Maybe It's Better This Way
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Well my sweetiepies and hunnibunches I am now leaving you. I know, it's awful of me but I'm afraid I'm going to Spain to meet my American friends and their exchange student's family! I'm so excited. Wish I could update while I'm gone but it's not possible. I've tried to leave it at a good point with having the aftermath and just beginning to try and deal. There's gonna be a hell of lot of dealing to come…tears, nightmares, secrets coming out, fights, fluff and lots, lots more so tune in after the break!
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Chapter 9: Two Days
Kirsten was discharged from hospital two days later on the proviso that she stayed in bed for the next few days. Sandy had kept an almost constant vigil by her beside but she hadn't uttered a word. None either for the boys who visited each day and only a muted nod to the doctor when he told her she could go home. The drive from the hospital was silent, Sandy forcing Seth and Ryan to stay home and picking up his fragile wife himself. She didn't show any signs of gladness at being home, letting Sandy lead her dazedly into the kitchen. Her two sons scrambled up from the sofa and hurried to hug her but she stood immobile in their embrace, not even moving to wrap her own arms around them.
'Let her breathe guys,' Sandy joked lamely, taking her coat. Eyeing her closely, Ryan pulled out a chair for Kirsten but didn't say anything. This of course was an impossibility for his brother.
'So-o-o mom, what do you want to eat? Because I mean, I'm starving and the menus are calling for their master. We've sadly missed your take-out ordering skills the past few days.' Seth's rambling voice was overly cheerful but everyone pretended not to notice. Kirsten didn't answer, not even looking up from where she was sat dejectedly on a kitchen stool, staring vacantly at the countertop.
'Mom?'
'Why don't you boys go play some play-station? I think your mother and I are practised in the art of ordering of take out.' Sandy said quickly.
Seth and Ryan shuffled out slowly casting worried looks at Kirsten. A few moments later the sounds of a gruesome virtual death could be heard mingling with the subdued yells of triumph and defeat.
'Honey…' Sandy began, placing a tentative hand on her back. There was no response. He gently turned her face to look at him and was startled by the dull blue-grey of the eyes that met his own for a moment before looking away. 'You've got to eat something,' he said softly, trying to keep the frustration and anxiety out of his voice. His wife had barely eaten in hospital and that combined with the distress of the past few days meant her slender body was particularly gaunt.
Kirsten shook her head, sliding from the stool and drifting listlessly towards the stairs. Sandy let her go; she needed time, that was all.
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Kirsten reached out as Sandy finished arranging the bedclothes about her later that night. He took the cold hand in his own, almost surprised at the gesture. 'Sorry,' she forced out.
'You have nothing to be sorry for,' he told her quickly, stooping to kiss her. She shook her head, closing her eyes and releasing his hand. He stood for a while watching her and thought she must have drifted off to sleep until she spoke again.
'I love you.'
It was barely audible but it was a start; three words that meant everything.
'Oh Kirsten, I love you too.'
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The weekend passed and Kirsten was still quiet, worryingly quiet, in fact she hardly spoke. There were small smiles for the boys, tight-lipped monosyllabic answers to questions and the inevitable 'I'm fine.'
She wasn't fine, far from it, they all knew that, but there didn't seem anything they could do. She spent the weekend alternating between the bedroom, the couch and a lounge chair by the pool, Sandy carrying her everywhere and all three boys falling to help her; fetch books, magazines, drinks, snacks, tell humorous stories, set up the DVD player, fluff her pillows; anything to raise an almost smile in the pallid face. But it didn't seem to matter; the slight curve of her lips wasn't a real smile, it didn't meet her eyes. She didn't want any of the things they brought, didn't care whether they talked and hardly ate. She sat doing nothing, not talking, not crying, just sitting and staring into middle distance, pretending nothing was wrong.
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'It's so unfair,' Ryan muttered, kicking at the sand as he ambled along the beach. 'Why her? Why Kirsten?' As much as he'd been hesitant about this baby he would never have wanted this, he never wanted Kirsten hurt. 'It sucks,' he thought bitterly. That baby would have had a wonderful life; parents that would never get drunk and hit her, a mother and father who would always be there, always worry when she wasn't home, look out for her, ground her even. A safe, beautiful home, education, food; all those material things but also a family; two brothers who would love her to bits and two parents who would do the same. It just didn't make sense. They'd all wanted this baby; he and Seth had finally admitted they were pretty excited, Sandy was quite obviously over the moon and Kirsten, well, to know how happy she'd been you only had to look at how low she was now. Ryan didn't know people could turn off like that; change from being full of light and energy to such a pale melancholy ghost. Her bright eyes, her smile, her golden head, pealing laugh, the flush that crept up her throat when the boys caught her and Sandy kissing, her daily questions, her just being 'there'; a presence, a reassurance, a centre for their family. They took it all for granted and now these things were missing it was glaringly obvious. She was a shadow of herself, everything about her dimmed down; the smiles and questions were scarce now, her laugh even rarer, the kisses were feeble and her presence changed. She was the one needing reassurance and her family. The Kirsten they knew wasn't 'there' any more so they had to be.
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Ryan looked up to see Sandy walking towards him and felt surprised when he didn't feel annoyed at the interruption. Maybe he was getting used to the Cohen 'talk, talk and more talk' approach.
'You ok?'
'Uh-yeah.'
'You know with it being kinda like with…'
'Theresa?'
'Yeah.'
For a little while there was only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore as they walked along.
'You know…if you feel like talking…'
'Nah.'
'Kirsten won't either. I always thought you were like me somehow but you two are more alike than we think.' Ryan smiled weakly and suddenly decided he did want to talk. 'It's not really like what happened last summer,' he said quietly. 'As much as I never wanted that to happen, it did turn out for the best. I feel bad saying this but as upset as I was it was such a relief. This was different.'
Sandy nodded, speechless at the flow of words pouring from his usually silent son's mouth.
'We would have done our best for that child but it wouldn't have had much, just some crap future in Chino.' Ryan continued bitterly, 'Your baby would have had everything. Theresa was young, working three jobs, worried out of her mind about the baby, her mom, who the father was, whether Eddie would come back, if we'd manage to make it on our own; that much stress was bound to have consequences.' He shook his head as though confused. 'You and Kirsten wanted that baby, Seth and I did too although we took a while to admit it. We tried to look after her. It just seems so dumb.'
'I know,' the man who was his father in all but name told him quietly, settling an arm on his shoulder. 'I feel like I failed. I sit up at night thinking what I did wrong, what I should have done. That's stupid too.'
'It's not your fault though.'
'I know. It's ok. Things will be ok, they will, eventually.' Sandy said it as though he was trying to convince his son but Ryan knew he was also trying to convince himself. It didn't make any difference how many times Sandy said it; things weren't ok.
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That evening Kirsten overheard Sandy and Seth talking sat by the pool. It was a balmy evening so the patio doors in their room were open and she could hear every word.
'You alright Seth?' she heard her husband ask, settling himself down next to his son who was splashing fretfully at the water. He didn't answer for a while.
'Why won't she talk dad?' he said finally, 'This sounds silly but...I'm scared, that isn't mom.'
'I know Seth but she's just dealing.'
'I just…don't like her being like this; I don't like not being able to do anything.'
Kirsten moved away from the doorway not wanting to hear any more. Her behaviour was scaring her son; she would have to hide her emotions better. She'd thought she'd done well, she'd forced herself to at least answer their questions and she hadn't cried. Kirsten Cohen couldn't break down; she was too strong for that, or at least her façade was. She had to suffer in silence; pretend she was fine, for the sake of her sons, for her image, for the Newport Group, for Sandy, for her own self-esteem and sanity.
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She knew she had to make an effort and Sandy was, at the same time, both the easiest and hardest option. He was feeling almost the same as her, he would understand, he would never judge her, but he could also could read her, too well. He could get inside her head and her heart, too deep, and that frightened her sometimes. Not of course that that was true at the moment. She'd shut him out along with everyone else. She wanted to keep it that way but she had to make some concessions, some pretence. Nothing monumental. She certainly wasn't ready to talk about it all yet but she could at least act like herself, stop being mute, try to accept his affection. She would try, later; right now she wanted a hot shower, its solitude and comfort.
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'I'm gonna have a shower honey,' Sandy called before opening the bathroom door. He came face to face with his wife in her robe.
'Were you…?'
'It's alright. I'll wait; I can take a shower later.'
'No go ahead. I'll have one when you're done.'
Since when were they so polite around each other?
'Sandy.'
'Kirsten.'
'Please just go in the shower.'
'You know, it's big enough for the both of us,' he said quietly.
'Yeah, actually it is.' Her reply was nervous and she didn't know why. Usually there was nothing she liked more than taking showers with Sandy. She was so tired right now she wasn't sure she had the energy to shower alone, it was just the fact it was so intimate. And she didn't know why that bothered her.
Her husband cupped her face in his hand, 'You look exhausted, let's get you showered and into bed.'
She nodded mutely and let him lead her into the bathroom.
They stripped off in silence, their movements slow and lethargic. She glanced sideways at him but he wasn't looking at her, for some reason that both relieved and upset her. While she couldn't cope with the idea of intimacy right now she was also frightened by the idea that maybe he didn't want her. Kirsten shook the thought out of her head, she was being neurotic.
Sandy tested the water temperature and motioned to his wife to climb in; she obliged, slipping past him awkwardly, head bowed. He hated this feeling, the emptiness between them because neither knew what to say, how to act. He followed her and shut the glass door behind him, trapping them both in the confined space, the tension palpable.
'I'll soap you if you soap me?' he offered to break the silence, knowing if she refused they had a much bigger problem. Kirsten nodded almost imperceptibly and reached for the sponge. He watched as she lathered it with shower gel until it foamed, drawing out the task, delaying having to touch him. At last she reached up, passing the sponge across his forehead and forcing him to close his eyes. He complied, hoping it would make her feel better as well as preventing the soap getting into his eyes. Sandy stood blind as she smoothed the creases from his brow and scraped gently over his stubble, rubbing down his neck. A moment later she rinsed the foam away and he opened his eyes to find her intently soaping down his arms, then up to his shoulders and down his back and legs, squeezing the sponge to clear the bubbles on the way back up. She shifted round so she was facing him, washing his chest, her strokes becoming slower as she descended. There was a moment's hesitation when she came to his groin but with a shaky breath she steeled herself and lathered him gently. Sandy clenched his teeth, fighting the feeling even her reluctant hands had on him. He didn't want her to think he wanted anything more than some time spent together. She didn't notice, or at least didn't react to the slight tightening of his muscles, continuing to soap and rinse down his legs. Once she was done she turned away to wash out the sponge, squeezing it tightly to hide her shaking hands.
Sandy held out his hand for the sponge before she could cause it any more damage with her nails and copied her earlier actions with the shower gel. He stepped closer and tilted her face towards him, wondering if he was imagining the momentary stiffness as he touched her. She blinked her eyes closed before he could look into them and he sighed, carefully pushing strands of damp hair out of her face before passing the sponge across it. He wished it could wipe away the dark shadows under eyes, the sorrowful expression, smooth the too-prominent cheekbones or instil a little colour in the pallid cheeks. But no, wiping away the soap simply left her face as sad and drawn as it had been before; the sponge was no magic wand. Sandy swallowed a sigh and began on her back, pressing firmly to try and expel the tension across her shoulders before sweeping downwards, over her ass and down the length of her shapely legs. He repeated the movement with water before tenderly manoeuvring her to face him. She kept her eyes cast downwards as he rubbed up and down her arms and across her chest, goose bumps appearing on her skin as he passed the sponge over her breasts and stomach. He didn't waver, continuing, albeit a little more lightly across her hips and down between her legs, wondering if she would pull away from the contact. Surprisingly she didn't but he heard her breath catch in her throat before he moved on to finish her legs. Standing back up he set the sponge back on the soap dish without moving away from his wife.
'Thanks,' she said quietly.
'You're welcome. Thank you. I know things are…different at the moment…' he was prevented from continuing by Kirsten's fingers pressing across his mouth.
'Don't Sandy,' she murmured. 'It's okay.'
'Well, it's not but… Is there anything I can do?'
She shook her head, biting her lip and wincing because it was still sore. Sandy reached out slowly and looped his arms cautiously around Kirsten's waist, feeling her tense fleetingly before relaxing and letting herself lean against him, her head nuzzled in the hollow of his neck. They stood like that for a long time, in a comfortable silence as the spray pounded down around them.
Kirsten was the first to break the quiet, 'We used to shower together a lot, trying to save water.'
'Didn't really work did it? We always stayed in twice as long.' Sandy smiled, remembering happier times. They were stood under the jet of the shower, water streaming down their faces as their heads moved closer, slowly, hesitantly, indirectly. Slowly, very slowly and subtly closer. So close they could sense rather than see each other, nerves feeling the intimacy, anticipating the pending contact, their breath fluttering on each other's skin. Their noses grazed and Kirsten jolted away as though she'd been burnt, eyes frightened and inhaling frantically.
The moment, the connection was broken.
'The water's getting cold,' she excused. Sandy tipped his head up to face the pounding spray as his wife climbed out of the shower, his reluctant tears invisible.
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'It's cold,' Kirsten gave a quiet moan as Sandy lifted the covers to climb into bed. She was curled up tightly, hugging the sheets round her. 'I could turn down the air conditioning,' he offered his eyes flicking over her anxiously as she shivered visibly. It wasn't that cold.
'You feeling okay?' he asked worriedly, suddenly realising she could have an infection or something.
There was a nod in reply. And another shiver.
He reached across the bed, to check her forehead for fever. She didn't seem to have a temperature. It must be psychological. He let his hand slip to her shoulders, his brain registering how she tensed at his touch but refusing to acknowledge it. Kirsten felt herself do it to and felt terrible. She tried to relax into Sandy's arms, willing thing to go back to normal, times when his hands rubbing her back brought warmth, comfort, desire, not tears pricking the backs of her eyelids.
She shivered again, knowing there was no way she was physically cold being spooned so close to her husband. But inside she was frozen.
'I love you.'
Hearing the words but not feeling them Kirsten panicked, knowing she had to reply and but unsure how.
Deep breath. And another. Just say it.
'I love you.' To her ears it sounded false. How was she meant to do this? She loved her husband. Loves. Knows she does, just can't…feel right now.
Can't feel anything except hurt, pain, disappointment and guilt, lots of guilt.
Why was Sandy's love suddenly less powerful than all those? It couldn't be. Their love could conquer anything. Why did she only believe that, not feel it?
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A review each chapter, makes me post faster.
Well it will once I'm back. Look for another chapter 7th August.
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