Act 50: Catherine
"We need to talk."
I blink to shake myself out of my haze and step aside so Sara can come in.
I was not expecting to see Sara today. To be honest I wasn't expecting to ever see her at all outside of work since our last talk. I had lost hope for her to come and talk. Yet, here she is, out of the blue.
I should be somewhat relieved, but I can't feel anything except dread.
We need to talk.
That's what she said. Not 'I'm ready to talk' or 'I want to talk to you' or 'I've come to talk'. No.
We need to talk.
Everybody knows those four words are the international code for 'I'm breaking up with you', it's right up there along 'Let's take a time out' and 'I need to think about us'.
We need to talk…
I close the door and turn to face Sara. It's odd to see her there, standing in my foyer as if she was a stranger that was stepping in my house for the first time.
"Can we sit?" she asks.
"Sure," I reply still a bit dazed. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No I'm good, thanks."
I notice that she barely looks at me in the eyes when she speaks, reinforcing the feeling that this conversation is going to be bad.
I sit down first. She leaves as much space between us as possible, so much so you'd think I was infected with some virus and highly contagious.
She's rubbing her right thumb against the palm of her other hand, a tell-tale sign of her nervousness.
I wait for her to talk. Call me stubborn but I refuse to make it easy, even though she made it to my house. I have been making the efforts for the past month and I'm not going to cave in. Plus if she's giving up on me, on us then I'm certainly not going to make it easy.
She finally looks at me. "I promised that I'd do right by you… and I've been doing the opposite those past few weeks and I'm sorry."
I feel anger bubbling up. I feel like history repeating itself. I'd laugh if I wasn't pissed off. I'm ready to bet that she's about to tell me that she's been seeing someone else which would explain why I couldn't find where I went wrong.
The irony is almost amusing. I once called things off between us when I thought she had been with someone else and I had been wrong then. Those past weeks I didn't even think about putting that down as a possibility, and now…
Just when I'm about to tell her to just come out and say whatever it is she's about to say and spare me any sugar-coat she speaks.
"I… I have fits of rage."
…and I'm officially lost.
"I get really violent and… I don't trust myself around people…" she pauses. "There's something you said about the apple not falling far from the tree… and you were right."
I frown not really sure to understand what she's saying but then she starts to talk.
She talks and I don't think I was expecting what I hear. She tells me about Eleanor's death, she tells me how her parents never got over that loss, how her father metamorphosed. She tells me how her house, that warm and welcoming house turned into a haven of torture and abuse. She tells me about the night her father was murdered and her involvement in it. She tells me about her mother, she tells me about the trial. Then she tells me about what happened after, foster care, living on the streets, the drug abuse, the rage fits. She tells me about the times she crossed a line, about those incidents where she got physically violent and how for some reason she was always lucky to get away with it. She tells me about her fits and their frequency even to this day. She tells me everything or maybe those are just the main lines, but she tells me enough.
I listen.
I could say that it doesn't matter; that what she told me doesn't matter. I'd be lying if I did though. That side of her she describes is hard for me to digest. My mind is in overdrive but somehow refuses to take I all in. That woman she describes isn't the one I'm dating. She isn't the one I know, and I can't – I refuse – to believe that the woman I thought I knew is capable of doing what she said she did.
I listen.
The little things you sometimes notice without paying, all those details they come back to the front of my mind now. I think about that day back in California when she had come back from visiting her mother. I think about moments, fleeting moments where she appeared tensed when she usually is very laid back. I think about several times I had noticed her knuckles being scratched. I think about her mood swings.
I listen.
And finally the proverbial bulb in my mind lights up. I can pinpoint the moment things shifted. I had thought something was out of place then, but dismissed it as nothing.
There are some things she said that I have no trouble accepting, I appreciate why they are and what she's been through.
I can't lie though, I can't say I'm okay with her violent streak, or okay with what she did because of it. I'm not. The thing is, it's not just her past. It's also her present and by her own admission it's not something she handles. In essence, she's a ticking bomb.
I listen to Sara and I can't be honest and say that it doesn't change anything.
It changes everything.
It is one thing to be caught off guard when something like this happens unexpectedly. How we decide to handle it afterward is another matter. It's completely different to know the odds beforehand.
I've been in violent relationship before, Eddie could be a mean drunk and there were instances he did let his temper get the best of him and used me as a punching bag. Those instances were few but when it comes to these kind of things one is already one too many. I was weak then, I walked away but came back thinking that it wouldn't happen again, but it did.
Lindsey was too young to remember any of this, and if I doubt Eddie would have ever turned his anger toward her, it was irresponsible of me to keep on with our relationship after the first time he hit me.
I promised myself I'd never make that mistake again. And now…
Now, I almost wish she had told me that she had been seeing someone else on the side.
Almost…
I only now take note of the silence. Sara's looking at me with fearful eyes. She's probably expecting me to say something.
I don't know what to say or think. It's like I was seeing her for the first time and I don't know if I like what I see.
"I can't…"
My words hang up in the air.
I'm not even sure what the end of that sentence is.
I can't… what?
I can't accept this new development? I can't begin to express how I feel on the matter? I can't stay with her?
I can't…
I see her bobbing her head then she stands up without another word.
I can't…
…
I'm an addict.
Addiction is not something you get rid of. It's a wild beast you learn to tame and live with. In order to do that you have to accept that it can claw its way out of its hiding place at any time and that it'll always be there.
I was an addict, I am an addict, I'll always be an addict.
I'm a ticking bomb, I'm a potential danger as well.
I can't just let her go because I'm scared of 'what ifs'. Yes, this is a lot to process but I'll deal with it like with addiction, I'll figure things out one day at a time.
Sure there still a lot to talk about but right now, I know I can't…
…walk away from this, from her.
I can't let her go.
Sara's opening the door when I snap out of my daze, I get to her level just in time to push the door close again. She refuses to look at me and reaches for the doorknob again, once again I push the door shut.
"Let me go," she demands in a whisper.
"No."
"Don't…" she almost pleads.
"No…" I sigh as words once again fail me.
"Please let me go."
I don't budge, effectively preventing her from opening the door and thus blocking her getaway.
"Move, please…" the words are spoken through clenched teeth with an underlying threat.
I scrutinize her, I can feel anger oozing from her like a hot wave. My eyes flicker briefly on her fists and they are tightly balled.
Part of me wants to step away and let her go, too afraid of that person in front of me; but part of me knows that if I let go now then all is lost.
It all boils down to this moment: standing my ground or letting go.
"If you want to leave, fine, leave; but that's on you."
"Then let me leave!" she mutters forcefully.
I don't move but she grabs the doorknob again and opens the door, I push it back to close it.
"Damn it!" she curses still refusing to meet my gaze.
"I'm not the one letting go. You hear me? I'm not letting you go," I point out.
Fight or flight…
When I think about it, it seems like I'm always the one fighting while she's always the one running.
"I love you."
She becomes still, the only sign that she has heard me.
"I love you Sara," I repeat more firmly.
The words come freely at last. I've known that I felt that way a long time ago but I couldn't say it. I realize now that I needed to Sara to trust me completely until I could say those words.
I feel thunderstruck…
Trust…
Just a moment ago I thought I would tackle this one day at a time like I tackle my addiction but I was wrong. In the end, it all boils down to one question: do I trust Sara?
I think about what she just told me but then I think about the woman I've known for the past eight years.
The Sara I know is caring and empathetic, she has a temper but not any more than I do. She's compassionate, kind, selfless. She's stubborn, sometimes too much for her own good, awkward, clumsy. I can think of piles of adjectives but violent, aggressive, abusive aren't among them.
Yes, I'll need a little more time to digest it all and yes there is definitely a lot to work on, but I can say that I trust Sara.
Even now as she's standing, ready to bolt and I can feel anger and frustration oozing from her. I'm more afraid of losing her than I am of her ever hurting me physically.
I take a cautious step toward her. She's refusing to meet my gaze, one of her hands on the doorknob the other one balled tightly in a fist.
"I love you," I repeat calmly. "What you said changed a lot of things," I confess honestly. "But it didn't change that."
I take another step so I'm in her personal space. "Please, look at me," I demand gently.
She glances at me but looks away almost immediately. "I trust you," I whisper.
There's a change in her expression, and I'm reminded of that time back in California when she had returned from visiting her mother. My new found knowledge of her past gives me a new perspective. I was right then when I understood that she didn't know how to let me in, now I can see that the hardest part of the struggle is between her and her insecurities.
A big part of her, the one that has been scarred by years of abuse is probably thinking that right now I'm telling her what she needs to hear. It's up to her to trust that I'm saying those words because I genuinely mean them.
The hardest part is knowing that there's nothing I can say to convince her and that if she walks out of here, we will be done. All I can do is hope that she can see past her insecurities.
Her grip tightens on the doorknob as seconds tick by. It feels like an hour before she slowly release her grip and forces herself to meet my gaze. I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. She scrutinizes me, not yet daring to hope that this is real.
Now that I have her attention I declare more firmly. "I love you, I trust you and I'm not letting you go."
Finally her last defensive walls crumbles down and she nods almost imperceptibly. I close the last inches between us and take her in my arms and there she unravels completely and I just hold her tightly.
I feel worn out and drained like I've just ran a marathon.
I'm completely in.
Finally.
I know I know, I'm terrible at updating, too many projects and not enough time (for some reason life keeps getting in the way) but hey I try to make up for it with big updates, anyway thanks for sticking around.
The good news is, this story is almost done.
Thanks for reading
