Thanks a bunch to all my reviewers! And Emma, if you consider reviewing bothering me, by all means, keep on bothering me. I love it. ParisAmy, there'll be more mentions of Clementine (especially in this chapter) for sure, but I'm not sure if she'll actually make another appearance herself. If I can get it to fit with what I have planned, I'll do it. Kepp the questions and comments coming!
Chapter 13.
It was the middle of the day, the sun was shining, and Sawyer was holed up in his study, fighting a furious battle with a pen and some paper. It had taken some time, but he'd finally decided to sit down and write the heartfelt letter to Clementine that her mother had requested. He'd been working on it for hours, and he'd gotten nowhere.
As he tried to write, Cassidy's voice replayed in his head. His frustration, anger and fear grew throughout the torturous process. He felt like by writing the letter he was resigning himself to the fact that this was it, this was all he'd ever get, and so he wanted to give up. Yet at the same time he knew that if he didn't do it, Cassidy wouldn't give him a chance.
Still, it was hard to write a letter to a girl he'd seen for all of two seconds, someone he didn't know and who didn't know him, not knowing when or if she'd ever read it. Should he write as if he knew her? Should he assume they'd have a stable relationship in the future, or would it better to write as though he was introducing himself to her for the first time? Should he write it for a child, or a teenager, or an adult? And what was he supposed to say, anyway? Every attempt he'd made, every fragment of a sentence he'd written so far, was currently spilling off the edge of the desk onto the floor in the form of scrunched up paper balls.
Kate was giving him his space as he struggled with these questions. She was unpacking from their trip, taking her time, he thought, finding any excuse she could to leave him alone for as long as possible.
As strange as it sounded, it only proved how their relationship had improved in the past few days. Ever since their date, they'd been more open with each other, more relaxed. It was something they should have done long ago, and Sawyer had decided it was something they were going to do more often from now on.
He noticed then that he'd been staring at the still blank paper for some time, thinking. His frustration quickly escalated as he realised just how often and easily he was getting distracted. At this rate, he'd never get it done.
At that moment, Kate entered the room, Layla perched on her hip. Stopping in the middle of the room, Kate surveyed the scene.
"How's it going?"
Sawyer didn't bother answering. The screwed up balls of paper surrounding him were answer enough.
"That bad, huh?" Kate said sympathetically. Sawyer sighed in response, exasperated.
"Well, as I was finishing unpacking, I found something that might inspire you." Her tone was that mock-serious one they often used with each other when they thought what they were saying sounded snobbish and ridiculous. It was more than enough to pique Sawyer's interest. He watched Kate curiously as she set Layla down and pulled out a folded bit of paper.
She held it out to him, and he slowly moved to take it. He sensed it was significant, and as he unfolded it he was apprehensive about what he was about to see.
Once the paper was open in his hands, he stared at it, taking awhile for the image to sink in. It was a crayon drawing, bright and colourful. Scrawled across the bottom in untidy letters was the word "Clementine". Kate leaned over the back of his chair, her chin resting on his shoulder, pointing to the different parts of the picture, explaining it to him.
"It's an island, see? There's a treasure chest buried under that palm tree; that's why the pirate's there. His ship is on the other side of the island, but it's hidden behind that mountain so you can't see it. And that's a dolphin. She says they're her favourite thing to draw. And," she finished with a flourish, "there are mermaids in the ocean. She was going to draw that picture later."
Sawyer listened to her talk, mesmerised by the story she was telling. The fact that she was telling it at all meant the world to him. The affection in her voice for that little girl, no relation to her but her family all the same, overwhelmed him.
"She's good," he said, admiring the picture.
"Yeah," Kate agreed. "You should have seen her room, there were drawings everywhere. She let me keep this one. She's going to be an artist when she grows up, she said."
Sawyer was now lost in thought. This daughter he was supposed to be writing a deep and meaningful letter to was less of a stranger now than she'd been a few minutes ago. He could do this, he realised.
As he was thinking this, feeling a renewed motivation wash over him, Kate quickly kissed him on the cheek. "I'll leave you to it," she said quietly. He leaned against her for a moment before she slipped away.
Almost immediately, her presence was replaced by a small hand on his knee. Glancing down, he watched Layla use his leg to pull herself into a standing position. As soon as she saw she had his attention, she stretched her arms up towards him, silently demanding to be picked up. Sawyer complied. He could never deny his daughter what she wanted. Part of him realised this was a habit he'd eventually have to break, lest he and Kate found themselves with a spoiled princess of a teenager one day. Usually, he figured he had plenty of time before it came to that.
"Do you want me to take her?" Kate offered from the doorway. Sawyer shook his head, and Kate left.
Sawyer looked down at the blank piece of paper in front of him, determined to conquer it. After a few seconds, his eyes strayed to the picture Kate had left behind. He moved it, propping it up against a lamp, in an easy to see spot. Just as he was about to pick up the pen again, Layla started to squirm. He ran a hand over her head, smoothing her dark curls, hoping it would calm her. It didn't. She started to struggle even more, the look of frustration on her face amusing Sawyer. Realising what she wanted, he helped her to stand up in his lap. Even then, she tried to protest against his hand holding her firmly in place.
Still, this was one time Sawyer refused to give in. The last thing he wanted was for her to fall.
Eventually, she settled long enough for Sawyer to glance down at the paper again. The beginnings of a coherent thought were forming in his mind when Layla started struggling against him again, this time to get down. As he set her on the floor, Sawyer shook his head at her inability to stay still.
Now, he could write. He was amazed at how easy it was. Still, his thoughts were not free-flowing. He was frequently distracted; noticing a new detail in Clementine's drawing every time he looked, glancing over at Layla at every little noise. She'd discovered a ragdoll lurking in a corner of the room, and was now examining it with interest. She was the picture of childhood innocence; happy, not a care in the world.
It stirred the guilt in him, as it was a stark contrast to the image she'd portrayed barely two weeks ago. Every night since, he'd been haunted by her cry of fear, and he constantly relived that moment when his anger had gotten the better of him. He scrutinised every detail; the speed of the chair travelling across the room, the force with which it had hit the wall. The exact distance between it and his daughter. The moment he'd forgotten his child was present. The moment he'd snapped.
Kate knew something was wrong. She always knew. And Sawyer knew that for as long as the guilt affected him, it would eat away at her, too. They would suffer together, and she wouldn't even understand why.
He wanted to tell her. He knew from experience that telling someone would ease the crushing pressure in his chest. And Kate was always the one he went to when he had something to confess.
He'd come close, so many times. He couldn't do it. After everything she'd said about her fear of being like her mother, he couldn't crush her like this, just to relieve his own suffering. He wasn't that selfish.
Even so, he hated lying to her. He knew that Kate's main concern was for her daughter, as it should be. She was determined that Layla would have the happy, loving, and above all safe life neither of them had had. But now, as he watched Layla play with that ridiculous-looking doll, he couldn't help comparing the situations.
Kate's father had been abusive. He didn't know all the details, and he wasn't prepared to push Kate for them, but the one thing he did know was that all Kate had ever wanted was to get away from him, and her mother had never allowed. Sawyer couldn't even begin to understand Diane's reasoning. From what Kate had said, she'd always firmly denied that there was anything wrong in that house. She apparently hadn't seen how it had been affecting her daughter, Sawyer thought.
Was he any better? By not telling Kate what had happened, by not allowing her to see the whole story, he was virtually putting her in Diane's place.
Sure, it had only happened once. It couldn't really be compared to a lifetime of ill-treatment. For that reason, he was able to convince himself that Kate didn't need to know. But there were times, when the memory tormented his soul and turned his mind towards the darkest of places, that he believed it was only a matter of time before it happened again. It was in those times that he wanted Kate to know. He wanted to let her inside his head, to show her the images as they played on a loop in his mind, to let her hear Layla's screams. All so she would leave, take their daughter, and get as far away from his as possible, so they could have a life without fear.
He was going to tell her, he decided. She had a right to know. If he was overreacting, then they could laugh about it together. If he wasn't...
It had to be her decision. She had to have all the facts. He was going to make sure she had the control over her life she'd always wanted, no matter what it cost him. Feeling resolved, Sawyer stood up. He picked up Layla and slowly headed out of the room to find Kate.
She was curled up on the couch, working intently on a crossword puzzle. She looked up the minute Sawyer entered the room, and sensing something was going on, immediately asked, "What's wrong?"
Sawyer sighed. Kate was tense, expecting the worst, and already he was regretting his decision. It was too late to back out now, though.
"I gotta tell you something," he said evenly, putting Layla down. She ran over to Kate and demanded to be picked up. Kate obliged, never taking her eyes off Sawyer.
"Okay," she said, steeling herself for the news. Sawyer sat opposite her, thinking of how best to explain.
"You remember, when we had dinner the other night, you asked me about that mark on the wall?" he began. Kate nodded, confused.
"And I told you it was because I kicked a chair across the room?" he continued with difficulty. Kate nodded again, though there was a hint of understanding in her eyes now.
"That wasn't the whole story." He watched her, trying to get a feel on how this was going, and how it would go when he told her the rest.
Kate didn't look surprised. "What is the whole story?" she asked nervously after a minute.
Sawyer took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He thought this would have been so much easier if Layla wasn't sitting in Kate's lap, staring at him. He looked at her, rather than Kate, as he explained.
"Layla was there when it happened." He saw Kate glance down at their daughter, as though looking for some kind of sign of what had happened, some evidence that she should have seen. He saw her grip tighten on her protectively. He still didn't look at her eyes. He didn't want to see the hurt, or the fear, or the disbelief he'd imagined he'd see since it had happened.
"Where was she?" Kate asked shakily. Sawyer knew she was looking for a way out of this, some way of passing it off as nothing. He couldn't give it to her.
"She was on the floor of the kitchen, where you left her." The second those words escaped from him, he wished he could take them back. Kate's hands, still holding onto Layla, were now visibly shaking. Now she would think it was her fault, he thought, and he knew there was nothing he could say now to convince her otherwise.
"I forgot she was there," he added, in a strange bid to put the blame back on himself. "I only remembered when she started screaming. She was terrified."
"Stop," Kate said, her voice surprisingly firm. "Just stop it. I don't want to hear it."
Her response infuriated Sawyer. "What, you just want to pretend it didn't happen?!" he asked incredulously.
"Why are you only telling me now?" she shot back at him. "Don't tell me, the guilt got to be too much. And now you've convinced yourself you're a bad person, and you want me to make you feel better. How many times do we have to do this before you get it, Sawyer? People make mistakes. We both made mistakes that night. Let's just move on."
He scoffed at her answer, getting angry. "Are you serious? You already think this is your fault, I can see it. You think that if you hadn't left, it wouldn't have happened. You're blaming yourself for something I did."
"It was one time," Kate pleaded, practically begging him to calm down and be reasonable. "And you didn't hurt her."
"What if I had?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous now. "What would you be saying then?"
"You didn't hurt her," Kate repeated, ignoring the question. "You'd never hurt her."
"You don't know that," Sawyer protested. "I didn't know where she was. We were lucky. What if we're not so lucky next time?"
"There isn't going to be a next time," she snapped.
"Do you realise who you sound like?" Sawyer asked, changing focus. Kate looked at him, confused. He smiled bitterly at her. "He didn't do anything to her," he mimicked. "He won't hurt her again, he won't hurt me again. It was an accident. It was my fault."
All the colour drained from Kate's face, but Sawyer wasn't done yet. He needed her to understand, finally, exactly why he was so worried about what had happened. "Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he finished.
As he and Kate stared into each other's eyes, Sawyer could see a million thoughts racing through her mind. It was only when she stood up with Layla, who'd remarkably remained relatively quiet throughout the whole disagreement, that everything fell into place in Sawyer's own mind, and he fully realised what he'd just done.
He'd pushed her too far, he'd put dangerous thoughts in her head, and he didn't think he'd be able to fix it.
Still, when she headed upstairs he let her go. He figured that any attempt to hold a reasonable conversation about what had just happened would fall flat. They both needed time to process their thoughts.
That was his initial thinking, at least. After about five minutes he decided he needed to deal with this, now, before anything else happened that he would regret.
He followed Kate's path upstairs, finding her in Layla's room, and froze in the doorway. She paused in her packing, and looked at him. However, it didn't last long. She resumed packing after only a couple of seconds, an action that promoted Sawyer to move again.
"What are you doing?" he asked, taking a step inside the room.
Without pausing for a moment or even looking at him, Kate replied "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Why?" Sawyer asked, stunned. Even though only a few hours ago he'd wanted her to get as far away from him as possible, he never really imagined it would actually happen.
"Do you want me to leave?" Kate asked, getting straight to the point. It was a mix between a threat and a plea.
Sawyer didn't know what to say. Of course he didn't want her to go. He never wanted to have to live without her, without Layla. And he was scared that if she did leave, he'd never see either of them again.
Yet at the same time, he hated that she was asking him. Why couldn't she just go, if that was what she wanted to do? Why did she have to pin it on him?
He wanted to beg her to stay, to hold onto her and never let her go, to show her how much she meant to him; how empty his life would be without her. At the same time, he wanted to scream at her to get out, to stop playing this blame game, to stop toying with him.
In the end, he decided to tell her what he really wanted.
"I want you to feel safe," he told her. "And if that means getting away from me, I won't try to stop you."
Sawyer then left the room, feeling like a coward. He wanted her to make up her own mind about what was best for her and her daughter, and he knew she couldn't do that while he was there, staring at her, waiting for a decision.
He retreated to the study, where his eyes fell upon that little crayon drawing, and the letter he'd written. Both seemed as though they were from a lifetime ago.
Collapsing into his chair once more, he picked up the letter and read over what he'd written.
Dear Clementine,
I don't know when you're reading this. I don't know how old you are, or if you know who I am. Just in case you don't know, I'm your father.
You probably heard a lot of bad things about me while you were growing up. It's probably all true. I won't tell you how I met your mother, or why I left. If you don't already know, it's not my place to tell you.
I do know what your mother was planning on telling you about me. She was going to tell you that I left to protect you, that you were better off without me. That's not the whole truth. I did think you'd be better off without me, but I also left because I thought I'd be better off without you. You have every right to hate me for that.
It's different now. Again, I'm not sure if you know, but you have a half-sister. You're probably wondering why I stuck around for her, but not for you. I was a different man when you were born. I wasn't fit to be a father. I didn't even find out about you until after you were born. I know that's not an excuse, but it's all I have.
You met your sister a few days ago, and I think you liked her. It was the first day I saw you, and I'm hoping it's not the last. I want to be a part of your life. As you're reading this, you know how that turned out. Maybe you spoke to me just a couple of hours ago. Or maybe you don't even know what I look like. Whatever happened, just know that what happened was for the best.
I want you to have a good life, and if a good life for you is one without me, then so be it. But if you ever need my help, for anything, all you have to do is ask for it.
He left it unsigned for now. After he finished reading, he remained where he was, trying not to listen to what Kate was doing. He didn't want to know what she'd decided, not until he absolutely had to.
Casting his eyes around for something to distract him, he noticed Clementine's drawing. Putting the letter back on the desk, he picked it up instead. He ran his finger lightly over the waxy crayon markings, trying not to notice the sounds of Kate's footsteps heading down the hall. He traced the outline of the island, smiling at the irony of it, as the footsteps descended to the lower level of the house.
For a few minutes, he couldn't hear anything. Then, a door closed. Sawyer slowly crossed to a window that over looked the street, dreading what he knew he was about to see. He was just in time to see Kate's car driving away. He watched it go, wishing furiously now that he'd done something to stop her.
As he stared out at the street, he absentmindedly folded Clementine's drawing and slipped it into his pocket, its slight weight offering some comfort. He stayed at the window for awhile, not wanting to leave the room, because he knew that when he did, he'd have to accept that they were gone, and that it was his fault. And then he'd have to figure out what to do next.
tbc.
Please don't kill me.