Sweet Surrender

Summary: Kirsten angst, season 3. Kirsten talks to an absent Sandy.

Disclaimer: The O.C. ain't mine, but hey Josh, you screw up next season and you won't be getting the characters back. Lyrics are not mine either, they belong to Sarah McLachlan

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OK, I don't really know where I'm going with this. Em sent me 'Sweet Surrender' and it screamed 'write me a fic' for weeks but I was so busy. Some of the lyrics are just perfect Kirsten-Kandy situation of season three but I'm not sure exactly where I'm gonna set it in the OC timeline, especially since I just saw the finale and my head is still a little screwy and my eyes a little blurry. But I thought I should celebrate the denouement of season three with a little bit of writing. Even though I should be doing an essay on the denouement of Measure for Measure! Haha. Schwartz and Shakespeare, just a leeetle difference!

Lol, that was a while ago! Well I've done the M4M exam, it was fine, I think!

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'I love you.'

It doesn't mean much.

'I'm sorry.'

It doesn't mean anything at all.

Not any more.

The life I've left behind me is a cold room

When I think back to how things used to be it's like remembering a different world, a different life, a totally different marriage. It's like a memory of someone who's gone, something that's gone. It's like looking into a morgue. Perhaps our marriage isn't quite there yet but it's lying on the operating table, the monitors are flat lining and I don't know CPR.

I've crossed the last line, from where I can't return

This time you've gone too far, I don't know if we can get back to where we used to be. We've come through so much, why not this? I don't know. I think this is just one in a long line of things; it's the straw that breaks the camel's back. The last couple of years have been like Chinese water torture where our marriage has been concerned.

Your mother

Drip

My father

Drip

Rachel

Drip

The Heights

Drip

That summer

Drip

Rebecca

Drip

Carter

Drip

My alcoholism

Drip

The Newport Group

Drip

The Hospital

Drip

I don't know if we can get past this.

Where every step I took in faith, betrayed me

I believed you loved me. Now I'm not so sure.

Betrayed. That's how I feel. It's what I'd tell you if you ever bothered to ask. Betrayed by you. The lies, the broken promises, the guarded eyes and declarations that 'everything's fine'.

I loved you.

I trusted you.

I married you.

I did all those things in faith. Blind, because I thought you loved me, trusted me, and wanted to spend the rest of your life with me.

But now you're betraying those things.

Maybe I was foolish. They say love is blind.

Maybe that means you still love me and your love is simply blind at the moment, blind to me and my tears, deaf to my plaintive please to come home, to come back to me, to come back to yourself. Blind, deaf, mute. When was the last time you said you loved me? I don't even know. When was the last time you said three words to me, never mind the three I most want to hear right now.

And led me from my home

It feels like we've drifted, no, been dragged so far from where we're meant to be, where you and I used to be, that I don't know how to haul us back. It's not a case of not wanting to, it's a case of not knowing if I can, whether I want the possibility of failing and hurting even more than I do already.

The house is so empty these days it doesn't feel like home. And it's only going to get worse. I don't know if I can cope once the boys go to college. I can't trust myself not to slip back into last year. I can't go back to last year Sandy. I don't want to. But I also don't know if I can stop myself hurtling back into that spiral.

And sweet surrender is all that I have to give

If you can't value our marriage for what it's worth then what is the point? Why should I keep trying, fighting this? I'm too tired to carry on and if you're not even going to notice why should I bother? What does it matter any more? Perhaps I should just give up.

You take me in, no questions asked

You've always respected me, wanted me just for being me. No questions, no conditions, no arguments. You just wanted me and I wanted you. Nothing and no one else mattered. When did it start mattering? What happened to saying fuck it and sticking two fingers up at the world?

You loved me without asking and you didn't ask me to love you back, you didn't expect me to but I did. I loved you. No question. I knew you. I didn't need questions. Now I realise that maybe I never really knew you at all and I have a hundred thousand questions to ask you, if only my throat wasn't so choked with tears.

You strip away the ugliness that surrounds me

You always looked past all the other stuff, the façade, the gossip, the pretensions of Newport. You didn't judge me on my family or my 'friends' or where I came from. Those things didn't matter, I did. You and I did.

Have you lost the ability now, to look past all the crap and just see me? Because really I'm not just a recovering alcoholic and I'm not the Newpsie wife you sometimes treat me as, that you swore I'd never be. Just one more time can't you look past last summer and rehab, past the accusations you made, past the things I said to you? Perhaps you're trying to protect me but I don't need it. Perhaps you want to spare me but I don't want that. I want to be beside you, whatever is going on, good or bad. We said for better and for worse for a reason. I'm your wife. The more you push me away the more I want to cling on. I just don't know how long I can last. I know I've changed, I'm sorry I'm not the person I used to be but neither are you. The last few years aside we've both changed, grown-up I guess, but you were always still you. Up until recently I could still see the boy I fell in love with in you, the man I married. Now I'm not so sure. There's a hell of a lot of stuff to look past before I can find him.

Who are you?

Who the hell are you? I don't know you any more. This isn't the man I fell for. I just want the man I married back. I wanted my life back after rehab so that I could share it with you and yet here I am without you. Or with this version of you I don't even recognise. Do you recognise yourself when you look in the mirror on a morning?

Are you an angel?

A fallen one. Fallen from being the perfect husband and perfect son. Loved, respected, even a little hero-worshipped by your sons. You don't have to be perfect Sandy, just stay true to yourself; don't be tempted by the devils; the real-estate moguls and the ones inside your head.

Am I already that gone?

I'm too far gone for this. I'm right on the edge and you're showing no sign of coming to pull me back to safety. I'm going crazy living like this. You are pushing me to contemplate doing something I'll regret. Something I've promised won't happen. I know that it's my problem and I'm the only one who can control this, control myself but I can't help needing you. Yes, I need you. You know I do. Maybe it's bad to be so dependent. It didn't seem to matter when I had you, now… Now I'm thinking maybe I need you too much. There's no point trying to wean myself off you, it's too late now, twenty years too late. I was always gone on you. Did I go too far?

I only hope that I won't disappoint you

I don't want to fail in this. I want to be able to bring you back to me but I don't think I can. I've tried, honest I have but I don't see why it just has to be me. I just hope that one day, if that day ever comes, you won't be disappointed that I admitted defeat.

When I'm down here on my knees

What else can I do except get down on my knees and beg? I'm this close Sandy but I can't do that. I can't force you to wake up, I won't. I shouldn't have to. I shouldn't have to beg you to do anything…well, almost anything, certainly not this. I'm not going to beg and I'm not going to blackmail you. This marriage should mean more than my drinking problem, than the threat of my drinking problem. That shouldn't be the thing that saves it. You should.

Who are you?

Stranger.

And sweet surrender, is all that I have to give

Give up. Give up. Give up. What else is there to do? You can't fight fate. It's frightening to think that I really could, give up on us, on our marriage. It's the last thing I want to do but I'm not sure I have a choice.

Who are you?

Actually I don't care who you are. I don't want to know. I don't want this man, I want the real you.

And sweet surrender, is all that I have to give

What else can I do? It shouldn't be this hard. I shouldn't have to work this hard to keep us afloat, especially when you haven't even noticed we're sinking, that I'm drowning. Not waving, but drowning. I'm not giving up because it's the easy option; in fact giving up isn't easy at all; I'm giving up because it's the only option. I'm just not gonna fight this anymore. I can't. Surrendering is the best option. Surrendering to whatever happens next. It's less painful and it's less bitter.

And I don't understand

By the touch of your hand

I would be the one to fall

It would be so easy. You could twist this round so easily. All it would take is the touch of your hand and I would falter. Fall back into your arms. I don't quite understand how I could let myself but I know I would. You still have that much power over me. I'm so angry and yet I'm empty. I want to hate you, I do, in a way, but the emotion is too much effort. I'm a void right now. And whatever I feel is always undermined anyway because of how much I can't help loving you. Stupid. I know.

I miss the little things

I miss the little things. The little romantic gestures, the smiles, the phone calls, the stolen kisses. When was the last time you called me just to say 'I love you'? When did you last kiss me just because you felt like it? I even miss the more mundane things than that; your fingers lingering over mine as you hand me a cup of coffee, they way you used to waggle your eyebrows when you answered a crossword clue, your rambles just to see if I'm listening, you asking me to fix your tie; before you became so practised at it, rolling over in bed to find you beside me, watching you concentrate so hard on the art of schmearing a bagel, the kisses you used to give me as you left; now you don't even wake me up.

I miss everything about you

I miss everything about you because you're a totally different person these days. I miss my Sandy Cohen. I miss the self-righteous, immodest, sarcastic, witty, hilarious, loving, passionate man I used to know. The ghost that has replaced him doesn't know where the line is, he's quiet, drawn, tired; stress and fatigue evident in his features. A frown creases his face instead of laughter, the hair he runs his hand through has the first streaks of silver. He's a cynic not a comic. His kisses are quick, chaste, cheek-grazing kisses where the old Sandy Cohen never missed an opportunity to take things further. I miss you being yourself Sandy.

'I love you.'

It doesn't mean much

How can I believe you mean it now, after everything?

'I'm sorry.'

It doesn't mean anything at all

Apologies don't mean anything anymore. I've heard too many. You shouldn't have to be apologising and I shouldn't have to hear it; things should never have got like this.

The life I left behind me is a cold room

That life is gone. Dead. Do you believe in reincarnation?

Who are you?

Because you're not Kirsten Cohen's husband.

And sweet surrender, is all that I have to give

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So there you have it. Nothing too exciting but I wanted to write it and I guess that is better than nothing! It just didn't go quite how I wanted it, in my head it was so much more poetic and heartrending! Please review and I promise that from June 30th I will write non-stop all sorts of stuff, particularly long things with some actual plot!

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