Somehow we'll find a way
We've got to paste it back together
These ripped out pages of old coloring books
Where your gold is silver, my blue is gray
It's all held together by cellophane tape
But we changed direction
We watch the tides and we borrow too much
We form restrictions and we form lines and
We separate you from me
Sometimes, sometimes…we carry more weight than we own
"Sometimes"
Candlebox
October 12, 2021
Burbank, California
Chuck dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching for her hand even as she pulled it away. It wasn't harsh or angry, more mournful than anything else, like she was giving up something that she wanted for the sake of something else. It stung inside his chest acknowledging her rejection of his touch.
"You were always a better person than I was. You couldn't even shoot Quinn in Berlin," she sighed bitterly, looking at the floor instead of at him. "You spared Shaw's life even after you watched him murder your father."
The words cut into him, the knowledge that she truly believed that blowing through him like wind. "Don't talk like that," he countered vehemently. "You were always different—even when I first met you. You weren't like everyone else that I came in contact with in that world."
"I killed some of those people in cold blood, Chuck! I chased them down and I killed them," she said slowly, an icy edge to her voice.
"You thought your family was murdered, Sarah!" he almost shouted. "I think in that situation I could have snapped. No, I know I would have snapped. I can't imagine what you were going through," he insisted.
She shook her head, looking up at the ceiling as if the answers she sought were scrolled there. "I thought I was different. That you had changed me into a different person. A better person." She sighed heavily, her voice breaking when she spoke again. "But she was there inside all along..waiting to see the light of day again." Angrier, pounding her hand against her breastbone, she continued, "She's inside here and she always will be. How can I be a mother or a wife, knowing that part of me is still there?" The self loathing in her tone punched a hole in him, burning like a bullet wound.
Her words were breaking his heart, stifling his reply. His whole body was shaking, his mind in turmoil as he felt the situation spiraling down into a dark place. He blinked the tears from his eyes, leaning towards her. "Sarah, I love you. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing," he repeated, full of conviction despite his upset.
Her response was to moan in pain, as if she had been wounded. "I…I can't…" she stammered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself again.
He wanted to remedy the situation, the thought of her in any pain more than he could bear. At a loss, he reached out, pulling his hand back and forth hesitantly several times before resting it on her hair. It was the smallest of comforts, that she let his hand remain and not push him away. "Remember what I told you. I'm here. I will always be here."
She launched forward, not unfolding her arms, resting her head against his shoulder. She wanted to rest her face against his chest, drown herself in the scent of him, but she held back, just pressing her forehead against him, feeling a slight ache at the bone on bone contact. "I'm sorry," she whispered forlornly.
Defeated and dejected, he was at a loss for what else to say. He felt the day's weight on him, fatigue heavy like a blanket on his shoulders. "Let's go to bed, Sarah. You're exhausted," he suggested, forcing the lightness into his tone, though each word came out like it was iron. She had been lying next to him at night, the space between them cold and unforgiving, but also never quite falling asleep. Her restlessness kept him awake, mostly distraught over the fact that there was no comfort left she would take from him, not even his arms around her to sleep.
She sat up, turning away from him. She watched the patterns of moonlight on the wall shifting, knowing clouds in the night sky were drifting and blocking the light. Like an eclipse, her internal clouds had covered her heart, making it numb and frozen. She realized he must have left to get ready for bed, because when she finally turned back she was alone again. Moving in slow motion, she dropped the robe off of her shoulders and layed it across the foot of the bed. Peeling back the covers, she slid into the cool, soft sheets and pulled the blanket up over her.
Partially drifting to sleep but still aware of her surroundings, she stirred as she felt him slide into bed next to her. Then she felt him, reaching across her back, rubbing the muscles at the base of her neck. Her muscles were taught like wire, but he kept working, grabbing fistfuls of her flesh and kneading. She sighed in spite of herself, content at the warmth of his hands and the pleasant sensation relaxing her muscles caused. Moments stretched, and he took his time. He moved his hand down her back, reaching with the other hand to thoroughly massage her shoulders and back. It was only as he undid the snaps on the back of her pajama top that she realized he was completely undressed, feeling the heat from his skin radiating against hers under the covers.
Normally Chuck came to bed in flannel pants and a t-shirt, the same thing he had always worn since she had first known him. Starting off the night this way usually indicated he was interested in an intimate encounter. Normally there wasn't even a discussion, as it was such a frequent occurrence. Sarah always kept quiet when the other mothers started talking about raunchy topics, believing intimacy between her and her husband was a private topic. She could smile, laugh, all the while knowing that as hard as she and Chuck had tried to be normal, that they weren't. What she and Chuck shared was special, unique, a lasting and profound bond that her fellow housewives truly could not comprehend. They had been through too much, had proven their love to each other in ways normal couples would never have ever had to. She held that in her heart always, knowing how blessed she truly was. She had started to forget that, hadn't she?
Now, she didn't fight him, let him completely remove her pajamas until they lay naked together under the sheets. He continued the massage, blissfully relaxing the tension out of her. It was only when his hand reached to caress her hip, the other hand gently gliding down the side of her breast that she turned her head to look at him.
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust in the dark, but she saw his eyes fixed on her face, almost glowing with an intensity of emotion, not all of which she could discern. It surged—her radiating love, her shame at her sudden inadequacies, the renewed desperation at the memory of how she had felt when she thought he was dead. This frozen heart was unsustainable. She needed him too much to push him away any more.
Perhaps he could read the urgent need or the longing on her face. He never took his eyes away from her, but turned her with the hand on her hip so she lay on her back beside him as he rested on his elbow, angled over her. The massage became more intimate as he moved his hand, gently moving to the warm center of her. She gasped quietly, relaxing and opening her legs wider without conscious effort. He knew exactly how to touch her like this…he always had.
His fingers glided over her. She had not been with Chuck like this for over a week, an eternity for them. He probed inside her, noting how she twisted toward him, urging him deeper with the movement of her hips. She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of heat beginning to creep up inside her.
She felt him slide down her right side, his breath skimming along her thigh as he moved between her legs. It was more than a gasp, less articulate than his name. She looked down, knowing what she would see on his face—a quiet waiting, his eyes boring into her, wanting permission before he continued.
Sarah had never experienced intimacy like this before Chuck had initiated it in Paris. Guarded as she was, an act like this was never something she felt comfortable with. She had turned scarlet red, embarrassed telling him then that no one had ever touched her like that. He had been patient and gentle, calming her, never demanding, only wanting to please her. He eventually built her into a frenzy until she nearly exploded as she climaxed against his mouth. It was the most intimate thing she had ever done, the most intimate experience she shared solely with her husband, and though she loved and trusted him completely, it was not always easy.
It was as raw, open and vulnerable as she could let herself be. She had no control at all, nothing she could do but lie back and let him please her. He at first had lifted her with his hands, but found she needed to hold his hands at her sides while he worked. She was used to touching him, kissing him, and none of that was possible like this. The loss of control intensified the feelings, amplifying her climaxes.
She remembered a late term doctor's visit while pregnant with their twins—telling her in blunt terms that she and her husband should avoid intercourse with penetration, maybe oral stimulation would be a great alternative. Chuck had almost thrown up, red like he was sunburned from embarrassment. He had fallen off the stool beside the examination table, sending a tray of instruments flying and clattering onto the floor, then mumbling and tripping around. As her laughter had subsided, she had told the doctor her climaxes were more intense in that situation, an issue if they were concerned about premature labor. Chuck had banged his head on the table at that comment, shooting up too quickly. Maybe you should just wait until you give birth. Your husband seems a little, oh, I don't know, clumsy.
Not at that, Sarah had assured the doctor. Chuck had nearly fainted after that comment.
Why did he want to do this now? she thought quickly.
Because he can't reach you, she thought, hearing the answer in her own voice in her head, but believing it had actually come from someplace else outside of her own mind, like a divine message.
She lifted her chin, breathing heavily, the slightest of nods telling him he could continue. He's searching for you, under the debris from the wreckage of this latest disaster, digging to release the soul trapped underneath that was slowly suffocating. That thought rushed quickly like foamy water over the crest of a waterfall, and then into nothing as her mind went blank as his mouth made contact with her body. The feedback loop in her mind built upon itself like a tidal wave, the thought of what he was doing creating the pleasure, the ecstasy crescendoing as her body reacted to his ministrations. A heavy, groaning sigh escaped her parted lips as she climaxed. He held her hands, white knuckles on his fingers, until she calmed to still beneath him. But he didn't stop.
He never pulled away, continued what he was doing for what felt like forever, time standing still as she absorbed the sensation. The second time was more intense than the first, her entire pelvis wringing and tingling, goosebumps rising on the flesh of her thighs that framed his head. Her back arched, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut. Her body went almost numb as the feeling subsided, and she felt him untwine his fingers from hers.
Always speechless after these experiences, this time she was mute and blind, unable to open her eyes to look at him. She knew she was hurting him, causing him pain and it killed her on the inside. She felt him, sliding up the sheet to lay beside her, angled over her again as he slowly wrapped his arms around her. His hand reached for her face, brushing her cheek with his fingers until she opened her eyes.
All the breath in her lungs seemed to rush out as she saw the look on his face, so awash with love and tenderness, the tears spilled down her cheeks again. She reached up, tracing her fingers gently across his lips, still dewy from pleasing her. "I love you," he whispered. He swallowed, gathering his thoughts, still trying to search for the words to stop her wounds from bleeding, so she could begin to heal. "You may have changed, you know, as we got closer. As we committed to each other and the kind of life we wanted. Maybe I did change you. I know you changed me. But you didn't have to change for me to love you, Sarah. I loved you from the beginning, everything, every last dark piece that you could never talk to me about. Nothing made sense without you, nothing mattered without you. I've seen your soul, Sarah Walker, and as much as you may deny it, it's still beautiful to me. It always was."
Calling her by her old name was his way of emphasizing what he said. More tears wracked her, and she reached up to cling to him, feeling her heart beginning to unfreeze in the warmth of his love. Even when she couldn't look at herself in the mirror, he could see beyond, and loved her anyway. All of the pain in her life, every moment of anguish, she would still endure if it meant she would end up here with him, like they were now. He was the greatest gift the world had ever given her.
Trembling, her heart pounding in the silence, she slid herself underneath him, opening her legs and angling her hips upward to join with him effortlessly. The desire on his face was palpable, all the time building inside himself as he'd catered to her needs. And, still he held himself, restrained until he felt her climax again. There was no point where he ended and she began. Each of his breaths seemed to come from deep in her lungs and expelling his breath brought it back around.
Knowing what he needed, and knowing her satisfaction would not be complete until she felt him release inside her, she wrapped her legs around him high over his hips, pulling his body closer to her, opening up the angle to increase the depth he could reach. He pressed his mouth against hers, the lingering taste of her still on his lips. He moaned into her mouth, pulling her up hard against his hips as the sensation took over.
He collapsed on top of her, his labored breathing beginning to calm. A very long time, resting against him in silence, seemed to calm her as well. Her voice, seeming to come out of nowhere, startled him in the quiet. "I kept telling myself that you would never have wanted me to do what I was doing. But I couldn't stop. Everything was dead inside, like my whole life was wasted."
"I wouldn't," he whispered. "I would want you to live, not die with me. Even though I know it would be hard for me to want to keep living if you were gone," he said softly. He had almost died, years ago, when she had left him, before her memory had been restored. Morgan had saved him then, reminded him of what he owed to Sarah--to be the person she knew he could be.
She nestled beside him, pulling the covers up gently and folding them back. She rested her chin on her hand laying against his chest. "I love you," she said, slowly, emphasizing each word. She told him that often, casually and seriously alike. This time, it was an affirmation, like a prayer, or a promise.
He sighed, relieved at the knowledge that he had broken through, and helped her to understand the depth and power of what he felt for her. Not everything was healed, he knew, but it was a start. He held onto her, relaxing as he heard her breathing slow, knowing she was finally peacefully asleep after so many restless nights. He wasn't letting go, he thought as his consciousness faded.
October 13, 2021
Burbank, California
She woke him in the middle of the night, twitching and moaning in her sleep, in the throes of a nightmare. He came awake slowly, groggy and disoriented as he took assessment of how they were, his memory of the night before slowly returning and filling his insides with warmth, even as her distress registered.
"Sarah," he whispered, shaking her significantly, afraid if she made more noise she would wake up their children. They had fallen asleep naked, which was a huge risk when their children could walk into their bedroom at any time. Their six year old twins still did that frequently, even if their older brother had grown out of it.
She shrieked, sitting upright with a jarring jolt. Her hand pressed to the base of her throat as she struggled to regulate her breathing.
"It's ok," he soothed, sitting up beside her and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She continued gasping for a few moments, but turned to look at her husband. Even in the dark, Chuck could see her eyes, glacial blue, like ice on fire and boring into his soul. "Chuck," she panted. "What happened to Stephen…when I was hemorrhaging?"
Chuck's mouth went completely dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, fueling further his complete inability to speak. Sarah saw the horrified look on his face, and continued, her voice higher pitched and shrilly. "I…I left you a message…on your cell phone," she said. "I told you I was sorry…I…dropped the phone…but Stephen was in the playard. I put him there. I remember putting him in there! Chuck, how did he get a hold of my phone?"
He knew she had remembered more after she had been shot. Delirious and in pain, she had regained consciousness and rambled on about the recovered memory of the missing time between waking up the morning before it happened and waking up in the hospital seven days later. Now, he was dealing with the spy in her, able to piece all of that evidence she already had in order to ask him the right question…getting at the truth he had never fully explained to her.
It was a moment of reckoning. He knew he needed to tell her the truth…all of the truth. Her state of mind was so tenuous, but it didn't matter. He just hoped it didn't push her further away from him again, after he had finally found the way to break through. "He…climbed out," Chuck replied, his voice trembling. "He went straight…for your phone…and…flashed, now we know."
Her eyes widened as she realized the rest of it, what he still wouldn't say out loud. "Oh my god…" she gasped. "He saw all of that…up close…didn't he?" She took a deep breath and bellowed, "Didn't he?" He flinched at the volume, closing his eyes as her tone sliced through him.
Tears streamed from Chuck's eyes as he replied in a strangled voice. "He was…clinging to you. Vivian found him…like that…"
She scrambled away from him, reaching for her robe that was wrinkled at the foot of the bed. "How could you not tell me that?" she accused. "Why would you keep that from me?" she demanded to know.
All of his emotion roared back, everything he had been feeling for weeks as their normal life had slowly unraveled to become a living nightmare that he couldn't escape. Added to it was past, unhealed hurt from the time she was currently upset about. He jumped out of bed to pursue her as she made a move like she was running towards her dresser. "Because I didn't think you could take it!" he shouted, reaching for her arm, gripping her elbow to stop her from moving. "Sarah, you were a wreck…for weeks…after you came home from the hospital. You needed me to do almost everything for you. I didn't know what to do…I couldn't add to that. I couldn't," he added desperately.
She sought his face in the darkness, staring at him like he was someone she didn't know. It scared the hell out of him, worse than at any moment they had recently lived through. He couldn't discern the look on her face, something he had never seen before. Guilt? Was that it? But why? he thought to himself.
"I was…waiting…while you went to counseling. But then you got pregnant again…and everything changed so fast… and it seemed better…and…" he rambled.
He didn't understand at all, but she stumbled on her feet, his firm grip on her elbow the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees. She dissolved into hysterical tears, then pulled her arm away from him, stumbling down onto her hands and knees.
"Sarah," he breathed, half question, half exclamation. He reached down for her, but she pulled her entire body away. She rose quickly, stumbling, and ran for the door of the bedroom, as if she were fleeing for her life.
Chuck stumbled after her, grabbing her around the waist from behind, surprised at how much strength it took to hold her still. "Wait! Where are you going?" he asked in desperation.
"I need to be alone. Please, Chuck, just let me go!" she pleaded, not turning her head around, still forcefully straining against his grip.
He was overrun with anguish, so frightened he felt sick, but he released her. Helplessly, he watched as she took off running, then listened as she bounded down the stairs. He ran out into the hallway, listening as she opened and shut the dryer, obviously grabbing clothes, as all she was wearing was her robe. He heard the keys jingling, then the door opened and closed. At the sound of her car engine, then the squealing tires as she drove away, he leaned back into the wall, sliding down and sitting hard on the floor, dazed and wondering how he had seemed to make so much progress last night, only to have it all dashed away before the sun had risen.
His children were still peacefully asleep, blissfully oblivious to the altercation between their parents. Every fiber of his being and every drop of his blood had yearned to chase her down the stairs…follow her out of the house. As his mind was spinning, he knew how badly she was hurt, to have run from him like she did. This was the worst thing he could remember in their entire married life, perhaps even worse than when she had tried to kill him nine years ago…because she knew exactly what she was doing this time.
He wanted to go, but he couldn't. He couldn't leave his young children home alone…most certainly not while it was still dark. Sarah knew that, knowing once she had run out of the house, she was free, and he couldn't, wouldn't, follow. He couldn't go downstairs, though he heard the dog starting to stir after Sarah had disturbed him. He couldn't even stand, though he knew he would scare his children if they saw him like this…collapsed against the wall, tears streaked on his face.
What did make him move, after a time, was the sound of his son, waking from yet another nightmare, screaming at the top of his lungs.
