in a cheery note.

Abby looked at him, a surprised yet amused look on her face.

"Yeah, you look healthy," Dave continued, bopping his head, as if he was hearing a tune.

It was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. "Thank you, Dave."

Dave winked, grabbed his backpack from his locker and walked out of the lounge.

So did Abby, but in a different direction.

Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like if she did something else, painting, music, architecture. Every day she walked into the ER and every day the same people were standing in the same place, saying the same things, treating the same patients, over and over. It was hard to differentiate the Mondays from the Fridays, the Junes from the Augusts. It was a nice day, but she had to stay inside. It was another discovery about herself. Lately she somehow had been feeling the urge to be outside, under the sun. When she was little and she got sick, her father used to tell her that if she laid under the sun for a while, she'd feel better. She wondered if that worked only for flues and colds.

Mark was eating a donut as he read a chart, oblivious to everyone around him. How he was able to eat while seeing patients was beyond her. Sometimes he'd eat while a trauma came in, blood dripping everywhere, guts all over the place. It was fascinating. She had a pretty strong stomach, but she could never eat a lasagna as she stood over the opened body of a gunned man.

"Abby," he called as he looked up for a moment and saw her staring at him.

She shook her head quickly. "Yeah."

"Wanna help me with this headache?"

"Sure," Abby said as she pinned her ID card to the pocket of his jacket and followed him into an exam room, where there was a young man, reading from a physics book.

Too bad. Usually these were the bad cases. A woman who was 98 years old and had lived everything she had to live would come in with a headache, doctors would give her Tylenol and she would go home as if nothing had happened. A young boy who came in with a headache, fresh from his mother's womb, with a future ahead, usually had a brain aneurysm and died right in front of them. Life was like that sometimes.

She watched as Mark gave the kid the bad news. If she had a journal for patient's reactions, she'd find the same pattern. Confusion, denial, acceptance, and emotional destruction. Brian would have to stay overnight for observation, and would probably miss his finals, setting him back. She dropped his chart on the rack, and watched as Carter and Luka walked out of the lounge, in deep conversation. When they reached the admit desk, Carter said hello, and Luka gave her a smile. She returned both, and moved over the computer.

"Abby," Randi called out as she hung up the phone. "DeRaad wants you to call him back, something about seeing you earlier."

Abby grabbed the piece of paper with the message quickly and put it in her pocket. "Thanks."

"DeRaad?" Luka asked as he moved closer, as if they were sharing a secret.

Abby looked up with a clean cut face. "Maggie needs her chart for her new therapist."

"Oh," Luka said casually. "How've you been?"

"Good," she said quickly, starting to walk away with Luka in tow. "You?"

"I went to that flea market yesterday. Some of those things..." he made a face and continued about his adventures in the Mexican market.

It occurred to Abby that Luka seemed to understand the mechanisms of 'Taking a Break' fairly well. She was confused by the way he seemed to be making conversation so easily, as if they were friends. What was going through his mind? Was he as aware of their presence as she was? Because she was. And she was suddenly thinking it wasn't good. Surely taking a break was something she had never done before. Now that she was experiencing it, she didn't care much for it.

"We can go sometime if you want," he finished.

Abby stopped in front of the drug lockup, having heard nothing about his ramblings. "Luka..." She was sure she wanted to ask something, but she didn't know how to phrase it.

He just stood there, waiting for her to say something. She saw his confused face and she just shook her head. "Forget it."

"Is everything ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just..." she seemed to shrug and shudder at the same time.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked as he leaned against the wall, watching as she looked for something inside the cabinets.

That was probably the first time she had ever heard Luka say that. She knew the words were coming out of his mouth, but they were alien. Talking to Luka? No way. He'd think she was weak and she was sure some of the things she had done would disgust him. That was what Carter was for, right? Dump all the load on him, keep Luka on the safe zone.

She beat herself over the head. That kind of thinking ruined her marriage. She knew she had to talk to Luka sometime. She also knew she had to do her laundry and ask for a W-2 to pay her taxes. But none of those things seemed to be coming along.

"No, I'm fine. Some of us just don't get two days off in a row," she joked. A joke, good. Comedy can diffuse any situation easily.

He chuckled. "It was a fluke."

"A fluke?" Abby said, amused by his use of the word. That was something he got from her, and all of a sudden she realized that they were together for a year. In that year, Luka learned things from her. He used to squeeze the toothpaste in the middle, but now he did from the end. He used to eat breakfast religiously, but now he had begun to skip some of them. She was sure that if she paid attention, she could find some things that he had rubbed on her. It was scary. Scary was an understatement. It was frightening to know you have that power over another human being.

"So you talked to Maggie?" he continued.

"Uh, yeah," she lied.

"How is she?"

Abby nodded. "Good. Uh, she says hi."

He smiled broadly at that. Well, a little white lie never hurt anyone, and it made Luka happy to know Maggie acknowledged him. She would have to tell DeRaad to call her at home and not in the ER. It was all planned for. If she could keep the first couple of sessions secret, then by the time people found out, she wouldn't be in therapy anymore. She knew it would show up on her insurance coverage, but she could keep that confidential. She still didn't know if she would tell Luka. She was sure that Danjiela never had to see a therapist for anything.

"I have to take this to Dr. Greene," she said as she squeezed past him.

"Ok," he watched her as she went into one of the trauma rooms. It was clear to him that she looked better, relaxed. Maybe his decision to take a break was the best one. His only worry was that he didn't know how or when to call play ball.

~*~

"You know that for every cigarette you smoke you take 3 days from your life?" a man hissed at Abby as he walked pass her.

Abby gasped sarcastically. "Really? Thank you, sir. You just saved my life!"

The man gave her an angry look and disappeared from her sight.

What is it with people and minding in other's business? She didn't go around restaurants telling people to take it easy on the ribs. It made her so mad, but she shook her head and shrugged it away. While she kept taking days off her life, that man would probably walk out of his house the next day and be crushed by a falling piano. Life was like that sometimes.

She leaned against the wall as she saw Carter walking out of Doc Magoos with his girlfriend. Right, Carter had a girlfriend now. What was her name? Gina? She seemed nice, and Carter looked like he was on cloud nine as Gina said a joke and he laughed, echoing all around the ambulance bay. When he saw her, he immediately walked over.

"Hey," he chuckled. "Taking a break?"

"Kind of," Abby smiled.

"Oh," Carter jumped. "You met Georgia, right?"

Georgia! Right. Abby smiled politely. "No, I don't think we've met. I'm Abby."

"Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you," Georgia said.

"All nice things," Carter jumped in.

"I hope so," Abby said.

"Honey, I have to go back to work," Georgia said as she turned to Carter.

Honey?

"Ok, I'll stop by later," Carter replied, grabbed her face and gave her a kiss.

Abby looked away. Cute displays of affection should be banned from public places.

"Nice to meet you, Abby," Georgia waved.

"Likewise," Abby replied. Georgia walked away and she smiled at Carter. "She's nice."

"Isn't she?" Carter asked, watching as Georgia walked up the stairs of the El station. "I mean, I didn't think it would work out, but it's going great so far."

"Good for you," Abby said. "Did you tell her..."

"No, not yet," Carter said, changing his tone. Abby gave him a knowing face. "I'll tell her soon, ok?"

"Ok," Abby said. She knew she shouldn't preach, but it felt good to give advice, knowing well that you should follow it yourself.

"I mean, it's not like it's a big deal, it's not like I'm doing drugs now," he mumbled.

"Well, you can tell her on your honeymoon," Abby said.

Carter smiled, tapping on the wall with his fist. "So how've you been?"

Abby looked at him. "Just cut to the chase."

"Ok. I heard you and Luka are taking a break. Are you ok?"

Well, someone had to ask sooner or later.

"Yeah," Abby said and turned to him suddenly. "Ok, you have to tell me what this 'break' means."

"You don't know?" Carter asked.

"I thought I did, but I think Luka has another concept," she said. "It's like we never even dated."

Carter nodded. "Well technically it's both, it's breaking up but not really."

"Breaking up but not really," Abby repeated.

"Yeah, I guess you break up, but you don't see other people, and then someday you get back together," Carter explained.

"You got that from Friends, didn't you?" Abby teased.

Carter lowered his head. "Yeah."

Abby chuckled. "Thanks, Carter."

"Why don't you ask Luka?"

Abby flinched her face. "I think I'll just go along with it."

"If you didn't wanna take a break, why didn't you tell him?" Carter asked, playing with one of his pens.

"He was on a roll," Abby said. "I don't know. Maybe he's right."

"Yeah, couldn't hurt. It's not like he's going somewhere. Are you?"

Abby raised her eyebrows. "I wished."

~*~

"I don't think you ever stop wanting a drink, no matter how many years of sobriety you can muster," Abby said, this time playing with the keys of the drug lockup. "And beer is everywhere. I mean, if they could just ship us to an isolated island where there's no alcohol and we could live there forever. You know, like leper colonies. Drunken colonies, that would be great."

"Yeah, but lepers eventually come home when they heal," DeRaad said.

"You know what I mean."

DeRaad smiled. "You said you had been seeing someone for a while? Dr. Kovac?" He looked up from his notes. "Is that serious?"

Abby flinched and looked away, as if she was being forced to eat something she hated. "We're not seeing each other anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, it's..." she let her hand fall in the air. "He wanted to take a break, whatever that means."

Anspaugh scratched his brow. "It's normal for couples to take a break when one of them is recuperating from an addiction."

"Normal?"

"Well, not unheard of," he replied.

"I don't know," she continued, looking out the window and then to her lap again.

"You don't know or you don't wanna talk about it?"

Abby let out a sigh. "We were close, I guess. I mean, when you go out with someone for a year, I guess that may be serious. I don't know, he says he wants me to take some time for myself."

"That's a good idea," DeRaad said.

"I don't know."

"Would you say this is a better relationship than your last?"

Abby smiled. "We're not married."

"You don't have to be married to be in a relationship."

Duh.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Of course not." She shifted on her seat and her entire face changed completely, along with her demeanor. "Do you think that people fall out of love?"

DeRaad raised his eyebrows, surprised at the question, which seemed to come out of nowhere. "Why?"

"I asked first," Abby replied.

"Well," he began. "I think that it's harder to fall out of love than falling in love. But even if you do, a little bit of that always remains."

"But if people fall out of love, maybe they weren't in love to begin with," Abby continued.

"Not necessarily," DeRaad said. "Is there a reason why you're asking me this?"

Abby shook her head quickly, but despite her physical denial, she continued to confirm. "It's just... I don't understand why. I didn't think that our relationship meant anything to him."

"Dr. Kovac?" he asked.

"We've never... had time to focus on it," she continued, ignoring his question. "Why would he say that he loves me?"

"Maybe it's true?" DeRaad asked, resting his right elbow on the arm rest of his chair. She shook her head in disapproval. "You don't think it is?"

Abby rubbed her knee slowly, softly, almost melancholic. "Sometimes you tell people nice things to make them feel better."

"So you don't think his feelings are real?"

Abby didn't move, her left leg resting lazily across her right. There was a long silence, all the while her mind trying to think of an answer, something quick and smart, and safe.

She bit her lower lip, staring down at her dirty scrubs. "It just doesn't make sense," she said almost inaudibly.

He detected an ambiguous whimper in her tone, almost as if she was crying, but he couldn't see the features of her face. He knew he was getting to her, slowly, but surely. Maybe if she learned to trust him, he could unfold her and put her back together neatly. If only it was all up to him.

"Why doesn't it make sense? People fall in love every day, it's normal."

"Well, maybe we don't have the same definition of normal," Abby looked up, but not directly at him. Her weak voice was gone, and replaced by a strong tone and hints of sarcasm.

DeRaad drew in a big breath as he reached with his right hand into his book case and took out a dictionary.

"Oh, come on," Abby said sarcastically.

"Normal," DeRaad started as he cleared his throat and put on his reading glasses. "As defined by the Oxford Dictionary: conforming to a standard; regular; usual; typical." He closed the book with a loud thud. "So what's yours?"

She had never felt this overwhelming power to shoot someone before. Maybe that Jung sculpture was sharp enough to leave a nice laceration. But she decided to play his game. "Normal, as defined by the Abby Dictionary: something that never happens; irregular; unusual; atypical."

DeRaad chuckled. "We don't have to talk about this if you don't feel comfortable."

Abby shook her head. "Sorry, I just don't see what Luka has to do with any of this," she said, smiling, as if it was a smart joke.

"He's the man you've been seeing for a year, I think he's very much in relevance with your life, don't you think?"

"Well, not anymore," Abby spat.

"But his presence is still felt, right? You work with him, he said he loves you, he's concerned about your current situation," DeRaad said.

"He feels he has to," Abby said immediately, her body hunching forward just a centimeter, and then resting back.

"Why?" DeRaad asked.

"He..." Abby shook her head. "He has this compulsion for helping people, it's... he does that, that's what Luka does."

"Well, there's a difference between being a helpful person because it's in your nature, and helping someone simply because you care. Just like you cared about your mother."

She didn't say anything.

He decided to change the subject. "When you were with, uh," he searched his previous notes. "Richard. When you started seeing him, would you say you were in love with him?"

Abby shook her head again, her mouth partly open. "Isn't that why people get married?"

"Not always. Some people get married to get a visa, for money, or because it's safe," he said, hoping that last reason wouldn't make her angry.

She seemed gone all of a sudden, distant. He wondered if she was trying to remember something, or if she was purposely day dreaming so she couldn't hear him. She was quiet for a long time, and he decided it would be her choice when the conversation resumed. But it seemed as though he wasn't in the room, as if she was alone in her bedroom, talking to herself.

"The ice queen," she said all of a sudden.

DeRaad wrote that down, and looked up at her. "What does that mean?"

Abby curled her mouth in a downward smile, almost sad. "He liked to call me that. It was a joke we had. I called him Dr. Callousness, he called me ice queen."

He nodded. "Is there a truthfulness to that nickname?"

Abby kept looking away, as if she had to think hard to remember. She seemed confused and gone. It was the first time in her life she had ever felt this way.

"I tried to make it better. I knew it wouldn't work, but I did try. Maybe we just weren't meant to be, but I tried everything to love him, even if it was just as a friend. That doesn't work for me very often, even now. Is that weird?"

DeRaad kept quiet for a second, waiting for her to say something, answer her own question as she had been doing. He knew that in that second, she was being receptive. It was a gate that seldom opened in his patients, and he had to move in quickly before it closed.

"Sometimes," he said carefully, as if he was talking to a child. "When we don't feel worthy, we can't give or receive anything. To someone laboring under a feeling of low self-esteem, love is completely unrecognizable and therefore unattainable."

The gate closed. Abby let out a couple of sarcastic chuckles. "You think that's my problem, I have low self-esteem."

"It's common of alcoholics and drug addicts."

"I don't feel worthy?" she asked, almost in a mocking manner, laughing. Her head flicked to her side and a strand of hair covered her eyes. She removed it immediately.

"Do you?" DeRaad asked. His demeanor changed as he wrote something down, and he continued in a different manner, as if they were talking about the weather or sports. "Do you feel loved by someone? Your mother? Your brother? Your friends?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Abby asked, shaking her foot.

"You just told me a minute ago that it was impossible for your boyfriend..."

"Ex boyfriend."

"Ex boyfriend to love you," DeRaad said. "You feel like he said it only to make you feel better."

Abby wanted to say something, come up with the best rebuttal, but her mind was weakening, and inside she felt a fire burning, energy running madly through her veins, anger consuming her.

"If you think that I'm one of those people who had a rough childhood and never heard an 'I love you' from her parents, then you're wrong. I heard it plenty, from my dad, from Maggie..."

"But then your father left."

Abby rolled her eyes. In the back of her mind a buzz went off, and she realized she had the right to get up and walk out whenever she wanted. But something had her glued to her seat. The more she tried to keep quiet, the more she talked.

"And Maggie would get depressed. What happened when Maggie was in a bad mood?" DeRaad asked.

Abby smiled. "You know about Bipolar Disorder."

"Would she hit you?" he asked again, carefully, in a soothing and reassuring voice.

"It was the 60s," Abby said defensively.

"Any verbal abuse?" DeRaad asked.

Abby shook her head, looking to her side for a second. "It wasn't Maggie's fault."

"Whose fault was it?"

"She's sick," Abby said.

DeRaad made a pause, trying to choose his battles carefully. He knew that if he asked the wrong question, she'd leave and possibly never return. It was weird to make process like this so quickly, so he figured the first session left her with a willingness she had been resisting for a long time. It was good, he knew, but he wondered just how many layers he would have to peel, if she would go home tonight and in the outside world something would make her retrieve. But before he could ask his next question, he was surprised to hear Abby continue.

"Look, just because I took care of Maggie and my brother doesn't mean I was a good daughter. People always assume that because they feel pity. I wasn't. I did some pretty bad things, and I got what I deserved."

"What kind of bad things?" DeRaad asked, writing faster as Abby's walls began to crumble slowly.

"I wasn't a good daughter," Abby repeated.

"Give me an example of not being a good daughter."

Abby let out a sigh of frustration. "Maggie was sick, I had to take care of Eric and the house. I wasn't good at it. I put the whites in with the colors, I almost burned the house down when I tried to make an omelet. I was supposed to pay the rent and I forgot about it."

DeRaad looked up, his pen still resting on the paper, creating a dot of black ink which grew larger and larger every second. "Adults pay the rent, and cook, and iron. None of those things were your responsibility and if any of that went wrong, it's not your fault, you were just a child."

He saw her motionless, her mouth in a straight, thin line. She looked like a wall, and it was flabbergasting to him that so many thing were coming to the surface, and yet she wouldn't cry, or whimper, or seem sad. It was almost as if she was talking to him about someone else's life, someone she knew long ago. The bad thing about walls is that you can't get through to them. He knew she wouldn't believe any of what he said now. The box of Kleenex sat on a small table next to her, untouched. He knew that she'd need them soon, maybe in the next session or two.

"It's true that Maggie is sick, but she has always had the option to take her medication, make herself better." She didn't say anything, so he continued. "What happened when you forgot to pay the rent?"

Abby remained still, this time looking down at her hands. All those memories she had put on the back of her mind, she had been successful to ignore them, make them disappear. They didn't exist anymore, and when you don't remember something, then it probably never happened in the first place. But if you do remember, then it was all real.

But he didn't understand. Maggie was sick, it wasn't her fault. Yeah, Abby liked to blame Maggie for her screwed up life, but she knew that wasn't true. She knew it because she heard it every day when she was a kid. 'Your mother is sick, you have to cooperate.' 'Your mother is sick, why can't you be a better daughter?' 'Your mother is sick, and the things she does are not her fault.' So whose fault was it? When the rent doesn't get paid and it was your responsibility to do so, then it must be your fault, right? That's how life works. There's always a cause and an effect. You can't have an effect without a cause, and you can't have a cause unless someone sets it in motion. In this case, the cause was hers to set, and she didn't.

"If you forget something important it means that you're stupid," she let out in the middle of her thoughts. She didn't notice what she had said, because a distant voice had whispered it in her ear. It wasn't really a flashback, more like a sound flick in her mind.

"Your mother called you stupid?"

Abby looked at him, still fighting to prove her point, convince him of what she had been convinced long ago. "All I had to do was put the envelope on the mail box, that's not hard, even for a 2 year old. But I forgot and the rent was two weeks late, it cost my mother 200 dollars."

"And what did it cost you?"

~*~

Counting sheep is a load of crap. Eventually you get to a point where you have to think of the next number, and when you try too hard, you'll never get to sleep.

She had been tossing and turning all night, thinking just about everything. She had given up on the idea of trying to define 'taking a break'. Obviously Luka knew what he was doing, so she left that in his hands.

But she couldn't stop thinking about the things DeRaad said. It was as if she had been strapped to a chair and being slapped over and over again. But she was still too confused. Inside, her own convictions were fighting hard with the truth for dominance. They were winning so far.

She didn't like talking about her life for many reasons. For one, people always react the same way. Poor little Abby, grew up with a screwed up mother and now she can't even put her own life together. Second, everyone assumes you're an emotional wreck, ready to cry at the mere mention of the word Bambi. Third, people are judgmental. No matter how hard they try not to point fingers, they do anyway because it's basic human nature. Fourth, and worst of all, they leave. People like her are just not made up to be great friends, the life of the party, not even good girlfriends or boyfriends. Eventually, people drift away. She couldn't risk that now, when she was so vulnerable.

Luka said that he loved her. Was that real? Or was she imagining it? It just couldn't be true, at all. Luka was a good man, the kind who date a pure and white princess with her yellow locks and beautiful singing voice. They live in a big house, they have three children, and they live happily ever after. She wasn't like that. She couldn't even come close if she tried. What was so appealing about her anyway? What part of her could he possibly love? Her and Luka... it's like fitting pieces of different puzzles.

And Maggie. It all came down to that, always. She could run and run for the rest of her life and she could never escape that. Well, yeah, Maggie had the choice to take her medication. Well, sometimes she did. Sometimes she'd go months taking it. Sometimes she was normal, and it was ok. Maybe it just wasn't her anymore, but she was normal. She was unhappy, but normal. She was distant, but normal. Normal didn't seem like something Maggie was meant to be.

And it wasn't something Abby was meant to be either. Why couldn't she feel all those overwhelming emotions people talk about in movies and romance novels? She did try, very hard. Maybe she wasn't meant to love either, or be loved.

She tossed to her side one more time and picked up the phone. She knew she'd get a nice speech for the late call, but she didn't care.

"Hello?"

Sure enough, groggy and grumpy.

"Eric?"

"Abby?" he asked, still sleepy. "It's 2 am."

"I know," Abby said apologetically. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"You couldn't wait till the morning?"

"No," Abby said, playing with her sheets.

"Are you ok?" he asked. Usually a late call from Abby meant bad news. It was always either, "Maggie is in the hospital," or, "Abby's in trouble." He waited for the latest.

"Yeah, I just wanted to talk," she continued.

"Are you, drunk?" he asked carefully.

"No! But thanks for keeping your faith in me," Abby smiled.

"Well, Abby, you call me at 2 in the morning, what do you expect?" Eric said defensively.

"Hey," Abby deviated the subject. "Do you remember when we were kids?"

"Of course," Eric said.

"All of it?"

"Most of it. Why?" he asked, sounding more alert now, but equally annoyed.

"Do you think that..." she held her breath for a second, not knowing how to continue. "Do you think that Maggie was... I mean, do you think it was as bad as people think it is?"

Eric kept quiet for a moment. Where was this coming from? Abby never liked talking about their childhood, only the happy memories. Whenever he tried to talk to her about the bad ones, she'd change the subject or leave the room. He knew it had been easier for him, he had always been taken care of by Abby. Even when Maggie was gone, he had Abby there. She was his mother. But Abby didn't have anyone. Their aunt would come over every once in a blue moon. She would take care of Maggie, and then yell and complain because the house would be dirty. But still, when things went sour, when Maggie was out of control, when there was no food, no heat, and no power, he could tip toe into Abby's room and crawl into bed with her, and everything suddenly would be safe. Without Abby, he would probably be an emotional wreck. He had always tried to pay it back, but he didn't know how.

"What do you mean?" he finally asked.

"You know what I mean," Abby said, annoyed.

He let out a sigh. "It wasn't so bad for me, Abby, I had you and dad. Was it bad for you? Yeah, I think so. But, that's something only you can tell. Some things are hard for some people, but not hard for others."

Abby kept the phone to her ear, and curled her mouth in doubt. "I'm seeing a therapist."

"Really?" He sounded surprised, but pleased.

"Yeah, you win, I'm crazy," she said sarcastically.

"You're not crazy, Abby. But I'm glad you're getting help."

"Please don't call it help, I don't really need help. It's just a... consultation."

"Whatever you wanna call it, I'm glad you're doing it." He waited for her to continue, but she didn't. "Do you want me to go up there?"

"No," Abby said immediately.

"Are you sure? I think I should," Eric continued.

"I'm fine," she smiled. "But thank you."

Eric wasn't convinced, at all. What he feared the most was that Abby would relapse again. He went through that before, and it wasn't fun to see your sister, your role model, your surrogate mother struggling to keep alive. Richard didn't help either. Maggie made it worse. He tried his best to help, but his efforts were useless. It always made him feel guilty.

"Are you sure?" he asked once more.

"Yeah," Abby said. "How are things down there?"

"Ok. I saw mom yesterday, they set a date for the wedding."

"Oh, great," Abby rolled her eyes. "I suppose I'd have to go."

"Watch out, she was talking about making you maid of honor," he said.

Abby raised her eyebrows, letting out a sigh. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Night."

"Take care of yourself."

She hung up the phone, but remained in the same position. She wondered if her sponsor was awake. She really didn't want to talk about what DeRaad had said, but at the same time she felt an overwhelming feeling to escape. Her best escape was alcohol. She was pretty sure she wouldn't drink, but the urge is the worst part. The funny part was that she couldn't even remember when she started drinking. Maggie usually had drinks around the house, because that was always the only medication she'd take. She remembered tasting it as a child, and hating it. She remembered being convinced to try beer in high school, mostly just peer pressure. Somewhere down the line it became a habit, and then an addiction, and then deadly weapon.

She closed her eyes tight, and began to count sheep again, but all of a sudden the sheep were gone, and the field was replaced with her old house.

She was 8 and had just come from school to find Maggie in the kitchen, waiting for her. She looked upset, holding an envelope in her hands, and tapping her foot on the floor. She must have been in one of her episodes, so Abby tried to ignore her by going straight into her room. Maggie followed. She showed Abby the envelope, the rent she had forgotten to pay a couple of weeks before. Now Maggie would have to pay almost double the cost, and as usual, she didn't have the money to do so.

She rolled to her other side, but couldn't keep the memory away.

She had seen Maggie mad before, but not like this. She was throwing things, at Abby, at the walls, everywhere. Abby kept apologizing, over and over, but Maggie wouldn't hear any of it. "What is your problem, Abby? I ask you to do one thing for me, one thing, and you forget? How can you be so stupid?"

She had forgotten all about that day, but during the session it came back to her, flowing like a slow and small stream down a mountain. And it all just made it clearer and simple. She was right. How could Luka love a weak and stupid person? How could anyone? According to DeRaad, to her love was unrecognizable and therefore unattainable. People feel and believe. People see and believe. But when you can't see something, when you can't feel it... is it really there?

To be continued...