A/N: This morning I just realized how this would end, and let me tell you, you're not going to like it. But, stories have a life of their own, I can't change them, they are just born and you have to write them down as they want to be written down. Kindof like kids, really. Anyway, ending's a few chapters away, so… Sorry for this short chapter.
CHAPTER 11
She opens her mouth, instinctively, wants to say something, because that's expected of humans when they are talking to someone, interaction, words, given, spattered, vomited, sucked in, sacrificed as the closest thing to our thoughts. She hears his words, she tries to process them, grasp their meaning, but her mind is blank. Instead, an overwhelming sense of nausea is getting a grip on her. She takes a few uncertain steps to her window and opens it with a trembling hand. Breathing fresh air should help is the only thing she can think of. So she breathes in the fresh air in deep gulps, trying to steady her quivering stomach.
He has no idea what to do, he feels like standing up, going closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, or walk up and down, or go away, or just sit there and say something. Anything. His helplessness is welling up inside him, he knows he can't do or say anything that would make her feel better. He hears his own words in his head, marching up and down in his skull, causing such chaos that it slowly starts crawling down to his leg, making it throb like hell, making him sweat in agony.
She turns away from the window, faces him, still standing close to the wall. She is pale and so shrunken he cannot stand to see her like that. His head is hung, he stares at his sneakers, he breathes in heavily, and her words almost make him jump.
-I had your baby, you son of a bitch. Were you planning on telling me?
He looks up, speechless. His eyes are full of remorse, she can see it clearly, and he is suffering too, she senses it. But she cannot, just cannot deal with that.
-Go.
-Look… -he starts, clutching his hands together. –I… I just found you sleeping, and I wanted to leave, but… you said my name, you asked me not to go…
-And that you took for an invitation to rape me?
-I did not rape you –he replies, the words stinging on his lips. –I… you wanted it, I…
-Go –she says, resolute this time.
He sighs, and takes a few seconds before he stands up slowly, grabbing his cane. He never looks at her, because he can see her face clearly even if he closes his eyes. He just limps out of her apartment and silently closes the door behind him.
She looks at the chair he had been sitting on. There is so much on her mind that her head is bursting with pain. Dropping to her couch, she lies down, curls up into a ball, squeezes her eyes shut like a kid who thinks the dream monster will disappear behind closed eyelids. She remembers her dream. He had been there. It was not only a dream. But he kept it a secret. He used her. She was just a body to him. A good fuck. He is sorry now, or so he says. She can only think in very, very short sentences, and even those hurt her every cell.
She remembers her child. Theirs. It had hurt her before, but now, now she feels pain coming onto her in ripples and waves and storms of infinite, sharp stabs. Emptiness is claiming her, she clings to its walls, she wants to jump and leave it all behind, but she only sinks slowly downwards, like a suicidal person with a heavy stone roped to her neck. Her descent is slow and painful, as time is mercilessly pulling her down and yelling all the horrible things that have happened to her in the past few weeks, and the facts are imprinted in her brain in red, gushing wounds of memory.
Sobs shake her body and tears sting her eyes, it doesn't relieve the hurting, but that's the only thing she can do, that's what her instincts tell her to do. Her pain and anger and disillusionment and bereavement and sorrow all come together in loud sobs, she weeps to empty her system of all that's been devouring her, she feels it will never end, she feels she cannot take it any longer, and then the next moment tells her that she can, she can, so she weeps some more, feeling lonely and bitter and a little melodramatic. Then, when the flood of tears stops, she is so exhausted that she falls asleep instantly.