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Part IV: Chapter 3 - To Scream

All I can think about the next day is Tegan. Her words, her face, the look in her eyes in that room backstage in Berlin. I wish so much that I could replace that image with another image of her, when her eyes laughed, invited. . . but I'm afraid that every time I think of her, from now on, I will see her face a moment before saying I wish I had never met you. A knife twisting in my guts, forever.

My mother keeps trying to feed me. This is how she takes care of people. But I don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything that involves thought or movement. Nothing that involves opening my eyes, dragging myself into a vertical position, inhaling, exhaling, speaking. I feel like I'm going to throw up, but I don't, so the feeling never goes away.

All I can do is think about Tegan and that first morning I must have spent four hours laying in bed, staring at my phone, wanting to text her, not being able to. The internal battle made me insane. Text her, apologize, is she okay, I want to help, I want to come back, let me help you. Don't text her, she doesn't want you, you betrayed her, you'll just make a fool of yourself, her face, her eyes, her voice as she said it, How could you do this to me? I never should have trusted you. . . It hurts that she said it, but her life was collapsing and I don't think anyone could ever really understand what she was going through. Except for Sara. What really hurts is that it could cross her mind, even for a second, that I would do anything to hurt her, deliberately. . . she can't think it was deliberate. Even in the state she was in. . . she could never think that. Could she? You betrayed me. . . those words are the proof that she had it in her mind that I'd done it on purpose. It's so beyond impossible that I don't even have words for it. It's done, it's over. This past year, all of it, wasn't real. This is real life, here, in my parents' home, with my mother trying to fatten me up for the slaughter. Real life is just this heavy, aching hole, this emptiness. But not just an emptiness, because emptiness is just a lack. This is an emptiness that eats you, that tears you open, devours you slowly so that you feel every painful second. This is real life and now you have to face it.

But I can't face it. I've never really loved real life very much to begin with. There was always something missing. And the fact that I managed to find the thing I was missing just to lose it again. . . that's worse than never having it at all. How can I be here, in this house, with my parents and my little brother, eating waffles as though everything hasn't totally come undone? They make small talk, chat idly, ask me about the tour, about my plans, and I can't answer really because either I don't know the answer, I don't want to say it because it rips my heart out, or I can't say it because I'm ashamed for them to know it. It's beyond what I can do to even put words together in a coherent sentence. The pain has disconnected my mouth from my brain, and even if I could string together a complete thought, I'm paralyzed, mute. I deflect, redirect, avoid. It's exhausting.

The first opportunity, I'm back in bed. Staring at the ceiling, the panic begins to flatten me as the dark edges of my mind start to cloud over everything I can see. I try to remind myself to breathe, close my eyes, force myself to concentrate on the weight of my body on the mattress, the soft cotton of the sheets, things that connect me to the real, tangible world. Things that won't disappear even when the darkness starts to swallow me. Strategies I'd perfected before and hoped that I'd never have to use again. My hand touching my sheets finds my phone again, and with effort I pick it up. I've now spent the entire day wanting to text her and not doing it, not being able to. Lying there with this hollow ache, my mind takes a new turn. It's over and Tegan hates me. But the fact is, she was never mine. I loved her and she needed someone and I took it because it was the best I could get, the most I could hope for. The leftover bits of Tegan beat out the whole heart of anyone else. Because it wouldn't matter what I did, or how I felt, or who I was because I'm just not Sara. I would never have had more than these remnants. I would never be more than someone to comfort her when her impossible situation was breaking her heart. I would never be more than someone she could run to when her first choice, what she really needs, is not possible. Maybe I made it easy for her to do it because I could never say no, could never turn her away. Wouldn't it be better for me to find someone who loves only me, who only wants to be with me? Completely and totally? To be someone's first choice, first thought, like she is for me? Wouldn't that be better?

I can't decide, in the end, because it doesn't matter if it would be better, because if it isn't her, I just don't want it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Ted woke the next morning, he was alone in Tegan's bed. After a moment of disorientation, the night's events flooded back. He recalled waking up in the dark hours of the morning, the bed softly shaking with Tegan's suppressed sobs. Ted, half-asleep, said nothing as he slid over closer and gathered her to his chest again.

The shower was running. Ted stretched, sat up. He'd slept in his clothes, without brushing his teeth, and he felt grubby, tired. He checked his cell phone like he did every morning, and read Sara's text at the moment that the shower stopped running. He spent those few moments contemplating the situation until Tegan came in, dressed, wet hair, puffy eyes, no smile.

"Hey Teegs," Ted greeted her as she sat on the end of the bed and started pulling on her socks.

"Thanks for staying," she said to him wearily. He slid over and sat next to her as she put on her other sock.

"Um, I got a text from Sara at around three o'clock in the morning and she's already gone to the airport. She's probably on her way home already. . ." He didn't want to say it. He watched her shoulders droop as she pulled her other sock on.

"Gone already," she said. "She just like. . . left, and didn't even. . ." Tegan reached over to her nightstand, checked the screen on her phone. "Nothing? She doesn't even tell me?" The hurt in her voice pained Ted too.

"She asked me to. . . take care of you," he said, lamely.

"She doesn't. . ." Tegan started, shrugging, giving up. "I mean, it's like she. . . doesn't even. . . um. . . she's still my sister. I mean. . . she can't. . . like. . . put an end to that, even if. . ." She couldn't finish. Instead, she picked a little at a jagged bit of thumbnail before biting on it.

"What do you want to do?" Ted asked gently, after a moment of silence. "Do you think you want to come back to Vancouver with me? Shaun and Johnny might stick around here, but I think I'm going to go. . ." Tegan shook her head, her eyes averted, chewed a little on her thumbnail again and inspected the damage as she started to speak.

"My mom. . . I can't. . . I just don't think I can. . . face her. . ." Ted nodded sympathetically. "And she'll want to see me, and she'll ask all these questions, and I just. . . can't. . ."

"It's okay," Ted reassured her. He was quiet again for another moment. "Do you want to. . . maybe stay here with Shaun and Johnny?" Tegan shook her head again.

"I mean, what I want is to just fucking. . . go to Montreal and try to. . . change her mind, or remind her . . . who I am. . . or something. Fuck, I don't know." She had extended her thumbnail chewing to include the bit of peeling skin at its corner; Ted watched her and she self-consciously took her hand away from her mouth as he answered.

"Well, you could do that," Ted answered slowly, "maybe you just need to talk to her?" Tegan's head drooped.

"No. . ." she started shakily. "She doesn't want to see me. She doesn't want to be alone with me. She did that - last night - so that I would know. . . she meant it. She did mean it. She doesn't want me."

"Tegan. . ." Ted started as Tegan's face began to crumple, "that's not true. You know that's not true." Tegan nodded, head still down. "But maybe it would be good to give her some time to cool off? You know how she is. . ." He put a hand on her back and rubbed it soothingly and waited while she slowed her breathing, regained control.

"What am I going to do, Ted?" she asked in a small voice. "Maybe. . . I wonder if I could. . . find Jamie. . .? Maybe. . ." She shook her head dismissively a second after uttering the words. Ted thought about that for a minute.

"I think you should. I really think so." Tegan shook her head again, closing her eyes against the fresh wave of tears that threatened her.

"I said. . . really. . . fucked up things to her. She won't want to. . . even. . . see me ever again," Tegan said.

"I don't think that's true," Ted said.

"You didn't hear what I said. . . you didn't see her face. I think I destroyed her," Tegan said again, slightly tremulous.

"Well, maybe you did. But then you're the only one who can fix it. She really does love you. You must know that. She won't turn you away."

"She should," Tegan said. "She was. . . I don't know what I would have done without her in Vancouver. . . I couldn't, like. . . I wasn't even. . . she was so. . .". Tegan looked down at her feet.

"What?" Ted prodded gently. Tegan shook her head.

"Just like. . . so gentle and. . . what I said to her. . . it was. . . I regretted it a second later but like. . .". Another sentence was left unfinished.

"I think she'll understand," Ted said gently. "I think she'll forgive you." Tegan sighed.

"You know what she'll think, though?" Tegan started, ignoring the tears now running down her cheeks, still pink from the shower. "She'll think I'm just there because I need someone. That I don't have a choice."

"Just talk to her, Tegan." Tegan nodded, as Ted gently wiped her cheeks with the cuff of his sleeve.

"I don't think I can," Tegan said, covering her mouth and closing her eyes. "I don't think I can even. . . like. . . look her in the eye now."

"Hey, hey. . ." Ted said, putting his hand on her back. "Just think about what I said, about Sara. . . about how you would forgive her if she came to you and apologized for what she said. Jamie feels the same way about you. I know that." Tegan shook her head. "Nick will have her home address. You get your stuff ready, and I'll go figure out how to get you there, okay?"

Wordlessly, she complied. Ted was gone for fifteen minutes. When he was back with the address and a flight confirmation, Tegan was standing next to the bus with her bag ready, her eyes still wet with tears. Ted gave her a tight hug.

"I don't know what I'll do if she like. . . won't open the door."

"She will," Ted said.

"You don't know that," Tegan said doubtfully as they walked off to the train station.

"Yes I do. And so do you."