This chapter has existed for a long time—it's excited to get its moment in the lime light (yes, this chapter has it's own personality). It's kind of my fave and a turning point. We've come upon the nadir for Lance. But when you hit rock bottom, there's no where to go but up…I'd better get back to writing more again, as we're nearing the end of what I've actually produced. I'll get on it! Been busy with the moving to a new state kind of crap.
Thank you to those reading! RT, I'm glad that I got your seal of approval on my comments on being a psychologist. :) As you know, I'm interested in mental health, but I study it via a different field than you and Sweets. I've grown really fond of writing Michelle scenes, for whatever reason. And finally, don't worry—things are sad for Sweets in the love department now, but everything is going poorly. This chapter is bleak, but brighter skies are ahead for Sweets AT LAST. Even I was getting tired of the angst.
Lanie, I replied to you, but again let me say: thanks for your very flattering comments! They made my day!
It was now mid-January, a cold and bleak month. Since Christmas, a fresh wave of depression had been settling into the corners of Lance's body and threatening to drown him. Christmas had just shoveled seasonal depression on top of Lance's broader misery. He had stopped meeting with Dr. Wyatt and had taken no actions to find additional help.
Lance adored Bea and Lulu, but it was incredibly stressful navigating their presence in his home. He was so confused about his feelings toward Bea, and they were all tangled up with his lingering feelings toward Daisy. Further, Lance was still reeling from meeting his birth mother months ago. All in all, he was bereft.
One Saturday night he decided to go out instead of staying in with the girls to see if he could dull his pain with music, his past savior. For old time's sake, he suited up in black jeans and a black t-shirt and hoodie and headed for a death metal concert. The concert raged and touched the spot deep in his soul where he felt lost and hurt. Since his youth, music had practically served as Lance's religion. He proceeded to become blindingly drunk and slightly high off the cloud of pot hovering in the crowd. By the time he stumbled home it was 3 am, and he was so far gone that he felt ill. He was already disgusted with his choice to go to the concert, and it wasn't even the morning after yet.
Lance made a racket entering the apartment, and Bea padded out in a Minus the Bear t-shirt she had taken from his drawer. He pushed past her to the bathroom without saying anything and gazed into the mirror at his sweaty face. Drunk as he was, the old feeling of wanting to end his life flooded back. He was so tired, and he couldn't figure anything out. He was supposed to be married and happy by now. But he was miserable, hopeless, and off course. He went to the toilet and vomited. He vomited 3 times before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flushed.
Bea handed him some water, but he couldn't move his head from off the toilet seat upon which his cheek rested.
"God, Sweets. You are wasted. And you reek. I've never seen you like this. What's gotten into you?" She pulled him away from the toilet and helped him sit on the bathroom counter, so she could wipe off his face with a washcloth. He teetered a little on his perch, and she held him fast between her strong legs.
Without warning, Lance leaned over and kissed Bea. She slapped him lightly out of shock and anger. He tasted like bile and vodka.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" she demanded.
Even in a drunken stupor Lance was shocked at being physically struck by someone he cared about and cowered away from her. The abused child in him reared up and wanted to run and hide. His eyes filled with tears since Bea was blocking his escape.
"I'm sorry, Lance. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you," Bea looked scared and exasperated that Lance was crying. So much so that she had called him by his first name.
She regrouped. "We need to get you in the tub. You smell like s-." She began lifting off his shirt, which he tried to resist. Once she got it off, she saw the scars she had heard about so long ago for the first time. They were fierce. She felt a new pang of guilt for hitting him. He looked like a struck puppy.
Against Lance's protests, she got him all the way undressed, telling him to "Quit being so modest. I'm a mom—I've seen it all before."
She put him in a bath as if he were Lulu, and then helped him into his own bed rather than the couch. He shivered and passed out.
Lance woke up too early considering when he had fallen asleep. His stomach felt like it was home to a queasy brick, and his head was swimming in painful fog. He was confused—he was in his own bed, rather than on the couch. Furthermore, he was naked and Bea was lying on her side at the other edge of the bed. Lulu was sleeping in her crib across the room. Had they done it? Lance wondered. No, no. It was something much worse. The events of last night flooded back to him. He had tried to kiss Bea, and she had slapped him. Then she had undressed him and bathed him like a child. What was wrong with him? Since Daisy left he had been acting out in all sorts of strange ways.
Lance was supremely embarrassed. To make matters worse, he found his body in the typical state of a male who had just awoken, and his nakedness was maximally extenuated. He formulated a plan—he would sneak out as quietly as possible and retrieve his clothes. No one would wake up. It would be fine. He'd apologize to Bea and Lulu by making them breakfast and assure them this wouldn't happen again. He had only been truly drunk one other time in his whole life.
Lance slid out of bed and began to tiptoe, wishing he had something to put in front of him. His pillow! He grabbed it and held it in front of himself.
"You know, you look like a fool. I already saw everything last night when you came home raging drunk and vomiting," an irritated voice said from the bed.
The voice startled Lance so much that he physically jumped and barely held on to the pillow. Lulu woke up and began crying. Lance was torn between holding the pillow and picking up the screaming child.
Bea looked on with vague amusement, unwilling to help. Finally, exasperated and annoyed at Bea, he dropped the pillow and lifted the sobbing Lulu into his arms.
"It's ok, little one. Shhhh…" he rocked her and kissed her head.
Bea's own ire at Lance slightly abated at the sight of him comforting her child as tenderly as if she were his own. Not to mention, Lance looked damn hot naked. Bea got out of bed, still wearing Lance's old t-shirt and took Lulu from him, who quickly departed to find clothes.
"Mama's here, Sweet Pea. Mama's here," Bea said to Lulu.
Making an apology breakfast seemed out of the question now. Everyone was up and the tension was already palpable between Lance and Bea. So Lance showered after a few dry heaves from nausea. Guilt over his bad behavior made him realize that he couldn't continue on this way. He needed to snap out of his depression or get help. He was behaving like a child. Since when did he self medicate with alcohol?
He had an overwhelming desire to clean up every inch of his appearance and make this the first day of the rest of his life, so he shaved and even clipped his curls short. He emerged from the bathroom looking very clean cut indeed (though his stomach and head were still in revolt), wearing a white button up shirt with thin blue pinstripes and gray dress pants. He needed to go to the Jeffersonian for a few hours to fulfill his promise to Cam to work harder, and he was eager for an escape from whatever confrontation he was about to have with Bea. He knew from experience, it was inevitable. Bea was volatile, and he had royally screwed up.
For his part, he was very hurt that she had hit him and was already making space for a kind of distance between them. He was very protective of himself when it came to physical violence—in the past, it had been a matter of life and death. He had never forgotten what is was like to be a scared child being whipped like a ragdoll, and he never would.
Bea was holding a cup of coffee and helping Lulu eat breakfast at her highchair.
"So, he emerges victorious from the bathroom," she said, a little snide.
Lance said, "Bea, give me a break. I'm really sorry about last night. This is only the second time in my life I've ever been drunk. It won't happen again. I promise."
Bea said, "We appreciate everything you've done for us. But today we're going to look for an apartment. We've imposed on you too long, and I need to make sure Lulu's in a safe place."
Lance was dumbfounded. "Safe? What you think I'm not safe? I'm harmless! I would never hurt anyone!"
Bea knew this was true, and yet something about last night made her so hurt, she just wanted an excuse to leave. She knew she was being too harsh, and Lance looked so handsome standing there, but she just couldn't stop herself. Maybe she was fleeing the possibility that they would get together. Whatever it was, she kept on her warpath.
"Be that as it may, I just need her to be in a mature, predictable environment. You're young—you should be able to go out on a Saturday and party if you want to."
"I don't want to Bea. I want to be responsible. I've…I've done everything I could to make this apartment hospitable for you two. It's just last night I was feeling so down. I shouldn't have gone out. I made a mistake. I'm a human being. I just made a mistake. Don't leave." Lance felt like they were breaking up, and they had never been together. His heart was being wrenched from him.
Bea sighed. "We can't work as a couple, Lance." Again she said his first name. It startled him, and he physically jumped. Her tone had melted into softness. "You're too young, I'm too…I'm a parent for God's sake. You deserve to start new with someone how hasn't already messed up their whole life!"
"So this is about the kiss? Look, I'm sorry, Bea. You're beautiful, and…what can I say, I love you and your child. But we can remain just friends. I was drunk and presumptuous. I don't expect anything from you." He put his hand on his face where she had slapped him. "You didn't have to hit me."
Bea got up, as Lulu pounded her spoon in her oatmeal and blueberries. Orts went flying into Lulu's hair. Bea crossed over to Lance and put her arms on his shoulders, holding him at arms length, and looked into his eyes.
"I'm so sorry I slapped you. It was a reflex. I come from an abusive home too, you know. I promise I'll never lay a hand on you in anger again."
Lance nodded and was starting to feel teary. Damn him, he was so emotional. He hated it. Sometimes he just wished he could be some other way…some other person.
"Sweets, it's time for us to move out. We've imposed on your kindness enough. Let us go, ok?"
Lance nodded silently again, because opening his mouth might trigger real tears. Instead he headed for the door and off to the Jeffersonian. He choked back tears all the way there.