I don't even know if this is posting properly anymore, but there doesn't
seem much to do but post it anyway and hope it works. Enjoy.
Chapter 11
On the surface, the new calm seemed perfectly natural; life was so much calmer now she'd finally decided to face up to it all. And contrary to expectation, it wasn't the calm of despair; as she got herself on a course of medication and (rather reluctantly) found herself a therapist, Daphne was paradoxically less and less aware of her illness. Or perhaps it wasn't her awareness that had lessened, but her attitude. Her therapist (a youngish black woman she'd picked for her energy and directness and complete lack of resemblance to Niles) was guiding her towards a healthier perspective on it, and she was beginning to realize that she might still have a good few years ahead of her, and the best thing - the only thing - she could do was to take advantage of that. That little sandpapery thought - I am dying, I am dying - took a break now and then. She was more peaceful.
But more melancholy. More subdued. She was quick to smile but not as quick to laugh; often happy but rarely exuberant. When compared to the bubbly woman of just a few months before, the woman who had run out with her boyfriend's credit cards to make a bunch of small frivolous household purchases to begin a new life - think back to that woman and the differences are clear. Things had changed and they weren't going to change back.
It was hard. Easier, now she'd given up the struggle to push it all away. The first rush of feeling had been sheer hell; the rebound, however, was less painful than the repression had been. But there were still so many moments of rage and pain and heartbreak - as much because of Niles' abandonment of her than because of the death sentence he'd handed her. Sometimes she wondered how different this would feel if he were at her side, if he were there to hold her through the long white nights and whisper in her ear. She ached for him, for the seeking pressure of his lips on hers, the warmth of his flesh against her own. It hadn't escaped her notice that in leaving her he'd more or less condemned her to a life of celibacy; there didn't seem to be any such thing as "safe sex" under these circumstances. She wanted to make love to him, feel that rush again, hear his desperate pleading cry at its climax. She wanted him, simply, powerfully, a longing that seemed bred of blood and bone - inescapable.
Of course she knew it was stupid and weak to want him the way she did, after what he'd done to her. He had clearly shown that he wasn't worthy of her love. But the love which had taken seven long years to flower had grown in strong, too strong for her to manage; there was no way to sever it now. She wrestled with it every night, clutching an empty duvet and burrowing into the pillows as if to hide from it all in there.
By day she could face up to it, most of it. The nights were the worst.
Her friends began to notice how wrung-out she was looking, the bags under her eyes and the pallor to her skin that were the product of her wretched sleepless nights; Mel, seemingly unaware of the grotesque implications, suggested a sleeping pill prescription, and Frasier actually wrote one, tucked it in her pocket against her protests. She told herself at first she didn't need it, told herself she was stronger than that, but as the days wore on and the nights wore longer she found herself craving sleep at any cost, and began taking them. They put her to sleep and spared her the sleepless hours; but, not having brought Niles back, they seemed rather beside the point. Most of Daphne's life seemed beside the point that way.
But she struggled through it alone. Not alone, really - she thanked God fervently and often for this newfound support system. She had a frightening understanding of what Mel must have been feeling the night she downed that bottle of Valium; she'd been alone, then, much more alone than Daphne was now. But then Kyra had come along, and now - even if it was only one person, one relationship - Daphne envied her that bitterly. She had all the support she needed to make it through the days, and now she had the pills to get her through the nights. But there was a hole in it all.
Did it all have to come back to that? she wondered angrily, many a time. Why is it that no matter where I start, no matter what I try to think about, it all ends with him? He's left me long since - how long will it be before he leaves me in peace?
He isn't coming back, she told herself, time and time again. He isn't coming back and that's all there is to it. I wanted children and I'll never have them and I just have to deal with that. I found my soulmate and I lost him and I just have to deal with that too. In time I'll resign myself. I'll have to. This can't go on forever. In time, it won't hurt anymore.
Time wore on. It still hurt.
It did hurt less, though, and the less it hurt the steelier her resolve became. There was a hardness at her core that hadn't been there before. What she'd gone through surely ranked among the worst of human betrayals; making peace with that had its cost.
She'd made it, though, and she could still smile. That seemed all the victory she needed right now.
And then he came back.
Chapter 11
On the surface, the new calm seemed perfectly natural; life was so much calmer now she'd finally decided to face up to it all. And contrary to expectation, it wasn't the calm of despair; as she got herself on a course of medication and (rather reluctantly) found herself a therapist, Daphne was paradoxically less and less aware of her illness. Or perhaps it wasn't her awareness that had lessened, but her attitude. Her therapist (a youngish black woman she'd picked for her energy and directness and complete lack of resemblance to Niles) was guiding her towards a healthier perspective on it, and she was beginning to realize that she might still have a good few years ahead of her, and the best thing - the only thing - she could do was to take advantage of that. That little sandpapery thought - I am dying, I am dying - took a break now and then. She was more peaceful.
But more melancholy. More subdued. She was quick to smile but not as quick to laugh; often happy but rarely exuberant. When compared to the bubbly woman of just a few months before, the woman who had run out with her boyfriend's credit cards to make a bunch of small frivolous household purchases to begin a new life - think back to that woman and the differences are clear. Things had changed and they weren't going to change back.
It was hard. Easier, now she'd given up the struggle to push it all away. The first rush of feeling had been sheer hell; the rebound, however, was less painful than the repression had been. But there were still so many moments of rage and pain and heartbreak - as much because of Niles' abandonment of her than because of the death sentence he'd handed her. Sometimes she wondered how different this would feel if he were at her side, if he were there to hold her through the long white nights and whisper in her ear. She ached for him, for the seeking pressure of his lips on hers, the warmth of his flesh against her own. It hadn't escaped her notice that in leaving her he'd more or less condemned her to a life of celibacy; there didn't seem to be any such thing as "safe sex" under these circumstances. She wanted to make love to him, feel that rush again, hear his desperate pleading cry at its climax. She wanted him, simply, powerfully, a longing that seemed bred of blood and bone - inescapable.
Of course she knew it was stupid and weak to want him the way she did, after what he'd done to her. He had clearly shown that he wasn't worthy of her love. But the love which had taken seven long years to flower had grown in strong, too strong for her to manage; there was no way to sever it now. She wrestled with it every night, clutching an empty duvet and burrowing into the pillows as if to hide from it all in there.
By day she could face up to it, most of it. The nights were the worst.
Her friends began to notice how wrung-out she was looking, the bags under her eyes and the pallor to her skin that were the product of her wretched sleepless nights; Mel, seemingly unaware of the grotesque implications, suggested a sleeping pill prescription, and Frasier actually wrote one, tucked it in her pocket against her protests. She told herself at first she didn't need it, told herself she was stronger than that, but as the days wore on and the nights wore longer she found herself craving sleep at any cost, and began taking them. They put her to sleep and spared her the sleepless hours; but, not having brought Niles back, they seemed rather beside the point. Most of Daphne's life seemed beside the point that way.
But she struggled through it alone. Not alone, really - she thanked God fervently and often for this newfound support system. She had a frightening understanding of what Mel must have been feeling the night she downed that bottle of Valium; she'd been alone, then, much more alone than Daphne was now. But then Kyra had come along, and now - even if it was only one person, one relationship - Daphne envied her that bitterly. She had all the support she needed to make it through the days, and now she had the pills to get her through the nights. But there was a hole in it all.
Did it all have to come back to that? she wondered angrily, many a time. Why is it that no matter where I start, no matter what I try to think about, it all ends with him? He's left me long since - how long will it be before he leaves me in peace?
He isn't coming back, she told herself, time and time again. He isn't coming back and that's all there is to it. I wanted children and I'll never have them and I just have to deal with that. I found my soulmate and I lost him and I just have to deal with that too. In time I'll resign myself. I'll have to. This can't go on forever. In time, it won't hurt anymore.
Time wore on. It still hurt.
It did hurt less, though, and the less it hurt the steelier her resolve became. There was a hardness at her core that hadn't been there before. What she'd gone through surely ranked among the worst of human betrayals; making peace with that had its cost.
She'd made it, though, and she could still smile. That seemed all the victory she needed right now.
And then he came back.