Post by -SAN. on Jul 13, 2009 6:44:15 GMT 10
WARNING: The 'F' word is alluded to once...
TO CHOOSE
“You don’t know how hard this is for me. You think if things look okay on the surface that everything is fine. But they’re not, Luka. They’re not.”
And what could he say to that accusation? It was true, he couldn’t deny it. For weeks he had wrapped himself into a bubble of protection, something to cushion him from all the little signs that maybe things weren’t as they seemed to be, as he wanted them to be. If he were to look at it honestly, he could see it all was off somehow, out of kilter. Just a shade forced or too carefully posed.
Maybe they had become different people, after all.
“This isn’t easy for me either. I’m...trying, Abby.”
Her eyes pooled with unhappiness. “So am I.”
“What do you want me to say?” His fork dragged through the cooling food, drawing a pattern into the mashed potatoes. Little swirls mixed with sharp edges. Thank God Joe was asleep, peacefully unaware of the growing tension between his parents. Abby dropped all pretense at eating and leaned forward, as if closing the gap between them would help her words reach him sooner.
He wished he could ask his father what to do.
“Say what you’re thinking. You’re so closed off now. I can’t even see you anymore.”
“Whose fault is that?” No. No. This would not turn ugly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Her hand out on the table, reaching out for supplication or forgiveness, he didn’t know which. “It is my fault,” She said, soft voice, so steady over the thunder of his heart. “We wouldn’t be here like this, if not for me, for my failure.”
Luka’s face flushed with heat from the shame of his own participation.
“I should have kept my promise. I should have come home sooner, I should have listened more to you when you wanted me to come home.”
“It was too late then, Luka. I was already drinking before I asked you.”
“Had you already endangered our son? Already f***ed Moretti?”
The words out before he could halt them, impossible to snatch back once spoken. In their aftermath, stillness came over the room, over them both, leaving each frozen there for a long moment, as if afraid to move in the wake of those words. She was the first to break the spell by looking away before whispering a soft ‘No.’
Her hand was so small, surprisingly cold in Luka’s own warm fingers. They had felt even colder on their first date when taking that fateful walk, just before the impact and flash of pain from their assailant had changed everything. Passive, Abby let him play with her fingers, lacing his own between then separating again, over and over.
Tension roiled through Luka’s nerves. He needed to smash something, God, anything, to destroy a tangible representation of his anger, hurt and bewilderment at how things had come to be between them. If he could get his hands on Moretti right then, he would break his skull the way he had that muggers; would pound the bastard into the pavement, every crushing blow another step away from this useless, caustic fury that had no outlet, no release.
Abby flexed her fingers and Luka realized he had tightened his hold enough to begin to hurt. Horror that he could ever harm her chilled down his spine, and with it came a sudden rush of love so strong it sent tears to his eyes.
They weren’t different people; they were only hurt.
He had to learn to accept they couldn’t change the past, couldn’t correct the errors by going back in time. Now is what they had, and it was in the present that they would set the future of their lives. He could choose anger and bitterness and throw away this chance, or he could choose to go forward, to keep rowing.
He would take the chance.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before lifting her hand to kiss the delicate palm now cradled in his own. Chancing a quick look up, he caught his breath at the emotion in her eyes.
“I’m right here, Abby,” he said, the promise murmured against her skin where his breath warmed between kisses. “I’m right here.”
“I wish –“ tears broke off the words.
“I know,” he whispered, standing to pull her up on her feet and into his arms. “I know.”
-San Perry.
Do not use without permission.
TO CHOOSE
“You don’t know how hard this is for me. You think if things look okay on the surface that everything is fine. But they’re not, Luka. They’re not.”
And what could he say to that accusation? It was true, he couldn’t deny it. For weeks he had wrapped himself into a bubble of protection, something to cushion him from all the little signs that maybe things weren’t as they seemed to be, as he wanted them to be. If he were to look at it honestly, he could see it all was off somehow, out of kilter. Just a shade forced or too carefully posed.
Maybe they had become different people, after all.
“This isn’t easy for me either. I’m...trying, Abby.”
Her eyes pooled with unhappiness. “So am I.”
“What do you want me to say?” His fork dragged through the cooling food, drawing a pattern into the mashed potatoes. Little swirls mixed with sharp edges. Thank God Joe was asleep, peacefully unaware of the growing tension between his parents. Abby dropped all pretense at eating and leaned forward, as if closing the gap between them would help her words reach him sooner.
He wished he could ask his father what to do.
“Say what you’re thinking. You’re so closed off now. I can’t even see you anymore.”
“Whose fault is that?” No. No. This would not turn ugly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Her hand out on the table, reaching out for supplication or forgiveness, he didn’t know which. “It is my fault,” She said, soft voice, so steady over the thunder of his heart. “We wouldn’t be here like this, if not for me, for my failure.”
Luka’s face flushed with heat from the shame of his own participation.
“I should have kept my promise. I should have come home sooner, I should have listened more to you when you wanted me to come home.”
“It was too late then, Luka. I was already drinking before I asked you.”
“Had you already endangered our son? Already f***ed Moretti?”
The words out before he could halt them, impossible to snatch back once spoken. In their aftermath, stillness came over the room, over them both, leaving each frozen there for a long moment, as if afraid to move in the wake of those words. She was the first to break the spell by looking away before whispering a soft ‘No.’
Her hand was so small, surprisingly cold in Luka’s own warm fingers. They had felt even colder on their first date when taking that fateful walk, just before the impact and flash of pain from their assailant had changed everything. Passive, Abby let him play with her fingers, lacing his own between then separating again, over and over.
Tension roiled through Luka’s nerves. He needed to smash something, God, anything, to destroy a tangible representation of his anger, hurt and bewilderment at how things had come to be between them. If he could get his hands on Moretti right then, he would break his skull the way he had that muggers; would pound the bastard into the pavement, every crushing blow another step away from this useless, caustic fury that had no outlet, no release.
Abby flexed her fingers and Luka realized he had tightened his hold enough to begin to hurt. Horror that he could ever harm her chilled down his spine, and with it came a sudden rush of love so strong it sent tears to his eyes.
They weren’t different people; they were only hurt.
He had to learn to accept they couldn’t change the past, couldn’t correct the errors by going back in time. Now is what they had, and it was in the present that they would set the future of their lives. He could choose anger and bitterness and throw away this chance, or he could choose to go forward, to keep rowing.
He would take the chance.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before lifting her hand to kiss the delicate palm now cradled in his own. Chancing a quick look up, he caught his breath at the emotion in her eyes.
“I’m right here, Abby,” he said, the promise murmured against her skin where his breath warmed between kisses. “I’m right here.”
“I wish –“ tears broke off the words.
“I know,” he whispered, standing to pull her up on her feet and into his arms. “I know.”
-San Perry.
Do not use without permission.
