Shattered Paradise
Chapter 2: Another Day
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! Fanatic482 – I didn't really say exactly what grade Syd taught, but the books I mentioned were ones that I read in American Lit. and AP English, so I guess that's 11th and 12th grade (at least it was in my school). It probably doesn't really matter, though. :) Thanks again!
Sydney's eyes slowly fluttered open. The shades were still drawn and the room was still dark, but the sunlight was peeking through whatever tiny spaces it could find, adding the sunny glow of morning to the room.
The pain, the sickness; both were gone, trailing on the winds of yesterday. She brought a hand to her forehead to see if it was really true. It was; yesterday was over and another day had begun.
She sighed happily. Michael's strong arms were around her, holding her, keeping her from harm. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she took a deep breath, taking in his scent, his essence. She felt his arms tighten around her as he gently kissed the top of her head.
"Morning, gorgeous."
How had she gotten so lucky? She was so madly in love with this man; there weren't any words to describe it.
"Feeling better?"
"Mmmm," she nodded and hugged him tightly. "Much better."
She turned her face up to him and felt his lips on her forehead. He held them there for a moment before planting a light kiss where they had been.
"You feel much cooler. The fever's gone."
She pulled away from him so she could see his face, look into his eyes. He looked tired, but she could tell that he had been awake for awhile. His eyes were wide open and smiling, while she was still rubbing the sleep from hers.
"What time is it?"
She felt like she had been asleep for days. It had been wonderful.
"After nine o'clock."
Wow. She never slept that late. Ever. Michael never usually slept that late either. He usually got up after her, but only by a little while. They liked to spend their mornings together. He would usually get out of bed after she had taken a shower; unless, that is, he decided to join her…
"Why didn't you get up?"
He smiled and looked down at his shirt. It was only then that she noticed her hand was clutching the soft material. It had just felt so natural, so right.
"You didn't give me much of a choice," he said with a laugh.
She took her hand away, and the cloth where it had been was covered with wrinkles. She had been holding him tightly all night.
"I'm sorry, Mike. You could have moved me…"
"Nah, I didn't want to wake you."
Her eyes moved slowly down his body, taking him in. She loved this; being able to stay in bed with him, look at him whenever she wanted. They had been married a year and she was still getting used to it. As she looked at him, she noticed his clothing. Dark pants and a blue button down shirt, a big difference from the boxers he usually wore to bed. He was still in his work clothes.
"When did you get home?"
"I came home for lunch."
"But you didn't get to eat it, did you?…Or dinner…"
He smiled and ran a finger down the side of her face. His eyes suddenly became serious. "You scared the hell out of me yesterday, Sydney."
"I…I'm…"
"Don't." He interrupted her.
That's always how it went. Don't say you're sorry, Sydney. Don't…It's not your fault; it's his. It's that bastard's. That's how Michael always referred to him. They never said his name. Never. In the Vaughn house, that was the worst word that anyone could possibly utter. It wasn't allowed. It was forbidden, because everything, every trouble, every moment of pain, all of it was his fault. His, that bastard. Don't say you're sorry, Syd. Don't ever say you're sorry…
"Well, that was yesterday," she said with a smile. "Now it's today, and today I'm feeling much better."
"I'm glad. And I'm sure you'll feel even better after you go to the doctor."
"Michael…" She didn't want to go the doctor. She hated it. They always asked her the same questions and she fed them the same lies in return. They treated her like she was three years old.
"No, Syd. We discussed this yesterday…sort of…"
She couldn't remember much of that discussion, or much of anything from yesterday, but she could imagine that anything they would have "discussed" would have been pretty one sided. That wasn't fair. Yesterday she would have given in to anything…
"That was the worst I've ever seen you," he continued.
"Michael, I've had headaches before."
"Not like that, you haven't…You could barely talk; you were sick, you were burning up…You fell asleep, Syd, and when I moved, you woke up and grabbed at me, begged me not to leave. You called me Vaughn…"
"I call you Vaughn sometimes."
When he would do something to frustrate her, or she was angry or scared, she would revert to her old ways. She wouldn't think and would call him by his last name as she had been so used to doing before.
"This was different, Syd. It was like we were back there, in the hospital after…after it happened. I don't want to end up like that again…I'm not taking any chances. You're going."
Sydney sighed. He wasn't going to give in; this seemed to mean so much to him.
"Fine. When's my appointment?"
"Quarter to eleven. Do you want me to go with you?"
Part of her did want him to come. It would be nice to have him for company, but…
"No. You should stay here and get ready for the party."
He swallowed and his eyes grew wide, only just noticeably. He was trying to hide it, but he looked almost scared. "What's there to get ready?" he asked slowly.
Sydney grinned. God forbid she actually ask her husband to clean the house. Michael would do it if she asked him to. Nothing would end up where it was supposed to be, but he would do it…
"Nothing really, but you should still stay here in case people come early or my appointment runs late." She glanced at the clock and sighed. She didn't want to get out of bed. "I've got to get ready, and you have to be hungry. I'll make you breakfast before I go. We have eggs and pancakes, I think; what do you want?"
"I don't want eggs or pancakes."
Sydney raised an eyebrow. Michael Vaughn not wanting eggs or pancakes? Will wonders ever cease?
"Aren't you hungry?"
Of course he was; he had to be. The poor man hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before.
"Yes, but not for breakfast."
Really? This was getting interesting…
"Do you want lunch to make up for what you missed yesterday? I'll make you a sandwich…"
Before she could finish, he pulled her closer, rolling quickly so that she was underneath him. His emerald eyes were clouded with desire.
"Michael?" she asked playfully, pretending not to notice the intensity in his gaze. "What do you want?"
"You. I want you."
She laughed. "We don't have…Mmmm…"
His lips had found hers. He tasted like sugar and honey; it was a lost cause.
"Sure we do."
Her hands were running up and down his back, pulling him closer. She had more than given in.
"But I'll be late…"
"Shut up," he murmured, cutting her off.
And she did. His lips on hers helped, of course.
She was late. She had known that she would be, but she didn't care. Being with Michael was definitely better than sitting in the stuffy waiting room. It was better than anything else in the world.
It was 10:59 when she finally arrived in the doctor's office. As she was signing in, the secretary pointed to a sign in front of her, which read, "If you are more than 15 minutes late for your appointment, we will have to reschedule you for another day."
"But I'm only fourteen minutes late," Sydney said in as innocent a voice as she could find.
The secretary sighed impatiently. "Have a seat, Mrs. Vaughn."
Sydney sat on the couch and busied herself with a well-worn copy of The Readers' Digest. She had looked at all the pictures and actually read three of the articles by the time the nurse called her name. It was quarter to twelve.
The nurse took her blood and asked her a few questions before leaving.
"The doctor will be with you shortly," she said before closing the door.
"Shortly" turned out to mean fifteen minutes; well, seventeen and a half if you wanted to be exact, but who was counting? By that time, Sydney had done a mental checklist of all the things she and Michael needed for their picnic, and had memorized the pattern in the wallpaper.
The doctor asked her a string of questions. "Exactly what happened yesterday?…How many times has this happened in the past year?…How long ago was your accident?…Can you describe…?…When was the date of…?…What did you…?…How was…?…"
And Sydney gave him her answers, some in truth, some lies: "When I was at school…eight maybe…one year and four months…Michael and I were vacationing…December…coffee…excruciating…"
She had considered just telling him the truth, but didn't think that, "I was on a secret mission as a double agent for the CIA," would fly very well with the doctor, and she didn't have time for a psych evaluation.
The truth and lies mixed too well, anyway. Sydney herself could hardly tell which was which anymore. She wished that the story they had made up for the outside world was the truth. It would be so much easier that way, so much less painful. But it wasn't, and it didn't really matter. She didn't care anymore.
The doctor's questions seemed endless and prying. She couldn't understand what some of them could possibly have to do with her illness or injury, and wondered if this was information the doctor really needed to assess her or if it was just stuff he was curious about.
Finally, the doctor left her, promising to be back soon with her lab results. Sydney almost laughed in his face. "Soon" seemed to have a different meaning in medical terminology; it was if you were still alive when they came back.
Eleven minutes later, Sydney was getting very impatient. It was 12:59 and her picnic guests would be arriving any minute, were probably there already as a matter of fact, and were probably sending poor Michael into cardiac arrest.
She picked up her purse and walked to the door. It was pointless for her to wait any longer. The doctor was just going to come back and tell her that the headaches were something she was going to have to live with, and would find some fancy way to say that he didn't really know why they had suddenly started to occur so often or become so intense…
Her hand was on the door, when it suddenly swung open, almost hitting her in the face. It was the doctor. He had decided to come back after all.
"Sydney, we have figured out why your headaches are worsening." He said in a monotone, as he stepped in the room and closed the door behind him.
He flipped through her chart and offered her a forced smile. "Why don't you have a seat…"