Author's notes: I watched ER and this is what came out of it... Don't ask...
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, John."
"For what?"
"For... everything, I guess... For not being there, for not caring, for not telling you I loved you..."
"Abby."
"No. I mean it. I should have been there for you like all the times you were there for me."
"We've changed."
"That doesn't mean our love has."
"I don't love you..."
Sweat poured down her face and neck, time has been too cruel. She sat up from her lying position on the bed. She hesitated turning on the lamp in fear of rousing herself too much, and sleep would never come back to her again. Her body and sheets were damp from the humidity, the air conditioning conveniently breaking down on the hottest day of the year. She pushed away the strands that fell into her face, finally deciding it was time to throw her hair up into a tighter bun. She sat up, starring at the door. She wished she could see what was behind it without physically having to open it. The nightmares won't stop until she confronts her demons. The nightmares haven't stopped since the day he left for Kisangani. The first trip, when he ran away from her. It wasn't right, the way she let him leave, oblivious to his pain. It wasn't fair to him, the way she couldn't make his pain disappear. He deserved someone better. She threw the mess of cotton onto the floor, annoyed by its texture and warmth. She didn't need warmth, she needed cool. She pulled the strap of her top back over her shoulder, leaning her head onto her knees. What was she to do now? She can't sleep. She's spent so many hours starring at the ceiling already, she knows the patterns better than she knows the digestive track.
Pushing off the bed, she let her feet hit the wooden floor with a thump. She's awake, and not going back to her dreams. Her dreams are more painful than reality. She grabs a robe from the door, but then decides against it, throwing it carelessly onto the bed. She opens her door slowly, only making it creak more loudly and longer. She never thoughts about fixing it because before tonight, she really didn't have a need to.
She saw his sleeping form on her sofa. The same sofa she had cried for him on. The same sofa she read and reread his letter. The same sofa she had memorized all his painful words. The same sofa she had realized she needed to make a change. The changes she had made are visible, in everything that she is. She's happier, more full of life. Maybe lacking a few hours of sleep, but that's all part of the job. She walks through the room, tip-toeing, careful not to disturb him. The floor creaks underneath her weight, the rustic building refusing to silence itself.
"Abby?"
His voice comes out groggy, but he's obviously been up too. She reaches the kitchen and flips the dimmer light on. Enough light to see around without causing unnecessary headaches or eye strain at this hour of the morning.
"Hangover kicking in yet?"
She hears a muffled groan from across the room. She knows the feeling, she can almost feel it at that moment. The headache, body pains, rumbling stomach, shaking hands, need for release. The constant need for more. For one second, one minute, one hour... She felt a release. The pain subsided and she could move on. Then when it came back, it came back with full fury, worse than ever. She broke away from those restraints, alcohol nothing but a dull memory from a past she'd rather forget. Grabbing a glass of water and two asprin, she heads over to him, his body covered in a thin blanket. He takes the objects out of her hands, gratitude written on his face. She walks back to the kitchen, taking a small towel and dipping it in cold water under the faucet. She rings it out and puts it out on her arm. She shuts the light off and heads toward the sofa. She feels her away around in the familiar room, reaching him, moving him. She slips in under the little space that he left for her. The pillow is taken away, and his head is laying on her upper thighs. She presses the cool cloth against his sweating brow, watching his breathing slowly calm.
Her hand rests against her stomach, playing with the edge of her top. He pulls on it, taking her hand and bringing it closer to him. He laces his fingers with hers, a simple notion from months before. She's thrown off, unsure of what his intentions are. Her intentions are pure and simple: she's worried about him. She expected nothing when she dragged him home with her, after the coffee and meeting. It was a simple gesture. He shouldn't be alone.
In the darkness he can only make out the silhouette of his face. In the darkness he cannot see the tears that begin to form in her eyes. If only things had been different, too many regrets rule this relationship. If she had only been stronger, he might be here as her lover, not her friend. She wipes his face with the cloth, hearing him release a heavy breath. Her fingers tap out a melody on his temples, trying to soothe the pounding he's going through. If he hadn't met her, would he still be happy? Has he had a chance to experience true love? What is she in comparison to that love? Comparing herself to Kem is like comparing white to black, or day to night.
She felt his warm hand against her cheek, his course skin running along the side. She pulls it away with her free hand, bringing it to her lips. A light kiss on his knuckles, the most she's going to get out of him, ever. He wouldn't want her after all they've been through. She's never felt more pain and longing for anyone in her life. He's inches away, yet he feels like he's millions of miles away. He's untouchable tonight. She knows that. The way he always respected her, and helped her. They had been a one in a million match, perfect for each other. They both held weaknesses, weaknesses that strengthened the other.
Her hands shook as she released his grasp, letting him go once again. She could feel him lifting his head off her legs, sitting up, looking at her. He couldn't see her. He can't see the salty acidic tears falling down her cheeks. She can't reach up and wipe them, he'd know. She has a feeling he already knows. She looks away, anywhere in the darkness to avoid him. It's not possible. Her hand is still linked with his, brought up to his face, caressed by his lips. She tries to pull away, but her body doesn't agree with her mind. It feels too right to be wrong.
She can feel his hot breath against her cheek. He's only centimeters away from him. Suddenly she's freezing, her body shivering, goose bumps forming on her arms and legs. Running away is no longer an option, pushing him away is an impossible feat.
"I'm sorry."
His voice is an unheard whisper in the stillness.
Her lips met his in a moment of mistake.
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, John."
"For what?"
"For... everything, I guess... For not being there, for not caring, for not telling you I loved you..."
"Abby."
"No. I mean it. I should have been there for you like all the times you were there for me."
"We've changed."
"That doesn't mean our love has."
"I don't love you..."
Sweat poured down her face and neck, time has been too cruel. She sat up from her lying position on the bed. She hesitated turning on the lamp in fear of rousing herself too much, and sleep would never come back to her again. Her body and sheets were damp from the humidity, the air conditioning conveniently breaking down on the hottest day of the year. She pushed away the strands that fell into her face, finally deciding it was time to throw her hair up into a tighter bun. She sat up, starring at the door. She wished she could see what was behind it without physically having to open it. The nightmares won't stop until she confronts her demons. The nightmares haven't stopped since the day he left for Kisangani. The first trip, when he ran away from her. It wasn't right, the way she let him leave, oblivious to his pain. It wasn't fair to him, the way she couldn't make his pain disappear. He deserved someone better. She threw the mess of cotton onto the floor, annoyed by its texture and warmth. She didn't need warmth, she needed cool. She pulled the strap of her top back over her shoulder, leaning her head onto her knees. What was she to do now? She can't sleep. She's spent so many hours starring at the ceiling already, she knows the patterns better than she knows the digestive track.
Pushing off the bed, she let her feet hit the wooden floor with a thump. She's awake, and not going back to her dreams. Her dreams are more painful than reality. She grabs a robe from the door, but then decides against it, throwing it carelessly onto the bed. She opens her door slowly, only making it creak more loudly and longer. She never thoughts about fixing it because before tonight, she really didn't have a need to.
She saw his sleeping form on her sofa. The same sofa she had cried for him on. The same sofa she read and reread his letter. The same sofa she had memorized all his painful words. The same sofa she had realized she needed to make a change. The changes she had made are visible, in everything that she is. She's happier, more full of life. Maybe lacking a few hours of sleep, but that's all part of the job. She walks through the room, tip-toeing, careful not to disturb him. The floor creaks underneath her weight, the rustic building refusing to silence itself.
"Abby?"
His voice comes out groggy, but he's obviously been up too. She reaches the kitchen and flips the dimmer light on. Enough light to see around without causing unnecessary headaches or eye strain at this hour of the morning.
"Hangover kicking in yet?"
She hears a muffled groan from across the room. She knows the feeling, she can almost feel it at that moment. The headache, body pains, rumbling stomach, shaking hands, need for release. The constant need for more. For one second, one minute, one hour... She felt a release. The pain subsided and she could move on. Then when it came back, it came back with full fury, worse than ever. She broke away from those restraints, alcohol nothing but a dull memory from a past she'd rather forget. Grabbing a glass of water and two asprin, she heads over to him, his body covered in a thin blanket. He takes the objects out of her hands, gratitude written on his face. She walks back to the kitchen, taking a small towel and dipping it in cold water under the faucet. She rings it out and puts it out on her arm. She shuts the light off and heads toward the sofa. She feels her away around in the familiar room, reaching him, moving him. She slips in under the little space that he left for her. The pillow is taken away, and his head is laying on her upper thighs. She presses the cool cloth against his sweating brow, watching his breathing slowly calm.
Her hand rests against her stomach, playing with the edge of her top. He pulls on it, taking her hand and bringing it closer to him. He laces his fingers with hers, a simple notion from months before. She's thrown off, unsure of what his intentions are. Her intentions are pure and simple: she's worried about him. She expected nothing when she dragged him home with her, after the coffee and meeting. It was a simple gesture. He shouldn't be alone.
In the darkness he can only make out the silhouette of his face. In the darkness he cannot see the tears that begin to form in her eyes. If only things had been different, too many regrets rule this relationship. If she had only been stronger, he might be here as her lover, not her friend. She wipes his face with the cloth, hearing him release a heavy breath. Her fingers tap out a melody on his temples, trying to soothe the pounding he's going through. If he hadn't met her, would he still be happy? Has he had a chance to experience true love? What is she in comparison to that love? Comparing herself to Kem is like comparing white to black, or day to night.
She felt his warm hand against her cheek, his course skin running along the side. She pulls it away with her free hand, bringing it to her lips. A light kiss on his knuckles, the most she's going to get out of him, ever. He wouldn't want her after all they've been through. She's never felt more pain and longing for anyone in her life. He's inches away, yet he feels like he's millions of miles away. He's untouchable tonight. She knows that. The way he always respected her, and helped her. They had been a one in a million match, perfect for each other. They both held weaknesses, weaknesses that strengthened the other.
Her hands shook as she released his grasp, letting him go once again. She could feel him lifting his head off her legs, sitting up, looking at her. He couldn't see her. He can't see the salty acidic tears falling down her cheeks. She can't reach up and wipe them, he'd know. She has a feeling he already knows. She looks away, anywhere in the darkness to avoid him. It's not possible. Her hand is still linked with his, brought up to his face, caressed by his lips. She tries to pull away, but her body doesn't agree with her mind. It feels too right to be wrong.
She can feel his hot breath against her cheek. He's only centimeters away from him. Suddenly she's freezing, her body shivering, goose bumps forming on her arms and legs. Running away is no longer an option, pushing him away is an impossible feat.
"I'm sorry."
His voice is an unheard whisper in the stillness.
Her lips met his in a moment of mistake.