Disclaimer: Not mine. At all. And this is not for profit.
Maelstrom
By Ryeloza
Part VII
i.
Lonely.
He grew up with a brother and a sister who were already teenagers when he was still in diapers and a father who was on the road constantly and a mother whose coddling was equal to her emotional distance, and even though it was all so normal and comfortable and stable in its own fucked up way, there were times when it was unbearably lonely.
So he existed outside of himself.
He lived in a world where he fought dragons with a wooden sword, and thought he could fly off of the roof of the garage if he flapped his arms hard enough, and captained a pirate ship that was really only a tree house. He was the kid who tried to climb across the curtain rod in his parents' bedroom and dug for treasure in his mother's garden. The kid who spent half of his little league career less interested in the actual game than in thinking up ways to steal the golf cart Mr. Morris drove around the perimeter of the field (easier to yell insults that way). And sure, he had friends—friends also desperate to escape; friends with equally overactive imaginations; friends who were maybe just as lonely as he was, though he didn't know it at the time.
And somehow in that entire childhood of strange solitude, he never remembers feeling as lonely then as he does right now.
ii.
He thinks that it's not so much the fact that she brought up divorce that surprises him. It's that she claims she's not sure divorce is what she wants. It's that there's this hesitance surrounding her that he's completely unfamiliar with because she's always so fucking sure of everything (or at least pretends to be). For her to come over here—for her to bring up the one ending to this situation that has been in the back of both of their minds just never in their words—and yet not be sure…
"Do you expect me to make this decision for you?"
It sounds angry (why is he always so angry now?), but mostly he's looking at her and thinking he's never been less sure of her or them or anything in his whole life, and the world is collapsing around them. And here? Now? This is the moment when she suddenly decides that it's his turn to make the choice after twenty-plus years of never letting him decide one damn thing? "Really?" he adds, and this time the bite is purposeful. "You're putting that on me?"
She shuts her eyes wearily. Runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back. Looks at him again with an expression so, so tired. And he aches for her. "When did we stop being partners?"
"We were partners?" He shakes his head and reaches for the remaining glass on the table. He sees that there's a ring on the coffee table when he picks it up. Ignores it. Downs what's left in the glass. "I think you're going to have to refresh my memory."
"Do you think it would be possible for you to quit being a dick for even five minutes? Or is that my answer? You hate me so much that we can't even have one fucking conversation about whether we're worth saving?"
Worth saving. It sounds glib. A slight to their entire life together. Of course they're worth saving.
The real question is whether they can be.
iii.
He's sees so much of himself in his kids, good and bad. Personality and sense of humor and creativity and challenges and interests. And yet it's only Paige who he looks at and actually fears that she will grow up to be him.
As much as he mourned Patrick's death himself, there was another part of him, deeper and subtler, that mourned him on behalf of his twin sister as well: that little boy still inside of him that remembered what it was like to grow up so alone. He didn't want that for his baby girl. It felt like breaking a promise to her before he even met her; a promise he had only had a glimpse of knowing he had made once before then (some sweet relief nineteen years previously when he'd found out they were having twins and he'd known that even if they never had any other children, at least those two would always, always have one another). The only reassurance had been knowing that it wouldn't really be the same for Paige.
He wasn't his father.
Lynette wasn't his mother.
Now he's failed his youngest more than he ever thought he possibly could. He's not there. Even his father, who was so often not there when he was growing up, always came home; a promise he kept, even if it was borne solely of obligation.
Sometimes he thinks he's worse than his father was in some ways.
And he desperately doesn't want Paige to turn out like him.
iv.
He doesn't find his voice before Lynette does. Not that she gives him much time. She just kind of sighs in this drained way and says quietly, "Look, I know I can be…controlling."
For a moment he hates how much better she is than him in the most important ways. That she can make this concession. That she can extend this olive branch, and he can't.
She's oblivious to his thoughts. Lost in herself somewhere. "And maybe I've been worse since…"
She trails off. Like she's really thinking about it for the first time. Like she's honestly not sure when it got so bad, and maybe the truth is that he doesn't know either because he's still can't remember a time that she wasn't always so…so her.
"…I don't know." She looks at him like she's actually surprised. "Since…Since I found out about you and Renee? Or since what happened with Eddie or since we lost the baby…?"
He opens his mouth, about to tell her that she's giving herself too much credit. That this has been going on much longer than that.
She beats him to the punch.
"Or maybe it's been a lot longer than that?"
"Yeah." It's a quiet agreement. He honestly expects her next words to be the confession he's been waiting for, possibly since he first married her. That she's always been this way and the only reason they are broken right now is because he finally called her out on it.
For a second he has this odd surge of hope.
"Atlantic City."
"What?"
"That's when, isn't it?"
It's like being turned upside-down very suddenly and without any warning. He's dazed, unsure of what she's saying, unable to keep up with her thoughts which are coming very, very fast now, spilling out of her like she's had some epiphany.
"We never…I had such a hard time trusting you after that. For such a long time. And we never really talked about it. It just happened. And Norah's death and Kayla moving in and Rick, and then I got sick—"
"Wait—Wait, what?" He furrows his brow, staring at her, so confused. Because she can't honestly be doing what he thinks she's doing. "You're blaming this on me?"
She blinks at him, almost like she forgot he was there. Of course. "No."
"You're saying that it's my fault that you are the way you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yeah, you are."
"Tom—"
He stands abruptly, cutting off whatever protest she is about to make, balling his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. "I've got news for you, sweetheart. You've always been this way. You've always been a crazy, controlling—" He swallows the word bitch not quite fast enough. From the look on her face she knows exactly what he was going to say. "—person. And I get it. I do. But you don't get to blame me for it. You just don't."
He's breathing heavily. She's staring at him. And it feels like this odd victory; conclusive; definitive.
The right thing for him to say even if it's ruined them forever.
She stands up slowly and as she steps toward him he has to will himself to stay firmly rooted to the ground. He half expects her to punch him because he's sure she's furious. He's sure that she can't accept this truth for what it is.
Instead, he is shocked when she leans into him, arms folded up between them, resting against his chest, tucking her head under his chin in the way she's always belonged there. He can feel her bare toes curling over his.
He's not sure if it's astonishment or instinct that causes him to slowly wrap his arms around her back.
"You're right," she says. The words stop his heart. He has to strain to hear her. "I've always been a controlling bitch. And we both know why."
He lays his cheek against the top of her head. She's changed shampoos, and he wonders if it's selfish to think that maybe it's because of him.
This one smells like coconut.
"But…" She heaves a big sigh. "But I haven't always been this way with you. And maybe…maybe you don't remember, but I do."
She steps back and lifts her eyes to meet his. There are tears in their depths that won't spill over. "Whatever is happening right now is both our faults. And if we're just going to keep blaming each other then we might as well give up now."
She falls against his chest again, and he can feel her breathing him in. It calms him even as her words circle inside of him, trying to draw his anger back to the surface, trying to break this.
He has become so self-destructive.
"I miss my best friend," she whispers, so quietly that he can barely hear her. "I miss him. I miss you."
I'm right here.
He's not. Not really.
But this is the closest he's felt to his old self in a long, long time.
"Come on," he says. He turns, hand still wrapped around her shoulders, leading her to the bedroom. He's done thinking for tonight. Done fighting. Done trying to figure out if he's right or she is. Done worrying about whether they can fix this or not.
They crawl into bed, foreheads pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, and he's almost asleep when he thinks he hears her whisper, "Come back to me."
When he wakes up in the morning, she's gone.
He keeps breaking…again and again and again…
v.
Lonely.
A/n: I am so sorry it's been so long since I've updated! I was enjoying my time off from work, and then traveling the 3000 miles from where my family lives to my home. Needless to say it's been a busy, relaxing, and fun three weeks. I have been going through writing withdrawal, though, so it was nice to get back to this.
Thank you all so, so, so much for the reviews! You'll really never know how much I appreciate hearing what you think. I couldn't ask for more wonderful readers.
Feedback will bring a huge smile to my face.
-Ryeloza