Carrie II
Carrie stands at the top of the stairs, wavering in the dark. In one hand an almost empty bottle of vodka, in the other, her phone in a ready-to-throw position.
The phone has been going off every fifteen minutes for about a day now - ever since Quinn showed up and found the new top-of-the-line Medeco deadbolt lock on her door the previous night. Even Quinn couldn't pick the lock with his basic tools - she had listened to him try for most of the night, interposed with yelling at her through the door and attempts at calling her. Carrie didn't answer any of his calls - she had already left him one simple message on his voicemail - that she was alive and would stay that way so he didn't need to break down her door.
Talking to the locksmith to order the lock had been the hardest things she's done in weeks. Other than Quinn and her family she hasn't had to talk to anyone since she started hiding out at home. But it was worth it for the lock, the day or two of privacy she will get from it.
She knows Quinn will be back, he is nothing if not persistent. And he will get through the lock eventually or just break down her door despite her assurances. But she bought herself some time at least, time to see if she can make some decisions.
Hiding at home on administrative leaves means Carrie's had a lot of time to think, about her life, about Brody, about the baby. She's spent most of this time in a very low trough, stifled by her grief and despair. Where her whole life has culminated to this point of loss - all that she's struggled for and against, bringing her nothing in the end.
But lately there have been little breaks, tiny islands in the sea of hopelessness.
That morning after she passed out in the bathroom and subsequently yelled at Quinn for finding her - it had been a shitty morning of concussion headaches and guilt. She hates that he found her in need, that she was so abruptly honest with him. So she had kicked him out for caring, as usual.
And then the next morning she found her kitchen completely stocked in healthy convenient-to-eat foods. All foods she would conceivably eat, nothing that needed any preparation. At first she had mentally railed against him. What part of getting rid of him was he not understanding?
But then Carrie ate some yoghurt and fruit and had to admit it was a good move on his part. She knows he wants to help, wants to just yank her out of the low she's been in and she's been resisting him the whole way. Filling her fridge and making it easier for her really was the best thing he could have done to push her towards making an effort at life. So now she only thinks him half an asshole for invading her life.
Best laid plans can easily backfire though and having a little more energy when she's still feeling like this is not necessarily a good thing. Because she might have some life in her yet but Carrie's not sure what to do with it. The idea of living, going back to her job is riddled with difficulty. She is coming to remember the things she loves about the work, has moments when she thinks it's possible that she could get back in the game. But those moments are few and far between - especially when her whole future is up in the air.
So she's been thinking a lot, contemplating the possibility of a future, worrying a lot about the problem growing in her. And the extra energy got her moving, got her to change the locks so she could be at this point, standing at the top of the stairs, tilting a bit due to the alcohol. Thank god for the bottle she'd stashed in her room - Quinn had fucking cleared out the rest of her booze ages ago.
Carrie thinks again at how many times she's hit the bottle since the first fucking pee-stick showed her the ominous blue line. Enough times to give a kid brain damage, she bets. This is some of what she's been thinking about while hiding in her bed, crushed by the anxiety about what the fuck to do with a baby she's not sure she wants, by the total sad uselessness she finds herself in.
She knows the drinking binges have partly been a calculated gamble, the possibility of the problem just getting rid of itself has crossed her mind more than once. Then she wouldn't have to make the decision herself. Because Carrie equally can and cannot get rid of the baby. It's all that she has left of him, the only physical remains of their time, their love. But she's also sure she can't be a mom, can't raise a kid, will eventually run off just like her own mom did.
Carrie keeps coming back to the fact that everything would be easier if the baby just never gets born, if she fell down the stairs and the whole thing went away. It's not a perfect solution, not even a good one. Logically she knows it's unlikely to actually get rid of her problem, that the idea is just a manifestation of her depressed self. And knowing her luck the baby would probably end up fine or extra brain damaged or something. But the possibility is still growing on her, especially after she found the last of her vodka stash.
Thus the Medeco locks, the window of opportunity, the booze, and the stairs.
But now that she's standing there, Carrie finds herself a bit unsure. She thinks she should have held off on changing the locks until she really decided but knows the longer she waits the less chance things will work out. And she's sick of thinking about it, worrying her days away.
So she does her best to surround herself with all the reasons she wants to be rid of the baby, all her fears about being a terrible mom, all her concerns about her career and having a constant reminder of Brody around. It's not quite enough so she chugs the end of the bottle, grimaces as the booze slides down her throat. Right now she wants the liquor to feed the depression, push her to the edge, to the point where this seems like a good idea.
And then Carrie hears a scraping metallic sound, the whirr of a tiny drill and knows she's out of time. But her irrational mind still tries to convince herself she can do it now, before he gets in. That it would best if he's too late to help her, that he fails his self-inflicted duty. Because then he might actually leave, catch on that the changed locks and her hateful attitude are her best attempts at pushing him past what he can take. There's only so long he can keep banging his head against a concrete wall, she thinks. And so far it's worked for everyone except her family- and they are stuck with her.
But then he's through the door in less time than the locksmith said was possible and Carrie's out of time.
"Carrie?" he calls, breathlessly. "Carrie, are you alright?"
It takes him a moment to flick on the lights before he's standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her with a widening oh shit expression.
Carrie goes to sit down on the stairs, knows when the game is up. But she's been standing and drinking for awhile and stumbles, almost falls down the stairs before catching herself on the bannister.
Quinn is up the stairs in a matter of nanoseconds, probably would have caught her two stairs into her tumble at his response rate. She scowls at him, indicates his action was unnecessary - that she had saved herself when she could have fallen and given her plan a chance.
"Jesus, Carrie," Quinn mutters, sitting next to her on the top stair. "You can't keep drinking."
"Tell me something I don't already know, Quinn," Carrie replies.
Quinn looks at her seriously, he looks like he's about to give her another well-meaning lecture and she is mentally railing against it already. Because Carrie's only just begun to think she might have some unfinished business with the world, some more life left to live. But she doesn't want him to help her get her life back on track, doesn't want Quinn's help in any way. The process will be hard and he's already seen her at her worst, her most vulnerable. She doesn't want him to see any more of her, of her personal wounds. He's already too close. If she can push him off now maybe she can put this chapter of her life behind her, seal it off and start fresh.
Not that she doesn't like Quinn, but Carrie's used to guys feeling protective of her and she's only ever let it get to a certain point. She's a big girl, she can take of herself. And she loses most of them when she hits her highs and her lows anyways. That's the way it's always been, it's all she knows - what she's comfortable with. This, whatever it is with Quinn - friendship, obligation, it's too much for her right now. When she's like this there is only space for herself in her life. Carrie knows from history she just needs some time alone and she will eventually make the slow climb out of her bedroom. But having someone else she is obligated to, that gives a shit what happens to her, that is too much.
But he won't stop showing up and right now he's going on about how she can't harm the baby.
"I'm dead serious Carrie," he says. "If you're thinking about hurting the baby I won't let it happen. You need to get some help."
He is looking at her so seriously and she laughs in his face. A half-sarcastic, half crazy laugh.
"What the hell are you going to do about it, Quinn?" she asks forcefully. "No one can help me. I made this whole thing happen and now this is what I'm stuck with."
But apparently Quinn doesn't need to learn his lessons twice and he refuses to get angry with her. He just keeps giving her his stoically concerned look, basically regular Quinn but with sad eyes. He tries to put his arm around her shoulders but she shakes him off, scoots away from him.
"Carrie, I know you're having a hard time right now," he says, putting his arm down in defeat. "I can't imagine what you're going through. But I want to help - just tell me what you need."
Carrie looks at him and thinks this is it, this is her chance. She pushes all her anger, frustration, hurt and anxiety to the forefront and channels it towards him, glares at him with everything she's got.
"I need you to leave me the fuck alone, Quinn. I mean it," she says to his face. She sees the sadness in his eyes grow but he manages to maintain his stoic expression. "I know you're worried about me but you don't have to be. I'll keep the promise, you don't need to check. I won't hurt myself, I won't hurt the baby, but I just want to be alone. I've always done this by myself, Quinn. I don't want or need your help."
Quinn looks like she's punched him in the solar plexus, like he's taken a direct hit to his heart. He does his best to hide it but she can see it.
He nods slowly, looks at her in defeat. "If that's really what you want," he says grimly.
Carrie looks at him, sees the wound she's inflicted. The truth is she's not at all sure that's what she wants; she feels like she's wounded something in herself too. And this has never happened before - in her life Carrie's tossed off a lot of guys that want to help her and she's never felt anything but relief to be rid of them.
Quinn still doesn't make a move to leave, just keeps looking at her appraisingly. "I know you don't give a shit what I think, Carrie. But I had to make a similar decision once and I made the wrong choice. I ran, kept flying solo. And now that's my biggest regret," he says. "I know you're scared, I was scared as fuck. And I took the coward's way out. But you, Carrie, you are no fucking coward. Remember that."
Carrie looks at him, resists the urge to move closer, reminds herself all she's just done to finally get rid of him. This is not the time to care about Quinn, she says to herself. But it's not that easy.
"Look Quinn, you've done a good job alright. I just can't be around anyone when I'm like this," she says because it's always been that way.
Right now with Quinn beside her though, it feels like maybe she could lean on him, talk to him about all her fears. And that's what terrifies her the most - that she might let him in too far and then what? Then she'd just have another person in her life that cares about her, another relationship she will fuck up in the end.
Quinn gives her a long look. "Tell me you'll call if you need anything, Carrie," he says, a touch of roughness in his voice.
Carrie smiles just a little. "I'll call you if I need anything, Quinn."
He nods and stands up. Carrie stands up too, feeling almost sober from their conversation.
"Take care of yourself," he says, taking her hand and pulling her towards him. "I'll be watching."
She resists for a moment but then lets him pull her into a hug. If this is all she has to give then she can at least give him one last reassurance.
"Stalker," she mutters into his ear.
Quinn quirks a small smile as she backs out of his embrace. "It's true," he replies. "I'll always be watching out for you, Carrie."
His statement should make her anxious but for some reason it almost settles her.
He walks down the stairs, pauses to look back as he opens the door.
"Really, Carrie. Call me. Anything you need," he says.
Carrie nods dutifully, thinks that's a call she'll never make. Quinn gives her one last look before he walks out the door, leaving her alone.
Carrie watches him out with mixed emotions, thinks how he doesn't deserve any of this, that he should be happy to have her off his conscience. The hardest part is she thinks she actually might like Quinn, that having him around might be good for her. Which is just all the more reason to get rid of him now, before he becomes too attached, gets to know too much of her.
It's for his own good, Carrie tells herself, lying in bed later that night. She tries to ignore the part of her that misses him already, the part that keeps seeing his sad eyes, his carefully hidden expression of hurt.
As she falls asleep Carrie realizes that she wouldn't have thought it possible but now she feels even worse than before.