2 and ½ weeks

Wake up

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

Disclaimer: I wouldn't be here if I did.

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A lovely long chapter for you. It's rather amusing – this is four times as long as the first chapter!

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'Wake up,' the frightened girl had yelled at her roommate, shaking her desperately. 'Wake up Kirsten! Wake. Up.' But she hadn't. And she'd taken in the bottles, the plastic canister and the solitary blue pill lying on the floor, conspicuous in its singularity, with frightened eyes.

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Sandy received a frantic phone call late on Saturday morning. It wasn't the call he had been waiting for but it was something. It was Kirsten's roommate, near-hysterical, begging him to come over. He barely understood the garbled message but it didn't matter; it was something to do with Kirsten, he was there.

Ten minutes later he was outside her door where Kirsten's frantic friend hauled him inside so fast he didn't have time to think about this strange reversal of events. Her high-pitched voice grated in his ears.

'I can't wake her up. Sandy, you've got to help me. She won't wake up, she just won't wake up.'

Sandy took in the messy apartment, the empty vodka bottles and the motionless form of his g…was it ex-girlfriend…on the bed. That wasn't what caused his breath to hitch uncomfortably in his chest though. It was the empty pill bottle that did that. He could feel the panic rise, his heart pounding in his head as he approached Kirsten but one look at her friend's terrified face and he knew he had to take control.

'Open the curtains,' he snapped, forcing his voice to stay steady.

The girl did so and Sandy could see Kirsten more clearly. She was lying twisted in the bedclothes, her hair splayed across her face. To his immense relief he could see strands fluttering slightly over her mouth. She was breathing.

'She's breathing,' he said out loud, more to convince himself than to calm the girl stood fidgeting beside him.

But they were pretty shallow, her chest barely moving and Sandy knew they had to wake her up and fast, god knows how much vodka she'd drunk, how many pills she'd taken. That kind of cocktail was lethal.

'Go fetch some water.'

Sandy hurriedly tugged Kirsten's floppy arm out of the sheets and pressed his fingers to her wrist. She had a pulse too, strong enough, if rather slow and that was to be expected when she was this comatose. He brushed Kirsten's hair out of her face, surprised at how pale it was. She was really far under, he could tell when he lifted her eyelids and could see only the whites of her eyes.

'Kirsten,' he said loudly, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her sharply.

No response, she simply flopped in his arms like a rag doll.

He bit his lip before slapping both her cheeks. It didn't seem to have any effect. Where the hell was that girl with the water?

The realisation that he should probably have put her in the recovery position suddenly dawned on him and he hurriedly rolled her onto her side, positioning her arms and tipping back her head. She was still breathing and she wasn't swallowing her tongue. Two things to be thankful for.

The roommate finally appeared with a bowl and Sandy didn't hesitate in tossing the ice cold water over Kirsten's face. She stirred slightly and he shook her again. A few seconds later her eyes cracked open and Sandy let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

'S-s-sandy?'

'Hey.'

'Wh-what are you doing here?'

'Your roommate called me. She couldn't wake you up.'

'Oh. Sorry, I was exhausted.'

'Looks like it was more than exhaustion.'

'It's been a rough week…I had a couple of drinks…'

'Kirsten, don't lie to me. Straight vodka and sleeping pills? What were you thinking? How many did you take? You could have been killed.'

'I didn't take them, well I didn't overdose.'

'How many did you take?'

She hung her head. 'Four.'

'So taking four times the recommended dose isn't overdosing?'

'I'd have been fine if I hadn't drunk four bottles of vodka as well. I guess the combination kinda knocked me out.'

There was a long silence that basically said 'ya think?'

'Where are the pills then?' he roommate asked.

'I flushed them. I didn't want that kind of temptation.'

'Why?' his voice was hoarse and Kirsten knew he was wracking his brains trying to figure out how he'd hurt her. 'Why would you want to kill yourself?'

'I didn't,' she mumbled. 'I don't know. I was drunk. I was upset. It was stupid I know that. There's an hundred reasons but you aren't one of them ok?'

Not exactly. Just by default. Indirectly.

'I just…wanted to sleep.'

He looked at her.

If it wasn't him, what was it?

Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, still sticky from the long sleep. The button nose that Sandy had kissed so tenderly a few weeks ago was now red and sore. Golden blonde hair hung in lank strands round the beautiful face that was pale and pinched from lack of food and sunshine, there were violet shadowed hollows beneath her eyes.

Dull blue eyes.

Not bright and sparkling with laughter.

Not electric blue with lust.

Not dark and misty with love.

Just a pale, empty grey.

If eyes were the window to the soul, Kirsten's was missing.

She was incredibly conscious of her appearance, the state of the room; the messy bed, piles of assignments and mail on her desk and the clothes strewn across the floor. She shrunk into herself, embarrassed that she was wearing Sandy's Berkeley sweater. The one she'd filched from his wardrobe. Wearing the sweater of the boy she'd blanked for more than two weeks. Because even though she couldn't bear to see him, she wanted his comfort.

'My sweater,' he gave a muted exclamation.

She was wearing his sweater. Did it mean anything?

'Sorry,' she said quickly. 'I'll wash it.'

Wash it, give it back, lose the final part of him.

He looked as if he was about to say something else but suddenly they were both very aware that Kirsten's roommate was there.

'I should take a shower,' Kirsten said after a long, awkward pause, forcing herself up and immediately regretting it as the headache that had been quietly beating a tattoo in the back of her head screeched across to the front. She stumbled dizzily and Sandy caught her, 'Sit down,' he ordered and she complied. A moment later they were both sat on the floor, Kirsten's head between her legs.

The roommate had mysteriously disappeared.

'You're not going to explain are you?' he said, and between his quiet voice and the pounding in her head Kirsten had to strain to make out the words. She shook her head, still staring at the floor, glad her hair hid her face.

'First rule of law; never ask questions you don't already know the answer to.'

He was starting to ramble again and this really wasn't the time or the place.

It wasn't a joke. His voice was hollow and Kirsten had an awful feeling he knew or guessed more than he let on.

But he couldn't.

'I can't,' she told him, looking up and finding herself reflected in his eyes, very small, like her own child.

Their child.

Without her even realising the seemingly never-ending well of tears had spilled over in her eyes. She tasted them on her lips even as she convulsed with sobs.

Crying again, a voice inside her head mocked. All you do is cry.

It was instinctive, almost compulsory to pull her towards him, envelop her in his arms and feel her irregular breathing against his chest.

What was he doing? What was going on? He didn't know.

It was impossible not to find himself filled with a hundred thousand conflicting emotions.

He loved her. But he was damn confused.

She was a question he didn't have the answer to.

It scared him but he couldn't forget it.

Kirsten buried her head in his chest, tears staining his shirt. She felt him hold her closer, fingers running tenderly through her hair.

What on earth was going on? She couldn't be here like this, not with Sandy.

But it was possible to ignore the thoughts, at least for now. Breathe in his touch, his comfort as she cried.

The voice sang out again.

All you do is cry

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Do you appreciate the length? Prove it to me!

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