Mornings and Love Part 23
Sam's eyes flittered open. Pure darkness surrounded her, but after a moment, the pitch black faded to the dull grey of night, the room surrounding her easily visible through the dimness. She looked over and frowned at the clock: 0100.
So this was why Jack insisted on a constant bedtime – go to bed too late and your body clock gets thrown into laziness, waking up late, etc. Go to bed five after crying fits and she might find herself waking up at 0100 – oh, wait, she already DID…
Sam sighed and threw back the covers. She winced as she sat up. Eck. She'd slept in her maternity-sized jeans, tee-shirt, and new, larger bra. She felt sore all over, especially her breasts, from when she'd slept on her stomach. Sore and smelly. A long, hot shower was most definitely in order.
The hot water was heaven on her muscles, and she stayed under that blissfulness for a long time, coaxing shampoo and conditioner into her hair, smoothing a soapy washcloth over her body. She could fall asleep right there, under the pure, wonderful water.
Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. Sam turned off the water and reached for her large, white bath towel, wrapping it around her pale form. She walked briskly into her bedroom and glanced at the clock fleetingly as she dressed: 0140.
Sam checked herself over in the mirror several times. She sighed and changed blouses three times, her pants two times. Finally deciding there was no such thing as a "please forgive me, I love you so, SO much" outfit, she said, "To hell with it!" and threw on her slippers. They were fluffy blue slippers – daintiness was not a necessity for these slippers. They were pure comfort, absolutely wonderful. Jack might find it a little weird, or even amusing (assuming she got past the front door), but she didn't think he'd mind.
God, she hoped she was doing the right thing. She drove over to Jack's house slowly, abiding by the traffic laws and staying at the appropriate speed limit. What would speeding matter? Besides, it would be just her luck that it would be Pete pulling her over, should she go on and speed, and get caught. That was something she really didn't need.
She could picture it now: "Umm…sir, I'm kinda in jail, can you bail me out?" instead of the, "Jack, I'm so sorry. I had no right to be so angry, frustrated," she was planning. Of course, no self-respecting cop would arrest her for speeding unless she killed someone, but the imagery made her laugh.
It also made her nervous…
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Sam rang the doorbell several times before she heard Jack's voice snap, "Hold your fricikin' bladder!" Uh-oh. That was definitely his SO Way Not Amused voice. Well, what did you expect, you're waking the man up at… 0200, now, her conscience snapped irritably. Sheesh, everyone was angry with her.
The door swung open. "What?" Jack demanded, expression not instantly growing soft and concerned as she'd imagined it doing so when he saw her.
"Jack…" She hesitated, not knowing how to begin.
"Yeah, that's my name. What do you want, Carter?" he sneered, slurring his words. He swayed a bit, face leering and obviously drunk.
It was like a slap in the face for her, but then, should she expect any better? Did she deserve any better? Hell, did she even deserve a great man like him?
"I want to apologize," she said softly. "Can I come in?" she added hopefully a minute later.
"I don't think so. You want consolation? Fine, apology accepted. You don't want me in your life, and I don't want you in mine. So get lost."
Sam froze, her eyes wide. "J-Jack?" she asked, stammering.
"You heard me!" Jack roared, causing her to jump. "Get out of here!"
"Please, Jack…" she all but whimpered.
"What more do you want from me, woman?" he snarled, grabbing her shoulder and squeezing it, hard – not one of those loving squeezes, but a vicious clutch.
Sam didn't know what to say next, so she stayed silent, trying to stop her arm from trembling under his touch. This was Jack, after all! He wouldn't really hurt her, would he? No, she told herself firmly, believing it 100 percent. She would trust him with her life, her heart.
Angrily, Jack thrust her away from him, dropping her forearm like a hot brick. "Go ahead, scamper off like we both know you want to," he snapped.
She took a deep breath, and said, "No." It was spoken softly, and for a moment she wondered if he'd heard, then she heard his sharp intake of breath.
"What?" His voice was dangerously low.
Sam emboldened herself enough to look defiantly into his eyes. "I've run away from you once before, Jack," she said calmly. "I love you too much to run away again."
He was drunk; she'd probably have more success when he cooled off and became somber, but she wasn't going to leave unless he forcibly removed her. She hoped it didn't come to that.
"You pushed me away," he accused.
"I didn't mean to!" she said, somewhat defensively.
Jack growled and stepped out, grabbing her arm again and dragging her down the sidewalk. "You don't want to leave? Fine, I'll make you." He staggered several times as he led her; she knew he was in no condition to make her do anything. But she went, sadly.
When he got them to her car, he thrust her clumsily against it. Sam gasped; while the impact didn't hurt, caught by her arms against the curve of the roof, it still shocked her that he'd do that.
But he's not exactly himself tonight, is he? her conscience asked pointedly. He's so drunk, he probably won't know what happened in the morning.
Jack was staggering back to the house, cutting across the lawn, slamming the door behind him. Sam swallowed back the tears as she watched him go, then began the drive to her house.
She wouldn't give up, though. Her conscience pointed out a valid thought. Jack was wasted; he would be saying stupid stuff. Hurtful, yes, but maybe there was a chance…a chance he did love her and want her. Maybe.
If tomorrow's soberness brings Jack back to me, she thought, this baby girl's middle name is going to be "Hope".