Bitter Circles

***

Rating: PG-13, or R depending on your language limitations.

Summary: Do you think that people can be born broken? Or is it that somewhere along the line, you *get* broken? Because either I belong to a broken family, or the people I love and have loved turned my heart to glass and then smashed it to pieces.

Broken

---
He watched the light shine down on the broken glass
And thought I don't got no reasons
Yet there it is and there it was
It was clear to all of us
We kept this hat of broken dreams
---

It's like... throwing yourself forward and dragging your feet... or throwing your feet forward and dragging your body behind them. It doesn't really matter - I hate running either way. It brings back memories of high school, when my mother continually embarrassed me. Every day after school I would try to get away quietly, but because she was a "good mother", she'd try to pick me up. She'd start yelling and screaming and I would run, and run, and she would chase me thinking it was some kind of game.

But now I've got this stupid stitch in my side and not breathing enough has begun to impair my ability to think straight. I stop for a moment, huffing, trying to get a hold on myself.

What am I doing? Where am I going? Why am I running?

Hmm. Maybe I don't want to get a hold on myself. I don't want to think, I don't want to even try to be rational. I just need to move, keep moving. I start walking. Walking is good. Focus. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out...

I close my eyes for a second, savouring the ability to breath without falling over myself. Unwillingly I open them again, and look into my pockets for my cigarettes and lighter. Shit. I left them in my bag which means... they're still in Carter's car. Dammit! I claw at my hair and glare upward at the bastardly forces that continue to ruin my existence, before the rain starts to blind me. I really need a smoke right now.

And I really need something to get me away from here. I really need something more than this.

I begin to trudge back in the direction I came from, angry, frustrated and wet.

***

It's not too long before I'm back to where his car is. The door is still open, and he's still sitting inside, as if I had only just left.

I peer in, my hand resting on the wet roof, which slowly slips off. The rain falls everywhere, including into the car. I find myself thinking stupid things, such as how much it'll cost to replace the soaking wet car interior, which any normal person wouldn't really think about when you're standing outside in the pouring rain. But I guess I'm just not very normal. I shake my hand off of the water and call to him.

"Carter!" I don't know if he can't hear me or is just ignoring me, but we stay like that for a moment. Me, peering in, soaking and freezing, and him, hunched over the driving wheel, apparently oblivious. Oh what the... I give up on him and grab my bag, leaving no evidence that I had ever been there.

After that, everything passes swiftly and before I know it, I'm home, I'm falling into bed, and my last thoughts are of cold rain, loneliness and Carter as I let sleep wash over me.

***

The continuous beeping of my alarm brings me to my senses. Oh SHUT up! Why can't I just go back to sleep? Why can't I ever just get another extra five minutes?

I rub at my eyes roughly, because they seem like they've glued themselves together while I was sleeping. It's as if there's some conspiracy of Abby's body to make Abby go blind now, as well as being ugly and achy. I'm feeling ill and sniffly and my throat hurts... I stick a foot out from under the duvet and immediately pull it back in from the biting cold. I really should get the heating fixed.

I think I lie under the covers for at least another five minutes, shivering. This won't do. I need to locate the phone and call in sick and find some painkillers for my stupid head.

It takes me about half and hour before I finally get out of bed and call Weaver, and then crawl back into bed. I hate being ill.

***

"Oh, Dave... I-I can't. I don't want... I don't want to marry you." Cue much yelling and crying. Why is it that soap operas seem so much better than real life? Okay, so the girl is torn between two men. "Dave", is the perfectly nice, amiable one, but there's no chemistry. "Phoenix" -or something- is Mr Danger, but yes, you guessed it, he's got chemistry with her. And of course she's going to ditch Dave and go after Phoenix and they'll probably end up dead whilst Dave gets the last laugh as a rich family man.

I switch the TV off and wrap the blankets I'm under more tightly around me. It's only tolerable for so long. Another thing I hate about being ill is that although you get the day off, you're actually ill, which means you can't actually do anything apart from watch crummy TV all day.

I look around me, and feel this incredible sinking feeling of hopelessness. There are beer bottles, still unopened and littered around the place, and rubbish that's been here for weeks. It's depressing, especially as I know I'll have to clean it up sooner or later. I eye the walls, as if I might find something interesting on the wall to stare at for a few hours. Oh look, a piece of peeling paint! Or maybe a stain on the ceiling perhaps...

I turn sharply as there are several knocks on the door. I hesitate and then decide to sit quietly until they go away. It's probably only some salesman selling the latest toilet cleaner anyway.

"Abby? Abby, are you in there?"

I sigh. I never should have let him know where I live. Pulling myself up, I curse as I stumble towards the door. I begin unlocking the numerous heavy-duty locks,

"Carter, you better have a good reason for coming here... I'm not feeling my pleasant self today so don't expect me to be gracious-" Finally struggling over the last lock, I get it open and wait for him to say something. He looks at me, surprised.

"You look like hell." I glower at him like a petulant little child.

"Well, I do try. Did you come all this way to tell me that?" I start feeling ugly again, even though I suppose I'm entitled to, being ill. But I start feeling embarrassed about my current state as I'm still in my pyjamas and he's looking as clean as ever in his crisp suit and pants. It's like I want to run into a corner and hide where no one will see me until I want them to.

I let him in and go back to my position on the sofa.

"I thought," he laughed, trailing off awkwardly, "...When Weaver said you called in sick this morning, I thought... that you were just trying to avoid me. You know, because..."

"We kissed?" I kissed you. I kissed *you*. And you didn't kiss me back, or make me stay, so I guess I'm sorry. I don't know why I did it. I just had to, and it made sense, in that split second. I'm sorry that you about care whether I get better or not because you need to fix me like one of your ties pulled askew. I'm sorry that I'm pulling you into somewhere you don't want to go to. Somewhere you don't want to go *back* to. I just can't get things right.

But I don't say any of this to him in the huge gap where my great rhetoric ran through my head, but lost to him. He clears his throat.

"Yeah." We look at the floor for another few seconds, while I wait for it to open up and eat me. It doesn't, obviously deciding to be a normal floor.

"Well, I don't plan my work around you Carter. If I avoid you, you'll know." And there's goes my biting wit again. Clever Abby. You really know how to treat a guest. You could mistake me for a man-hating, permanent PMS woman, really. I breathe and close my eyes. He's doing it to me again, making me agitated and jumpy, and even worse, a total bitch.

"Sorry. I just. Not right now. I can't answer or deal with anything right now." I want to bang my head against the wall, or hell, any solid object available. What the hell am I saying? Idiot Abby, idiot! He puts his hands up, no worries, Abby. It's ok, Abby. We won't talk about it if you don't want to talk about it.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'd better go anyway. Take care?" He lingers it so it sounds like a question rather than a wish. Like he worries whether I can actually take care of myself. He looks around the room for a moment and at the same time our eyes fall on a beer bottle, lying out in the open. He throws a strained smile at me.

"I'll call."

"I'll write!" I say after him, lamely. Not funny. At all. He looks back at me for a second and smiles the best he can, even though it doesn't reach his eyes.

And when he's gone, I get the sinking feeling of hopelessness again. I'm such a fucking mess and the only thing that's delaying a bout of depression is being ill. Things are so complicated. If only I could just... sleep and then wake up and find that everything is fixed. That I'm fixed.

***

I breathe in and out, mist forming in front of my face. I start to cough, and try to drink some of my coffee to stop myself, but I nearly choke from the heat and splutter, bending over.

"Jesus Abby. Are you trying to kill yourself?" My chest stops constricting and I look up.

"No. But that sounds like a good idea." I stand back up again and wrap the cheap coat tighter around myself, still holding the freshly produced Doc Magoo's coffee. It happens to be my only constant source of warmth and caffeine. Susan just looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Why are you even in today? And why are you going out in the cold? It'll just make you more ill." I shrug, taking a tentative sip of my scalding coffee.

"You think I should poison myself with the ditchwater in the lounge? Either way I think I'm heading for an early death." She laughs, and I think how strange it is to hear someone else laugh because I've said something. Maybe it's just because I haven't made anyone laugh for a while.

"You better get back inside." She wraps her scarf more tightly around her neck, and smiles, "Well, I've just finished my shift, and I'm going to have a quiet night in my warm apartment. Goodnight. Get better." She waves and then turns away, and I trudge back to the hospital.

Susan is nice. I mean, I didn't think so when she first came here, well, came back, but she really is nice. And I think we're becoming friends, which is kind of strange. It's not like we're going to get together and do each other's hair. But if I see her I'll say hi, or if she needs any help, she won't have to ask me.

I down the rest of my coffee just after I enter the hospital and dunk it into a bin, sniffling all the way.

I'm not working because I can't stand to be away from this place, it's more like... misery loves company. When I'm at home, alone, I start going mad, but here, there are people who are doing a lot worse than I am, and I guess I can help them. And sort of forget that I'm ill. I mean, apart from all the coughing, sniffling and headaches... I can forget.

I grab a chart and eye it, pretending to work for the last ten or so minutes of my shift. If I really work, chances are I'll have to stay there for another half an hour on a patient. Luckily I get disturbed as somebody taps me on the shoulder.

"Abby." I turn and smile.

"Hey, Luka." I haven't seen him around for a while. It's probably a good thing.

"What are you doing in? Are you still ill?" I begin to nod. How does everyone know I'm ill? Did Weaver tell everybody or something?

"I kind of figured that it would be more fun at the hospital than at home by myself, watching Oprah or something." He nods and reaches behind me for a chart, but I don't think he knows who Oprah is. Never mind.

"Don't work too hard, Abby. You should really be at home, you know." He walks off, and I nod, and smile again, but I have a feeling it looks more like a grimace. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You think I don't know that? I hate how everyone wants to make sure I can take care of myself. I can! I chose to come in because I want to come in.

"You really should be at home." I turn around again, impatient.

"And shouldn't you have something else to do other than tell me I should be at home?" Carter smiles,

"I'm off. Five minutes ago. I think I'm perfectly free to hassle you in my own time."

"Well, I think I'm perfectly free to call the cops and tell them that you're heckling me," I tease. There's a pause as we think of what to say next.

I'm not sure if we're supposed to be talking. It's childish, I know, it's like that episode of the Simpsons, when Homer isn't talking to Lisa, at the dinner table, and they all end up relaying messages to people they're not meant to be talking to because they got confused. But I did tell him I didn't care what he thought. Surely that means he should hate me right now? Or did the kiss cancel that out?

"So. When are you off?" Uh-oh. He's cornering me. He wants to know what's going on. He wants to know if Abby's checked herself into a mental hospital. He wants to know why Abby kissed him. But I couldn't really tell him.

"Oh. A couple of hours..." I nod convincingly, as if I've just realized when I'm meant to be getting off.

"But you've been here since I have." Crap. How has he been noticing? I haven't seen him all through my shift until now. Damn his cunning observation skills.

"Um. Yeah-" I begin to make up another excuse, but he hikes his bag higher onto his shoulder and looks away for a second, uninterested in my stuttering.

"Look, we have to talk."

"We're not talking now?" I dodge his real meaning. I know what he means... 'we need to talk Abby, let's go have a coffee, Abby, let's figure this out, Abby...'

"You know what I mean." Too right I do. "Can I meet you in Doc Magoo's when you've finished your shift?" A lie, I need to think of a lie-

"I'm meeting Susan tonight." He cocks his head at me, and I can tell he's holding back a raised eyebrow. He knows I'm lying.

"That's funny 'cause I thought Susan said that she was going straight home and then having a quiet night in before she froze to death." He starts smirking and I start panicking.

"Oh." Oh? Is that all you can say Abby? Think of something else! But before I can, I can feel my head nodding, and words tumbling out of my mouth.

"I'll meet you in Doc Magoo's in ten minutes."

***

"Hey." Carter looks up at me, and I look right back. He's looking pretty happy there, fiddling with some change, with his coat off, cuffs rolled up and top button undone. He's looking nervous too.

"Hey." I sit down, clutching a new cup of coffee in my hand, and put it in the middle of the table as if it'll ward him off. It's kind of strange how me being an alcoholic is not ok, but then me being addicted to coffee is ok. Excess of anything can give you a premature death. Maybe it's just because if he did have a coffee issue, he'd have to stop gulping down huge amounts himself.

I've seen him, and he's just the same as me. Except that he needs something else apart from alcohol. He gets bags under his eyes and he gets down from time to time. But he's got more to lose, because he's already lost it and was lucky to get a second chance. That's probably what keeps him on track. Just the fact that he doesn't want to go back there, doesn't want to relive that. He's learnt his lesson.

"So you have something to talk about?" I'm careful to stress the 'you'. I have nothing to say to him. Well, nothing I want to say to him. He just looks at me as if I'm nuts, which I've had enough of already today from Susan.

"What?"

"Well, I figured that," he trails off, a little unsure. "I figured that we have something to talk about." He doesn't stop looking at me and it gets unnerving. I really don't want to be having this conversation. I can practically foresee the aggravation it's going to cause me.

"I didn't say I wanted to talk about it."

"So you agree that there's something to talk about." I close my eyes as my head starts to produce another migraine.

"Okay, I'm ill. I'm cranky. So I'm not feeling so great. You want us to discuss... things..." I pause, biting my lip, "I kissed you, okay. The end. Nothing to talk about." I spread my arms out for extra emphasis, "Nothing to talk about." I make as if to leave, but he just looks at me in a way that says, 'if we don't do this now, we'll do it another time'. I sigh, and settle back down, but still not taking my coat off.

"Okay, what is there to talk about? Why do we have to psychoanalyze every single little action? It was a mistake. Okay? A mistake." I bite down harder onto my lip until I can taste blood. This is award-winning acting... if he sees through this...

"Okay, it was a mistake. Fine. I just want to know why you kissed me." I look away for a second. What should I tell him? That oh, I did it because maybe I'm just human and when someone has those kinds of feelings for another person, they feel like acting on it?

"Carter. I kissed you because I mistook my feelings of compassion for you as a good friend for romantic feelings. I'm sorry. I was wrong." He nods okay, just like he accepts it like that. Like he never sat on that bench with me and told me he didn't want to be my friend anymore. Like I never walked out on that bridge with him and told him I was waiting for us to happen.

I swallow some coffee as if it'll fill this aching... feeling in me. It's like suddenly I want to leap into the middle of the road, or climb on top of a building and jump off.

"Look, Abby. I've been meaning to say that-" he stops and shakes his head. "To say that I'm sorry about what I said to you. About your drinking. Because it's none of my business, and," I swear he's going to say 'it's your life you're screwing up' next. Everyone else has said it one time or another -teachers, my mother, boyfriends, the husband... and now the 'good friend'. "I'm officially butting out from now. You know where I stand on it, but I won't make it an issue anymore. I miss you Abby. I miss being able to just talk with you." Great, I think, it's back to being 'the friend'. The good friend. I nod dutifully, stretching a painful smile across my face. I'm happy.

"Another coffee?" he asks, noticing my empty cup. I nod, and he begins to call for the waitress.

Hell yes. Give me caffeine and keep it rolling. Or I'm off to the nearest bar.

***

So you've got to think life isn't worth living for anymore sometimes. And that's what I'm thinking right now, all curled up on my bed.

I'm not going to go into all that crap about how bitter I am about the world. Contrary to popular opinion, I don't enjoy whining or bitching or griping or throwing pity parties for myself. I don't enjoy telling people I don't need their help, because I'm strong, I'm controlled, I'm Abby -hey, haven't you heard how independent I am? I don't enjoy trying to control my need for intimacy with liquor or nicotine.

I'm just scared of getting hurt. And love is one of those things that can get you hurt. Yeah, we've all heard the Romeo and Juliet stories, we've all heard about When Harry Met Sally. Well, that's all bull. Love is not a many splendored thing; love is not all we need. Love makes us weak, and I'm not ready to give into it. Even if that means I'm going to be lonely for the rest of my life.

That doesn't mean I won't have friends. It'll just mean I'll always have this hole inside me. You know, when you close your eyes, sometimes you can almost taste the bitter alcohol making you feel whole. Like you can be artificially patched up. I can settle for that. Really.

I roll to one side of the bed and grab the phone. I need to talk to someone who doesn't need to lecture me. Unfortunately, I don't have very many numbers in my phone book. There's my mom, Richard's old number, Carter -cell phone and mansion, Luka, work. Strangely enough, they're probably the people who've screwed me up the most. I think I need some new friends. Or something.

I guess I could call Susan; she gave me her number a couple of days ago and told me if I ever needed to talk she would be there. I think it's in my coat pocket.I get up to check, and sure enough, it's there. I start dialling in the numbers and pray that she'll pick up. C'mon Susan...

"Hey? Susan? It's me, Abby."

***

"... And then he lost the key. Can you imagine?" Susan shook her head, laughingly. I nodded along, but I didn't really care. I was trying my best to pay attention. It was just kind of difficult as the gin and tonic I had ordered sat in front of me, taunting me. I shook myself mentally and prepared to pay attention.

"So..." I trailed off, hesitating as to whether I should ask my question or not. She shook her head and sipped her drink.

"I'm telling you, if you even ask why I didn't stay in Arizona and work things out with Dix, I am so not talking to you anymore." I put my hands up, feigning innocence.

"Wasn't even thinking of asking." I rolled my finger around the rim of the glass. I really want some of that alcohol. I looked back up at Susan, "Just. What was it like to leave Chicago like that? I mean, even after Mark... It must have been hard."

"Yeah, it was. In a way it still is. But I got the chance to start over again, work in a place where no one knew me. It was almost like I could be somebody different." She laughed dryly. "Yeah, and then I came back. Tell me the truth... do you think I'm crazy?" I paused.

"For coming back? No. Not at all." I thought about it a little bit more. "Do you think that it was good for you? Going to Arizona?" She shook her head, hesitating.

"You know, sometimes I think it was. I met new people, I felt new. But sometimes..." She looked away, as if she wasn't really even talking to me anymore." "Sometimes... I don't know." She shrugged. "I came back. I guess that means something." I wondered what I would give to leave Chicago. I wondered if I had too many ties. Or if I had any at all.

Susan smiled, suddenly cheering up, "Is something wrong? You haven't touched your drink." I shrugged.

"No." I picked up the glass and stared at the liquid inside. I told myself I wouldn't do this. I told myself I didn't want to do this. I told myself I wanted to get better, wanted to go forward, not backward. I was going to an AA meeting. But it's controlled. I know what I'm doing. It would be different if I drank every hour, every day.

I lift up the glass and swallow some of the drink, which gives me a sinking feeling. Like I've fallen off the edge and there's no one around to catch me.

"Nothing's wrong."

***

It's been re-edited and added to. I was going to make them two separate chapters but I figured it worked better this way. I was not happy with chapter 4. :/ Thanks to reviewers. ^_^ allstar88uk@yahoo.co.uk