Jainie (spooky_cupcake) wrote in lilpinkfic, @ 2008-03-20 22:44:00 |
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Current mood: | busy |
Entry tags: | bashert, l word fanfic, shane/jenny, shenny fanfic |
Bashert (3/?) - The Last Hoorah
Title: Bashert - Chapter 3: The Last Hoorah
Summary: "And meanwhile, I've had a lump in my throat and a knot deep in the pit of my stomach for the past week that still refuse to go away." Set during (and immediately after) ep 3x12 (Left Hand of the Goddess), but contains spoilery references for the first three seasons of The L Word.
Fandom: The L Word
Pairing: Shane/Jenny
Rating: NC-17 for triggery stuff, language and mature themes.
"To Shane! I love you, Shane! I love you! I love you from the bottom of my heart! Congratulations!" The sounds of glasses chiming against each other collide with other voices - our friends, your dear friends - wishing you well, wishing you the best, all the happiness your hands and heart can hold.
And meanwhile, I've had a lump in my throat and a knot deep in the pit of my stomach for the past week that still refuse to go away.
When you told me, I felt like I'd gone flying face first into a wall. It felt like something in me had stopped and no matter how hard I try, I still can't figure out what it was.
"Jen... Carmen and I are... we're getting married."
My stomach lurched like it does in elevators - this sickening, floating feeling right in my middle that made me feel light-headed and nauseous. It can't be true. Oh, god, please - it just can't. Still, somehow, I manage to swallow and smile my brightest smile for you and if my voice sounds faint when I finally make myself start to speak, then I can't tell, because my heart is pounding so hard in my ears I can't hardly think straight. "Ohh... oh, Shane, that's so wonderful! Congratulations! I'm so happy for the both of you! That's the best fucking news I've heard all year! I bet Alice totally fucking freaked, didn't she?"
"No, uhh, I -- she doesn't... they don't know, yet. The guys don't know. You're the first one I ..."
"Really?" I ask, the rushing sound of my pulse fading away, my attention focused outwardly, now, in surprise at your words. I'm the first.
"I... is that okay? I -- I mean --" You shift from foot to foot, looking uneasy. It's not as though you can take it back, now, or un-say it, but I can't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your uncertainty.
"Ohh, no! No, no... Shane! No, I don't want you to think that I'm not happy for you. I am. I'm so happy. I guess I'm just a little... shocked. I guess."
"Yeah," you reply, letting out one of those quiet, husky chuckles that's little more than a huff of breath. "I know what you mean."
"Well, I -- when did you ask her? Where? How did it go?" All of the questions come bubbling up out of me in a quick, breathless rush and I'm helpless to stop them. It must sound like I'm excited for you - and I am - but I also have to do something, say something, to fill up the silence so I can't hear the sickening sound of my heart cracking in two in my chest with you standing right here. Not now. Another laugh from you - a bit more purposeful, this time - and your eyes are shining as you steal a glance up at me and I laugh, too. I can't help it. Your smile falters, the light in your eyes guttering out, as if hearing that sound of your own amusement echoed back at you is too startling, too disturbing. You purse your lips and duck your head down again.
"After, um... after Dana's memorial," you reply, looking noticeably sheepish. "Carmen was... she was in the garden."
"So you guys talked?" I ask softly, hopefully. You're always too quiet - it's good for you to talk and it's important to talk about something as big as getting married. Maybe see the land mines and pitfalls before you get too far. Please, Shane, tell me that you talked to her, that you talked with her. Don't do this like I did things with Tim. Careless and hasty and fucked it all up, for both of us. I couldn't bear to watch that happen to you, Shane.
"No. I mean, yeah, but..." you hedge, hooking your thumbs into your back pockets as you stare down at your sneakers. "I asked her to marry me, but she didn't say anything."
"She -- she didn't say anything? Nothing at all?" I ask, blinking in amazement.
"She didn't say anything, Jenny," you reply, lips thinning slightly, though your eyes are still fixed on the toes of your sneakers. You look so sad. Let down.
"Maybe she just... needs time? You know? To think about it?" I say, moving in a bit closer, my right hand settling on your back. I can feel you trembling and press my hand to the spot, slowly begin rubbing it back and forth. I'm here. I'm here, Shane. Talk to me. "She didn't say a word, after you asked her?"
"Nothing," you whisper, your eyelashes casting soft black shadows just beneath your eyes. "She just -- she kept weeding the flower bed."
"It'll be okay," I murmur, running my hand down your spine in slow, steady passes. "It's just -- it's really ... it's just a really hard time for everyone, right now, and she probably just needs to think. We all do."
"This isn't about Dana," you reply, a faintly defensive note to your voice as you look up at me, an almost defiant flicker in your eyes. "I love her."
It's like miles of ice cold blade being driven through me, hearing you say those words, and I almost flinch away from them, from you, but I manage to stop myself. Just barely. "I know. I know you do," I whisper soothingly, my hand continuing its steady stroking. "Everybody knows you love her, Shane. Okay? Nobody would ever doubt that. Not ever."
The glass of champagne is cradled in my hand and my cheeks are aching from smiling, but I can feel the sting of salt tears in my eyes as surely as I can feel the faint tingle of the bubbling champagne in its glass against my palm. Taking a deep drink from my glass, I set it down and scoop up my stole, but it's not the cold outside or even the chill of the champagne that's making me tremble. My knees feel weak and I only just barely manage to lower myself into my chair, one hand braced on the back of it to keep me from falling, but even after I sit, I can feel that downward momentum on the inside. Like before, when you told me you'd asked Carmen to marry you, only in reverse, but either way, I feel sick.
I gather my stole tightly around me and I can see Alice taking her seat again - and I can see the gold-limned glitter of champagne glasses being drawn back to their respective owners - and people are talking. Angus. Kit's new beau. He's sweet. I haven't really had a chance to get to know him very well, yet, but I already know that I like him. He's good for Kit and he looks at her like I can feel myself looking at you, now, as you speak ... answering his question about whether you'll ever have children with Carmen. Oh, god.
It doesn't surprise me that you'd say yes. Looking around the table, though, I can see the rest of them are shocked. It takes most of them several seconds to recover from it, and Bette is the first, saying that she thinks that you'd make a wonderful parent and she's right. My god, she's right. I've seen the way you are with Angelica. You treasure her, guard her fiercely like a knight sworn to protect her always - and you've said as much out loud, before, and the sweetness and sincerity of it was almost enough to make me cry.
The sound of your voice as you talk about family, about love, lulls me, soothes me, and I find myself staring at you. Your eyes shine as you look at each of your friends, gaze alighting on each of them before flitting to the next, loving each and every one of them, accepting them all for who they are. You've taught us that people's rough edges are beautiful... that's what I'd said during my toast to you and I could almost hear you thinking that you had more rough edges than most, Shane, but you're still so fucking beautiful.
Sitting with you on the porch that night, so worried about Moira, but I'd wanted to take your arms and wrap them around my waist so badly, I could hardly breathe. Six months... it had been six months and this was the first time we'd been alone together since I'd come back home. I'd cherished that time, coveted it.
Still, I'd stood up, dusted off the back of my dress and had started into the house, making a quick retreat after that moment where you held my eyes with yours, smiling that tender smile, but even then, I could feel your eyes following me as you told me you'd keep an eye out for Moira and let her know I'd been waiting up for her. I stammered out a thank you and hurried into the house, my cellphone clutched to my chest, feeling my heartbeat hammering against the backs of my fingers as I held it there and it wouldn't surprise me a bit if it was so loud that you could have heard it.
I almost half-hoped that you could, because I don't know if I can stand it. I don't know if I can stand there at your wedding and smile and really mean it without having my heart whisper conspiracies to me. Making me think things that I shouldn't be thinking - not at a time like this. Fuck, especially not at a time like this.
I'm so grateful to Carmen's family for taking her away for the night. So it can just be us again. The numbers of our party begin to dwindle - heads, eyes and feet made heavier by a long day of skiing, snowboarding, or carriage rides or maybe just a little too much champagne - two by two, the pairs of them drifting off together. First Bette and Tina, then Lara and Alice, then Kit and Angus. Max waits for me as long as he's able but he, too, winds up begging off, making his apologies and congratulating you again before heading upstairs to his room. Leaving just you and I together.
You've had quite a lot of champagne and you seem fuzzy and happy, but I can tell that there's something you're not saying. Not exactly the elephant in the middle of the room, but definitely something that's bothering you. Still, for the moment, you seem happy enough, the smile still lingering on your lips as you push yourself up out of your seat and actually start trying to clean up the dining room.
"Shane, come and have a cigarette with me," I wheedle as you pick up a champagne glass, intending to line it up along with the rest you've already assembled from other people's places around the table. I catch the glass by its stem and gently slip it from your fingers. "Leave it. There are people who can clean this up later. C'mon..."
"Jenny, I --" You start to protest, looking up at me in muzzy surprise, hand reaching for the glass that I've taken. I twist to one side, playing keep-away, and giggle. "Jenny, c'mon, I can do it --"
"I know you can, but you don't have to. Helena's paying for it, so let them do their job. Your job is to come out with me right now and have a cigarette," I say, setting the glass down amidst the small collection of stemware you've amassed. I gather my stole around my shoulders, snuggling down into its delicious, slick warmth as I pick up my tiny clutch purse with my cigarettes inside. "Please? Please, Shane?" Holding my purse and my stole together with one hand, I reach out with the other and slip my arm around yours, linking them together as I head for the French doors, giving your arm a gentle tug.
"Ahh, fuck... all right." I hear glass tinkling and, as I glance back, I see that you're grabbing a half-empty bottle of champagne and two glasses for us and I can't help but smile. That's the idea!
Everything is so peaceful at night, here. No crickets, no birds, none of the typical noises you'd expect in a city. Perfectly quiet and isolated and lovely. It's the perfect setting for a writer - no noises to distract, no interruptions. Just time and quiet and the cold, cold mountain air. I take a deep breath as we step outside, lips curling into a smile as we step out onto the wooden porch just outside the lodge.
The stars are twinkling overhead and for a moment, they shock my breath away even more so than the cold does. So beautiful. We approach the railing and you set the glasses on the edge, pouring us each a glass as I light a pair of cigarettes for us - always in tune, working so effortlessly in tandem with one another. You can read my mind without even trying. I trade you a Marlboro menthol for a glass of Moet and it's still perfectly and completely quiet as we meet each other's gazes over the fine rims of our glasses and then lightly clink them against each other in silent toast.
I take a sip of my champagne and let the complex flavors blossom on my tongue, my smile broadening once I've swallowed. I look up at the stars and take a puff off of my cigarette. Whoever is in charge of time could stop it now and I'd be so happy and so grateful. Let it always be like this - let it always stay like this. Just the two of us.
"You're not saying anything," you point out, and you sound pretty drunk, but amused.
"No, I'm not," I reply, giggling as I exhale smoke and condensed, foggy breath, waving the thick, white mix of it out of my face with my gloved hand. "Should I be saying something?" I tilt my head as I look over at you and, for a second, I could swear that you're blushing as you laugh and duck your head, staring down at your glass as you hold it between both of your hands. No gloves, no heavy coat for you... just your blazer and your t-shirt. You must be freezing.
"I don't know," you say softly, sounding strangely coy, which isn't like you. "Maybe?"
"Okay," I say, laughing again as I take another sip of my champagne. "Like... what?"
"Did you have a good time at the party?" You ask and it feels like you're changing the subject, even though I have no idea what subject you had in mind in the first place.
"Yes, I did. Of course I did. It was fucking fantastic," I say, nodding. I gesture emphatically to the beautiful twilit vista spread out in front of us, smiling. "This place is so fucking stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful. I just love it."
You let out a husky laugh, but still don't look at me as you take a sip from your glass - it looks almost as though your eyes are closed, as though if you stayed that way for much longer, you might very well doze right off, standing up. "Did you have a good time at the party, Shane?" I ask, lowering my voice into a sweet whisper, leaning in just a bit.
"I -- I did... I did. It was... really cool. Carmen's present was... great," you murmur, though your body language and tone don't match what you're telling me. It sounds like a good thing, but it still feels like there's something bothering you. There's a small smile on your face, now, but it's not exactly a happy one...
"It was sweet of her to do something like that for you, since she couldn't be here," I say evenly, letting my eyes slip down to study my own glass as the champagne bubbles and shimmers inside it.
"Yeah," you say in that same half-broken-hearted tone. When I glance over at you again, I see that you've set your glass on the edge of the railing, the tips of your long, slender fingers resting against the base of the champagne flute, lightly tracing the shape of the base on the wood it sits on. "Am I making the right choice, Jenny?"
"Does it feel right for you, Shane?" I ask, shivering a bit as I place my own flute down beside yours. I bundle my stole more securely around myself and turn a bit to face you, staring at you steadily as you drift and consider. "I think that it's important for you to ask yourself that. Forget about us, forget about the guys, forget about Carmen - forget about all of us and what we might expect or want or think we want and think about you. Think about yourself and what you want and what's right for you. Because nobody else is going to live your life but you."
"Yeah," you say again, your response noticeably subdued, but you've opened your eyes a bit more. What I've said has drawn you out of that drifting place and gotten you to thinking again. Your brows furrow and you frown and I realize, now, that's not where you want to be - you don't want to think. You just want someone to tell you. You're waiting for my answer, as if that will give you some help in figuring it out for yourself, because the answer is still eluding you, even now, on the eve before your wedding day.
"It's something really monumental, what you're planning to do," I say softly. "And I know that you're not like me. You're not the kind of person who'd get married on a fucking whim and then wake up with it like a bad hangover. I know that if you're going through with this, it's because you know you can make this work - or you're at least willing to try... and that says a lot about you. It takes a lot of work, but I think -- I know that you can do this, Shane. I believe in you."
A quiet chuckle and you shake your head. I bite my lip and turn back to the railing. "What do you want, Shane?" I ask softly, running the tip of my gloved index finger along the side of my champagne flute, watching the way the sparkle of bubbles in the glass is reflected on the smooth, shimmery fabric of my glove. That is, after all, the most important question of the evening - of your life. What do you want?
You don't answer for a very long time. It's too cold outside for crickets and so all I can hear is the faint sounds of the wind sneaking through the needles of the trees around us as we stand there together and smoke and drink Helena's wonderful, fucking insanely indulgent, expensive champagne. "I don't know," you reply, just as softly, and it almost sounds as though you're apologizing, but who you might be apologizing to is a mystery to me.
"Do you want to be with Carmen for the rest of your life? The rest of hers?" I ask and turn my head to look at you. You shift from foot to foot uncomfortably, like a 13-year-old boy who's been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing.
"I-I -- I ..." you stammer quietly, brows furrowing under the weight of your hesitation. You take half a step to the right and then reverse gears, taking half a step to the left, your head bowed. Oh, fuck. What have I done?"
"It's okay," I begin soothingly, "if you don't know..."
"But -- but I should know," you murmur, sounding almost frustrated with yourself. "I should know." You lift your head up and glance over at me, that troubled look still on your face, shadowing your eyes. "Right?"
"Shane, how old are you?" I ask, tilting my head as I gaze at you questioningly.
"Twenty-six," you say and frown in confusion, obviously not quite sure where that question came from.
I feel my lips drawing back into a bright smile in spite of myself. "You're so young," I whisper sweetly, hearing the wondering sound in my voice. "You don't have to know. You don't have to know the answer to a question like that. You're not there, yet."
"So... so why did you ask me?" Your frown is just as befuddled as it was a moment before and maybe there's just a hint of exasperation there, too.
"I don't know," I say with a slight shrug and a smile. "I'm just trying to help...? Maybe help you get to the answers you're looking for..."
A couple of beats of silence and there's that indulgent, knowing smile I love. "You're not that much older than me," you point out with a grin.
"I know," I reply, my smile broadening as I bounce a bit on the balls of my feet, the high heels on my shoes clacking against the wood of the decking. Chuckling, you bring your glass up to your lips and take a long, thoughtful drink. "I have been married before, though. So, technically, I do have a bit more experience than you in that area, in this case."
"How long were you and Tim married?" You ask, dark brows knitting together as you look at me. Somehow, I find my eyes sliding down along the smooth plane created by the shoulder of your jacket, following it down along the sleeve to your hand as it cradles your champagne glass. Tomorrow, that hand will have something that it doesn't have tonight... something silvery and slender and graceful to go along perfectly with your beautiful hands.
"Four months," I say, biting my lip as I drag my eyes away from those long, lithe fingers and meet your eyes instead. I force a smile. "Legally. But actually, we were man and wife for... about five hours?"
You wince just slightly, sucking in a breath through your teeth and I can see the 'sorry' in your eyes, even before you say it. "I... I'm sorry I ..."
"Sorry for what, Shane? It's okay. You didn't know. We barely knew each other, then," I reply with a shrug, taking a sip of my drink. I giggle a little. "I knew your name, but you were still the tough, black-haired girl who fucked the blond in Bette and Tina's pool, in my head..."
Oh, god. I've had too much to drink. Way, way, way too much to drink. I immediately clap my hand over my mouth as those words burble out, feeling my eyes go wide and I don't know whether I'm going to throw up or faint from sheer mortification. I feel my cheeks growing hot and my pulse is already growing thready but at the same time, I can feel my heart giving away in flutters in my chest. I don't look at you... just keep staring straight ahead of me - at a strange little dark furrow in the snow just beyond the deck. A rabbit hole? I wonder if I could fit in there? I need somewhere to hide...
Complete and total silence and I can feel the chill of the night air leaping into my bones - passing straight through the fur and my clothes and making itself a part of my blood.
"I knew you... were watching, that day," you say, so softly that it's almost drowned out by my heart pounding in my ears. "I saw you."
"You did," I breathe and it's not a question. I know that you'd seen me... we both knew, but we've never, never spoken of it. All this time, we've gotten closer, gotten to know each other, become roommates, become friends - best friends - and we never said a word. Oh, fuck. I feel myself swallowing quickly, reflexively, and I clamp my hand over my mouth again. If I don't calm down soon, I probably will throw up. The satin of my glove feels so awfully cold. We should have had the waiter bring us some hot chocolate, I think to myself, my mind reeling wildly in a million different directions as I try to figure out what to say, what I can do to ... stop this...
"You were watching me," you add and when I finally look over at you, you're looking down - maybe at that same hole I'd spotted - and you lick your lips quickly, anxiously. As though you want to disappear and pretend this conversation wasn't happening, just like I do. Or maybe gather up all of these words that we shouldn't be saying, these corpses we shouldn't be exhuming, and stuff them into the rabbit hole, down in the deep-dark where they go. "And that night, too... at Tina and Bette's. The party."
"You were with that girl," I whisper, tearing my eyes from you because it hurts. It just hurts to look at you, right now. So fucking beautiful. "The girl with the pink hair." I don't know why, but I can't stop talking - the words just keep coming out with my breath and I can't stop them. It feels like I'm holding onto this rope and it's being pulled out into this abyss and I'm trying to stop it, but it just keeps sliding through my hands, no matter how hard I try to hold on. "You were kissing. I saw you."
"I know," you say, the faintest hint of wry amusement in your voice. "I remember. You said 'wow'." Something inside me wrenches and I'm going to faint; I just know it. Then there's nothing but more of that silence... heavy silence, now. "I... I liked the way it felt... when you were watching me."
My eyes pop open of their own volition and, for some reason, I look down at the cigarette nestled between my fingers... it's ashed down to nothing - just a butt left. I throw it over the edge of the balcony and set my glass on the railing, gathering my furs more tightly around my shoulders. "Shane... we shouldn't do this, now," I say and it comes out sounding more like a plea than a statement.
"Why not?" You ask and you sound... hurt? I can't tell.
"Because, we..." I feel my throat close around the words - whatever it was I was going to say, whatever excuse I was going to make, and my mouth and throat feel so dry, all of the sudden. "Because."
No matter how drunk we might have been when we came out here, one thing's for sure: we're both very, very sober, now.
"Oh, fuck..." I sigh, bowing my head, suddenly feeling very dizzy, like my brain is loose and sloshing around inside my skull. I bring both of my hands up, burying my face in my palms and the spinning gets even worse.
"Jenny! Fuck -- Jenny!" You yell and I startle at the sudden spike in volume - you always sound so funny when you raise your voice; you're not supposed to do that. "Jenny, are you okay?" I feel your hand lightly touch my cheek and it's so dry and cold and your fingers are so slender and they feel like they should be brittle - like they would snap like twigs under the weight of too much snow.
"What?" I ask, blinking up at you bewilderedly. How did I wind up like this? Oh, god, did I faint?
"I think you did, sort of," you murmur and I guess I must have said that last part out loud. "It's okay. I've got you."
I realize, then, that you do have me - somehow, I'd started to faint and you... you caught me. It feels too right, being like this. Too right and all completely and very wrong at the same time, because this is the night before your wedding.
"Are you okay?" You ask, curling your fingers and resting the backs of them against my cheek and then my forehead, as though you're checking for a fever, your eyes dark with concern.
"No, no -- I'm okay. I'm fi... I'm fine," I manage, offering you a watery smile as you help me straighten up. I reach for the wooden railing and hang onto it for dear life and I almost expect to hear the wood creaking under my hands. Your left hand remains on my shoulder, the other hand on my wrist... keeping me steady, just like always. God, what will I do without you? What will I do when you're gone?
"Are you cold? You're shivering. Maybe we should go insi--"
"No, really! Really, I'm okay. I promise," I sputter quickly, shaking my head as I glance back at you, smiling weakly. I feel another vague wave of dizziness flutter over me and I can feel you slip up behind me and wrap your arms around my shoulders, adjusting my stole and holding it around me securely. I stand rigidly, stock still, but finally I just can't resist the lure of your unconditional affection... I feel myself settling back against you, held fast in your arms, and my eyes slide shut - blocking out the snow and the rabbit hole and the stars and the trees and the whole world and time that keeps ticking away no matter how much I don't want it to. Time that I wish I could hold... cup in my hands, curl my fingers around and cherish. I want that.
Your arms loosen around me slightly, but you don't let go... and I can feel you resting your cheek against my hair. Even in heels, I'm still not as tall as you are, but I like the way we fit together so perfectly, all the same.
"I don't wanna lose this," you whisper and I can feel the heat of your breath on my ear and my face warms, almost as though in response to that warmth and I feel myself shivering again. Shaking in your arms. It's hard to tell, through all the layers between us, but I could almost swear that you're shaking, too. You must be so cold; you're not even wearing gloves. "Will I? After tonight?"
"Never," I say, my voice sounding choked to my ears and now there's the sharp, sudden sting of hot tears in my eyes. I reach up and grasp your arms, drawing them more snugly around me. "Never."
All this time, I've had this secret... kept it, cradled it, did my best to push it to the farthest, dustiest corner of my brain. So that I could forget what it feels like... when you hold me like this. It wasn't always this way; you fascinated me. From the very first moment I saw you, I knew - I'd never seen anything or anyone like you in my life... you were so different and strange - not what I knew - and it made me feel uneasy. People are always uneasy when it comes to things they don't know or can't understand. But I couldn't just take you apart by looking at you - couldn't figure you out with just one glance, the way you do with me and everyone else around you. I couldn't look at you and just know.
It took time. It took me a lot of time. It took wrecking my relationships with Tim, Marina, Robin and Gene and winding up alone in Tim's gigantic house and needing a roommate. It took you opening a beer for me and saying that we should talk about you moving in... being my roommate. We did talk and after you moved in, I was one step closer to capturing that meaning... unlocking the answers. I think I was a little scared of you, at first... because you were so in touch with yourself. You were alive in a way that I'd never seen before. You ... knew yourself. Knew what you were good at, knew how to make women feel good about themselves - whether it was by cutting their hair or taking them to bed or cutting their hair and then taking them to bed or just the way you could look at someone and just smile and make everything right, somehow. I still can't figure out how you're able to do that... I still want to know.
I think I could look at you for the rest of my life and never stop wanting to know what you're thinking. But right now, I can't see you - can't see anything, for the tears brimming in my eyes. I blink and they go sliding down my face. I sniffle softly and duck my head, wiping at my eyes and I feel your arms tighten around me, pulling me back against you... steady, reassuring.
I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose this. I don't want to see you walking back down the aisle with Carmen's hand tucked into the crook of your arm, married and together. I'm afraid of taking the risk... taking it that one, small step farther and losing you as a friend, because I couldn't keep my emotions in check.
"Nothing changes," you whisper and I can hear the desperation in your voice, feel the way your arms enfold me. I don't know if it's a plea or a simple statement of fact. I can't tell; my head's still spinning.
"It will," I whisper back, my words tear-stained and apologetic. "It will change. You'll -- move out... find your own place... so you can be with Carmen."
"No! No..." I feel you shake your head, the movement registering as a rustle of my hair.
"It's okay," I say, the words coming out as a sob. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut in denial, I feel my chin resting against my chest. "It's okay, it's -- it's what you should do... it's what everybody does..."
"Fuck," you mutter, letting out a ragged sigh and you nestle your face into my hair, into the fur wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a careful squeeze.
"Is that what you want?" I ask, eyes blinking open and more tears spilling down my cheeks, molten hot. I let out a soft, choked sound and look up at the sky, hanging onto you just as tightly as you cling to me. "Is it?"
I hear you take a deep, slow breath and feel your lips settle against the nape of my neck. They're impossibly hot in contrast to the thin, chill-laced air, and soft... and I remember another day you did that same thing. White everywhere, only it wasn't snow... porcelain tiles and you had smudges of blood - my blood - on your hands, because you'd been the one to find me, the one to take the razor blade from me.
I glance down and can see your long fingers clutching at the fur wrapped around me... your skin is gray-white from the cold, very nearly turning blue, and I find myself reaching up, covering both of your hands with my own, and rubbing them, squeezing them. I feel a puff of your hot breath against my throat and an involuntary breath is pushed out of my own lungs, creating a white cloud of condensed breath that billows and drifts before me.
I'd been so ashamed... sitting there on the ice cold floor in nothing but a pair of skimpy underwear, hair still damp from my bath, thighs sticky and slashed open and oozing blood. You only hesitated for half a second when you came in - just long enough to see what was going on - and then you sprang into action. Somehow, you always, always know what's the right thing to do. When you'd managed to coax the razor blade out of my fingers, you set it aside on the sink - the metal making a muted, metallic plink noise as it touched the porcelain - and you pulled a towel from where it was hanging on the towel rack nearby.
"Honey... Jenny..." you whispered to me and you were pleading with me. I could hear it in your voice. 'Be all right, now. Please, be all right... let me help fix it... let me make it better, if I can... please, let me help you...'
I was mesmerized by the cuts I'd opened up on both of my thighs - the left one was worse than the right; I'd only just started on the right one when you came in - the brightness of the blood against my skin, offset further still by the whiteness of the tiles I was sitting on. I could hear your breath, thready and frightened and fast, and when I looked up, your face was no more than five inches from mine. You looked worried, scared... scared for me. You always do the right thing and, somehow, I always manage to fuck up everything I touch. Tim, Marina, Robin, Gene, Carmen...
I'd tried so hard. So hard.
This was something, at least. This was something I could do well. Hurt myself, let the pain spill out onto my skin, where it could dry and flake away, so that there would be no more of it to poison the rest of the blood my veins. You'd gotten blood on your hands as you'd taken the razor from me and all I could think was, 'I've infected you, too...' with this sickness, the weakness, the disease of wrongness I've been fighting for so many years.
I felt a sob well up in my throat and tears burned in my eyes. "Fuck," I gasped as I met your eyes. So wrong. Everything was so wrong and I couldn't take it back, couldn't fix any of it. I felt your arm, warm and strong, slide around my shoulders as you gathered me close to you and I buried my face in your shoulder, clinging to you as I cried. Hiccuping and coughing and choking on my own tears, but you were still as steady and calm as always.
"All right," you whispered, cradling me in your arms, stroking my hair as you gently rocked me. "We'll get you help. Okay? We'll get you help..."
"Okay," I sobbed, huddling closer to you. I could feel your arms secure around me and I knew you wouldn't let me go - you wouldn't let me float away, you wouldn't let the monsters have me.
I felt you nestle your face in the crook of my shoulder, your skin feeling so much cooler than mine at that moment. I've always hated crying... it makes my face feel sore and hot and bruised. I didn't want to move, but my nose was stuffy and it was getting hard to breathe, but I could remember, so clearly, the way your t-shirt smelled. The usual detergent and fabric softener you favored, plus cigarette smoke, pot smoke, hints of sweat and the styling gel you like.
"Fuck," I muttered again as I sat back, resting my chin on my fist. "I need help... don't I? I'm really fucked up..."
"We'll get you help," you said again, your voice husky but reassuring, eyes tired but filled with concern and sympathy. "All right?" I stared into your eyes and I could see that you meant it, but I could see just how badly I'd scared you, there, at the same time and I felt so horribly ashamed. Because I've never seen you scared - never seen anything scare you that badly - and it was me who'd put that fear into your eyes. So ashamed.
"Kay," I whispered, feeling the tears brimming up in my eyes again as I lowered my hand, reached for the towel where you were pressing it to my cuts and drew it away. So many marks, so many cuts, and they still didn't make the pain go away, didn't make it any less. I think I probably could have flayed myself alive in that bathroom and it still wouldn't have done any fucking good.
"No, no..." you said, gently taking the towel from me and folding it over, placing the clean side down on the cuts. "You gotta leave it... to stop the bleeding..."
Bleeding. I was bleeding. And I'd done it. I'd done it to myself. I'd done it all to myself - fucked things up with Tim for Marina who didn't give two shits about me, was so confused that Gene finally gave up, pushed Robin away for her own good, to protect her. Protect her from this. But not you... you didn't want to be protected from this. And I still couldn't understand why - or how - how you could see me like this and just push ahead, push forward and do the right thing, in spite of the fact that I'd scared the shit out of you. Letting out a groan, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and I could feel your hand settling on the top of my head, just resting there, letting me feel you, letting me know you were still there, making sure that I knew you were still there and that you were still by my side.
"Ohh, fuck," I sighed, sniffling and wiping at my face. Why couldn't I get it right? "Ohh, fuck." The cuts on my legs were shrieking and aching, but I ignored them, feeling your hand petting my hair and concentrating on that sensation, instead. Comfort. You didn't say a word, you just... touched me.
Even then, at my worst and weakest and darkest, you still saw me. You didn't see the cuts or the blood or the damage inside my head that had caused them in the first place. You really saw me. Not like Carmen, who looked at me and only saw herself getting closer to you. Not like Tim, who'd stared through me and, after a while, stopped hiding the blank, uncomprehending looks when I'd explain my stories. Not like Marina, who'd looked at me and saw a trophy, a tool to make her real girlfriend jealous. Not Robin, who looked at me and saw the opportunity to do things over and hope I'd get it right this time, the way her wife hadn't. Not like Gene, who'd looked at me and been disappointed and frustrated by the things I hadn't even been able to see in myself, yet, and wondering how the hell I hadn't seen it, yet.
I let out a weary groan and I could hear that small, half-amused hum of yours as your arms went around me again, holding me close as I tried to catch my breath.
With them, I always fucked things up... but with you, nothing I could ever do would be wrong -- I could feel that -- and yet, even then, I couldn't find the words. I'm a writer - I'm supposed to know the words, know just what to say - and, just like always, you'd left me speechless... words were useless, around you. You barely ever spoke and we always canceled each other out so perfectly, but what about now? What about now, when it was so important...?
How could I ever... how could I ever tell you? How could I ever just be me and feel like me and not just those cuts? All that damage? I felt another frustrated sob gathering at the back of my throat and I slowly shook my head. Fuck. How could I be who you saw? How could I be the one... how could I be the woman you understood, if I couldn't understand myself? More than anything else, I felt ashamed, because how could I do that...? How could I do that to myself, where you'd find me? You already had so much to deal with, so many other things...
I tried to ignore the tiny voice in my head that was sighing with relief... because it had known that you would fix things, that you would help, if only you knew. Looking at you that night outside the strip club, I could see how worried you were for me... wondering and unable to understand why... I hardly understood, myself, but still, you'd reached out to me.
You have me, you have other people - you don't have to do this alone... I think that was probably the first time you've ever said something like that to anyone and I could feel it, could tell that they were words you weren't used to saying. Just... just be careful...
I'd let you down... I'd stopped being careful. I gave up on that, knowing that was no way to find myself... knowing that the only way I could was to open myself up and see the illness dripping out of me, drop by drop... and I'd scared you. Shane, I'm so sorry...
"You wanna hear some good news...?" You whispered, trying to force some levity into your husky voice.
Good news? Now? There was good news? I couldn't wait to hear this... "What?" I asked, letting out a choked, tear-strained laugh as I sat up. "What?" You stared at me for a couple of moments and your smile wasn't exactly bright, but at the same time, oddly proud and suddenly, I really did want to hear...
"Tina had her baby," you said softly.
"She did?" I asked, feeling another sob creep up into the back of my throat. Oh, god. Tina's baby. "No..."
"Mm-hmm," you hummed patiently, smiling.
"No...! Are you serious?" I asked, sore eyes widening, my lips drawing back into a smile, seemingly of their own accord.
"Mm-hmmm..." again and your eyes were shining, then. "She had a little baby girl..."
"Oh, my god," I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks. But, no, it was early... wasn't the baby early? I remembered Bette saying something... "Is she okay?"
"Mm-hmm," you said and nodded. "You bet."
"It's beautiful," I croaked through my tears, smiling. Another sob caught on my next words. "It's great..." Glancing down at my legs, all I could do was laugh - it was all so ridiculous. Me, sitting on the floor in my underwear, bleeding like a stuck pig, with the two of us tearful, drippy messes. "Oh, my god, I'm in shorts..." I laughed, doubling over and feeling the last of the pressure in my chest give way like a sandcastle at the beach, crumbling and falling away, leaving nothing but me behind. "Come here!" I sobbed, smiling even as I sat up, threw my arms around you and hugged you. "Oh, my god... Shane, it's so beautiful..."
"Yeah, it is... it's beautiful," you whispered, hands smoothing over my bare back, unmindful of my nudity. It felt better, that way, skin against skin - you know someone really means it, when they touch you that way. I could feel you start to pull away. "Come on... let me help you up. We'll get cleaned up and we'll go see the new baby..."
"Tina's new baby...!" I echoed delightedly, smiling as I slouched back against the side of the tub, the metal ice-cold against my bare skin. You stood up and held out both of your hands to me. I slipped both of my hands into yours and you carefully drew me to my feet. "Tina's new baby girl! Oh, god, I can't believe it. Shane, she had a little girl..."
"It's good news, right?" You asked, grinning as you helped to steady me, the towel draped over my thigh crumpling to the floor as I straightened.
"It is. It's very good," I agreed with a giggle as I nodded. "It's very good news... thank you..."
"Okay," you whispered, reaching up to rub my arm, your eyes so sad and so tired but your smile ... your smile was one of the purest, truest, most perfect things I've ever seen. "Let's get you cleaned up..."