I'm almost afraid to say that this is my first Carby fic just in case I put
people off reading it ;-) I'm Megan, I'm 18 and I live in the UK. I love
reading Carby fanfiction and I've been wanting to have a go at writing my
own for a while now. I'd really like to know what you think of it :-)
This is a stand-alone fic. No spoilers for Season 9.
Disclaimer - I don't own Carter or Abby, or any of the previous events from ER described here.
*****
Addiction's a funny thing. Totally dependant on something that has the ability to make or break you. Wanting it, and more importantly, needing it, more and more with every second it's in your presence. Someone asked me once whether I thought that you ever got over addictions - I don't think you do. You may move on from it - but it will always be there somewhere. But one mistake with the word "addiction" is that it's automatically taken in a negative way - as if it's something wrong. Most of the time that's true. Hell, I should know. But my current addiction isn't like that. It's the most intense, emotional, magical thing I've ever experienced - and I wouldn't change any of it for the world.
As I watch him brush his teeth before joining me in our bed, I can't help but smile. He rushes around the bathroom in his boxers trying to do a million and one things at once - letting the plug out of the bath, putting the shampoo away, and picking towels up off the floor just to name a few. Not that he's sorry about the reason why they were left there - what can I say, some couples don't leave the "can't keep my hands off you phase" - and I'm in no hurry to leave it anyway.
He flicks off the bathroom light, and stops in the doorway, looking intently at me.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
I smile.
"I seem to remember someone saying that to me not so long ago, yeah."
Now it's his turn to smile, as he walks slowly over to the bed and gets into his side.
"Hey, you warmed it up for me."
"As always."
That saying - the little things mean the most - couldn't be more true when it comes to us. When I think about the past of our relationship, I remember the looks, the smiles, the touches. The way that his hair sticks up after he's had a shower, the way that his kisses on my neck send electric currents through my entire body - and that look in his eyes when he tells me he loves me. THE look - the one I live for, the one I couldn't live without.
He shuffles over, taking me in his arms slowly so that he's snuggled into my back. I reach my arm over to his face, stroking his cheek softly with my hand. It's times like this that I cherish - just him and me, living for the moment. It's hard to believe that it's almost been a whole year since this started. A whole year of intimacy, conversations and falling in love. I don't think that you fall in love with someone and then that's it - I think you keep falling, deeper and deeper, reaching levels of belonging and attachment that you never even knew existed.
"What are you thinking about?"
I can feel him smiling into the back of my neck. I turn around so I'm facing him, looking deep into his eyes.
"Were you scared?" I ask.
"When?"
"When we first got told that we had to stay in that petrie dish for two weeks."
He laughs as he remembers my term for the quarantine room, his face gradually fading to seriousness.
"Yeah, I was. Although not because of the disease. There was nothing I could do to stop that."
He hesitates. I know why he was scared. He knows I know - but he carries on anyway.
"I was scared for us. I was scared you were going to walk away from me."
I interrupt him, giggling slightly.
"Carter, I couldn't walk away from you, we were quarantined."
He digs his elbow into me playfully.
"You know what I mean."
I sigh. I do know. I was scared too. It's a pretty special occurrence when one thing that you've been building up to for 2 years actually happens.
We waited so long. 2 years of longing, yearning, dancing around the subject. I begin to giggle again as I think of our trip to Oklahoma.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Our drive."
".in Oklahoma?"
How he does that I'll never know. I'm sure I'm not that easy to read.
"You told me that Rena broke up with you because she thought you had a crush on me."
"Yeah. And you didn't ask if it was true."
He smiles as he says this.
I don't know why I didn't ask - maybe I didn't want to complicate what was already an eventful day to say the least. Or maybe I was too scared to risk something with the person who was beginning to become my best friend.
"You tired?"
I look over to him again.
"No, surprisingly, given what happened about an hour ago."
This time it's him who chuckles, re-living the memory of this evening. He shuffles over so that he's lying on his stomach, head still facing me. He's never said anything, but I know that's his favourite sleeping position. Three years on, but his back still plays up sometimes.
I reach over under the sheets and start circling my fingers over the top of his back - something I've become to love doing. I've never been with anyone before where you can lie in bed with them and still not be close enough - I crave physical contact, and only when I get that do I feel within satisfactory proximity. I see the faintest of smiles cross his lips as he closes his eyes slowly.
I move my hand down slowly, to an area that I know so well. I remember how reluctant he was at first to let me see them - which is maybe why I pay so much attention to them now. I run my fingers along each of them, and his closed eyes flinch slightly as I do so.
"I remember, you know."
Only now do his eyes open completely. He doesn't speak - he just waits for me to carry on. One of the underlying traits of our relationship.
"I remember the conversation I had with you on the roof before. Telling you how different it was to experience an old person dying - you told me I'd never get used to it. You were right, I haven't."
He's still staring at me attentively, his big brown eyes willing me to continue. In all the months of us being together, I've never told him this. I've listened to his side of the story, I've held him when things reminded him of that fateful Valentine's day, but never before have I told him of things through my eyes.
"I remember them carrying you on the backboard to the trauma room. I remember Benton running in and immediately taking control of the situation. I remember."
I falter slightly, unsure of whether to go on. But his eyes are still staring, and he's still waiting for me to carry on.
".I remember finding the knife."
Again, he doesn't utter a word. He doesn't need to - I can see it all in his eyes. I reach out with my other hand and grasp his own hand, taking it slowly to my mouth and kissing it lightly. I'm not telling him this to hurt him, I'm not telling him this because I want to. I'm telling him this so he knows the full story. Because believe me, I know, this only time you can ever lay something to rest is when you know the full story behind it.
"I got sent out of the trauma room to get an infuser kit, and I couldn't find it. I asked Connie where it was and she said to look on the top shelf, so I did."
I look to his eyes again. They've misted over. I hold onto his hand tighter, kissing it again, all the while still tracing my finger around his lower back.
"And all of a sudden if fell in front of me. I must have screamed because a police officer came running towards me. I ran to get some tubing - I couldn't look at it for any longer."
I stop. I don't need to say anymore about this subject - not tonight. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, he moves. He lets go of my hand, and for a moment I panic. Have I said too much?
But he places it around my waist and pulls me over, closer to him. I guess I'm not the only one who's a sucker for proximity. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's a while before anything comes out.
"I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Hey, I think out of both of us, I got the better deal that day."
"True."
It's his turn to sigh. I face him again, kissing him on the lips before turning my back against him so his arm reaches all the way around me. Now he takes his own chance to trace patterns - only he does it on my stomach, by my bellybutton. I once read in some magazine that men like doing this on a woman's stomach because subconsciously they're claiming their territory. Well this man needn't worry. He's got me.
"She was good you know. Better than I ever gave her credit for anyway."
"Lucy?"
For some reason he doesn't answer this. But I know that's who he meant. I think back to the days when I was a medical student - seems like decades ago.
"It's OK, I don't remember my assessors giving me much credit as a med student either. And the stories I've heard about Benton and you in your student days."
Again, I feel him smile into the back of my neck. I'm glad that he's able to do that - smile about something that at one point nearly shattered him. Even if it is in a bittersweet way. I feel his face relax from his smile.
"I knew she'd gone. Benton didn't even have to tell me - I knew. I told her mother later that week that it didn't hurt to have a knife rammed into your back.I thought that was the wrong thing to say at the time. But I'm glad I said it - it sounds dishonest, but I'm glad I lied. I think it helped her to deal with things."
I don't say anything to this. I don't need to. Sometimes all you can do is listen - and it's enough for him right now.
He opens his mouth to speak and again, nothing comes out immediately. I guess I'd have to have tact as a quality in my partner - because it's certainly not something that I possess.
"Do you ever think about going back to medical school?"
My response is immediate.
"Yes."
I pause for a moment, then carry on.
"I think about it, but I don't think I'd do it. I'm content in the job that I do - I get to do the one thing I've wanted to do for my entire life, which is care for people. Doctors don't gain nearly as much attachment to their patients as nurses do. I'm happy."
He nuzzles into the back of my hair with his nose, and I reach up with my left hand to stroke his cheek.
"The only thing I don't like is the reasoning behind not carrying on with my tuition."
"The ever amicable Richard," he says, laughing.
I turn my head around to face him giving him a playful frown, and then resume my original position snuggling deeper into his arms. His laughter subsides, and I can feel him tense up slightly.
"You know, you never did tell me what happened between you both."
"We got divorced."
He rolls his eyes. My mannerisms are catching, I see.
"Yes I know that. But you never told me what exactly happened."
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah. I want to know."
All I could think about was the fact that this subject was about the only one that hadn't been covered by us in a year. Everything else had been learnt - past loves, past mistakes, regrets, and not forgetting the tales of good times. I took a deep breath. I could always back out of it should I not want to tell the entire story. But that was just it. I do want to tell the entire story. I want to be nothing but honest to him - in no way am I going to do anything to jeopardize the best thing that's ever happened to me. Because God knows, I've almost lost him in the past. But he always pulls us through, pushing me just that little bit further, and by doing that making us even closer.
"We just stopped talking. Stopped communicating - I can't remember when exactly. To be honest, I can't remember things even being that good to begin with."
I stop at this, reminiscing. He senses my unease, because he's still tracing circles on my stomach and he slowly takes my hand with his other hand, resting them at the top of my thigh. He nuzzles in my hair again, sending shivers down my spine. I continue.
"We weren't meant for each other, plain and simple. I don't know whether we got married too young - I always thought that age is disregarded when it comes to love. And I did love him. I really did. But I don't think it was the right kind of love - not the kind that makes you want to be with someone for the rest of your life, not the kind that makes you anticipate each moment with someone. Not the kind that makes you smile even at the mention of their name. I don't think that there was one point or event that was the downfall of us."
And that's when I realize. Yes there was one event that made us grow more apart than ever.
I was wrong. I shouldn't have told him this - I'm in too deep.
I let go of his hands, and climb out of bed. Without a word, I put on a dressing gown over my old shirt, and walk out of the bedroom. I don't know what his expression is - I don't turn around to see. Maybe it doesn't say anything - or maybe it says too much, something I don't want to be faced with.
I move slowly towards the kitchen, and flick the switch of the kettle on. I fill one mug with some instant coffee granules, and then falter. Should I fill another cup as well? Will he follow me this time? Or have I pushed too far?
Everything I keep saying about jeopardizing this wonderful thing we have, and I keep walking away.
Suddenly I hear a chair scrape across the floor from behind me.
He followed me. Again. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve him. I reach for another mug and my concentration lapses, sending the object in my hand crashing to the floor.
And still, he doesn't flinch. He just waits, patiently.
I reach out for the kitchen worktop to steady myself, still facing away from him.
"I had an abortion."
The silence in the room deafens me. 'Say something', I plead with him wordlessly.
He doesn't say anything, but he rises from the chair, walks towards me and wraps his arms around me. And it's like something within me splits. Completely fractures. I break down in his arms.
He turns me around, and envelopes me in his comfort. Holding me. Embracing me. Loving me.
When I finally calm down, he leads me to the couch, and pulls me down to sit on his lap, never taking his arms from around me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
I stare at my hands that are entwined with his.
"I know you didn't. If I'm honest, I've been wanting to tell you for a while now. I just didn't know how. It's not the kind of thing I can just manage to say out of the blue."
I pause yet again, still fixated on our hands.
"I wasn't ready to be a mother. I didn't feel able to take care of another person. I think that secretly I knew that our marriage wouldn't last, I just wasn't ready to admit it to myself. I never.I never even told him I was pregnant."
I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't look at him. I think he senses that, because he tightens his arms around me. I feel protected, I feel safe. I know that I want to carry on, and I know that the inevitable question will be asked sooner or later. But it seems tonight holds no bars, so I continue.
"Maggie's illness made me grow up faster than I should have done. I had to take care of my brother, I had to take care of her. And the thought of having to take care of someone who behaved in a similar way to her.I just couldn't do it."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I couldn't bring myself to take care of a baby that could be bi-polar. I wasn't ready then. I didn't have stability in my life. There were too many reasons why having a child would have been the wrong decision. But it still doesn't mean that the decision that I made was in any way an easy one to make."
Tranquillity rules for a few seconds, as we both contemplate what I've just said. He moves one of his hands from mine and strokes my cheek.
"Abby, look at me."
My gaze gradually meets his, and we stare into each other's eyes.
"Do you still feel like that now? Do you want kids in the future?"
And there it is - the question.
"I don't know. Maggie said to me once that you have to take risks in life otherwise you're going to miss out on all the good things - and whatever my kids grow up to be, I'd love them all the same."
His eyes are still fixed upon me, a mixture of concern, sadness and hope. I finish off what I want to say.
"I'd like to think that sometime in the future I'd be a Mother. I am working on it - I promise you that. But please don't push me Carter. Not with this."
He leans into my forehead and touches it with his own, giving me a kiss on my nose as he does so. He speaks softly with a hushed tone.
"Ok. I won't."
We stay like that for a few minutes, heads bowed, his hand on my cheek, just contemplating what's been said.
"Thank you."
I flick my eyes upwards to look at him questioningly.
"For what?"
"For telling me and trusting me."
I look down again, not entirely happy with the last part of that sentence.
"Do you ever doubt that I do trust you?"
He exhales noisily. I immediately start to worry.
"Sometimes. I don't know - I just wonder occasionally why you don't tell me what's going on."
Silence.
"All you have to do is give me time. I swear to you that I'll always tell you what's going on, eventually. I just.sometimes I need to figure things out in my own head before I can let someone else in. Maybe someday I'll learn to let other people help me sort things out and tell them sooner. But you're my base - no matter what happens in my life I'll always return to you, and I'll always tell you what's going on. I trust you with my life."
And with that, I wrap my arms around him. Never wanting to let go - never wanting this to end. We stay like that for what seems like hours, just listening to each other's heartbeats.
Without saying a word, he shifts his position, I stand up, help him to his feet and guide him back to our bed. We both shuffle under the sheets, anxious for physical contact again. When we find each other, our bodies become entangled as one. I fall asleep with my head on his chest, my head rising and falling with his breaths.
In an entire year, I can count the nights when I've fallen asleep alone on one hand - and even then I slept in his clothes.
Addicted?
Completely.
But this is one habit I'm never going to break.
*****
Please review, and thanks for reading :-)
This is a stand-alone fic. No spoilers for Season 9.
Disclaimer - I don't own Carter or Abby, or any of the previous events from ER described here.
*****
Addiction's a funny thing. Totally dependant on something that has the ability to make or break you. Wanting it, and more importantly, needing it, more and more with every second it's in your presence. Someone asked me once whether I thought that you ever got over addictions - I don't think you do. You may move on from it - but it will always be there somewhere. But one mistake with the word "addiction" is that it's automatically taken in a negative way - as if it's something wrong. Most of the time that's true. Hell, I should know. But my current addiction isn't like that. It's the most intense, emotional, magical thing I've ever experienced - and I wouldn't change any of it for the world.
As I watch him brush his teeth before joining me in our bed, I can't help but smile. He rushes around the bathroom in his boxers trying to do a million and one things at once - letting the plug out of the bath, putting the shampoo away, and picking towels up off the floor just to name a few. Not that he's sorry about the reason why they were left there - what can I say, some couples don't leave the "can't keep my hands off you phase" - and I'm in no hurry to leave it anyway.
He flicks off the bathroom light, and stops in the doorway, looking intently at me.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
I smile.
"I seem to remember someone saying that to me not so long ago, yeah."
Now it's his turn to smile, as he walks slowly over to the bed and gets into his side.
"Hey, you warmed it up for me."
"As always."
That saying - the little things mean the most - couldn't be more true when it comes to us. When I think about the past of our relationship, I remember the looks, the smiles, the touches. The way that his hair sticks up after he's had a shower, the way that his kisses on my neck send electric currents through my entire body - and that look in his eyes when he tells me he loves me. THE look - the one I live for, the one I couldn't live without.
He shuffles over, taking me in his arms slowly so that he's snuggled into my back. I reach my arm over to his face, stroking his cheek softly with my hand. It's times like this that I cherish - just him and me, living for the moment. It's hard to believe that it's almost been a whole year since this started. A whole year of intimacy, conversations and falling in love. I don't think that you fall in love with someone and then that's it - I think you keep falling, deeper and deeper, reaching levels of belonging and attachment that you never even knew existed.
"What are you thinking about?"
I can feel him smiling into the back of my neck. I turn around so I'm facing him, looking deep into his eyes.
"Were you scared?" I ask.
"When?"
"When we first got told that we had to stay in that petrie dish for two weeks."
He laughs as he remembers my term for the quarantine room, his face gradually fading to seriousness.
"Yeah, I was. Although not because of the disease. There was nothing I could do to stop that."
He hesitates. I know why he was scared. He knows I know - but he carries on anyway.
"I was scared for us. I was scared you were going to walk away from me."
I interrupt him, giggling slightly.
"Carter, I couldn't walk away from you, we were quarantined."
He digs his elbow into me playfully.
"You know what I mean."
I sigh. I do know. I was scared too. It's a pretty special occurrence when one thing that you've been building up to for 2 years actually happens.
We waited so long. 2 years of longing, yearning, dancing around the subject. I begin to giggle again as I think of our trip to Oklahoma.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Our drive."
".in Oklahoma?"
How he does that I'll never know. I'm sure I'm not that easy to read.
"You told me that Rena broke up with you because she thought you had a crush on me."
"Yeah. And you didn't ask if it was true."
He smiles as he says this.
I don't know why I didn't ask - maybe I didn't want to complicate what was already an eventful day to say the least. Or maybe I was too scared to risk something with the person who was beginning to become my best friend.
"You tired?"
I look over to him again.
"No, surprisingly, given what happened about an hour ago."
This time it's him who chuckles, re-living the memory of this evening. He shuffles over so that he's lying on his stomach, head still facing me. He's never said anything, but I know that's his favourite sleeping position. Three years on, but his back still plays up sometimes.
I reach over under the sheets and start circling my fingers over the top of his back - something I've become to love doing. I've never been with anyone before where you can lie in bed with them and still not be close enough - I crave physical contact, and only when I get that do I feel within satisfactory proximity. I see the faintest of smiles cross his lips as he closes his eyes slowly.
I move my hand down slowly, to an area that I know so well. I remember how reluctant he was at first to let me see them - which is maybe why I pay so much attention to them now. I run my fingers along each of them, and his closed eyes flinch slightly as I do so.
"I remember, you know."
Only now do his eyes open completely. He doesn't speak - he just waits for me to carry on. One of the underlying traits of our relationship.
"I remember the conversation I had with you on the roof before. Telling you how different it was to experience an old person dying - you told me I'd never get used to it. You were right, I haven't."
He's still staring at me attentively, his big brown eyes willing me to continue. In all the months of us being together, I've never told him this. I've listened to his side of the story, I've held him when things reminded him of that fateful Valentine's day, but never before have I told him of things through my eyes.
"I remember them carrying you on the backboard to the trauma room. I remember Benton running in and immediately taking control of the situation. I remember."
I falter slightly, unsure of whether to go on. But his eyes are still staring, and he's still waiting for me to carry on.
".I remember finding the knife."
Again, he doesn't utter a word. He doesn't need to - I can see it all in his eyes. I reach out with my other hand and grasp his own hand, taking it slowly to my mouth and kissing it lightly. I'm not telling him this to hurt him, I'm not telling him this because I want to. I'm telling him this so he knows the full story. Because believe me, I know, this only time you can ever lay something to rest is when you know the full story behind it.
"I got sent out of the trauma room to get an infuser kit, and I couldn't find it. I asked Connie where it was and she said to look on the top shelf, so I did."
I look to his eyes again. They've misted over. I hold onto his hand tighter, kissing it again, all the while still tracing my finger around his lower back.
"And all of a sudden if fell in front of me. I must have screamed because a police officer came running towards me. I ran to get some tubing - I couldn't look at it for any longer."
I stop. I don't need to say anymore about this subject - not tonight. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, he moves. He lets go of my hand, and for a moment I panic. Have I said too much?
But he places it around my waist and pulls me over, closer to him. I guess I'm not the only one who's a sucker for proximity. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's a while before anything comes out.
"I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Hey, I think out of both of us, I got the better deal that day."
"True."
It's his turn to sigh. I face him again, kissing him on the lips before turning my back against him so his arm reaches all the way around me. Now he takes his own chance to trace patterns - only he does it on my stomach, by my bellybutton. I once read in some magazine that men like doing this on a woman's stomach because subconsciously they're claiming their territory. Well this man needn't worry. He's got me.
"She was good you know. Better than I ever gave her credit for anyway."
"Lucy?"
For some reason he doesn't answer this. But I know that's who he meant. I think back to the days when I was a medical student - seems like decades ago.
"It's OK, I don't remember my assessors giving me much credit as a med student either. And the stories I've heard about Benton and you in your student days."
Again, I feel him smile into the back of my neck. I'm glad that he's able to do that - smile about something that at one point nearly shattered him. Even if it is in a bittersweet way. I feel his face relax from his smile.
"I knew she'd gone. Benton didn't even have to tell me - I knew. I told her mother later that week that it didn't hurt to have a knife rammed into your back.I thought that was the wrong thing to say at the time. But I'm glad I said it - it sounds dishonest, but I'm glad I lied. I think it helped her to deal with things."
I don't say anything to this. I don't need to. Sometimes all you can do is listen - and it's enough for him right now.
He opens his mouth to speak and again, nothing comes out immediately. I guess I'd have to have tact as a quality in my partner - because it's certainly not something that I possess.
"Do you ever think about going back to medical school?"
My response is immediate.
"Yes."
I pause for a moment, then carry on.
"I think about it, but I don't think I'd do it. I'm content in the job that I do - I get to do the one thing I've wanted to do for my entire life, which is care for people. Doctors don't gain nearly as much attachment to their patients as nurses do. I'm happy."
He nuzzles into the back of my hair with his nose, and I reach up with my left hand to stroke his cheek.
"The only thing I don't like is the reasoning behind not carrying on with my tuition."
"The ever amicable Richard," he says, laughing.
I turn my head around to face him giving him a playful frown, and then resume my original position snuggling deeper into his arms. His laughter subsides, and I can feel him tense up slightly.
"You know, you never did tell me what happened between you both."
"We got divorced."
He rolls his eyes. My mannerisms are catching, I see.
"Yes I know that. But you never told me what exactly happened."
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah. I want to know."
All I could think about was the fact that this subject was about the only one that hadn't been covered by us in a year. Everything else had been learnt - past loves, past mistakes, regrets, and not forgetting the tales of good times. I took a deep breath. I could always back out of it should I not want to tell the entire story. But that was just it. I do want to tell the entire story. I want to be nothing but honest to him - in no way am I going to do anything to jeopardize the best thing that's ever happened to me. Because God knows, I've almost lost him in the past. But he always pulls us through, pushing me just that little bit further, and by doing that making us even closer.
"We just stopped talking. Stopped communicating - I can't remember when exactly. To be honest, I can't remember things even being that good to begin with."
I stop at this, reminiscing. He senses my unease, because he's still tracing circles on my stomach and he slowly takes my hand with his other hand, resting them at the top of my thigh. He nuzzles in my hair again, sending shivers down my spine. I continue.
"We weren't meant for each other, plain and simple. I don't know whether we got married too young - I always thought that age is disregarded when it comes to love. And I did love him. I really did. But I don't think it was the right kind of love - not the kind that makes you want to be with someone for the rest of your life, not the kind that makes you anticipate each moment with someone. Not the kind that makes you smile even at the mention of their name. I don't think that there was one point or event that was the downfall of us."
And that's when I realize. Yes there was one event that made us grow more apart than ever.
I was wrong. I shouldn't have told him this - I'm in too deep.
I let go of his hands, and climb out of bed. Without a word, I put on a dressing gown over my old shirt, and walk out of the bedroom. I don't know what his expression is - I don't turn around to see. Maybe it doesn't say anything - or maybe it says too much, something I don't want to be faced with.
I move slowly towards the kitchen, and flick the switch of the kettle on. I fill one mug with some instant coffee granules, and then falter. Should I fill another cup as well? Will he follow me this time? Or have I pushed too far?
Everything I keep saying about jeopardizing this wonderful thing we have, and I keep walking away.
Suddenly I hear a chair scrape across the floor from behind me.
He followed me. Again. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve him. I reach for another mug and my concentration lapses, sending the object in my hand crashing to the floor.
And still, he doesn't flinch. He just waits, patiently.
I reach out for the kitchen worktop to steady myself, still facing away from him.
"I had an abortion."
The silence in the room deafens me. 'Say something', I plead with him wordlessly.
He doesn't say anything, but he rises from the chair, walks towards me and wraps his arms around me. And it's like something within me splits. Completely fractures. I break down in his arms.
He turns me around, and envelopes me in his comfort. Holding me. Embracing me. Loving me.
When I finally calm down, he leads me to the couch, and pulls me down to sit on his lap, never taking his arms from around me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
I stare at my hands that are entwined with his.
"I know you didn't. If I'm honest, I've been wanting to tell you for a while now. I just didn't know how. It's not the kind of thing I can just manage to say out of the blue."
I pause yet again, still fixated on our hands.
"I wasn't ready to be a mother. I didn't feel able to take care of another person. I think that secretly I knew that our marriage wouldn't last, I just wasn't ready to admit it to myself. I never.I never even told him I was pregnant."
I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't look at him. I think he senses that, because he tightens his arms around me. I feel protected, I feel safe. I know that I want to carry on, and I know that the inevitable question will be asked sooner or later. But it seems tonight holds no bars, so I continue.
"Maggie's illness made me grow up faster than I should have done. I had to take care of my brother, I had to take care of her. And the thought of having to take care of someone who behaved in a similar way to her.I just couldn't do it."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I couldn't bring myself to take care of a baby that could be bi-polar. I wasn't ready then. I didn't have stability in my life. There were too many reasons why having a child would have been the wrong decision. But it still doesn't mean that the decision that I made was in any way an easy one to make."
Tranquillity rules for a few seconds, as we both contemplate what I've just said. He moves one of his hands from mine and strokes my cheek.
"Abby, look at me."
My gaze gradually meets his, and we stare into each other's eyes.
"Do you still feel like that now? Do you want kids in the future?"
And there it is - the question.
"I don't know. Maggie said to me once that you have to take risks in life otherwise you're going to miss out on all the good things - and whatever my kids grow up to be, I'd love them all the same."
His eyes are still fixed upon me, a mixture of concern, sadness and hope. I finish off what I want to say.
"I'd like to think that sometime in the future I'd be a Mother. I am working on it - I promise you that. But please don't push me Carter. Not with this."
He leans into my forehead and touches it with his own, giving me a kiss on my nose as he does so. He speaks softly with a hushed tone.
"Ok. I won't."
We stay like that for a few minutes, heads bowed, his hand on my cheek, just contemplating what's been said.
"Thank you."
I flick my eyes upwards to look at him questioningly.
"For what?"
"For telling me and trusting me."
I look down again, not entirely happy with the last part of that sentence.
"Do you ever doubt that I do trust you?"
He exhales noisily. I immediately start to worry.
"Sometimes. I don't know - I just wonder occasionally why you don't tell me what's going on."
Silence.
"All you have to do is give me time. I swear to you that I'll always tell you what's going on, eventually. I just.sometimes I need to figure things out in my own head before I can let someone else in. Maybe someday I'll learn to let other people help me sort things out and tell them sooner. But you're my base - no matter what happens in my life I'll always return to you, and I'll always tell you what's going on. I trust you with my life."
And with that, I wrap my arms around him. Never wanting to let go - never wanting this to end. We stay like that for what seems like hours, just listening to each other's heartbeats.
Without saying a word, he shifts his position, I stand up, help him to his feet and guide him back to our bed. We both shuffle under the sheets, anxious for physical contact again. When we find each other, our bodies become entangled as one. I fall asleep with my head on his chest, my head rising and falling with his breaths.
In an entire year, I can count the nights when I've fallen asleep alone on one hand - and even then I slept in his clothes.
Addicted?
Completely.
But this is one habit I'm never going to break.
*****
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