I walked into my apartment and placed the bottle of wine I had just bought on the counter. If Carter didn't want to be with me then there was no point in staying sober. The light on my message machine was blinking. It was Will saying he'd like to see me again. I erased it and uncorked the bottle.

"Here's to romance," I said, taking a swig from the bottle. I sat down on the couch and tried not to think about Carter. I hated being without him. I needed him. "No I don't," I said out loud. "I don't need anyone." I did not need John Carter to justify my existence.

But if I didn't need him then why did I fall apart every time he leaves? I walked into my bedroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. What had I become? Some sad pathetic woman in her mid-thirties who needed a bottle to make her happy? How fucking pathetic was that? I went back into the kitchen and poured the entire contents of the bottle down the sink.

I turned to go back to my bedroom and managed to trip over my own feet. I hit my head on the counter and blacked out.

***********************

When I woke up I was in my bed. Had I missed something? Last thing I remembered I was in the kitchen and then . . . nothing. And I had been sober. So if I had forgotten the entire evening, something was defiantly wrong. I sat up and immediately felt a throbbing pain in my head. I reached up and felt a band-aid on my forehead. That could explain the gap in my memory. I must have hit my head, put on a band-aid, climbed into bed, and forgotten all about it.

But that didn't seem quite right. I stood up and headed out of the bedroom to make some coffee. I was putting in the filter when I heard a moan from the couch. I screamed.

"It's OK, it's OK, it's just me." Carter sat up and squinted at me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked angrily.

"Sorry, I just came over to pick up Annie's stuffed dog and I found you passed out in the kitchen. I decided to stay the night in case you had a concussion or something." He rubbed his eyes. "Do you think I could get some of that coffee when it's ready?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Carter stood up and picked up the empty wine bottle. "I thought you had been going to meetings," he said.

"What the fuck do you care?" I asked.

He sighed. "I do care," he said. "I do care about you, Abby. And I don't want to see you destroy yourself."

"Well, I only had two sips," I said. "I poured the rest down the sink."

"Good, that's good. I think that . . ."

I cut him off. "I really don't give a shit what you think, John."

"Don't get bitchy towards me," he said. "You're the one who fucked things up."

"And I apologized!" I shouted. "God, what more do you want?"

"I want it to never have happened!"

"Well, contrary to what you may believe, I don't have the ability to turn back time."

"Exactly," he said. "So then it's just a lost cause, isn't it?"

I gave Carter a wry smiled. "Lost causes are my specialty."

"I'm well aware of that," Carter said, running his hands through his dishevelled hair.

We stood there for a moment, not sure what to say. "I'll get Annie's dog," I said. I went into the guest room and picked up the dog. "Here," I said, handing it to Carter.

He took it gently. "Thanks," he muttered.

He started to leave and I knew I had to say something to make him stay. "Was it really Bobby's?" I asked.

He froze. "How'd you know that?" he asked without turning around.

"Annie told me," I said.

He looked at the tattered dog in his hands. "Yeah, it was Bobby's," he said. "My grandparents gave it to him when he was born. This dog and a college fund."

I walked towards him. "What's the dog's name again?"

"Binker," Carter said. "Bobby named him Binker." Suddenly Carter scowled. "I know what you're trying to do," he said. "And it's not going to work."

"It did work, John," I said. "You're still here, aren't you?"

Carter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll always be here,"
he said.

I rushed forward and hugged him. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry."

He kissed my head. "It's OK. We're gonna be OK."