AN: PUH-lease R/R - this chapter took a lot out of me, considering recent spoilers and the Kleenex I'm sure I'll be carrying with me 24/7 for the rest of the season. But I had this part planned out all along. So I ran with it. *sigh* Mad props to Kate for being a rockin', sockin' Beta…and to SheDaisy, for giving me my song of inspiration for this chapter…who's lyrics will appear at the end…and this story is now based incredibly *loosely* on spoilers, as I highly doubt Orman and Wells will take the Africa plotline in the direction that I plan on taking it…so…yeah. This chapter has references to "The Advocate" and "Tell Me Where It Hurts" and some others, too, I believe…so…there…
Back to Abby's POV…
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Fifty-seven seconds. That's ten seconds longer than last time.
Maybe my next attempt will result in a full minute. A person has to wonder how long someone can actually stare straight ahead without blinking. And I'm doing pretty good, if I say so myself.
Having a very worthy opponent to stare at helps, as well.
I reach across the table, the first time I've moved a muscle in at least 15 minutes, and grab the object of my attention. My hand wraps around it tightly, and I think I'm going to hold it forever.
I can't put it down.
Not now.
It's all I have left.
And I've been concentrating on it for almost three hours.
Sitting right here, in this incredibly uncomfortable chair in my kitchen. Staring at this worthy adversary.
It looks the same as it has looked every other time I've held it in my hands.
But this time, something's different.
This time, I can't breathe.
I can hardly form a coherent thought.
Except for one.
The only thought that has continuously propelled through my mind over the past eleven hours.
He's gone.
Three days ago, I was lying in our bed dreaming of the future.
And that ring.
But then it happened.
I remember it as if it were two seconds ago.
I walked out of a trauma to find Susan, Kerry, Chuny, Haleh, Malik, and several others crowded around the television at the admit desk.
And when I asked what they found so interesting, I was met with looks of fear and despair.
Susan, biting her lip. I knew it was bad. I only bite my lip when it's bad. Why would she be any different?
Then, my attention turned to the television screen, I felt my head begin to spin.
A reporter, wearing a somber face, sat behind the CNN desk. I didn't process his words.
I only read the caption on the bottom of the screen.
"Turbo-prop carrying at least 5 medical missionaries goes down outside of Kinshasa"
And my heart stopped.
No.
It wasn't his.
He flew out three days ago. I talked to him that day.
Immediately, I looked to Susan. She was staring at me sympathetically.
I hated her for it.
My ears catch the reporter's voice and I turn back to watch, silently believing - knowing - it wasn't him.
"The accident, which occurred over 72 hours ago, was apparently caused by a mechanical failure, and not interference by the warring rebels, as was first suspected."
Oh God. 72 hours ago. It couldn't be him.
Please.
"For anyone who's just joining us, a small plane carrying at least 5 passengers and 1 pilot was reported lost outside of the Congolese town of Kinshasa on Monday. The difficulty of communication to that region has delayed our receiving this information, but we can now say with assurance that the flight was transporting medical missionaries, three of whom were American, to their outposts in the rural territories. Sadly, no one survived. We'll have more on this breaking news as we get it, but, for now, no names have been released."
My breath had ceased. I couldn't think. Couldn't move.
Just like now, actually.
Susan grabbed my hand and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Abby."
But I pulled away, raising my eyebrows at her.
"Why? It wasn't him. They would have called and told me if it was him. He's fine"
I was trying to convince myself. Not her. I knew she was right.
"Abby…" she started again, "they haven't contacted any family yet. The mission is still trying to sort out who it is that needs to be contacted. They don't know who was on which plane. And everyone is so scattered at different areas now, they're trying frantically to make sense of it all. But…"
And I knew.
There were only three planes. John told me that much.
And he told me before he even left that he was one of only a few Americans on the mission.
I couldn't believe this was happening to me.
Susan must have seen the utter realization take over my face, because she quickly pulled me into the lounge.
He promised he would call me when he got to the site.
So I wouldn't worry.
That was three days ago.
He's gone.
And she tells me that she's sorry.
Again.
She tells me I should go home.
But I couldn't.
I couldn't come back here.
Alone.
Susan took me to Doc's, upon my request. I wanted to sit in our booth.
To try and process what had just happened.
And we sat there for almost four hours.
We didn't speak. Just sat. She's a great friend. She doesn't push me to talk.
Doesn't tell me that it will be okay.
Because she knows it won't.
And, four hours after we sat down in that greasy spoon that I hold so dear, she demanded that we get some air.
So we walked. And ended up by the river. Sitting on the bench.
All I wanted to do was think of him.
And forget him.
Both, at the same time.
Another three hours by the river.
I told her about the ring.
She already knew. How typical of Carter. We always go to Susan first, as if we can do nothing without her approval. It's ironic, really.
And as I began to open up, I found myself telling her about the importance of that bench.
But then the tears came. And she simply wrapped her arms around me and reassured me that she was there.
Even if he wasn't. And never would be again.
I spent the following hour wandering the streets alone. Afraid to come back here.
Unable to comprehend what I should do next.
And my mind immediately ran for my comfort zone.
So, I've been sitting here for three hours. Staring at my comfort zone.
My old friend.
Nice to see you again, Jose.
Can't say you've been missed.
But you always come back to me.
Old faithful.
Three hours of staring and I haven't accomplished anything more than unscrewing the cap and placing it on the counter.
I want it so badly.
No.
I want him so badly.
But he's not here. He won't ever be here.
Jose is here instead. I can always count on him.
Three hours of considering my actions. It's time to act.
I take the glass in front of me and let the brown liquid flow into it's empty depths. That's better.
Now we're getting somewhere. Take a sip, and I'm on my way to a painless evening.
But just a few months ago, I promised myself this wouldn't happen again. Ever.
And, what's more, I promised him.
I was determined to change. To grow. Just like he said that fateful night.
The night I should have received the ring that now sits beside my bed.
The ring I will never watch him place upon my finger.
And I need a drink. Despite what I promised.
However, I find myself standing from the table. The first time I've stood since I arrived home.
Walking toward my bedroom - it isn't really 'ours' anymore, now, is it? - I can't help but think of what he would say right now. He would tell me that I'm strongest woman he's ever known. That I can do anything. That I don't have to let the demons win.
I know he would say it. He's said it every time before.
The ring is in my hand, now, and I'm replaying our relationship in my mind as I gaze at it.
It's been three long years. Only one of which was spent in his arms.
So much wasted time.
So many incredible memories.
So many future opportunities, now lost.
If I can't have him put this ring on my finger, I'm going to spend tonight imagining that he's already done so.
I slip the band of platinum and diamonds onto it's rightful finger, and suddenly feel more complete.
But I know it's not real.
And I know Jose is waiting for me in the next room.
John would tell me to move on. To choose to survive this. To prove that I can.
And I want to.
I'm just not sure it's possible without him beside me.
I thought I could fight these evil spirits on my own, but when I made that decision, I knew I still had him to lean on if necessary.
That's no longer the case. Never will be again.
But if he is gone, I'm sure he's looking down on me right now.
And that thought scares me to death.
I don't want him to see me like this. To see me failing. Breaking my promise.
This isn't just for him. I promised myself, as well.
He wouldn't want this.
And I know that I'll wake up tomorrow, defeated and angry, if I let Mr. Cuervo enter my system.
The love of my life is no longer a reality. And I don't know what to do.
I only know what I can't do.
I can't cry. I've already done that today, and it's accomplished nothing.
I can't be bitter. This wasn't his fault. He didn't mean to leave me.
I can't forget all the things he wanted for us. That's all I have left.
And I can't drink.
No feeling of comfort or love will come from that action.
Only more pain. More fear. More anger.
Slowly, I turn and walk back into the kitchen. And there it is. Right where I left it.
I have no idea why I expected it to be gone.
Wishful thinking, I suppose.
I don't want to face the fact that I actually almost caved. Again.
But I can't bring myself to get rid of it.
And then…his words. And mine.
"…because if you're trying to prove something to me, like some kind of quick fix…"
"I didn't do it for you! I woke up sick of myself, okay?"
It's the truth.
It wasn't for him. I needed to prove to myself that I could endure the temptations.
The pain.
With or without him.
If it were a lie, I wouldn't have said it in the middle of an argument that I had thought was surely the end of us.
Time to put my pledges into action. For my own sanity.
I pick up the bottle and the glass beside it, both still full of Jose's contents.
As I watch them flow into the sink, all I can think is that I'm observing my only solace as it disappears.
Without this liquid, I have nothing to hang onto anymore.
He was supposed to be my constant.
But he's gone.
And, now, so is my only remaining comfort.
The last drop of alcohol vanishes down the drain and I'm filled with pride.
And unbelievable rage.
I really needed that drink.
I still do.
But I need him more.
If only he were here.
Suddenly I find myself gripping the empty bottle tighter and tighter.
And I watch as I throw it violently against the wall.
Glass shatters across the room, and I can't comprehend anything right now.
I sink to the floor and place my head in my hands, exhausted.
And the ring is still on my finger.
If only the site of it there could, in fact, heal all wounds.
Only Carter's arms around me can do that, however.
But I'm surviving without him. I am.
And I can. Forever.
I don't want to. God knows I'd give anything to see his face right now. To kiss his lips and beg him never to leave my side again. But the past few minutes have proven that I can do this without him.
Yet, my unbelievable sense of contentment and success toward the battle with my old friend is not enough to drown out one more incessant thought.
This isn't happening to me.
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Never thought I'd be in this place
It's someone else's life I'm living
Wish I was living a lie.
The hardest part is when the bough breaks
Falling down and then forgiving
You didn't kiss me goodbye
I'm choking on the words I didn't get to say
And pray I get the chance one day
I still run, I still swing open the door
I still think you'll be there like before
Doesn't everybody out there
Know to never come round?
Some things a heart won't listen to
I'm still holding out for you.
I can hear you smile in the dark
I can even feel you breathing.
But daylight chases the ghost
I see your coat and I fall apart
To those hints of you, I'm clinging
Now's when I need them most
I should get up, dry my eyes and move ahead
At least, that's what you would have said.
--SheDaisy "Holding Out For You"
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Heh. There ya go. R/R if you want a quick update…I *do* have this whole thing planned out, so it's just a matter of motivating me to write it : ) Yep. That's the truth. Merci beaucoup.
