Inevitable
Chapter 5
.
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Why does this keep happening to us?
After the incident in Limbo, Michael and Christine walk back upstairs to the catwalk to finish their homework. (Michael eventually gives in and accepts that the bone is, in fact, an ulna). The only sounds between them are their soft footfalls as they ascend the basement staircase, and the quiet "thank you" Christine offers Michael when he holds the Limbo door open for her. He doesn't say anything in return.
Christine's body feels heavier than it should; she feels exhausted and she can only imagine how tired she must look on the outside as well. She feels a headache brewing in her skull, and she has no doubt it was conceived from her most recent string of sleepless nights and her constant, overwhelmingly unreadable feelings for her best friend. Well, old best friend, Christine decides with a sigh. Because, with each passing minute of silence between them, it is becoming more and more apparent how impossible this will be to mend.
Or maybe it's too late.
Christine feels disgusted at herself because of the way she acted in Limbo. She isn't sure who moved first, but at this point it doesn't really matter anymore. The point is that it happened again (well, almost happened again) and they can't seem to keep their hands off each other even though they fully know the destruction they are causing to their friendship.
What Christine can't seem to understand is that she and Michael are both completely content to just ignore the problems between them, when they should be acknowledging and accepting the fact that every kiss, every touch, is pushing their friendship farther and farther past the point of repair.
We can't keep ignoring this for much longer, Christine's brain rationalizes.
Sooner or later something is bound to snap.
But as mad and disappointed as she is at herself and her own actions, she isn't for one second mad at Michael. Because this was all her idea. She conceived this plan out of fear and desperation, and now she has to pay the price. Her crazy, backwards plan figured that sleeping with Michael, losing their virginities to each other while simultaneously giving him what he clearly always wanted, was going to keep him hers forever.
She can't blame Michael for taking her bait.
She has no one to blame but herself.
The rest of their homework assignment is completed in near-silence, accompanied by a mutual feeling of uneasiness between them, and Christine spends half of the time listening to the sporadic rhythm of Michael's pencil as it scratches the answers on his notebook paper.
He hasn't once looked up at her since they left Limbo.
Will we ever be able to fix everything that is broken and confusing between us? Christine wonders to herself as she sneaks another glance at Michael's lowered eyelids.
She sighs and returns her attention to the book in her lap.
At least science makes sense to her; Michael is tying her brain in knots.
The awkward, uneasy feeling between Michael and Christine seemed to grow larger and more obnoxiously apparent as the late morning turned into the late afternoon. Lust swirled with their existing feelings for each other, and the uncomfortable mix of feelings continued to flow between them even after they finished their homework and left the lab to make an early dinner at Michael's house.
Their 'early dinner' turned out to be cold cereal, eaten wordlessly side-by-side on stools at the breakfast bar in the Hodgin's spacious kitchen.
Christine can't remember the last time she went this long without talking to Michael. It must have been hours since they said more than one word to each other.
She sneaks a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He is spooning the last pieces of his Honey Bunches of Oats into his mouth and reading the back of the cereal box as if it is the most fascinating piece of literature he has ever seen. It's a scene Christine has seen a thousand times before, when they used to spend the night at each other's houses as kids. Michael always reads the back of the cereal box, even if he has read the same box a dozen times before. The habitual action is so endearing and adorable and so…so Michael.
Christine suddenly feels like crying.
She blinks away the tears that threaten to fall and clears her throat as Michael stands to rinse his bowl in the sink. She stands as well, bowl in hand, and follows him to the sink.
"Here," Christine is startled when Michael starts speaking to her, "I can wash your dish, Chris."
Christine nods and hands him the bowl. Their fingers touch and Michael's skin feels like fire.
Michael spins around and turns on the water. Christine watches as he pours soap into the bowls and rinses them under the running water. She can't tear her eyes away from his face, like she is trying to memorize his features in case she forgets.
Or in case she never sees him again.
Christine logically knows she will see him again, at school and the Lab and family get-togethers. But she understands now that she will never truly see Michael in the way she has every time before. She is suddenly filled with a strong sense of dread that threatens to swallow her whole. She feels like this is the end of a chapter in her life, and she isn't sure Michael is in the next chapter. She realizes that the teenage boy washing the bowls in the sink isn't the same Michael she grew up with, and she isn't the same Christine.
Everything is ruined between them, and Christine understands now that nothing will be the same.
Tears prick at her eyes again.
Christine knows this is all her fault, and she finally sees everything she ruined. She came up with this plan because she didn't want to lose him, and now her stupid, backwards logic convinced them to do the one thing that could tear them apart.
She ruined everything.
Christine feels like she should be saying "Goodbye".
Michael places the bowls and spoons in the dishwasher, and turns to face Christine just as a tear breaks from the dam and rolls slowly down her cheek.
He notices it instantly, but neither of them acknowledges it as it leaves a wet trail down her cheek and drips off of her jaw onto the tile floor.
"M-Michael?"
She chokes on his name as she breaks the silence between them in a near-whisper.
It's then that she really, truly looks at the man standing in front of her. He looks exhausted, like he aged a hundred years in only a few moments. His ever-messy hair is sticking up from running his hands through it too frequently and he can't quite meet her eyes. He looks like a defeated man, someone who played a game without knowing the rules and simply gave up.
"Christine."
He doesn't say her name as a question, but more as a plea. A plea for what, Christine doesn't know. But he says her name once, softly and desperately, like a starving man asking for food.
He looks so defeated and confused and absolutely heartbroken, and Christine wishes she could save him from everything she has caused him. But she doesn't know how.
How can she possibly mend all of the wounds she has caused him?
Christine isn't sure she will ever be able to fix him and his defeated heart. She isn't sure she will be able to reverse the damage they caused. They both played a part in this, but it was clearly her stupid idea that started it all.
How can she save him from herself?
But he looks at her like she is a raft in the middle of his ocean, like she is the only thing that can save his broken soul.
So with a small step forward, she closes the gap between them. She wraps her arms around his waist, and slowly, achingly, painfully, heartbreakingly kisses his pain away.