Title: Torn
Author: Kaitlyn
Rating: R
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.
In memory of Alicia Scott Land. This could never be enough, but it's something. May she soar with the angels and paint all of their portraits across the sky. I love you, baby, now and forever.
The two songs I use in this chapter are "New Slang" by The Shins and "Let Go" by Frou Frou. Both are off the Garden State soundtrack, which I love, and I HIGHLY recommend that movie. Just to be clear, the first is just a prelude to the chapter. The second is actually incorporated IN the chapter.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth, only I don't know how they got out, Dear.
Turn me back into the pet I was when we met. I was happier then, with no mind-set."
--The Shins
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"It gains, the more it gives,
and then it rises with the fall. So hand me that remote.
Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow? Such boundless pleasure-
we've no time for later, now.
You can't await your own arrival. You've twenty seconds to compl--"
The car jumped as Chandler failed to dodge a pothole in the road, causing Ross' CD player to skip. The interlude in the steady stream of soothing, melodic music stirred him from his sleep with a start. He opened his eyes, immediately experiencing an unexplainable feeling of panic and confusion wash over him. He darted his eyes around the car, his breathing erratic and his veins cold but paradoxically pulsing with blistering blood. When he found nothing but windows dimmed by the pitch of night outside and four of his friends sprawled out asleep over the seats, he calmed a bit. He wiped a small amount of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and closed his eyes.
His face.
It always came back to his face. It was all he'd been able to see for the past 48 hours when he closed his eyes. They were now driving through Nevada. They'd be in San Francisco by sunrise and he hadn't been able to sleep a wink since that night in the bar. Thinking about it still infuriated him, but he knew it was all for not and just looking at her face washed away all his anger. He thought that peculiar, since he'd be inclined to believe in seeing her he'd only be seeing the events of that night and hearing the words of The Stranger, but somehow her face offered a warm penitence and calmed his nerves.
He glanced down at her in their seat. She was curled up in the fetal position with her feet pressed against the side of the car and her head resting on the middle of the seat, barely touching his leg. Her hands were beneath her head and her hair fell in front of her eyes. She looked as if she were shivering (though Ross knew that was probably just him being overprotective), so he took off his over-shirt and laid it across her.
He glanced up briefly at Chandler in the front of the car. He wanted to talk to him. He looked lonely. He didn't want to risk waking anyone up, though, so he opted not to. Instead, he pressed the "play" button on his CD player and let the previously interrupted song play on.
"So let go.
Jump in.
Oh, well, whatcha waiting for? It's alright ,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown. So let go.
Yeah, let go.
Just get in. Oh, it's so amazing here. It's alright,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown..."
Maybe it was the word "beauty" that made him glance back down at her. He chose to believe that it was, rather than the more dismal possibility. When he did, though, he was startled at how young she looked. Even with the shadows cast across her face and the downturn of her lips that came with sleep, she looked so small and fragile. He couldn't resist reaching out and stroking her arm with his fingertips. Even in her sleep, her body reacted to him. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and she shifted a bit beneath the flannel of his shirt. He couldn't help but smile, but in the moment he was also torn.
Sometimes he was taken aback at how vulnerable her parents' divorce and the subsequent events of her life had left her. She was strong and proud, refusing to admit it to anyone, but he saw the way she stared wistfully and lost in thought out the window when she thought he wasn't looking. He saw the longing in her eyes for a sense of peace and belonging. He saw the restlessness and, yes, even the twinge of unhappiness that occasionally surfaced. She assured him with every breath she took that none of her impatience was with him, but he had his doubts and it left him oftentimes insecure. She whispered it to him when they made love, but it only seemed to be during the most needy times, when their coming together was more out of need and comfort than passion or tenderness.
She only reassured him that she was completely happy with him when they made love, anymore, and the revelation was always proceeded by a breakdown of tears.
He closed his eyes as he touched her arm, recalling nights tangled in his sheets or lying atop unfamiliar hotel bedspreads, stroking her back and feeling her shake and sob against his chest. He recalled how she told him she loved him--so sincere but so deprived. He never doubted it. Not anymore, and not for even one second. He knew she loved him. He would never distrust that again. They had simply moved past any stage in their relationship where the possibility could ever be present.
He still doubted other things, though, and those doubts were struggling for the surface, now. He doubted for how long she could stay on the road. He doubted her reasons for wanting to be in California. Mostly, though, he doubted how much good he was really doing her, anymore.
When he'd fought the man in the bar, it had come from the most genuine place inside himself. He had not done it to save face or to show off. He'd done it because the very thought of another man with Rachel, especially against her will, disgusted him to the point of vomiting. He'd done it because he respected her and loved her too much not to. Lastly, and most importantly, he'd done it because he would always, no matter where either of them was or how old they got to be, feel a protectiveness and responsibility to her that could never be outgrown or overdone. It was similar to the one he felt for Monica, only more primitive. He knew he had to save her from any and all intrusions, even if that feeling became overbearing at times. He would never stop protecting her. It just wasn't in the cards for him.
Thus was this feeling of opposing forces. No matter how much he wanted to protect her--no matter how much he wanted to save her from everything--he questioned not only his ability but his place. Was that really what she needed? The fact that he'd be attending college soon couldn't be ignored. Next year, she'd be a senior in high school. She'd be making important life decisions and he'd already be starting a new one. He'd have a roommate and an apartment and frat parties. She'd have senior prom to look forward to, and college applications and spring break. Their lives were headed down two completely separate paths, and who knew how far away they'd be from each other?
That was the thing he hadn't told Chandler about his NYU letter. He knew, like everyone else, that he'd been accepted. He hadn't opened it, though, because he knew once it became real he wouldn't be able to leave. He knew if the option to stay with Rachel was presented, he'd be too selfish and weak to turn it down.
Sometimes, he looked at Chandler and Monica and thought that perhaps he was overreacting and overanalyzing (as usual). Couldn't things just be simple? Then, he always realized that they just were not Chandler and Monica, and they would never be simple. Their relationship functioned off it's own entropy. It thrived on divergence and fed off hard word. It was like a bridge whose supports had shifted and was holding itself up from the sheer stress of conflicting forces.
"There's beauty in the breakdown.."
It was beautiful and wonderful and the only thing he could ever imagine needing...but was it meant to come to an end with this chapter of his life? Was turning a new page with such emotional baggage the healthiest option for either of them?
These questions plagued him.
She stirred in her sleep, suspending his thoughts and making him feel immediately guilty. He tightened his eyelids securely shut and clenched his fists uncomfortably, shifting with her out of instinct. Her eyelids fluttered open and she raised her head a bit, looking confused and tired.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
"Nevada. Go back to sleep," he encouraged. Why had he said that? Did he really want her to go back to sleep? It had been an impulse.
"What time is it?" She sat up, obviously set on staying awake now. She wiped some sleep from her eyes and yawned quietly. Ross glanced down at his watch and sighed, realizing the time and suddenly becoming tired himself.
"About 2:15. We'll be there by sunrise." He couldn't look at her, now. Just moments ago the simple act had provided him with such comfort and assurance, but now he felt a hot shame crawl across his skin. The incurable urge to take a shower hit him suddenly.
"What is it?" she asked, sensing his discomfort immediately. And immediately he regretted ever having this internal debate with himself. Why taint the time they had left with questions and second-guessing? And could he ever really look into those eyes and stay confused or irresolute for more than a few seconds? He turned to look at her and smiled.
"Nothing," he shook his head, holding out his arms to her. Sure enough, she crawled into them. He held her at his side and the grave silence of the car allowed him to pretended they were the only ones awake (though Chandler obviously was quite awake in the front).
"I like being back here with you," she admitted. "It makes me feel so safe. It's like this secret time we have together."
"Me too." God, this was killing him. Why wouldn't his thoughts just let him be? He felt like he was cheating on her--betraying her. He was holding her so close to him, burying his head in her hair and kissing her skin, but still thinking such forlorn, prying thoughts.
"I can feel you touch me in my sleep, you know," she offered, somewhat randomly. It took him a second to realize she was referring to the way he'd touched her arm when she'd shivered.
"I didn't know."
"You touched my arm."
"You were cold."
The exchange had been brief and a deafening silence followed shortly after, but it had spoken volumes. Even in sleep, he thought, she's with me. What difference will a few hundred miles make? What difference will a roommate make to the girl whose innocence he'd stolen? What are frat parties when compared with the intimacy shared during their lovemaking? What was her senior prom if he was not the one coming back to take her?
"Will you stay awake with me until we get to California?" she asked, but he could somehow feel her eyelids getting heavy just by the way she spoke.
"Sure." He knew she'd be asleep again in a few minutes, but he'd stay awake for the both of them.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Their admission into California was subtle and hardly apocalyptic, as had almost been excepted. The van rolled across the state line around 3 a.m. with the same ease it had used when traveling the past 3,000 miles of pavement. The air was no different, nor was most of the scenery. In fact, it was lucky that only Ross and Chandler had been awake for their initial admittance into the state, as the sight had been rather dismal and anticlimactic, to say the least. Old, dilapidated gas stations and strip malls seemed to be the only landmarks breaking up the miles and miles of endless asphalt and dirt. Few trees, few hills and few anything surfaced the landscape. Ross had never been to San Francisco, but he only hoped the sight of that city was more comforting than what they'd been seeing for the past few hours.
Around 6:30, just a few moments after the break of dawn, the SUV entered the limits of their destination and the six rose from their slumber as if summoned by some invisible force. Rachel was immediately upset with Ross.
"I can't believe you let me miss it," she pouted. "It's what I've been waiting for this whole time."
"You looked so peaceful," he tried his best to defend himself. "I didn't want to wake you." She remained seated distantly from him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Oh, come on," he pleaded. "As soon as we get to the hotel and rest, we can go explore the whole city together," he promised. He took her hand and caused her to look at him.
"Okay," she submitted. "The whole city?"
"The whole city." He smiled at the hopefulness in her voice. So young.
The hotel was bright and modern, in true California fashion. Their respective rooms contained light hardwood floors, cool shades of lime green and ocean blue sheets and curtains, and spotlessly white comforters, tiles and appliances. All in all, it was subtle and relaxed, conveying the overall ambiance of the state in general.
"So," Ross initiated, falling backwards on the springy bed while Rachel sat down on the couch across from him, "what do you want to do first?"
"I don't know." She sounded a bit defeated. He could tell there were so many thoughts and possibilities flooding her brain that she was unsure about what exactly to do now that she was here. It was overwhelming. He had expected this. He sat up and faced her.
"Do you want to go see her right away?" he asked, thinking that perhaps cutting to the chase would make it all the easier. She shot him an uncomfortable and violated look, as if he'd been reading her thoughts and called her out.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head a bit defensively, almost offended at his comment.
"Sorry..." he trailed off, looking down at his lap. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. "Do you want to take me up on touring the town, then?" he asked, hoping that might relieve some tension.
"No," she denied him, confusing him at first. "I want to do that after I see my mom. I want to do that last, right before we leave."
"So you want the 'official tour' of the city to come after we've already been here for 4 days?" he asked. All she did was nod. He'd let her have it her way, though. "Okay, so that still leaves us with few options..." He knew he'd stated the options, but the tension was mounting by the moment and he hated awkward pauses between them.
"Ross?" she asked feebly, sound tired even though she'd slept for almost 7 hours in the car. "Can we just take a nap?" Her suggestion made him smile, and though a nap at 7:30 in the morning seemed odd, he rounded the bed to turn down the sheets and waited for her to slide in beside him.
He knew she was exhausted, and not from any sort of sleep deprivation. Her mind was working overtime. She'd been waiting for months to get here, expectations of justification and peace filling her thoughts and dreams. Now that she was here, she knew she'd have to be the one to fulfill them and make this trip everything it was supposed to be for her. No matter how badly Ross wanted to help, he wouldn't be able to. It was all on her, and that notion scared her. She was only prolonging the inevitable of having to face her mother, but Ross would be there to do whatever she needed to prepare herself.
He wanted to ask her so many questions. He wanted to enquire about what she would talk to her mother about. He wanted to know what EXACTLY she expected to find here--to discover--but he knew that question was futile, anyway, because he'd never get a straight answer. Childishly, though, he wanted to just ask her all the questions he already knew the answers to but loved hearing; things like 'Do you still love me?' and 'Do you think we'll make it through all this?'. They'd discussed all those things a million and one times, but he loved the reassurance.
Instead, though, he said nothing.
Once she'd fallen asleep (which didn't take long), he slipped out of bed and went to sit on their ocean-front balcony. It was only 8:00 am and people were just beginning to scatter out onto the beach. He could see Alcatraz in the distance and he let scenes from "The Rock" play through his head to keep his mind occupied. After a while, though, he ran out of memorable moments and was forced to think about what he'd really gone out there to address.
He pulled his legs up into the chair with them and sat with his arms looped around his knees and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head. It was summer and it was California, but the sun was far from high in the sky and early-morning winds were coming off the water. For some inexplicable reason, his thoughts immediately went to a particular scene from when they were young kids.
It was on his 9th birthday, though Monica and Rachel were both still 7. He'd gotten a new bike and he was letting the girls take turns riding it at the top of their driveway. When it had been Rachel's turn, like with Monica, he ran beside her the whole way, holding his hand right beside the seat. When she'd gotten to the corner of the street, though, a car had come speeding around the turn and had just missed her. They slammed on their breaks and Rachel screeched on hers as well, falling from the bike. Ross can't recall it, himself, but Monica always told him that she'd never forget the yell he'd let out when he thought Rachel had been hit.
The recollection made him want to cringe and laugh at the same time. The thought that he'd always had this inherent desire to protect his little sister's best friend, even before he had ever dreamed of being attracted to ANY girls, was partly comforting and partly damning. The concept of forever scared, Ross, just as the concept of fate scared him. While he supported it, he had to admit that free will was a far more preferable theory. Just the thought that his ties to Rachel could never be severed made him feel trapped, and certainly not because he wouldn't make it his first priority to be with her forever, but because the thought she SHE might be forever bound to HIM scared him.
So much was riding on her conversation with her mother.
He sat out there for a long while, watching the tide retreat and then crash down onto the shore. He watched the couples walking hand-in-hand and suddenly wished that Rachel was awake. He didn't know what for. Even if she did wake up, things would be awkward between them. That was one of the most infuriating and confusing things about their relationship--things could get uncomfortable for no reason at all other than a few errant thoughts. Their respective minds would wonder and bam, there would be discomfort. They both knew it, too.
Regardless, however, just before he was considering going back inside, he felt a small and easy hand on his shoulder. He craned his neck and saw that she had snuck up behind him. She smiled warmly and took the seat beside him, folding herself up into the chair and wrapping herself inside the blanket from the bed. He noticed immediately that she was naked beneath it. He hadn't remembered her taking her clothes of for her nap. Perhaps she had. It made him sad, then, that he had not joined her, and not just because he loved seeing her naked. It made him sad to think that she had slept that way in a bed that was not meant for him, even if it was not meant for anyone else, either.
"How long have you been asleep?" he asked. She answered without taking her eyes off the water.
"Almost 3 hours, I guess. It's about 11 now," she asserted. She looked at him. "Is that how long you've been out here?" He nodded. "What have you been doing?"
"Just thinking," he replied casually, warning her not to worry with his tone of voice.
"Anything important?" she asked, knowing that it was but also knowing that he'd never admit it. They both knew whatever he was worried about regarded them. It almost always did anymore.
"Isn't it always?" he cracked, smiling comfortingly, though.
"Ross..." she pleaded, causing him to look at her alarmingly. Her face was begging him to stop whatever he was in the middle of inside his head. She placed her hand on his arm. "What's the matter?"
"I've just got to get out of here," he sighed, shaking his head and standing up from the chair. Her face dropped in anxiety and confusion. She stood, too, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.
"Where are you going?" she asked, following him inside the room from the balcony. "What's all this about?"
"I don't know," he admitted, searching the room for his wallet and room key. She was just glad he didn't ask "what's what about?" She had half expected that.
"Will you just stop for a minute?" she almost yelled, grabbing his hand. "I at least deserve an explanation! This came out of nowhere. Did I do something wrong?" she asked, and he could tell that she was genuinely asking.
"No!" he shouted, immediately regretting it. She hadn't deserved that. That was party why he wanted to leave. The tension was mounting inside him and he hadn't wanted to blow up on her. Too late. "I'm sorry," he apologized, shaking his head and looking down at the ground. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Rachel," he assured. "I know this is from nowhere...but since when has anything between us not come from nowhere?"
He grinned, trying to ease the tension, but she saw through it. She didn't even crack a smile. Her gaze was as focused and serious as he'd ever seen it. He thought he saw her eyes begin to gloss over with tears, and that's when he knew he had to leave. Seeing her cry would surely break him completely this time.
"Look, I'll be back soon." He nodded once and turned to leave.
When he actually made it to the other side without her saying his name, part of him felt disappointed.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 21. Continued in Chapter 22.
In memory of Alicia Scott Land. This could never be enough, but it's something. May she soar with the angels and paint all of their portraits across the sky. I love you, baby, now and forever.
The two songs I use in this chapter are "New Slang" by The Shins and "Let Go" by Frou Frou. Both are off the Garden State soundtrack, which I love, and I HIGHLY recommend that movie. Just to be clear, the first is just a prelude to the chapter. The second is actually incorporated IN the chapter.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth, only I don't know how they got out, Dear.
Turn me back into the pet I was when we met. I was happier then, with no mind-set."
--The Shins
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"It gains, the more it gives,
and then it rises with the fall. So hand me that remote.
Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow? Such boundless pleasure-
we've no time for later, now.
You can't await your own arrival. You've twenty seconds to compl--"
The car jumped as Chandler failed to dodge a pothole in the road, causing Ross' CD player to skip. The interlude in the steady stream of soothing, melodic music stirred him from his sleep with a start. He opened his eyes, immediately experiencing an unexplainable feeling of panic and confusion wash over him. He darted his eyes around the car, his breathing erratic and his veins cold but paradoxically pulsing with blistering blood. When he found nothing but windows dimmed by the pitch of night outside and four of his friends sprawled out asleep over the seats, he calmed a bit. He wiped a small amount of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and closed his eyes.
His face.
It always came back to his face. It was all he'd been able to see for the past 48 hours when he closed his eyes. They were now driving through Nevada. They'd be in San Francisco by sunrise and he hadn't been able to sleep a wink since that night in the bar. Thinking about it still infuriated him, but he knew it was all for not and just looking at her face washed away all his anger. He thought that peculiar, since he'd be inclined to believe in seeing her he'd only be seeing the events of that night and hearing the words of The Stranger, but somehow her face offered a warm penitence and calmed his nerves.
He glanced down at her in their seat. She was curled up in the fetal position with her feet pressed against the side of the car and her head resting on the middle of the seat, barely touching his leg. Her hands were beneath her head and her hair fell in front of her eyes. She looked as if she were shivering (though Ross knew that was probably just him being overprotective), so he took off his over-shirt and laid it across her.
He glanced up briefly at Chandler in the front of the car. He wanted to talk to him. He looked lonely. He didn't want to risk waking anyone up, though, so he opted not to. Instead, he pressed the "play" button on his CD player and let the previously interrupted song play on.
"So let go.
Jump in.
Oh, well, whatcha waiting for? It's alright ,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown. So let go.
Yeah, let go.
Just get in. Oh, it's so amazing here. It's alright,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown..."
Maybe it was the word "beauty" that made him glance back down at her. He chose to believe that it was, rather than the more dismal possibility. When he did, though, he was startled at how young she looked. Even with the shadows cast across her face and the downturn of her lips that came with sleep, she looked so small and fragile. He couldn't resist reaching out and stroking her arm with his fingertips. Even in her sleep, her body reacted to him. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and she shifted a bit beneath the flannel of his shirt. He couldn't help but smile, but in the moment he was also torn.
Sometimes he was taken aback at how vulnerable her parents' divorce and the subsequent events of her life had left her. She was strong and proud, refusing to admit it to anyone, but he saw the way she stared wistfully and lost in thought out the window when she thought he wasn't looking. He saw the longing in her eyes for a sense of peace and belonging. He saw the restlessness and, yes, even the twinge of unhappiness that occasionally surfaced. She assured him with every breath she took that none of her impatience was with him, but he had his doubts and it left him oftentimes insecure. She whispered it to him when they made love, but it only seemed to be during the most needy times, when their coming together was more out of need and comfort than passion or tenderness.
She only reassured him that she was completely happy with him when they made love, anymore, and the revelation was always proceeded by a breakdown of tears.
He closed his eyes as he touched her arm, recalling nights tangled in his sheets or lying atop unfamiliar hotel bedspreads, stroking her back and feeling her shake and sob against his chest. He recalled how she told him she loved him--so sincere but so deprived. He never doubted it. Not anymore, and not for even one second. He knew she loved him. He would never distrust that again. They had simply moved past any stage in their relationship where the possibility could ever be present.
He still doubted other things, though, and those doubts were struggling for the surface, now. He doubted for how long she could stay on the road. He doubted her reasons for wanting to be in California. Mostly, though, he doubted how much good he was really doing her, anymore.
When he'd fought the man in the bar, it had come from the most genuine place inside himself. He had not done it to save face or to show off. He'd done it because the very thought of another man with Rachel, especially against her will, disgusted him to the point of vomiting. He'd done it because he respected her and loved her too much not to. Lastly, and most importantly, he'd done it because he would always, no matter where either of them was or how old they got to be, feel a protectiveness and responsibility to her that could never be outgrown or overdone. It was similar to the one he felt for Monica, only more primitive. He knew he had to save her from any and all intrusions, even if that feeling became overbearing at times. He would never stop protecting her. It just wasn't in the cards for him.
Thus was this feeling of opposing forces. No matter how much he wanted to protect her--no matter how much he wanted to save her from everything--he questioned not only his ability but his place. Was that really what she needed? The fact that he'd be attending college soon couldn't be ignored. Next year, she'd be a senior in high school. She'd be making important life decisions and he'd already be starting a new one. He'd have a roommate and an apartment and frat parties. She'd have senior prom to look forward to, and college applications and spring break. Their lives were headed down two completely separate paths, and who knew how far away they'd be from each other?
That was the thing he hadn't told Chandler about his NYU letter. He knew, like everyone else, that he'd been accepted. He hadn't opened it, though, because he knew once it became real he wouldn't be able to leave. He knew if the option to stay with Rachel was presented, he'd be too selfish and weak to turn it down.
Sometimes, he looked at Chandler and Monica and thought that perhaps he was overreacting and overanalyzing (as usual). Couldn't things just be simple? Then, he always realized that they just were not Chandler and Monica, and they would never be simple. Their relationship functioned off it's own entropy. It thrived on divergence and fed off hard word. It was like a bridge whose supports had shifted and was holding itself up from the sheer stress of conflicting forces.
"There's beauty in the breakdown.."
It was beautiful and wonderful and the only thing he could ever imagine needing...but was it meant to come to an end with this chapter of his life? Was turning a new page with such emotional baggage the healthiest option for either of them?
These questions plagued him.
She stirred in her sleep, suspending his thoughts and making him feel immediately guilty. He tightened his eyelids securely shut and clenched his fists uncomfortably, shifting with her out of instinct. Her eyelids fluttered open and she raised her head a bit, looking confused and tired.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
"Nevada. Go back to sleep," he encouraged. Why had he said that? Did he really want her to go back to sleep? It had been an impulse.
"What time is it?" She sat up, obviously set on staying awake now. She wiped some sleep from her eyes and yawned quietly. Ross glanced down at his watch and sighed, realizing the time and suddenly becoming tired himself.
"About 2:15. We'll be there by sunrise." He couldn't look at her, now. Just moments ago the simple act had provided him with such comfort and assurance, but now he felt a hot shame crawl across his skin. The incurable urge to take a shower hit him suddenly.
"What is it?" she asked, sensing his discomfort immediately. And immediately he regretted ever having this internal debate with himself. Why taint the time they had left with questions and second-guessing? And could he ever really look into those eyes and stay confused or irresolute for more than a few seconds? He turned to look at her and smiled.
"Nothing," he shook his head, holding out his arms to her. Sure enough, she crawled into them. He held her at his side and the grave silence of the car allowed him to pretended they were the only ones awake (though Chandler obviously was quite awake in the front).
"I like being back here with you," she admitted. "It makes me feel so safe. It's like this secret time we have together."
"Me too." God, this was killing him. Why wouldn't his thoughts just let him be? He felt like he was cheating on her--betraying her. He was holding her so close to him, burying his head in her hair and kissing her skin, but still thinking such forlorn, prying thoughts.
"I can feel you touch me in my sleep, you know," she offered, somewhat randomly. It took him a second to realize she was referring to the way he'd touched her arm when she'd shivered.
"I didn't know."
"You touched my arm."
"You were cold."
The exchange had been brief and a deafening silence followed shortly after, but it had spoken volumes. Even in sleep, he thought, she's with me. What difference will a few hundred miles make? What difference will a roommate make to the girl whose innocence he'd stolen? What are frat parties when compared with the intimacy shared during their lovemaking? What was her senior prom if he was not the one coming back to take her?
"Will you stay awake with me until we get to California?" she asked, but he could somehow feel her eyelids getting heavy just by the way she spoke.
"Sure." He knew she'd be asleep again in a few minutes, but he'd stay awake for the both of them.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Their admission into California was subtle and hardly apocalyptic, as had almost been excepted. The van rolled across the state line around 3 a.m. with the same ease it had used when traveling the past 3,000 miles of pavement. The air was no different, nor was most of the scenery. In fact, it was lucky that only Ross and Chandler had been awake for their initial admittance into the state, as the sight had been rather dismal and anticlimactic, to say the least. Old, dilapidated gas stations and strip malls seemed to be the only landmarks breaking up the miles and miles of endless asphalt and dirt. Few trees, few hills and few anything surfaced the landscape. Ross had never been to San Francisco, but he only hoped the sight of that city was more comforting than what they'd been seeing for the past few hours.
Around 6:30, just a few moments after the break of dawn, the SUV entered the limits of their destination and the six rose from their slumber as if summoned by some invisible force. Rachel was immediately upset with Ross.
"I can't believe you let me miss it," she pouted. "It's what I've been waiting for this whole time."
"You looked so peaceful," he tried his best to defend himself. "I didn't want to wake you." She remained seated distantly from him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Oh, come on," he pleaded. "As soon as we get to the hotel and rest, we can go explore the whole city together," he promised. He took her hand and caused her to look at him.
"Okay," she submitted. "The whole city?"
"The whole city." He smiled at the hopefulness in her voice. So young.
The hotel was bright and modern, in true California fashion. Their respective rooms contained light hardwood floors, cool shades of lime green and ocean blue sheets and curtains, and spotlessly white comforters, tiles and appliances. All in all, it was subtle and relaxed, conveying the overall ambiance of the state in general.
"So," Ross initiated, falling backwards on the springy bed while Rachel sat down on the couch across from him, "what do you want to do first?"
"I don't know." She sounded a bit defeated. He could tell there were so many thoughts and possibilities flooding her brain that she was unsure about what exactly to do now that she was here. It was overwhelming. He had expected this. He sat up and faced her.
"Do you want to go see her right away?" he asked, thinking that perhaps cutting to the chase would make it all the easier. She shot him an uncomfortable and violated look, as if he'd been reading her thoughts and called her out.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head a bit defensively, almost offended at his comment.
"Sorry..." he trailed off, looking down at his lap. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. "Do you want to take me up on touring the town, then?" he asked, hoping that might relieve some tension.
"No," she denied him, confusing him at first. "I want to do that after I see my mom. I want to do that last, right before we leave."
"So you want the 'official tour' of the city to come after we've already been here for 4 days?" he asked. All she did was nod. He'd let her have it her way, though. "Okay, so that still leaves us with few options..." He knew he'd stated the options, but the tension was mounting by the moment and he hated awkward pauses between them.
"Ross?" she asked feebly, sound tired even though she'd slept for almost 7 hours in the car. "Can we just take a nap?" Her suggestion made him smile, and though a nap at 7:30 in the morning seemed odd, he rounded the bed to turn down the sheets and waited for her to slide in beside him.
He knew she was exhausted, and not from any sort of sleep deprivation. Her mind was working overtime. She'd been waiting for months to get here, expectations of justification and peace filling her thoughts and dreams. Now that she was here, she knew she'd have to be the one to fulfill them and make this trip everything it was supposed to be for her. No matter how badly Ross wanted to help, he wouldn't be able to. It was all on her, and that notion scared her. She was only prolonging the inevitable of having to face her mother, but Ross would be there to do whatever she needed to prepare herself.
He wanted to ask her so many questions. He wanted to enquire about what she would talk to her mother about. He wanted to know what EXACTLY she expected to find here--to discover--but he knew that question was futile, anyway, because he'd never get a straight answer. Childishly, though, he wanted to just ask her all the questions he already knew the answers to but loved hearing; things like 'Do you still love me?' and 'Do you think we'll make it through all this?'. They'd discussed all those things a million and one times, but he loved the reassurance.
Instead, though, he said nothing.
Once she'd fallen asleep (which didn't take long), he slipped out of bed and went to sit on their ocean-front balcony. It was only 8:00 am and people were just beginning to scatter out onto the beach. He could see Alcatraz in the distance and he let scenes from "The Rock" play through his head to keep his mind occupied. After a while, though, he ran out of memorable moments and was forced to think about what he'd really gone out there to address.
He pulled his legs up into the chair with them and sat with his arms looped around his knees and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head. It was summer and it was California, but the sun was far from high in the sky and early-morning winds were coming off the water. For some inexplicable reason, his thoughts immediately went to a particular scene from when they were young kids.
It was on his 9th birthday, though Monica and Rachel were both still 7. He'd gotten a new bike and he was letting the girls take turns riding it at the top of their driveway. When it had been Rachel's turn, like with Monica, he ran beside her the whole way, holding his hand right beside the seat. When she'd gotten to the corner of the street, though, a car had come speeding around the turn and had just missed her. They slammed on their breaks and Rachel screeched on hers as well, falling from the bike. Ross can't recall it, himself, but Monica always told him that she'd never forget the yell he'd let out when he thought Rachel had been hit.
The recollection made him want to cringe and laugh at the same time. The thought that he'd always had this inherent desire to protect his little sister's best friend, even before he had ever dreamed of being attracted to ANY girls, was partly comforting and partly damning. The concept of forever scared, Ross, just as the concept of fate scared him. While he supported it, he had to admit that free will was a far more preferable theory. Just the thought that his ties to Rachel could never be severed made him feel trapped, and certainly not because he wouldn't make it his first priority to be with her forever, but because the thought she SHE might be forever bound to HIM scared him.
So much was riding on her conversation with her mother.
He sat out there for a long while, watching the tide retreat and then crash down onto the shore. He watched the couples walking hand-in-hand and suddenly wished that Rachel was awake. He didn't know what for. Even if she did wake up, things would be awkward between them. That was one of the most infuriating and confusing things about their relationship--things could get uncomfortable for no reason at all other than a few errant thoughts. Their respective minds would wonder and bam, there would be discomfort. They both knew it, too.
Regardless, however, just before he was considering going back inside, he felt a small and easy hand on his shoulder. He craned his neck and saw that she had snuck up behind him. She smiled warmly and took the seat beside him, folding herself up into the chair and wrapping herself inside the blanket from the bed. He noticed immediately that she was naked beneath it. He hadn't remembered her taking her clothes of for her nap. Perhaps she had. It made him sad, then, that he had not joined her, and not just because he loved seeing her naked. It made him sad to think that she had slept that way in a bed that was not meant for him, even if it was not meant for anyone else, either.
"How long have you been asleep?" he asked. She answered without taking her eyes off the water.
"Almost 3 hours, I guess. It's about 11 now," she asserted. She looked at him. "Is that how long you've been out here?" He nodded. "What have you been doing?"
"Just thinking," he replied casually, warning her not to worry with his tone of voice.
"Anything important?" she asked, knowing that it was but also knowing that he'd never admit it. They both knew whatever he was worried about regarded them. It almost always did anymore.
"Isn't it always?" he cracked, smiling comfortingly, though.
"Ross..." she pleaded, causing him to look at her alarmingly. Her face was begging him to stop whatever he was in the middle of inside his head. She placed her hand on his arm. "What's the matter?"
"I've just got to get out of here," he sighed, shaking his head and standing up from the chair. Her face dropped in anxiety and confusion. She stood, too, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.
"Where are you going?" she asked, following him inside the room from the balcony. "What's all this about?"
"I don't know," he admitted, searching the room for his wallet and room key. She was just glad he didn't ask "what's what about?" She had half expected that.
"Will you just stop for a minute?" she almost yelled, grabbing his hand. "I at least deserve an explanation! This came out of nowhere. Did I do something wrong?" she asked, and he could tell that she was genuinely asking.
"No!" he shouted, immediately regretting it. She hadn't deserved that. That was party why he wanted to leave. The tension was mounting inside him and he hadn't wanted to blow up on her. Too late. "I'm sorry," he apologized, shaking his head and looking down at the ground. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Rachel," he assured. "I know this is from nowhere...but since when has anything between us not come from nowhere?"
He grinned, trying to ease the tension, but she saw through it. She didn't even crack a smile. Her gaze was as focused and serious as he'd ever seen it. He thought he saw her eyes begin to gloss over with tears, and that's when he knew he had to leave. Seeing her cry would surely break him completely this time.
"Look, I'll be back soon." He nodded once and turned to leave.
When he actually made it to the other side without her saying his name, part of him felt disappointed.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 21. Continued in Chapter 22.
