you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness Who: Obed & Isobel. What: Immediately following this encounter with Isobel's stalker. Where: D3, Pax Letale. When: April 28.
She was shaking by the time she pulled into the parking lot; Isobel moved through everything as though it were a blur. She made no sign to Stephan in the lobby, not thinking to take the opportunity to question him about the prior week's strange events. She waited impatiently for the elevator, leaning against one wall and letting the door close before she finally hit the button to take her to the second-most top floor. It had taken far too much willpower to do so; she was afraid of both who and what she would find up there. But it had to be done.
The climb seemed like it took forever, and then all too soon she was there, on the floor that had become her home. She paused, lingering in the hall, glancing at Kate and Aurora's doorways. For a minute, she wondered if it might not be better that she stay with one of them for the night, to think about things, to cool off. Ask one of them to drive her to the hospital so she could get checked out. But the need to know bit stronger than her fear, so she screwed her courage to the sticking place and entered the apartment she shared with Obed.
A pink tongue bubbled over her lips, teeth kneading into the corner of her mouth as she opened the door and thanked God for the divider that didn't sweep her directly into a confrontation. She closed it behind her, Hanni's claws already scrabbling happily over the hardwood to say hello to his mistress. Isobel smiled at the small poof, bending down to pet him, and then rose to walk into the apartment proper to find Obed.
He sat at the small table that looked out over the ocean. Work was laid out before him; to his right, the bonsai she had given him appeared to be flourishing. That made one of them, at least. For his own part, Obed looked tired. His shoulders were slumped. The movements of his hands betrayed distraction, lifting and setting down his pen in rapid succession after only a handful of words were scrawled down. He heard the door close, heard the soft sounds of her footfalls, and his back went rigid. After a moment, he rose and turned to face her.
Whatever greeting he had intended died on his lips. His brow furrowed, his cold gaze flashing over her drawn features.
"What's wrong?"
She had left her bag in her car; she carried nothing with her except the clothes on her back and a jacket around that, but she could not stop the cold feeling echoing through her form as she approached a precipice of decision. One hand lingered on her gut, protective and scared, her gaze fixed in equal parts sorrow and anger on Obed's face.
"Did you know Bryan was out there?" Her voice was thick, fighting back tears. "Did you see him? In March? Did you know?" Her chin jutted up, and she swallowed, biting back more questions that threatened to spill forth from her throat. A small part of her fervently hoped that he'd explain that Bryan was the one lying, that this was all a misunderstanding, that it could all be figured out with a few simple words.
Instead he only froze. The truth was plain on his face, stony and immobile as it was. His eyes kept moving between hers and the guarded curve of her hand; he felt a terrible certainty creeping up on him, and for the time being, he shoved it roughly aside. He crossed over to her, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. He stopped just before her, close enough to feel her warmth, too far away to touch it.
"I did," he said. "And my intention was to deal with it myself, but obviously I didn't do so quickly enough."
She did not step back, but pain was written into every line of her form. Isobel closed her eyes, willing herself to not break out crying, as if the simple gesture would protect her from the words she did not want to hear. When she opened them again, there was nothing but fury.
"After everything you said about letting me handle things on my own, not knowing what to do, you just...decided that you would do it without me? When I said I wanted your help, I meant I wanted you to be on my side, not that I wanted you to hide things from me." Even as she tried, tears were still spilling out over her cheeks. The hand around her stomach did not waver, and her voice veered into cutting aggression. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you didn't need to know." He gestured to her with one small, all-encompassing wave of his hand. "I know there's more wrong than you're telling me. I know it's been that way for a while. And whatever it is, or was, I couldn't justify adding more strain on top of it. He's taken enough from us both, Isobel. I intended you to keep whatever peace of mind you could, while you could."
A little of her anger subsided, but it was a low flame tended to beneath other waves of emotion.
"I wish you had. It would've helped so much. I... I wanted to tell you," her thumb moved over her midsection. "I hid it from you because I wasn't sure. I'm pregnant." She let the words hang there for a moment, not sure what else to frame around them. Obed's eyes went quickly, subtly wide. "It's how it started with Bryan. I didn't want a baby, or one with him, and then he turned into this psychopath.
"I didn't see a future with him, not like I do... like I did with you. I told you I didn't want to feel controlled, Obed, and I know you meant well, but all I can see is that you kept things from me." She swallowed, trying to wet her lips with a dry tongue. "I wanted to tell you last week, because I thought I could, but then you turned into that thing, the thing from my dream, and I don't know if it was my subconscious trying to warn me or what's going on, but I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"Wait. Wait." Obed's hands flew up, palms out. What little color his face possessed had drained completely away. His throat felt dry; he raised a hand to his mouth, fingertips swiping at his faintly parted lips. "You're pregnant? Isobel, I…" He paced, reaching for words he could not find. He raked a hand across his short-shorn hair. "Whatever happened last week was nothing I had control of. How can you hold that against me? How can you be angry with me now, when you held this from me? How is this different?"
"Because I didn't know if I wanted it," she shot back. He flinched as if struck. "I didn't know if you'd turn into him, but I wanted to tell you but I was scared, all right? I tried to tell you that I was scared, after the dinner, I just, I know I should have said more but that's the hard part about being scared of everything. And you never asked, you just gave me my space, because, I don't know, you thought everything would fix itself. You scared me and your answer to everything is to let it fix itself."
"I said I'd do more," he answered, "and I meant it. I'm going to see Simone. I'm going to do things differently. I'm trying. But these things take time, Isobel. I can't undo not telling you he was here. And honestly, if I had it to do again…" His brow furrowed, a fine, dark crease appearing in his pale brow. "Wait. How did you know?" He moved closer, fear and anger roiling within him, inextricably intertwined.
"He showed up outside my office, while I was walking to my car." The fingers over her stomach tightened around the fabric of her clothing. "I didn't tell you, but he's been going through my friends, too. Rafe, and Alice. I think he thought he was wearing me down, that he'd be able to talk some sense into me, or at least whatever he considers sense. He... He hit me. In the stomach."
Obed's hand clenched tight at his sides; he felt one short nail's bite where it broke skin. His jaw was a hard line, sharp enough to cut. Anger was easier and safer than despair. He let it carry him now, and as he reached out and gently touched her arm, a fire blazed bright in his eyes. "We have to get you to the hospital," he said. "Right now. I'll call the police on the way."
She froze, wanting to lean into that touch. Her arms slid around her middle, as if trying to prevent what was within from slipping away. "I already did. I, I hit him too, and I called the police and left." It was as though he sapped all the anger from her and took it into himself; she felt like she was going to fold over into herself and disappear. She opened her mouth again, a cracking sound emerging before she could find words to speak. Her vision was quickly blurred by tears. "I don't want it to be like this, Obed; I wasn't sure if I wanted it, but now I don't want to lose our baby."
His arms slid around her, pulling her close; he felt her hand pinned between them, and the soft stillness of her belly beneath. He did not say the first words that came to mind; she did not need to know the depths of his anger, or the lengths to which he would go to ensure Bryan paid dearly for this. She needed something else now, and he intended to provide.
"I know," he said, "and everything is going to be fine. Just breathe, okay? I'm going to get you to the hospital and we'll get you checked out. Then we'll deal with him." Already he was subtly moving her toward the door, grabbing his keys from the table just in front of it. Hanni's worried yip sounded from the sofa, but he stayed out of their way, easily reading the tone of the room. "Let's go. Is there anyone else you want me to call on the way?"
She shook her head, more than willing to let him have control of the scenario now that she'd arrived at the harsh realization that she had probably and irrevocably put them on this path. Swallowing back what tears she could manage, together the navigated to the hallway, down the elevator, and into the parking lot where Obed tucked her into his Tesla before taking off for the nearest hospital -- the ER at Hoag.
Despite the late hour, the ER was bustling with people, nurses, and stretchers facilitating patients from one room to the next; she felt numb as Obed waved down a nurse, explaining the situation. Then she was gently put into a wheelchair and taken through a swinging door that kept admitting patients but spitting out nurses in return as they struggled to keep up with the inward flow. Obed was a continuous presence at her back, and Isobel couldn't decide if it was comforting or an awful reminder of how much she'd warped his life in much the same way she'd done to Bryan.
Then she was in a white-walled room, asked to change into a soft, blue, papery patient gown and laid out on a table for an ultrasound. The doctor (she'd already forgotten his name, her eyes continually going back to the monitor they'd wheeled into the room) murmured gentle sounds, about how the gel would be cold, that they'd do an ultrasound to check the baby's condition, asking for the particulars of what Bryan had done. She described the incident in as simple of terms as she could manage, not wanting to dwell on it; the doctor said something about the baby being low in her pelvis, that it was unlikely there was anything wrong.
Then, after giving her a moment's notice, he pressed the wand into her stomach with a careful pressure, looking around inside her for the thing she'd thought she'd wanted extricated from her person without a second thought. Funny, how it always came out when people were denied things. Isobel's hand wrapped around the edge of the table, the other loose at her side as she felt powerless to do anything to stop what she could feel was coming.
"Can't detect a heartbeat," the doctor said. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It isn't usually visible or hearable until 12 weeks. Have you been spotting?"
Isobel shook her head, but said nothing else. Obed took her free hand, squeezing it tight. His gaze darted between her face and the monitor; he could read nothing on either, being both uncertain what he was looking at and utterly frayed by the stress of his own myriad emotions. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand, a mindless gesture that went on too long and irritated pale flesh. He stopped the motion once he realized what he was doing, and turned all his focus to the physician instead.
"We've had a lot of… stress… lately," he explained. "In addition to all this. If that's relevant."
The doctor turned to Obed, one brow slightly arched. "It can have an effect, but you're in your prime childbearing years, Ms. St. Germaine," he said, including Isobel in his reply so that he wasn't speaking of her in the third person. "There's no spotting, and from the sounds of it, you might have some bruising, but I see no reason why you shouldn't be just fine. I recommend some bedrest, maybe some Tylenol if you're in pain. Take some time off, and relax; I know it's easier said than done, and I wish I could give you two more of a guarantee, but...there's nothing much more we can do here. At least, not right now." He offered a few more parting words, advice, and then left them alone so Isobel could change back. They'd be processed out by a nurse, and Isobel was adamant that she be allowed to walk.
"I'm sorry," she muttered, her hand never leaving her stomach as they made their way out to the parking lot.
"You have nothing to apologize for." The answer was as quick as it was sure; in the wake of this scare, not yet passed, Obed had entirely set aside their earlier arguments. New fears roiling in his mind meant new perspective, and he could not help but feel responsible for her having been in Bryan's path. His guilt spilled out, unbidden, but he was grateful that it did; he had held his silence for far too long already.
"I should have told you sooner. We could've done something about him. Maybe he wouldn't have been there…"
He fell silent then, dwelling on his sins of omission, and remained so until they reached Pax Letale. The journey upstairs was as quiet and withdrawn as it had been upon exit; both lingered in their own thoughts even after they were back inside their apartment. Isobel undressed, took a scalding shower that turned her skin pink, and then joined Obed in bed; there at least she pulled his arms around her, trying to find some semblance of comfort that they seemed unable to offer one another.
In the morning, she woke as pain lanced through her side. She'd rolled away from Obed in the night, each returning to their separate corners of the bed; Hanni was at the foot, and he perked up as she moved to sit. Even through her foggy thoughts she knew what was happening; her stomach cramped again, and she felt moisture between her legs. Two fingers exploring came back dark colored in the absent light of the bedroom; Isobel bit back tears and got up to move to the bathroom as noiselessly as possible, thinking Obed was still asleep.
Her face looked like a bleached skull in the bright light and mirrors there. Both her underwear and pajama bottoms were stained with blood; she sat on the toilet as her body expelled the contents of her womb, arms wrapped around her middle as she pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut, hot tears sliding down from there to the line created by her mouth and fingers. After all that, it took only minutes, and then it was over. Isobel stayed where she was, though, her body wracked with silent sobs as her mind emptied itself of everything else.
Though no sound had carried through the massive flat, Obed had felt her absence when she had withdrawn from the bed. His fears had eaten away at him with every passing second she was gone. At last he could endure it no more, and he rose from the bed to find her, alone and weeping in their bathroom. The door fell open, banging against the stopper on the wall behind. He moved to her side, reaching out to her even as a cold, leaden weight formed low in his gut.
"Isobel what's wrong," he said, already knowing the answer. "Talk to me. What can I do?"
She took his hand, unwrapping one from her mouth as she tried to swallow down some of the crying; for a minute she just pressed her face into his shoulder, still in the awkward position of sitting on the toilet and half crawling onto him. After another, she felt dried up, and slowly pulled back from him, though she did not let go entirely.
"Can you, um, can you please get me some clean underwear?" Her voice was a notch above a whisper, thready and exhausted. "And some pajamas. Please." She stilled, her eyes glancing down to what was pooled around her ankles; her mind veered between thinking it what it represented, how hypocritical she was being now that she was upset over losing a baby she thought she'd never wanted, and whether or not the clothes were salvageable. The latter made her want to laugh with its ridiculous normalcy; she shouldn't have been able to think like that, not yet, but there it was.
"Okay," he said. "I can. I don't…" He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to rise, hating the thought of leaving her alone even for a moment. He grit his teeth, squeezed her tightly, and reluctantly stood. "I'll be right back. Slow, deep breaths, okay?"
He raced from the bathroom, back into the depths of their bedroom and deep closets. Rummaging through her clothes, he found those underwear and pajamas that looked most well-worn and comfortable. He returned in short order, setting the fresh clothes aside on the granite-topped counter. "Do I need to call the doctor?" His voice cracked with an unfamiliar strain. "What…"
In the space of Obed's absence, Isobel had cleaned herself up with toilet paper as best she was able. Once he brought the clothes into the bathroom, she focused on them, avoiding looking at him as she dressed. His helpfulness was not lost on her, and she didn't want to think about how she felt like she had to drag it out of him.
"Um," she finally said, pulling her underwear up and covering herself. Her voice remained low, wounded. "Yeah. A check up is a good idea. I don't think I have any other problems, but it's good to check. I just want to lay down for a little bit first." She pulled the pajama bottoms on, the cloth hiding her stick-thin legs from view. Only then, when some semblance of protective armor was over her bare form, did she meet his gaze. "If you have other things you need to do, you don't have to wait on me. I'll be fine."
"Other things…" His brow knit; his lips thinned, downturned at the corners. "What on earth would I have to do that's more important than this?" He lingered close to her, his hands on the countertop for lack of anything useful to do. "I… I'm trying, Isobel, but I need you to meet me halfway. Please just let me help. I swear it's not a chore, or some unwanted obligation."
Isobel shook her head, the motion veering between nodding and shaking. "No, that's not... I didn't mean. I feel like I did this to you, and I want you here, but I didn't... I don't know. I don't even know what I want anymore." The pinprick of fresh tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. "I know you're trying. Thank you." She felt awkward, unsure, then crossed the short space between them to settle her face into the juncture between head and neck. He smelled familiar, comfortable, and yet something lingered in her mind that she would do something to make the situation worse.
At once he moved to hold her, his arms drawing close around her. "I love you, Isobel. I wish I was better at this. I wish I knew what to tell you, or what to do…" He kissed her temple, pausing for a moment to breathe in the scent of her. "We need to talk to Simone. Maybe we can go together, hm?"
"Maybe," she murmured, though she felt she already had an answer. "Come lay down with me." Without leaving his embrace completely, she slipped her hands into his and tugged him out of the bathroom, away from what felt like a final resting place when another part of her mind told her she should've equated it to flushing a goldfish. She half led, half tugged him toward the bed, pushing him down on it without asking, somehow enjoying that small modicum of control when so much felt like it was slipping out of her grasp. She crawled onto the bed with him, her legs straddling his hips. Her head tucked onto his chest, her own compressed enough to emit a sigh as she let her eyes slip closed. His arms moved around her, holding her close.
It was dark, but warm, comfortable, familiar. She wanted to soak in it for as long as she could.
"I've known Bryan since high school. We went to the same one in the same small town. My parents homeschooled me because my brother died in his infancy; they were terrified that they'd lose me, too." One arm shifted over his chest, fingertips pressing to her lips, though there was no effort made to stop telling him everything. "Everything was a fight. What foods to eat, if I could go outside, what I could read. I brought my grandparents into the argument of me going to a normal school, with other kids. I don't know how they expected me to function, growing up in that kind of environment."
"I can't imagine."
Above her, in the darkness, Obed softly frowned. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head; his hands stroked down her back, short nails scratching over the ridge of her spine. As he put the pieces together, his jaw worked, though for a moment he held his tongue. "So he was your first boyfriend," he guessed, a soft whisper that stirred her hair.
"Not exactly." She shifted, her body completely at peace while her mind continued its word vomit. "He was already dating this girl. She was the most popular one at our school, that stupid TV hierarchy where one reigns supreme above all the other students. I was new enough because my parents had done their best to kill any kind of social life I might have had, so that already made me stick out, but when I wouldn't, I don't know, show her deference or something, she made me her personal pet project. Every possible thing she could do to make my life a living hell she did, and then she upped her game one year when she talked her boyfriend into seducing me. He... I was stupid, and he made me feel wanted and I thought he actually liked me. So... So I slept with him." Most of her was glad she wasn't watching Obed's face through all of this, though she could feel his reactions through the touch of his body; he'd gone tense, his jaw drawing tight where it rested against her temple..
"And the next day they'd spray painted my locker with the word 'slut;' the whole school knew. I stayed home for a few days hoping it'd die down, and it sort of did, mostly. I was already a senior, though, and I didn't want to screw up my graduation."
"Jesus, Isobel. But…" He kissed her again. His hand tightened on her shoulder, squeezing her through her thin clothes. He shook his head. "Jesus, kids can be cruel." He punctuated his assertion with a sigh and another soft kiss to her hair. "Okay. So what then? I assume you went through with graduation."
She nodded, her head moving against his chest. "I...I did graduate, I didn't get to walk, though. I, uh, I saw his girlfriend later on, and she didn't let up, so I sort of lost my temper and destroyed Bryan's truck. With her inside of it." Isobel could feel her face redden at the memory; she remembered the heavy branch between her fingers and how satisfying the windshield crunching beneath it had seemed at the time. Not getting to don her cap and gown was a price worth seeing the terrified look on Stephanie's face. "Bryan had tried to apologize before that, but I hadn't believed him. He tried again, saying he was moving to L.A. for college, and offered to take me with him. I didn't want to be stuck in Elgin and stuck with the 'weird one' label I'd gotten, so I took his offer and left." Isobel licked her lips, pausing again.
Then she lifted herself up, moving off of Obed's form; it felt like torture, moving away from that warmth, but it seemed called for. She took up an indian position, crossing her legs, facing him.
"I used him, Obed, to get out of town. And I kept using him, for a place to stay, when I was lonely. He obviously thought I was with him, but I never saw it that way. And you know what else happened." Her shoulders rose and fell in a soft shrug. "Now I'm worried I'm doing that to you. Using you to solve my problems."
He shushed her immediately, shaking his head as he raised himself up to sit. His back rested against the headboard; his hand stretched out, stroking her leg. "No, no. You can't think like that. Our situation…it's nothing like that. I'm nothing like him. I know things with us aren't… ideal. But we're getting there. This…" He gestured to her, a vague wave of one hand. "This is the kind of thing he wants us both to think. Don't play into it."
"I'm not," she said, unsure anymore if her thoughts were even her own. "I just... I think we rushed into this too fast, and that's my fault, because of my inability to deal with him, and that influenced you too. I made us move here, and I've been interrupting your work, your relationships, I..." What she was about to say suddenly seemed massively unfair in light of all the things she'd just named, but it slid out of her mouth regardless. Palms slid on her thighs, fingers coming into contact with his hand and curling around it unconsciously, a need to not let go.
"I think we need some time apart, just... Some distance, from everything that's happened. Some time to think about what we each want, and if... If this is working."
His hand flexed on her thigh, drawing tight for an instant. Then, somehow he managed to relax, though that tension remained in his face. He straightened up against the headboard, his shoulders a hard, squared line, and studied her face as though she might be toying with him. Slowly he withdrew his hand, letting it fall into his lap. Her own curled against her leg, filling the space that the loss of his fingers left behind. Words failed him, as of late they often had. Regardless, he tried. But when he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically small.
"Is that what you want? What you really want?"
"Yes."
She surprised herself with the answer; there was something immensely relieving about minimizing the number of things she had to worry about. Maybe if she and Obed weren't together, she could deal with Bryan and her other problems, and they could start over. Isobel saw the suggestion as temporary, though she knew she was making a dangerous assumption.
"I think it could be good for us, or just... It would be good for me. I need to deal with things, Bryan, my shop, my head, and it's not fair for me to ask you to help me with that. This way you have time to work on things too." Her voice was a little louder than his, though still whispery in substance. Her eyes implored him to see the sense of the situation, or, at the very least, to not take it too hard. "I love you, Obed, but I think this is what I need right now."
A mirthless smile twitched on his lips, gone in an instant. That cold weight had returned, a block of ice in the pit of his stomach. This time he knew it would not dissipate any time soon. He chewed the inside of his lip, saying nothing for what felt a long time; a thousand thoughts warred for primacy in his mind but he spoke none of them. At last he nodded: one small, curt gesture.
"Very well." He shifted upward, away from her, near to the side of the bed. "I think… I'm going to go into the office. You take your time here. Decide what you want to do, if you want the apartment or somewhere else. I can send someone to pack my things, or I'll stay out of your way while you get yours together."
He rose, moving toward their immense shared closet, then disappearing into its depths.
She watched him go, as silent as he had been moments before. Isobel felt she was making the right decision, but her heart told her otherwise. She pushed all those thoughts from her mind, instead moving to gather clothes to go to the hospital, and from there decide how she was going to move out.