A/N- Here's chapter two of "Losing Grip". Thanks to everyone who took the time to review chapter one- I'm so glad you liked it. I just hope you like this chapter too! Love and huge appreciation to Gooders and Noodles as ever and thanks to Matchbox Twenty for the lyrics from "Hand Me Down". Chapter three is in the works- enjoy!



"I'm here for the hard times
The straight to your heart times
When living ain't easy
You can stand up against me
Whatever may fall on you
Call on me"

I awaken to a darkened room; just the way I like it. I roll over and fumble for the alarm clock. 14:04. Man, I was tired. Lifting the comforter up, I'm met with a rush of cold air which almost tempts me to crawl back under the covers. But I can't lie in bed all day, so I throw on my robe, realizing I'm still wearing clothes from the previous day and step out into the living room. My eyes are sticky with tears of the night before and the pounding in my head is worse than any hangover I've experienced. I have a vague recollection of being carried, half-asleep, into my bedroom.

Staring at the couch I see he's left a note:

"Abby,

I had to leave for work, I didn't want to wake you. I get off at midnight. If you need anything, ANYTHING at all, then call me.

John"

I didn't realize the poor guy had a shift today. Thank God I'm off until tomorrow.

Automatically I grab the phone and call the ICU for a status report on Maggie. No change. I give the nurse strict instructions to call me if anything happens and pass along my cell phone number, something I forgot to do in the tumult of the previous evening.

I decide to go visit her but I need to ring Eric first. He doesn't answer his phone, which I expected. I summarize yesterday's events to his voicemail, a lump rising in my throat as I do so. I feel weary as I put the phone down but know I have to carry on as best I can. This isn't going to be a short process.

Fifteen minutes later I'm showered, changed and attempting to whip up a late lunch. But the milk's off, the bread's stale and I don't even want to look inside that plastic tub on the middle refrigerator shelf. It seems like grocery shopping will be added to my schedule for the day.

An hour after waking, I'm parking my car at County. This could almost be just any other day. Except it's not. My mom is lying comatose around a two minute walk from where I am.

On my way up to the ICU a sudden desire to see Carter takes a hold of me. He has no idea how much he helped last night. Although I feel somewhat embarrassed at my reaction, I feel I owe him thanks. I divert my course to the ER and stride up to the front desk.

"Hey Frank, is Carter around?"

Frank looks up uninterested. "He's on his break."

"Oh," I reply dejectedly. Perhaps he's at Docs or he might possibly be down by the river. I briefly contemplate embarking upon a search and rescue type mission. But then I remember finding him with Rena the night before. Maybe he doesn't want to be saved.

I thank Frank and turn to leave as Luka steps out of the lounge.

His face registers surprise for a moment before he walks up to me.

"What are you doing down here?" he asks, not unpleasantly.

"I came to see my mom," I reply simply, "I just needed to do something here first." It's probably best that I omit Carter's late night visit. Luka's already a little less than thrilled that John accompanied me to Oklahoma in the first place.

"How are you feeling?" he questions, bringing his hand up to my cheek.

"I'm okay," I reply quickly, nodding my head in affirmation, almost willing it to be true.

My response seems to satisfy him and he asks me round to his new apartment for dinner. I've no real inclination to go but a negative answer will only make him worry. We agree on eight o'clock and he jokes to me to pick up a bottle of red wine on the way over. I smile and move away. One day I might open up to this man. Maybe.

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

Up in the ICU I smile briefly at the receptionist before walking over to Maggie's room. On opening the door I hesitate, surprised at the sight in front of me. My mother still lies catatonic on the bed, a respirator performing the work of her diaphragm and intercostal muscles. But by her side, almost as inanimate, is Carter.

"Hey," I voice.

He turns sharply, startled. "Ab… Abby," he stutters.

He seems embarrassed at being caught by me.

"I looked for you downstairs," I say softly, "I wanted to umm… to thank you, for last night."

Now it's my turn to be embarrased, I don't remember the last time I cried in front of someone.

He shrugs it off. "It was nothing."

I shake my head, eyes set in the same fashion as the previous evening as I thanked him in the car, before we realized… I feel nauseated at the memory. "It wasn't nothing," I tell him. "You really helped me, thank you."

His eyes lock with mine for a second and I notice just how deep their chocolate colour is.

Then he's standing, "Well I'd better get back. I just wanted to check on her," he states, seemingly compelled to explain his presence in the room.

I nod in response.

He steps across the room but pauses when he reaches the door. "Do you want me to come round again tonight?"

"That would be nice," I begin before remembering that I already have plans. "I can't," I correct myself, "I told Luka I'd.."

"Okay," he says, cutting me off. "See you tomorrow then."

And he's gone.

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

By six o'clock I'm in the grocery store. For some unknown reason it's pandemonium tonight and shopping carts whizz past me in a flash of aluminium. I fight my way through the chaos to the carrots but don't have the strength or inclination to do the same for potatoes.

Several green vegetables later I'm in the dairy section. Milk, cheese and eggs all find their way into the cart.

Further round the store I pick up bread, noodles and macaroni, all staple foods in my diet. God I feel like a student again.

Still further, and jello, coffee and cinnamon are added. Then the essential: diet coke.

I start wondering what kind of meal I'm going to be able to make with these random ingredients and hastily pick up some chicken, fish and mixed herbs.

My morning headache is persisting and I seek out the medicine section to get some aspirin. There's a young woman standing there, probably five, maybe ten years my junior, picking out sleeping tablets. I resist the urge to educate her on the dangers of these insomnia remedies and merely pick up my analgesia.
On the way to the cash register I walk past the licquor section and pause in front of the rosé. I recall Luka's half-joke about me picking up some wine for dinner. I'm sorely tempted, I haven't wanted to drink so much in a long while. I'm certain I would have done last night if it weren't for Carter's impromptu visit. And as I stand there, shiny curvaceous bottles gleaming at me in the artificial light, it's only the thought of my best friend that prevents me from snatching one greedily from the shelf.

Hurrying on through the crowds I collect some strategically positioned cookies and find a queue to join. A moment later I remember my affinity for mushroom omelettes and double back for the fungi.

On returning I find the shortest queue and join it before I spend any more of my hard-earned cash. However, this "short" line still seems a mile long and there's another problem. Staring at me from a stand nearby are a row of glittering vodka bottles. My eyes are transfixed. Bad choice of queue there Abby. And before I know what I'm doing, I'm sneaking one from its place in line and placing it delicately amongst the other shopping.