Darkness had taken over.
He sat on the ottoman she had insisted would be good for the room, every now and then rubbing his palm against the smooth, fuzzy surface. Since she'd left, this had become one of his favorite rituals.
How did it come to this, he asked himself. Looking around the room, he saw emptiness even though everything that was supposed to be there was in place.
Well, not everything.
Michael was gone as well as the toys he had played with on that same floor. His smiles, the laughter, the joy he had always brought was now all gone.
It wasn't more her things than her actual presence that was missing. She'd often be sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through some magazine. Or she'd find some reason to pester him, distract him from his work. But now, all that was gone as well.
Silent. Empty. Dark.
Rubbing his right hand down the side of his face, Sonny tried to come up with an answer to his earlier question. Everything had seemed fine while on the island. They were happy; they were together; they were a family. He had actually begun to think that his life was heading in the right direction. That somehow, being with her was what he was supposed to do, meant to do.
Then, they had returned. And by coming back home, they had also come back to the bad memories which had been lost while away. The memories of the life they were supposed to be living; of all they had built together over such a short time and lost just as quickly; of their son.
Their son.
Grief hit him life a knife tearing into his skin. Some days it was easier. Some days he didn't want to get out of bed, but because of his business, was forced into facing the world.
Everything had seemed so perfect before their son had died. Maybe not perfect in what the normal would deem it, but perfect enough for him. The chance he had missed with Lily had been given to him again with Carly. And now it was lost. Their baby was gone. Michael, a child he had grown to love as his own, was gone. She was gone.
Standing, he walked over to the bar. Picking up the bottle holding the bourbon, he poured himself a more than necessary portion. He absent mindedly swirled the dark liquid around the glass before taking a good, long drink. Putting the glass back down, he closed his eyes. He simply wanted it all to go away.
Yet the other memories remained; the good memories. Memories of talks they had shared when he had learned so much about her, about the reasons she did what she did. Memories of afternoons spent in the park, watching her play with her son, seeing the love she held for Michael so plainly in her actions with the young boy. Memories of making love to her with a passion he had felt before, but never to the extent he did when with her.
He opened his eyes, sending up a quick prayer for her to be there. But she was still gone as the darkness greated him.
He wondered how she was handling this. He'd heard of her requests to not be taken care of, but had sent Johnny back anyway. If anwyone wanted to get at him, she would be the number one target. He could not, and would not, live with that guilt on his conscience. Yet beyond those needs, he wondered how she was coping with their separation, as he had dubbed it not knowing what else to call it. Was she as much an emotional wreck as he was? Was she thinking the same things he thought, asking herself the same questions as to why they had ended up the way they were? Was she even thinking about him?
Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the bar. Standing back, he looked around the room. He didn't know why, but at that single moment, he felt so utterly and completely alone.
"I should just go get her back," he said aloud to noone. But even with the words, he knew that task wouldn't come easily. She'd have questions to which she'd demand answers. She'd want reasons along with explanations that he didn't know he could give.
What was his reason, anyway? That he missed playing with her kid? He couldn't go a day without her nagging him? He needed someone to warm his bed?
He smiled at the last one, an explaination she would find either hilariously funny or outright degrading. Yet that wasn't his explaination and he had no real reasons.
He just knew that he needed her. Not to sleep with him, or have his babies, or clean his house, though he knew she wouldn't be good for that anyway. He didn't want her back because of her decorating talents or her knack for spending his money. He didn't have some concrete reason as to why he wanted her back.
He simply knew he did. What had started out as a favor to his best friend had slowly turned into his life, his whole existence. And without her, he felt incomplete. He didn't just want her back, he needed her back.
And no matter how it would look for him to ask her to return, he knew he couldn't go on living this way. Pushing his pride aside, he headed for the door.
He wouldn't let the darkness win.