2 and ½ weeks

Don't you think you've done enough?

Summary: As opposed to 9 and ½ weeks lol! Sandy, Kirsten, Berkeley, fight, break-up, something's wrong.

Disclaimer: It's my precioussssss. Or at least it is inside my head.

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I think a lot of you were hoping for a happy conclusion a lot earlier on. I'm sorry. And no, you're still not getting it. I'm evil.

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'Don't you think you've done enough?' the words circled in his head.

No, he didn't think he had actually.

He couldn't let this go, so Sandy persevered. He was good at that.

It was how he'd survived sixteen years in the Bronx.

It made him ring his mother every week even if it was only to listen to her criticism.

It kept focused on his assignments when he was already dead tired from a long shift.

Perseverance was what pushed him through Law School and what would make him the excellent lawyer he was going to become.

Sandy didn't know all that. He just wanted to talk to Kirsten, face to face, know what was going on. If she was broken, fix her. If she was sad, make her smile.

He didn't have reasons other than he wanted to and that was good enough.

He'd hung around the Art History department but hadn't seen her for days.

Trying not to appear too suspicious he'd spent an entire afternoon watching the door of her residential block.

He didn't mean to be creepy, he just missed her.

She hadn't left the building once.

On Friday he'd made a pretence of visiting Kirsten's roommate and got another short, sharp shrift, this time stood in the hallway outside the room. It was killing him to know she was in there even as he and the other girl stood bickering.

'She doesn't want to see you,'

It hurt. So he retaliated…with humour. Only it wasn't very funny.

'You keep saying that, doesn't seem to be working does it?'

The girl glared. 'Not my fault you can't force the message into your numb skull.'

Ok, that girl was really pissing him off now.

'Who says my head has anything to do with it.'

A roll of the eyes. 'Oh purlease, don't get soppy on me.'

'I know she's there. Give me five minutes. Please.'

He was practically begging now, he knew that, but he had to see her.

'The answer's no Sandy.'

'What are you? Her warden?'

'Look,' the girl said softening slightly. 'I don't know what went on between the two of you and I'm not likely to get it out of Kirsten…' Sandy tried to interrupt but she cut him off. 'I'm sorry Sandy but every time I mention you she looks all weird and then either pukes or cries.'

So that was the effect he was having on girls these days. Great, just great.

'She says she can't. That she's sorry.'

'Well I'm sorry too,' he said bitterly, turning and stalking away.

And he was. So damn sorry. Sorry that he'd taken a chance and it had failed, sorry he'd lost her and most of all, sorry that he still loved her.

Kirsten, stood on the other side of the door, let herself slide down to a sitting position, tugging her knees up to her chest and fighting the interminable tears.

He would never understand. He could never know. She had to do this.

It was a couple of minutes before her roommate came back in. Kirsten guessed she had been watching Sandy walk away. She could picture it. Sandy turning dejected, pushing his hair out of his eyes and trudging down the corridor. Away from her.

And that's how it had to be. However much it hurt. She hated hurting him but it had to be done. There was no way she could keep her composure long enough to see him and try to say something. Not with those earnest eyes on her face. And what could she say?

'You heard?' her roommate asked

Kirsten nodded and looked away.

She was a horrible person. Not only did she kill their child she didn't even have the decency to break up with the father properly. She deserved everything that was coming to her; every sleepless night, every painful sob, every minute of this guilt. People said guilt nagged at you, hers roared, screamed, beat her with its fists. God she was going crazy.

'Did I do the right thing?'

She didn't know.

'Kirsten? You don't want to see him right?'

She didn't know. She felt sick again.

'Kirsten?'

'I don't know,' she muttered as she headed for the bathroom. 'I don't know.'

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Do you like it? And don't say 'I don't know'!

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