The first three hotels Kirsten tried didn't have a booking in Sandy's name. She didn't think he'd use an alias, didn't think he'd believe she'd try and find him. At the fourth hotel, they said they had a listing for him, but that he'd asked not to be disturbed. After a heavy tip, she found out his room number from the reluctant clerk. She stood in front of his door for at least five minutes, trying to think of something she could say that she hadn't already said. Something that might penetrate the cone of silence Sandy had erected around himself to keep her out. She knocked softly, wondering if he'd be there, wondering if he'd open the door if he knew she was standing outside. A few moments, then he opened the door. He was still in his suit, but with the jacket off and his tie loosened and askew. He had a five o'clock shadow and bags under his eyes. She knew she was the reason for his discomfort.
They regarded each other, both wary, both with open wounds that the other had inflicted.
Sandy looked at her, marvelling at how she looked the same as the woman he had married, how she could be so different. Her blue eyes were searching his, looking for a salvation he didn't feel he could give her. She looked like she'd lost weight in the last two weeks. Jeans which used to fit her snugly now hung almost loose. Her hair was out, slightly curled. Her eyes shimmered with tears.
"I'm-." He held up a hand before she could say what she'd been saying since she told him. He was sick of hearing it, sick of being reminded what she was sorry about, sick of being tortured with images of his wife and that man every time he closed his eyes.
"Sandy, I love you. I love you so much, and I miss you…" She trailed off, and he saw tears pooling in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. She reached a hand up to wipe them away, and Sandy saw the fading bracelet of yellow on her wrist. He looked back into her eyes, seeing a guilt she could not assuage, a hope he could dash or raise. Sandy rubbed his eyes with weary hands, thought about their wedding day, how amazed he'd been that she was actually marrying him, a poor lawyer from the Bronx. His friends, before they'd met her, had told him she was going to be high maintenance, that she was a spoilt trust fund kid. His mother had told him he was making the biggest mistake of his life, they wouldn't last a year, he'd come back to New York with a broken heart. Her father had told him he wasn't good enough for Kirsten, that he should just go back to where he came from and find himself someone more like himself. But Kirsten had told him she loved him, and that was all that mattered. She'd looked him in the eyes on his wedding day, the same eyes that were now pooling with unspilled tears, and told him he was The One. And now, she'd told him there was someone else. He wanted his wife back, but he didn't want to live with the fear that he could never trust her again. He knew, too, that she was his one and only, and that was the only reason he motioned her into his room. She sniffed as she walked past him, tried to wipe her eyes but he stilled her hand.
"Why, Kirsten…?" His voice faltered on her name. Kirsten sniffed again, looked up at him. Unpooled tears threatened to arc their way down her cheeks, and her hair was bunched at the back of her jacket as if she'd dressed in a hurry.
"I wanted… I needed you to hurt as much as I did. To know how it felt to be left for someone else." Sandy looked at her, trying to compute the words, what exactly she meant.
"But… What?" He asked after a pause.
"Rebecca." Kirsten's voice was steadying, hardening as she spoke the name of the person who, in her opinion, had been the main contributing factor to her and Sandy's disintegration. Sandy looked confused, motioned Kirsten towards the bed. They sat, far enough apart to not be touching.
"What does Rebecca have to do with this?" He asked, still unable to grasp the logic in Kirsten's admittance. He knew she didn't like the idea of having Rebecca around, knew that he should have given the case to another lawyer but knew, too, that the distance between them had already started growing, that Rebecca had proved a worthy distraction from what he knew he should have been fixing at home.
"You left me for her. It was Valentine's day, Sandy. You know how much that means to me, how much I wanted you to be there, but you ditched me for her." Kirsten looked at him as tears streamed down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Sandy reached the pad of a thumb out, grazed her cheek with it.
"Nothing happened between us. I told her there was only you, that you were the one I loved. She understood that, respected it." Kirsten moved her face away from Sandy's hand.
"Oh, God," she said, before sprinting for the bathroom. Sandy heard the unmistakeable sounds of vomiting as he sat on the bed. He had known Kirsten had thought something had happened between him and Rebecca, but he hadn't known the thought had run so deep to make her do something so extreme in retaliation. He didn't condone what she had done, could still not shut his eyes without thinking of her wrapped around Carter, but he had some solid ground from which he could begin to understand.
Sandy walked to the doorway of the bathroom when he heard the toilet flush. His wife was crumpled in the corner, one hand carelessly holding her hair back. She looked up at him, fresh guilt apparent in her eyes.
"God, Sandy, what have I done." She turned her face away from him, scrunched her hair in her hands as if to wring a solution from it. Sandy hesitantly entered the bathroom, sat cross legged across from her, leaning his back against the bath tub.
"I'm so sorry. Sandy…" She trailed off, as if realising how futile her words were becoming. Sandy sighed, rubbed his face with weary hands. He truly believed she was sorry, believed she had meant this only to hurt him as she felt he'd hurt her, and it had cut him deeper than anything else she had ever done. It was as if she was a stranger to him, a woman who was just now showing her true colours.
"Kirsten, I can't be with you right now. I have to think about this. I just…" Kirsten looked over to him, blue eyes peeking through blonde hair. She began pulling herself up, standing on shaky legs.
"The boys think there's something going on. Even Seth noticed how much you've been away lately, how different things have been between us."
"Did you tell them anything?" Sandy asked dully, wondering how his wife could have told Seth and Ryan about her fall from grace. He thought about Ryan, the way he had always held Kirsten on a pedestal, even though she hadn't noticed.
"No, I told them… I told them I was coming to find you. That's all. If it comes to… If we need to tell them anything, I think you should be there too." Kirsten stood, as if uncertain of her next action. Sandy motioned to the door, wanting her to leave. He felt that if he looked at her any longer, he'd feel heightening disgust. She had always been the only one for him. What he had felt for Rebecca was an emotion long cooled, and didn't come close to what he felt for Kirsten, even when he and Rebecca were together. He had known he felt something for Kirsten as soon as he met her but had never thought he had a chance with her. As he saw it, a mini miracle had taken place when she agreed to a date with him, and when she took his engagement ring and told him she was so in love with him it hurt, he'd considered that a bigger miracle. And now, because she loved him so much, he was the one hurting.
"If I could take it back, I would." Kirsten was still in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him, poised to walk out. Sandy looked up, saw the raw honesty in her eyes, the nakedness of a truth she wished would emerge into reality. He wasn't the only one hurting. He could imagine the images that had taunted Kirsten, of Rebecca and him in the cheap motel they had to book into because of the rain. He knew, though, that these images were from Kirsten's imagination only, whereas the images that taunted him were based in fact. She hadn't trusted him when he'd told her nothing had happened, and because of that, he didn't know whether he could ever trust her again.
"Just… Please, go." Sandy hung his head down, trying to find some relief in the sterility of the tile floor, trying to use the blinding whiteness to erase the blackness of the imagery he couldn't escape.
He heard her leave, quiet footsteps, the click of the door as she shut it behind her. Usually, their fights, rare as they might occur, were punctuated by slamming doors, loud voices, both wanting the other to hear their side of the story. Afterwards, they would make up, both apologising, both still thinking they were right but willing to compromise because that's what people who love each other do. The lack of passion in their fight reminded Sandy of how different this fight was, how much he was willing to compromise, and whether he really still loved her.
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