I find it very ironic that this is "unlucky" Chapter 13. I swear I didn't plan it this way... ;)
Chapter Thirteen
When Sawyer pulled the truck around and stopped in front of the alley, he couldn't see her at first. He had a few brief seconds of fear, thinking she might have changed her mind again and taken off, but then she stepped back out into the light, and he felt silly for jumping to such dire conclusions. It was just that she'd been so unstable and off-kilter all day - there was no telling what she might take it into her head to do next.
Leaving the truck running, he got out and went over to the passenger side, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching and then gesturing to her. She walked quickly out to the opening with her head down and climbed up into the seat. He slammed the door after her and hurried around to the other side. After he got in and shut his door, he looked over at her. She was staring straight ahead, not really focused on anything in particular, seemingly exhausted.
"Gotta pass by the cops over there to get back out to the road."
With an effort, she turned to look at him.
He went on. "Might wanna crouch down so they can't see you."
She seemed to agree with him, and without saying anything, she leaned over to the left, flattening her upper body to the seat as much as she could. The cab of the truck wasn't big, and this placed her head almost in Sawyer's lap. He grinned, unable to help himself. He'd been in this predicament with women plenty of times before, but it certainly wasn't because they were hiding from the cops.
She finally spoke in a wry voice. "I know what you're thinking." And then, as an afterthought. "Pervert."
"Well, I guess you must be thinkin' it too then, so what does that make you?"
"Drive," she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, trying to compose his face. They weren't out of the woods yet. It'd probably be best if the police didn't see him laughing alone in his truck - they'd think he was on something.
Backing up and turning around, he drove slowly and (he hoped) inconspicuously out toward the exit. The state troopers were still standing there chatting - apparently they had nothing better to do. He tensed up as he went by them, knowing they couldn't see Kate but feeling nervous anyway. He'd been in enough trouble with the law for the sight of cops to make him wary in his own right, but now the burden was doubled. He had to be on guard for himself and for her at the same time.
He came to a complete stop at the entrance to the road and used his turn signal, trying not to forget any little details that might attract the troopers' attention. Finally, he turned right and drove off, gradually picking up speed. Within a few seconds, the truck stop was no longer visible in the rearview mirror.
"All right," he said, relieved. "Coast is clear."
She sat back up and peered through the rear window, needing to check for herself.
Satisfied, she turned back around and watched Sawyer as he drove. The country road was completely dark, and his face was just barely illuminated by the dash lights. He looked...different, somehow. She contemplated him quietly, a thoughtful expression on her face.
He glanced at her, and then looked back at the road.
"How'd you know where to find me?" she finally asked, softly.
"Lucky guess," he said, repeating her words from the night of his bar fight. "I guess I'm not the only one who's predictable."
"Guess not," she said with a sad smile. She still seemed withdrawn and emotionally drained.
After a few seconds she whispered, in a tone so low he could barely hear her, "Thanks."
"Yeah," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road. He didn't really know what else to say.
They rode in silence the rest of the way home.
After he parked the truck in the yard, they went in through the kitchen door. The overhead light was off, but the small light over the sink provided a dim, somber glow.
Kate halted in her tracks and stared wordlessly at the overturned kitchen table over on the wrong side of the room. She looked at Sawyer and raised her eyebrows slightly.
"What the hell happened here?" he asked, making a lame effort to sound surprised.
She smiled grimly. "Nice try."
Going over to the sink area, she pulled herself nimbly up onto the countertop and balanced on her knees, opening the cabinet above the refrigerator.
"What do you think you're doin'?" Sawyer asked.
"Getting a drink," she replied, taking down the bottle of whiskey. She turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. "Don't you want one?"
"Matter of fact, I do," he had to admit. He couldn't resist adding a question, though. "How'd you happen to know that was up there?"
"Because," she said, as if it were obvious. "I like to snoop around."
"I believe that," he said with a smile.
Opening another cabinet just behind her, she took out two shot glasses that Sawyer hadn't known he even owned. It was a good thing somebody was snooping around, he thought, because otherwise some of this stuff would probably never be found.
Staying seated on the countertop, with her legs dangling over the edge, she poured out the shots. He came and stood across from her, taking the shot glass she held out to him.
"Cheers," she said perfunctorily, raising her glass into the air. They both downed the whiskey, and she reached for the bottle to pour more.
Sawyer leaned against the counter that ran diagonal to the one she was sitting on, a few feet away from her. He watched her closely. There was a dangerous edge to her expression. She was too closed-off, trying to bury all the emotional detritus that had accrued over the course of this miserable day. If she was going to clam up and shut down again, then they would end up right back in the same place they'd started.
Trying to draw her out of it, he asked playfully, "So...you just plannin' to keep my money?"
Looking amused, she set the shot glass on the counter and reached down the front of her dress, extracting the folded cash from where she'd hidden it in her bra. She held it out to him, and he reached over to take it. It was warm from the contact with her skin, and even when he stuck it in his pocket, he could feel the heat against his leg.
She took another drink, this time sipping from the shot glass instead of swallowing it all at once. She looked at him thoughtfully. "Were you serious about driving me down to Mexico?"
"Course I was serious," he replied, strangely disappointed. "When do you want to go?"
She considered for a second, but then sighed. "Let's talk about it tomorrow. I'm not really in a planning mood tonight."
She paused.
Looking away, she asked quietly, "Jack knows I'm here, doesn't he?"
Sawyer was a little surprised. "What makes you think that?"
"I don't know. I could just tell. Something about the way he sounded when he gave you that message...when he said he missed me," she finished in a low, almost shy voice.
He watched her, hating that faraway, puppy-love look she got on her face when she talked about Jack. As usual, it triggered an immediate instinct to say something hurtful.
"I guess maybe you oughtta be more careful about leavin' your dirty laundry layin' around on the washer in plain sight, then. 'Cause no offense, sweetheart, but I don't think anyone's gonna buy that those are my clothes."
She looked toward the pantry in confusion, even though the lights were dim and nothing was visible. Slowly, realizing what she'd done, she laughed bitterly.
"It'll be something simple like that that'll get me in the end...you wait and see. Some stupid little thing. I try so hard to be careful...to remember all the details." She shook her head, angry at herself. "You'd think I'd be better at this by now."
He felt bad for bringing it up. It was just as much his fault as it was hers. "Yeah, well..." he said. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. He won't say nothin'."
"You don't think?" She looked at him in wonder. She truly didn't believe Jack would say anything either, but she was surprised to hear Sawyer say so.
"Nah," he replied, not wanting to get into it.
"I thought you hated Jack," she couldn't help prodding.
"Never said I hated him," he answered, annoyed. "But even if I did, it doesn't change the fact that he's not gonna put you in danger. You heard him, didn't you? The jackass wants you to do it yourself."
"Yeah," she said, sighing. She looked at him again, getting ready to speak, but he stopped her.
"And don't ask me again if I think he's right, because you already know what I'm gonna say."
She closed her mouth again, almost smiling. But it was a sad, distant smile. "What makes you think I don't deserve it?" she asked, curiously. "I mean, you don't even know what I did. How do you know I don't belong there?"
"Let me ask you somethin'." He looked at her intently. "If you turn yourself in to let them punish you...if they lock you up...Is it ever gonna change what you did? Is it possible that you'll feel any worse than you already do? That those bastards can do the job any better than you do yourself?"
He saw something in her respond, way down deep in her eyes. She tore her gaze away reluctantly. "No," she said in a hoarse voice.
"Then there's your answer," he almost whispered.
Kate gave up on sipping the whiskey. She finished off the shot glass and poured another.
They were quiet for a few minutes.
Instead of brightening her mood, the alcohol seemed to be having the opposite effect, bringing her pain to the surface. It was like watching water simmer - any second now it would reach the boiling point. He didn't want another scene like the one earlier. It was probably irrational, but he couldn't entirely deny the fear that she might try to leave again. If that happened, he was determined that he would make the effort to lock her up, no matter how much it pissed her off. He'd be damned if he was going to go through that again.
When she started to shakily pour another shot, he reached over and firmly took the bottle from her. "Think that's about enough for tonight, darlin.'"
She sighed heavily, but didn't argue.
He watched her where she was still sitting on the countertop, slouched against the refrigerator on one side. She was staring at the upside-down kitchen table on the far side of the room, but it was obvious she wasn't really seeing it.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she asked, "Do you ever think about ending it?"
"What?" he replied, blankly.
"You know what I mean," she said, still not looking at him. "Just...getting it over with, once and for all." She paused. "Being able to rest."
The words unnerved him, as well as the hollow tone of her voice. "You wanna talk about killin' yourself, I don't think you really need all the cute little euphemisms, do ya?"
"Fine," she said sharply, turning to look him in the eyes. "Do you ever think about killing yourself, Sawyer?" She enunciated each word clearly, forcefully.
He swallowed, not wanting to tell her the truth. "There isn't anybody that don't think about it, one point or another."
She looked as if she thought the answer was funny somehow. "Maybe so. But I bet they don't have the same kind of reasons we do."
He had no desire to have this conversation right now. Hell, he had no desire to have this conversation, ever. Especially with someone who knew him so well. Vaguely, he muttered, "Everybody's got problems."
She rolled her eyes derisively. "Okay, Dr. Phil."
Irritated, he asked, "All right then, if you think it's such a good idea, then why haven't you done it yet? What's stoppin' you?"
Now it was her turn to be disturbed. She looked down at the floor and answered softly, "I don't know. I'm just a coward, I guess."
He shook his head and almost smiled. "You may be a lotta things, Freckles...but a coward ain't one of 'em."
"You'd be surprised," she said.
He waited a second, and then asked, "Ever think that maybe the cowards are the ones who do go through with it?"
She actually appeared to consider this, as if it was a new idea. She didn't respond, however. Instead, she started in from a new angle, and he could tell by the barely controlled shaking of her voice that it was something that wasn't easy for her to say.
"You know what I think?" she began, faintly. "I think...that there are certain people..." With this she looked over at him and waveringly latched onto his gaze, almost like a safety line. "Certain people...who get...split in two, somehow. Not like multiple personalities or anything, that's not what I mean. Just...one part of them goes one way, and the other part stays put."
He was unsettled, but determined not to interrupt her. She went on.
"Like, the person might start out...being decent and good and normal. And that's their natural self...that's the way they're supposed to be. But then, something happens. And the person has to do something terrible." Her voice shook a little more. "And then, things keep getting worse, and the part that does the terrible things just keeps branching off...and it gets farther and farther away from the good part. And the good part of the person - the natural part - just sits there and watches it all, horrified. But there's nothing it can do. Because it's too weak."
Now it wasn't just her voice that was shaking. He moved over nearer to her, standing right in front of her, wanting her to stop but strangely fascinated by her words, by the sense of recognition they gave him.
She continued. "So, pretty soon, the natural part of the person...the part that's been there from the beginning...has to share a body with the other part, the terrible part. And they both hate each other, and they both know that they'll have to share that space until the very last breath, no matter what. Because neither one of them's going anywhere, ever." One tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away, angrily.
"Kate," he said warningly, leaning his hands on the countertop on either side of her. With her seated there, they were the exact same height.
"And the only thing the two parts have in common," she whispered, "is that they're both scared to death. Every. single. second."
Their faces were only a few inches away from each other now, and when he leaned in to her, she didn't make any effort to pull back.
At first they kissed for comfort, softly, burning off the pain and misery of the day. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he smoothed the hair back from her temples. Gradually, though, the pressure and intensity of the kiss began to increase as physical need started to compete with emotional need. Their tongues met, and Kate's head banged against the cabinet behind her, although she barely noticed. Sawyer's hands moved down to her waist and stomach, feeling how warm her skin was through the thin fabric of the dress. For the first time, he was grateful that she'd decided to wear the thing.
When he broke the kiss to move to her neck and the skin at the top of her chest that remained uncovered by the dress, she had time to quickly consider whether she should try to stop this, but immediately gave up the idea. She didn't have that much willpower. In a way, this situation had been inevitable since the moment she'd called his name at the truck stop. She'd already made the decision; she just hadn't realized it. Right now, she wanted nothing more in the world than for this to continue. Wrapping her legs around his midsection, she leaned over to whisper into his ear, "Let's go upstairs."
He pulled back to look at her, briefly, wanting confirmation. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. Short of a tornado ripping the house apart, nothing was going to get in their way this time. He kissed her again softly, almost gratefully, at the same time lifting her up off of the countertop. She locked her arms around his neck and he carried her upstairs, not once breaking the kiss. She pretended not to notice that he stumbled and knocked her against the bedroom doorjamb.
Laying her down gently on the bed in the darkened room, he continued to kiss her as she worked at pulling his shirt off. He made an attempt at the dress, but gave up in frustration. "How do you get this damn thing off?" he whispered impatiently. Laughing, she said, "I'll do it." To save time, he got rid of his own pants.
Wishing there was more light to see her by, but content for now with just the feel of her, he trailed kisses down her entire body, neglecting nothing, until she was gasping for breath and unwilling to wait any longer. They'd waited long enough already.
He wanted to go slow and hold himself back, the way he always did. He was an expert at teasing women...he could make one time last for hours. But it didn't seem that things were going to go his way tonight. This was Kate. He'd never felt so much passion for anybody before. Compared to this, none of those other times had meant anything.
Still, he tried to keep a leisurely, unhurried rhythm. It was no use, though...the frantic way she was moving under him completely undermined his efforts. He gave up. They could always take their time later. They had all night. He would make it up to her. But this had been building for too long to stretch it out any more.
When she arched her back underneath him and cried out, he felt all the muscles in her body tense and then shudderingly relax, and he quickly followed her over the edge. Collapsing onto her, he felt the gradually slowing puffs of her breath against his ear and the pounding of her heart underneath his own. He started to roll over to the side, thinking that he was too heavy for her, but she immediately locked her arms back around him and held him there.
He started kissing her neck again, moving back up to her face, telling himself in almost naive wonderment that this was really Kate in bed with him. He couldn't wrap his mind around it somehow - maybe because it was something he'd wanted for so long that he'd given up on it ever happening. Startled, he noticed that her cheeks were wet...She was crying. Had he done something wrong? It was too dark to see the expression on her face, so he whispered, "What's 'a matter?"
"Nothing," she said. And for the first time, he heard a tone in her voice that he'd never heard there before. She sounded almost... peaceful.
"You sure?" he asked, still confused.
"Yeah," she replied, and he could tell that she was smiling. "You know what?" she went on. "I think maybe we should have done this a long time ago."
He sighed in mock-exasperation. "What the hell have I been tryin' to tell you all this time?"
She laughed, and he covered her entire face with kisses, ravenously.
When they finally succumbed to sleep - Kate with her head on his chest, Sawyer with his hand still tangled in her hair - the pale light of early dawn was just beginning to illuminate the room.
