"You've got to believe its getting better, getting better all the time."
The song from the Phillips commericals. Real, or fake?
Hey, I heard that they're broadcasting this premiere at the same time all around the world. True or false? Also, I couldn't help it. I read the spoilers for the first four episodes. Don't worry! I won't hint anything.
--
He stood in front of the sink, looking down into the basin's pool of water. It was oddly clear. The temptation to reach into it and pull every ounce to his aching face was actively unable to ignore. He became aware of Abby's sleeping form in the room next door. He frowned and looked harder into the mirror.
He had just arrived from one of the longest shifts he'd ever experienced. Technically, it was only seven hours long. But he'd done too much thinking. Things were starting to scare him. And he didn't know why.
He'd been waiting too be with Abby for the longest time. Why the doubts now? Why did he feel this way?
He knew why. Or, he knew a reason. Was he falling in love with her? There was no such thing of love, as far as he was concerned. He was convinced to that manner, for a while at least. When he'd started going out with Abby, he didn't think that his theory could be so true. But, he felt trapped, confused now.
Was he falling in love with her?
The water finally crashed to his face, bringing him none of the relief promised. His face was pale, being so freshly cleaned. He squinted, squeezing his eyes together in hope to regain strength. When he opened them, he found the same figure with pursed lips in the mirror.
He turned away and heard Abby stir in her sleep. There was only the dim light of the bathroom, the water running down his face, and the pitiful reflection in the mirror now. And the sound of Abby breathing so peacefully next door. Was that a good thing?
Was he falling in love with her?
He shook his head. Was it an attempt to shake the thoughts from his mind? Did he want that to happen?
What was he supposed to do? If he was falling in love with her, wasn't this supposed to be a good thing? Why was he so frightened of love. Wasn't love supposed to be the most remarkable thing on earth?
When he held her hand, he wanted to take it as his forever. When she giggled at their sarcastic remarks, he wanted to sit and smile at her. Tell her she was beautiful until he died. It wasn't fair.
Was he falling in love with her?
This was too much to deal with. Why was he scared?
He'd never had a very good relationship, had he? There were so many reasons for this one to go wrong as well.
He'd been a drug addict. What if that whole issue were to come back? Get real, John, he told himself. That was a slim possibility. Sure, he wasn't going to let his guard down and become vulnerable, but would that ever really be the problem to tear him? No.
She was a drunk. No, she wasn't. She'd gotten past that as well. And calling her 'a drunk' was wrong. She was too beautiful, too caring to be called -
Stop, he said to himself. Stop acting like she's your life.
But was she?
Was he falling in love with her?
He shook his head, responding to no one in particular, no one at all. His hands were thrown to his face once again, in another pathetic attempt to fall to easier thoughts.
He'd never done well in relationships. He'd never done well at all with Abby. Sure, they really were a great couple. But, before all of that, he'd been at sometimes not such a great best friend for her. After all the flirtatious fun rubbed off of their relationship, and it turned serious, would he return to that guy?
If he so loved her, why would he ever want to hurt her like this? This wasn't right. He wanted to scream at the mirror, tell his reflection that he'd done everything wrong with her. He'd been with her too long; now he was in love with her.
But the man who stared back wasn't anyone. A replica with a transparent soul, because he was just a reflection. He didn't have any idea what was going through the real John Carter's idea. He was just a painting without color, an image without words.
He felt tempted to open the cabinet, just so there wouldn't be the bothering picture of a man glaring at him.
It didn't matter what he did, though, because the only picture in his head was of Abby. Every time she laughed, every time she smiled. He couldn't stop thinking about her lately. He hated it when she wasn't around. He knew it was love, but was that what he really wanted? Really, truly wanted?
For the longest time, he'd been without someone. Without someone he'd really liked. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved Abby.
Did he love her?
Was time off what he needed? No, he said, you don't 'take time off' from a relationship. He was an adult. That was the reason to go and tell Abby right now that he loved her. Tell her it right there and then.
That was the romantic approach. That was the way to do it. No matter how awful he felt about it inside, that was the way he had to do it.
He lifted a foot, beginning to the bedroom.
It wasn't the way to do it.
He shrank back into his shell, guiding himself back into confusing misery.
He heard her breathing still.
Maybe it *wasn't* love. It was in-between love and a fling. It was just a relationship.
If you're in a relationship, he thought, would you watch her sleep? Listen to her breathe?
He closed the door quietly and gathered himself again. He had to get out. He didn't know what to do with this. He really didn't know why he felt this way; like he had to run away. He'd never been like this, but he'd never felt like he did about a woman.
He opened the door again, and pulled the shirt he'd thrown to the floor back over his shoulders. He wanted to cry with the decision he was about to make. Was he walking out on her? Walking out on his life? Running away?
He found an envelope. It'd been torn open. A bill.
With a pen snatched from the kitchen table, he scribbled whatever came straight from his hand. His head was unclear, and he knew he couldn't speak from his heart, for it would call for a completely different message.
God, Abby, I'm sorry.
John
Was that really all he knew to say? He wanted to confess his love a thousand and one times for her. He wanted her to fall back in his arms and embrace each other for all of time...
He threw the pen to the floor in frustration.
He'd fallen in love with her.
With that, he turned on his heel and grabbed his key. Did this mean he would be returning?
Their was more silence. More silence to wreck his nerves. Eating at them, scratching at his mind. Telling him to move, and to stay. Pushing, and pulling. Screaming and crying for everything and nothing...
He gently laid the keys to rest on the counter and took one more look around. Before he left he had to see her.
But he found himself hurrying out the door before that could happen.
He loved her.
Sorry for all the questions. Out of habit, I began typing "Was he falling in love with her?" everywhere. Yeah, even where there wasn't a computer.
I know this probably isn't very Carter-like, which is why I added all of the questions he's asking himself. I guess we've never really seen Carter in love like he would be with Abby. So, bear with me. (As always.)
--
He woke up in his car. Looking around to the leather interior, he remembered driving far from his home. He'd driven somewhere along soybean fields. Falling back to the seats, he groaned. You don't run away from love, he knew. He didn't know what he was doing.
The road was completely deserted, empty. He swallowed hard, and every thought of last night came rushing back. Every guilty, selfish sense.
He crawled to a comfortable position in the front of the steering wheel. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go back to her.
Why was he acting like this?
He'd asked himself this too many times. He didn't want to do this anymore. He shoved the keys into the ignition and started off into the same direction he'd gone to.
The song from the Phillips commericals. Real, or fake?
Hey, I heard that they're broadcasting this premiere at the same time all around the world. True or false? Also, I couldn't help it. I read the spoilers for the first four episodes. Don't worry! I won't hint anything.
--
He stood in front of the sink, looking down into the basin's pool of water. It was oddly clear. The temptation to reach into it and pull every ounce to his aching face was actively unable to ignore. He became aware of Abby's sleeping form in the room next door. He frowned and looked harder into the mirror.
He had just arrived from one of the longest shifts he'd ever experienced. Technically, it was only seven hours long. But he'd done too much thinking. Things were starting to scare him. And he didn't know why.
He'd been waiting too be with Abby for the longest time. Why the doubts now? Why did he feel this way?
He knew why. Or, he knew a reason. Was he falling in love with her? There was no such thing of love, as far as he was concerned. He was convinced to that manner, for a while at least. When he'd started going out with Abby, he didn't think that his theory could be so true. But, he felt trapped, confused now.
Was he falling in love with her?
The water finally crashed to his face, bringing him none of the relief promised. His face was pale, being so freshly cleaned. He squinted, squeezing his eyes together in hope to regain strength. When he opened them, he found the same figure with pursed lips in the mirror.
He turned away and heard Abby stir in her sleep. There was only the dim light of the bathroom, the water running down his face, and the pitiful reflection in the mirror now. And the sound of Abby breathing so peacefully next door. Was that a good thing?
Was he falling in love with her?
He shook his head. Was it an attempt to shake the thoughts from his mind? Did he want that to happen?
What was he supposed to do? If he was falling in love with her, wasn't this supposed to be a good thing? Why was he so frightened of love. Wasn't love supposed to be the most remarkable thing on earth?
When he held her hand, he wanted to take it as his forever. When she giggled at their sarcastic remarks, he wanted to sit and smile at her. Tell her she was beautiful until he died. It wasn't fair.
Was he falling in love with her?
This was too much to deal with. Why was he scared?
He'd never had a very good relationship, had he? There were so many reasons for this one to go wrong as well.
He'd been a drug addict. What if that whole issue were to come back? Get real, John, he told himself. That was a slim possibility. Sure, he wasn't going to let his guard down and become vulnerable, but would that ever really be the problem to tear him? No.
She was a drunk. No, she wasn't. She'd gotten past that as well. And calling her 'a drunk' was wrong. She was too beautiful, too caring to be called -
Stop, he said to himself. Stop acting like she's your life.
But was she?
Was he falling in love with her?
He shook his head, responding to no one in particular, no one at all. His hands were thrown to his face once again, in another pathetic attempt to fall to easier thoughts.
He'd never done well in relationships. He'd never done well at all with Abby. Sure, they really were a great couple. But, before all of that, he'd been at sometimes not such a great best friend for her. After all the flirtatious fun rubbed off of their relationship, and it turned serious, would he return to that guy?
If he so loved her, why would he ever want to hurt her like this? This wasn't right. He wanted to scream at the mirror, tell his reflection that he'd done everything wrong with her. He'd been with her too long; now he was in love with her.
But the man who stared back wasn't anyone. A replica with a transparent soul, because he was just a reflection. He didn't have any idea what was going through the real John Carter's idea. He was just a painting without color, an image without words.
He felt tempted to open the cabinet, just so there wouldn't be the bothering picture of a man glaring at him.
It didn't matter what he did, though, because the only picture in his head was of Abby. Every time she laughed, every time she smiled. He couldn't stop thinking about her lately. He hated it when she wasn't around. He knew it was love, but was that what he really wanted? Really, truly wanted?
For the longest time, he'd been without someone. Without someone he'd really liked. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved Abby.
Did he love her?
Was time off what he needed? No, he said, you don't 'take time off' from a relationship. He was an adult. That was the reason to go and tell Abby right now that he loved her. Tell her it right there and then.
That was the romantic approach. That was the way to do it. No matter how awful he felt about it inside, that was the way he had to do it.
He lifted a foot, beginning to the bedroom.
It wasn't the way to do it.
He shrank back into his shell, guiding himself back into confusing misery.
He heard her breathing still.
Maybe it *wasn't* love. It was in-between love and a fling. It was just a relationship.
If you're in a relationship, he thought, would you watch her sleep? Listen to her breathe?
He closed the door quietly and gathered himself again. He had to get out. He didn't know what to do with this. He really didn't know why he felt this way; like he had to run away. He'd never been like this, but he'd never felt like he did about a woman.
He opened the door again, and pulled the shirt he'd thrown to the floor back over his shoulders. He wanted to cry with the decision he was about to make. Was he walking out on her? Walking out on his life? Running away?
He found an envelope. It'd been torn open. A bill.
With a pen snatched from the kitchen table, he scribbled whatever came straight from his hand. His head was unclear, and he knew he couldn't speak from his heart, for it would call for a completely different message.
God, Abby, I'm sorry.
John
Was that really all he knew to say? He wanted to confess his love a thousand and one times for her. He wanted her to fall back in his arms and embrace each other for all of time...
He threw the pen to the floor in frustration.
He'd fallen in love with her.
With that, he turned on his heel and grabbed his key. Did this mean he would be returning?
Their was more silence. More silence to wreck his nerves. Eating at them, scratching at his mind. Telling him to move, and to stay. Pushing, and pulling. Screaming and crying for everything and nothing...
He gently laid the keys to rest on the counter and took one more look around. Before he left he had to see her.
But he found himself hurrying out the door before that could happen.
He loved her.
Sorry for all the questions. Out of habit, I began typing "Was he falling in love with her?" everywhere. Yeah, even where there wasn't a computer.
I know this probably isn't very Carter-like, which is why I added all of the questions he's asking himself. I guess we've never really seen Carter in love like he would be with Abby. So, bear with me. (As always.)
--
He woke up in his car. Looking around to the leather interior, he remembered driving far from his home. He'd driven somewhere along soybean fields. Falling back to the seats, he groaned. You don't run away from love, he knew. He didn't know what he was doing.
The road was completely deserted, empty. He swallowed hard, and every thought of last night came rushing back. Every guilty, selfish sense.
He crawled to a comfortable position in the front of the steering wheel. He couldn't do this. He couldn't go back to her.
Why was he acting like this?
He'd asked himself this too many times. He didn't want to do this anymore. He shoved the keys into the ignition and started off into the same direction he'd gone to.