Thank you to Panz, Mariana, Kazzie, sprchick123, Carlie, Mickey, Cynthia, Steph, JenJenxx, Fighting-this-War and Em for leaving reviews – you guys are awesome for reviewing so quickly! Only one more chapter left…then it's the new season! I'm so excited already! I hope you like this chapter, it's quite short. I'm looking forward to happier Kandy times in season 3. :)

The O.Sea

"He's dead. I am so sorry."

"He's dead."

"I am so sorry."

"Dead."

"Sorry."

"He's dead."

"Dead."

The words echoed in her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make it stop. She held her left hand close to her body, a dull throbbing pain distracting her momentarily from the aching pain she felt in her heart until she remembered again.

"He's dead."

Her right hand grasped the bottle of vodka. She knew that it would distract her for longer: ease the pain in her hand and ease the pain in her heart.

Kirsten entered the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She opened the bottle and drank easily. She felt it burn her mouth, travelling down her throat and spreading through her body. It felt good. She drank again, the haunting image of her father's angry face slowly blurring as the alcohol had the desired effect. She collapsed onto the bed, curling her body into a ball.

"If this family is screwed up, it's because of YOU!"

"I may like my chardonnay, but I'm not gonna die alone and that's more than I can say for YOU!"

Why had she said those things?

She wished she could take them back, but she couldn't. She wished she could turn back time and never say those words, but she couldn't.

And now he was dead.

She heard Sandy's footsteps follow her up the hallway and into their bedroom. He paused in the doorway, watching her. She was calm and still, and it scared him more than if she had been crying and smashing vases.

"Kirsten?"

She didn't respond.

"Kirsten?"

He took a tentative step towards the bed and she curled up even tighter, away from him.

"Honey, please talk to me," Sandy said, walking around the bed and sitting by her feet, resting her hand on her thigh.

Kirsten pulled away from him, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest. The bottle of vodka was cradled in her lap. Sandy reached for it and she pushed his hand away.

"Don't," Kirsten said coldly.

"Kirsten, please," Sandy pleaded.

Kirsten kept her eyes lowered, refusing to look at him. Sandy sighed, searching for the right words. It never used to be so hard, and it stung him to know that they had grown so far apart that she reached for the vodka for comfort instead of reaching for him. Caleb had accused him of using the 'softball approach' but Sandy had believed he was doing the right thing, that he knew how to help her – only now, he wasn't so sure.

Sandy snatched the bottle from her hands and placed it on the table by the bed. Kirsten glared at him but he held her stare defiantly.

"I told you, I don't need babysitting," Kirsten spat at him.

"Don't you?"

"What do you want me to do, Sandy? What do you want me to say?" Kirsten cried, exasperated.

"Say something…anything. But please, don't do this," Sandy said. "Talk to me."

"Say something? What's the point, Sandy?" Kirsten exploded. "He's dead. My father is dead. I said enough before he died, what's the point talking about it? I can't take it back, can I? I can't tell him I'm sorry. So what's the point?"

Sandy sat wide-eyed as she screamed at him. "Kirsten…"

"I should have talked to him; I should have apologised. But you…you stopped me," Kirsten stared accusingly at Sandy. "I wanted to see him tonight and you wouldn't let me go. Now it's too late."

"You're kidding me," Sandy was audibly shocked. "You're blaming me?"

"I…I need to blame someone," Kirsten said, her voice starting to break.

"Oh, honey," Sandy put his hand on her arm but she shrugged him off again, still angry.

"I should have said I'm sorry. I can't ever change that."

"And you think this is gonna help? By drinking?" Sandy questioned.

'This wasn't his wife. This wasn't the woman he married,' he kept thinking.

"It's better," Kirsten said, frowning, her voice softening slightly.

"Better than what?" Sandy asked, wanting to understand why.

"Better than feeling like this," Kirsten answered, looking up at him. Her eyes were vacant and sad.

This wasn't his wife.

Kirsten moved away from him, dropping her legs off the bed and pushing herself to standing with her right hand.

"Where are you going?" Sandy sighed, feeling defeated.

"To get dressed," Kirsten said, her voice turning hard again. "We should go…to the house."

She left Sandy alone in the bedroom. He heard the door to the bathroom close and he shut his eyes.

What was he supposed to do? How could he help her?

For once, Sandy didn't have the answers.

He opened his eyes and they settled on the table by the bed. The space where the vodka had been stood was now empty. He looked over his shoulder to the bathroom and sighed. He had tried asking, he had tried begging; now there was only one thing left to try.

But could he do it to her?