* Here it is, the much promised interpretation of the happenings after the final credits of The Storm Part II. Of course, this is entirely my interpretation, so it may be different to your own viewpoint.
* These aren’t my characters and this isn’t my show, I do this for fun, that’s all.
* I’m English, and might use some strange spellings and slang, and I apologise for any confusion.
* The song featured is ‘With Or Without You’ by U2, from The Joshua Tree album. This song featured on the British Sky trailer for the premiere of The Storm Part II, and was, in my opinion, a perfect choice. As this is rather a long story, there are also a few other literary references included. If you’re interested in any of them, send me an e-mail.
* Feedback is always appreciated. And many thanks to all those people who sent me e-mails telling me they liked my work. It was great to hear from you.
Love Lies Bleeding
by Jo
dynamojo26@hotmail.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Daylight breaks the wounds again
Smiling bliss so sharp to touch
Destiny lost on a tide of woe
Whispered words of strange deceit
Spoken lies, forgotten dreams
Memories of another time
Happiness now is painted red
Stained with tears and loneliness
Hearts of glass have shattered here
Slivers broken on the ground
Somewhere here beyond the sky
Love lies a-bleeding.
- Arthur Fleming, undiscovered works, 1996 -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They had been so happy. Talking of the future, of life together, of children and comfortable married bliss. They were subjects he had never touched upon before, but ones that he found strangely enjoyable. It was comforting to discuss what could and would be, a sort of balm to ease the trials of his hectic life. And she had been just as willing, just as eager to plan the wedding and decorate the rooms, knowing exactly what the intention behind the actions were. That was why he found her refusal to come with him so trenchant and so baffling.
She had stood there, and calmly told him she wanted him to stay, seemingly without the understanding that he could not. He had tried reasoning with her, tried to change her mind, but she had burst into tears and, unable to stand and watch her cry, knowing he was the reason behind her sadness, he had walked away.
Now, he was standing outside in the ambulance bay, leaning against the metal rail that separated the pedestrian route from the vehicular entrance. He had gone down to the ER, looking for her, but the stares and fretful faces that had met him in the corridor convinced him that perhaps finding Carol was not the best approach. Haleh had cast him a foul look of disapproval, and then shook her head remorsefully, making him recognise what he already knew; that this was all his own fault.
Escaping to the ambulance bay he thought would take him away from the scrutiny, but that was not to be. Mark appeared and stood above him with an unreadable expression on his face. Doug brooded quietly, keeping his eyes away from Mark’s, not wanting to look up, knowing what he would see there. "You just don’t get it, do you?" Mark suddenly said, his voice hard, and began pacing backwards and forwards in front of him. "After all these years, you’re still exactly what you started off as; a foolish, self-involved bastard. Doug, you’ve just lost everything that ever meant anything to you, and you’re sat out here, staring into space, instead of doing something about it."
Mark sighed paternally, and watched Doug itch in his position, clearly unnerved by the onslaught. "Look, I’m not mad at you, I just can’t understand you. Why?"
"Why what?" Doug snapped, his petulance beginning to be exposed.
"Why risk everything for the sake of one?" Mark paused and pursed his lips. "And don’t you dare give me that crap about ‘he was in pain’. Of course he was, but did you even think twice about the consequences of putting an end to that pain?"
Doug stared, unable to answer. Mark was right, but that didn’t make the notion any more palatable. "You don’t seem to understand that it’s not always just about one, Doug. There are dozens of other people who are affected every time we do something. As doctors, we take divinity into our own hands a lot of the time, we save lives, we change the course of fate, but we do that because it’s necessary. No-one can justify doing that if it’s not necessary." Mark stopped pacing and sat down next to Doug, who instinctively shifted along the rail, as if trying to put some distance between himself and his tormentor. "Ricky Abbott was going to die. Not in a month, not in a week, by the end of the night. There was nothing more anybody could have done for him. It was God’s choice when to take him. But you changed that, you did the job instead, Doug. You played God."
Mark stood up again, shaking his head. Doug was beginning to have recollections of being lectured by his teachers at school, squirming in his shoes whilst he was informed endlessly about the demerits of bad behaviour. "I think should you think about what you took away from Ricky’s father when you did that."
Mark turned and stalked back into the ER. Doug stayed seated on the balustrade for a few minutes, but then rose and began walking. He had no idea where he was headed, just anywhere so long as it was away from the hospital.
It was a foul day, freezing cold and misty. The sky could not be seen for layer upon layer of grey cloud, threatening heavy rain. The icy air was filled with the sort of light drizzle that managed to get you wet to the bone without you even noticing. In a vain attempt to keep himself dry, Doug pulled out his bobble hat and put it on.
He walked for miles, trying to get a handle on the seemingly unfathomable situation he had got himself into. Much as he feared to admit it, there was nothing left for him here. But, at the same time, he knew he needed to get Carol to come with him. Without her, he could not hope to make anything better. He had always found that her mere presence was enough to bolster him, a comfort just to be able to take strength from her. Back in the old days, it would be with a simple look, or a smile, such encouragement as he had never known. Now it was with her presence beside him, or the safety offered by her embrace. Days without her at work beside him went uncommonly slowly, so he could barely imagine how tedious any job, no matter how wonderful this offer in Portland seemed, would be if she were not with him.
He returned to the hospital after gathering a little distance, and a certainty that he would try his hardest to bridge the gap that had formed between them over the past few hours. He found it amazing that despite how close they had become, it had taken just one stupid, soon regretted action on his behalf to drop them between a rock and a hard place.
Mark was waiting for him at the doors, dressed up in wax coat and hat to shield himself from the cold, rubbing his palms together. Doug turned on seeing him, not wishing to listen to him again, and began walking back out into the freezing rain. "Doug!" Mark called, and chased after him, his coat flapping about him as he ran. "Hey!"
He grabbed Doug’s sleeve, but he shook away and carried on walking. "Doug, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place to say those things..." Doug paused and turned, staring. Mark looked down at his shoes and began sketching patterns in the salt with his toe. "I’m sorry."
He seemed genuinely serious, and Doug flicked his head, trying to determine the meaning behind it all. Mark stayed rooted the spot, staring at his toes. "It’s okay," he murmured finally. Mark nodded, but was silent, switching his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. Doug felt no need to fill the silence.
Mark pulled his hands out of his pockets, slapped his sides and asked tentatively, "Hey, do you wanna go get some vodka to warm us up from the Off-Licence?"
"That sounds like a good idea to me..." Doug answered, smiling. This was the Mark he had chosen as a friend and it was comforting to have him back.
****
Meanwhile, Carol Hathaway sat alone on their bed, her legs crossed, her head resting in her hands. She had been crying now for two hours solid, the tears never letting up despite the pounding headache she’d given herself by being so tightly drawn. The T-shirt beside her was damp; the first item that had come to hand, and there were drops on her jeans and shirt sleeves. She had rushed out of the hospital, desperate to get away from the inquiring looks and constant staring. As she was pulling on her coat, Mark had started to walk over to comfort her, but a swift stony glare and sent him cowering back to the admit desk. She needed to be alone.
Lying back, resting her head on the pillows, she smelt the scent of his aftershave lingering on the fabric, a deep, citrusy smell that reminded her of cleanliness and fresh sheets. And of Doug. Turning her head away from the smell, she rose and went to the kitchen. She took out a couple of tablets, staring briefly at the bottle, very similar in shape and colour to the one she had held in her hands all those years previous. That time, she had swallowed the whole bottle, slowly and methodically, downing each pill with a gulp of whisky. This time, she tipped out two into her palm and swallowed them with a little orange juice from the refrigerator.
It was approaching seven o’clock, and she knew he would be home soon, no matter where he had disappeared to. Sitting down, she switched on the television, but her mind was too preoccupied to concentrate on the programme it flashed across the darkening room.
What would she do without him? They had grown so close that she had thought that they were now inseparable. They were so good together, everyone she knew had told her so. That evening six or seven months previously, when Doug had suggested a barbecue and virtually the entire ER staff had congregated in their back garden had been a day they had inadvertently revealed just how close they were to their friends.
Doug had been designated to cook, and was standing over the grill, wearing her black and white chequerboard chef’s apron and a huge-brimmed Australian hat with corks dangling from it, humming ‘Hey Jude’ to himself as he turned the sausages, drumsticks, tenderloins and kebabs. Carol had remained in the kitchen, ‘doing girlie-talk’, as Doug liked to call it, with Elizabeth, under the pretense that they were preparing a salad.
The talk was fairly strained, mainly confined to work, until the subject of Peter Benton had come up, and then Elizabeth became quite loquacious. "What do you mean he’s such a bloke?" Carol laughed when Elizabeth had leaned back on the counter in exasperation, dropping into English slang because of her irritation.
"He’s so unwilling to express his emotions. He’s just so closed-off. I mean, I didn’t think there were men out there who still followed the principles of the previous generation, but Peter’s so old-fashioned. I’m sure that if I met his father, I would barely be able to tell them apart." She sighed, then turned to Carol, who was still chuckling. "Is Doug like that?"
"Like what?"
"Can he take a joke?"
A very teenage thought crossed Carol’s mind, and she whispered, "Let’s find out shall we?" Flinging the window open she yelled, "Hey, chef, you’re burning my loins!" Doug span around and grinned, catching the double entendre and bobbing his eyebrows, appreciating it as Carol had intended.
"Already?" he smiled, walking up the steps and into the kitchen. "Hey, Elizabeth, is my girlfriend dirtying your mind?"
"I’m afraid she’s a little late, Doug," Elizabeth chuckled. "But, unfortunately, Peter’s is still quite pristine."
"Oh, finding Peter Perfect a little too prudish are you?"
"Mmm..."
"Well, sadly, I don’t think you’ll ever change him."
"No," Elizabeth shook her head. "And you’ve just made me more resigned to the fact. As my father would say, Peter doesn’t have a funny-bone." Doug chuckled. Without realising it, he had gravitated towards Carol and when Mark wandered in, looking for more beer, Doug had his arms around her and was resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Oh, hi, is this room for the smug and married only?" He teased, looking at Doug and Carol. Elizabeth launched a mild protest, but Mark answered back that she was also part of a double-act, so she couldn’t talk.
The evening wore on, and the jokes and jibes about smug marrieds continued throughout the night, Mark being the main instigator. They were seated around the wooden picnic table talking when Carter suddenly piped up, "Doctor Ross, when are you and Carol going to get married?"
Carol remembered the look on his face and the total seriousness with which he said it clearly. She had laughed and interrupted, brushing the comment off, saying it would be sometime when they were eighty-four. "We’re going to cut costs, you see, and have funerals at the same time as a marriage," she had joked. The others had laughed, and Doug had laughed too, but later, when they were tidying up, he had stopped her and asked her what she had meant.
Taking him by the hand, Carol led him out to the porch and sat him down on the steps, so she could stand on the step below him and look at him closely. "I don’t know, about that... We’ve not really talked about it..."
"Well, I want to marry you, I was just waiting to know when you were ready. I didn’t want to rush you again."
His sweet hesitancy had touched her to the core, and the next day, they had gone out and she’d let him buy her a ring. It was a simple act, but it had meant so much, because, she had thought, it had sealed them together for life.
And now, here they were, about to walk away from each other to live virtually on opposite sides of the country. It seemed heedless, like they were dealing with a broken glass or unwanted possessions, not their own happiness and peace of mind. But yet, she could not bring herself to go with him. What was more valuable, she thought, her life here without him, or a new life with him in a new city? True, she’d always wanted to start afresh, where she would have none of the burden of their past romantic history to hold them back, but somehow, there was also a desire to remain in Chicago, if only to show them all that she could make a relationship with Doug Ross turn out for the good.
It was bewildering, but more than anything, it was disappointment that was holding her back. His actions had burned all that they had built up between them, and squandered her trust in him. Could she ever believe that he wouldn’t do it again? Here, she had her friends and her mother, people who could hold her up. Out in Portland, she’d have nobody but him, and then, if the worst happened, what would she do?
Two days ago, she had been absolutely convinced, beyond all doubt, that he cherished her and that they were destined to be together forever, but now, all that was in question. Before, she would have gladly followed him to Portland if he had chosen to go there, but in two short days, that had all been changed, and she had didn’t know if she could change it back, today or even in the future.
Now she knew why it was called falling in love. Once the victim had fallen, the damage was done and unchangeable. In the emotional aftermath, she found that she was sure of nothing, only that she was still in love with him. And that would never change. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments, love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempest and is never shaken...
- William Shakepeare, Sonnet 116 -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The house was in darkness when he arrived on the doorstep. Framed against a bulk of black thunderclouds, it looked as if it had been taken straight from a horror film. He stood on the porch, wondering whether he should enter, or whether he should get into the car and sleep there. He did not know if she would welcome him.
Despite taking the long route home, he was still unprepared for an argument with her. In fact, he never was prepared to fight with her. Taking the steps slowly, he leaned into the door and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. "Carol?" he called quietly into the dim. There was no reply.
Then, as he stood silent and still in the hall, he heard shallow breathing on the sofa. She was sleeping. He tip-toed through to the kitchen, but she woke as he stepped onto the lino. "Doug, is that you?" she murmured sleepily, staring into the blackness and trying to determine his form through the shadows.
"It’s me," he answered. "I didn’t mean to wake you..."
She yawned. "It’s okay, I wasn’t really asleep anyway." She paused and sat up, rubbing her eyes with fists. "I was waiting..." Doug nodded, and came around the counter, to face her as she sat staring up at him.
She looked so innocent, so untouched sitting there, her legs drawn up in front of her, and her face free of make-up, her dark curls framing the whiteness of her face, made even more pale by the absence of light. He didn’t know what to say, whether there was even anything to say. Apologies would do no good, and begging her to come with him would not change her mind. He had to face the reality that he was going to be without her. "Are you okay?" he asked after a moment, tipping his head on one side to adjudge her response.
"About as okay as can be expected..." She said the words softly, but their hidden incisiveness was evident. They were silent again, the ticking of the mantel-clock measuring the distance between them. "Where have you been?"
"With Mark, and at McDonalds." He walked over and stood in front of her, beside the hearth. She was trying to be cool, strong and sure, he could tell, though, that the avoidance of the topic she really wanted to talk about was killing her. "I’m sorry I left like that... earlier..." Doug whispered in a low voice. "It wasn’t right."
"Why?" Carol suddenly cried out, her voice a lot louder than she had expected it to be. It was an open ended question, but at the present time, it applied to every situation they were in. Doug blinked in surprise and explained,
"Because I couldn’t stay... I can’t stay here."
She had begun to cry, but they were silent tears, and her face showed resentment and frustration through the sadness. "You, you said there was nothing here for you... I, I thought I was..." She choked back and swallowed, taking a deep breath and bracing herself. "Here for you..." she finished, looking up at him with eyes wider than saucers. Doug sighed, glancing away from her heart-rending expression, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Half of him was demanding acquiescence, the other half gritting with bald determination, and he did not know which way to turn.
"You are... but I want you with me." He said quietly. She brought her hands up in exasperation and shook her head.
"Well, I can’t Doug, there’s nothing for me in Portland. Everything I am is here in Chicago." She flew up and backed around the sofa, pacing a little, then stopping and rubbing her face.
"I know, but I’ve lost everything I cared about here. Don’t make me lose you."
She paused and stared at him, leaning forwards on the sofa, her arms outstretched. "That’s it, isn’t it? I should have known... this is about you, again, isn’t it? What you want? What you need? Doug, you never thought about whether it was what I wanted!" Carol straightened and sighed again. Her anger rapidly dissipated, and then, the tears flowed again. Doug stood, finding her sudden mood changes confusing. "I want you here, Doug. I need you here."
"I can’t... Carol... I can’t," He bowed his head in submission. "I’m sorry..."
He started walking away, eyes away from her, heading towards the stairs. This time, Carol made no attempt to follow him, she simply watched him leave, her anger silently smouldering.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait, without you...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doug took the steps slowly, wondering if she might follow, knowing she probably wouldn’t. He reached the top and peered over the bannister, looking down at her sitting unmoving on the sofa, her knees drawn up around her chin once again. He turned and went into the spare room, kicking off his shoes and laying out across the bed, letting his legs hang loose off the end.
He heard her switch on the television, and questioned whether she was even aware of the gravity of their situation. She seemed to have brushed him off so quickly, so surely. He remembered the long talks he’d had with his counsellor, the ones where he’d told her how he would handle a real relationship, what he would do and how he would react. It seemed odd now to look back and see himself in one of those very same scenarios she had presented him with. And now, when it mattered most, he could not think of a solution.
She was too angry, too raw at the moment, her emotions were running so close to the surface he was afraid they would spill over and drown her, just as his own were threatening to do. She’d been holding a tenuous rope during their conversation in the lounge, flipping rapidly and explosively between passionate madness and quietly raging anguish. He should go back down, he thought, solve this before it got out of hand. But yet, strangely, that notion was quickly superseded by anger that she seemed content to let him suffer like this, alone upstairs, not knowing if she was still a part of him or whether she’d already severed the bond. Irritated by her bull-headedness, he pulled the pillow down and pushed his head back into it. No, she could come to him.
Downstairs, Carol sat staring at the wall, hearing him shuffle and then settle. Standing up, she made a few steps towards the stairs, ready to follow him and seek him out, to apologise and try to diffuse the animosity. But then, she stopped herself, holding back and silently fuming again. She turned and sat back down, crossing her legs and setting her face. No, it was his fault. He could come to her.
It was a way to play the waiting game, to see who would break first, who would be the braver, who would give in to their stubborn resentment and sacrifice a little pride. It was nothing at all, just a sacrifice. So simple, and yet, so huge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I wait... without you
With or without you...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midnight came and went, passing in slow-time as Carol laid on the sofa, staring absently at the ceiling. Several times, she had gotten up and taken a few steps to the stairs, but each time had stopped herself and returned to her vigil, convincing herself that she’d made the right decision.
But, as the hours past, the realisation that the stalemate was not getting her anywhere became apparent. He was just as stubborn as she. He could not leave with so much left unsolved, she was sure of it, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. Over the past few days, Doug had proved conclusively that her judgement of him had been startlingly off-target, in fact, several miles off target.
So, she stood, if a little unwillingly, and began to climb the stairs, taking each step slowly and gently, trying not to make a noise. She wasn’t even certain if he was still awake. The light shone from under the gap in the door, sending a pale yellow glow out onto the darkened hallway. It was almost eerie, like stepping onto unchartered territory, or walking a graveyard at night. She placed her hand on the door handle and swallowed, reminding herself why she was here, and then pushed it open.
He was lying with his back to her on the bed, the duvet cover pulled up around his chin, hiding most of his head from view. His back was curled, as if sheltering his body from some terrible foe, foetus-like in innocence, quiet and hushed. She stood for a moment, staring at the picture before her. It froze her to the spot, made her change her plans.
He had not noticed she was standing behind him, and so she took a few pixie-steps towards the bed and slipped in beside him, pushing her legs down amongst his, entwining her arms around him. He was asleep, and in the few seconds it took him to wake, she embraced him and spooned up against his back, rubbing the pads of her fingers on his chest.
She felt him tighten, his muscles tensing and gathering under her touch, frightened like an animal desperately trapped and needing to escape. "Carol, I can’t do this right now..." he murmured, his body straining all the while, fighting this entrapment.
Tears flew up behind his eyes, and threatened to spill over in a drowning flood. She was not moving, and almost imperceptively slid one arm under him, wrapping herself around him. He felt her chin against his shoulder. The rest of her front was pressed up against his back, and his pulse and mind raced into oblivion. Every muscle was aching; he felt as if his entire body had too much blood in it, and that any moment, he was going to explode out of every pore.
"Doug," she whispered. She sounded inhumanly calm, her voice low and pleading and without any of the emotion he was feeling thundering through his body.
"No, no," He swung away, breaking the tether, fleeing those constricting arms that were tempered with intimidation. "I can’t," He looked down at her, lying there, stricken between the sheets. "You’re pulling me apart."
Carol stared up at him, her eyes wide like a child’s. "Please," she whispered, her voice quavering on the edge of tears. "Just come to bed with me." She rose from the bed, letting her eyes meet his, letting them bore into his soul, tugging at his heart.
Doug swallowed, his trepidation mixing with an uncontrollable desire at the sight of her like this. And then, as she stepped towards the door, his feet turned and he followed her down the stairs and into their bedroom. She climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets up around her, and he went to the bathroom, in a daze, and then crawled in beside her.
They lay with their backs to one another, each staring defensively away, neither wanting to be the first to make a move, neither wanting to show any sort of need, want or reliance. Carol’s eyes strayed across the unmoving shadows painted on the walls, highlighted with the sharp stab of light that was slashed across the room from the table-lamp in the hall.
She tried to comprehend her own actions, fighting the urge to say something to him, but not knowing what. There were so many complications, so many hidden reasons behind her refusal that it was confusing even to her. If she didn’t understand, then how was he ever supposed to? Feeling guilty that she had spurned him, she twisted around and slipped her arms remorsefully around him, searching him. Doug twitched slightly, as tense as before. "I’m sorry," she whispered into the back of his neck.
Feeling her breath warm on his skin, Doug fought against himself. It was hard to be angry with Carol for long. He wanted to roll over and tell her that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t ever have to apologise to him, but for a moment, something stopped him. He felt her kiss the side of his neck, and it vanished as quickly as it had surfaced.
Slowly, cautiously, he rolled onto his back and put an arm around her, sighing low. He kept his eyes from her, staring instead up at the ceiling. He could feel her chest rising and falling against him, and that connection was the least incendiary that occurred to him, as she pressed into his chest and slid her hand down his stomach and took hold of him. Trying desperately to keep control of himself, to perhaps convey his hurt to her through slow reaction to what she was doing, he stirred and closed his eyes, swallowing hard.
But, she was insistent. She climbed up above him after a few minutes and knelt on his thighs, pulling his shorts away from him, and throwing them to the floor along with her t-shirt. As she worked herself on him, his control gradually slipped, and then fell right away. He reached up, and put his hands on her breasts, the pads of his fingers hard against the soft, tender skin, watching her above him, vague as an apparition.
When he was fully aroused, Carol eased herself onto him and sat down on his hips, so far from his reach, so distant though he could still feel her. He shuddered, but neither of them uttered a sound. It was a stalemate between two warring rivals, a compromise that neither wanted, but both settled for, a final time-out before the inevitable annihilation.
Doug was close to coming now, and as he looked up and saw her, eyes closed, somewhere else entirely, he realised that even in such intimacy, she didn’t understand. "I love you," he whispered, so quietly he barely even heard himself, and then he felt himself coming, realising with a flooding sad certainty that this would be his parting gift to her.
Carol could feel him inside her, heat surging through her. His face was filled with sadness, its terrible grief pinned down by desire, showing through the hollows of his eyes. Guilt threatened to overcome her as she looked down at him and saw his awful woe, and so she shut her eyes, trying to escape it. In the room’s darkness, she turned herself lose to their coupling, and found beyond its sorrow, some brief oblivion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Through the storm we reach the shore
You give it all but I want more
And I’m waiting for you...
With or without you
With or without you
I can’t live
With or without you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doug awoke early in the morning, not long after dawn. The long night-shifts just recently had set his body clock off balance and he couldn’t get back to sleep. He laid still for a while, waiting, wondering if she might wake and then they would be able to talk, but simultaneously, dreading the resolution such discussion might bring. But she was fast asleep, lying on her back, her head turned away from him, her mass of black curls collected in the gap between their pillows.
He could feel her sleeping form a mere half an inch from his own, her arm tucked under his and her legs tracing the silhouette of his. It was that familiar hour when men left and women begged them to stay. He’d known it well himself, in his past, the urge to slip away, silent and undisturbed, like a thief in the night. It had always been a kind of fear to him, fear that to stay would mean a deeper emotional commitment. He knew it was what most women sought in a man, but somehow, it seemed wrong when the night had been spent so carnally. Perhaps it harked back to the prehistoric, an animalistic urge to sow the seed and then move onto the next female.
But, as true as that had been for him three years ago, it no longer drove him. He lay quite still so as not to wake her, afraid that consciousness would bring with it clarity, and perhaps an end to the ignorant bliss. He did not regret anything that had happened the previous night, but as he lay there, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to wake to a much colder perspective than that which had been moderated by passion the night before. And so he laid still, in the brightening light, and treasured the slack warmth of her body.
He dozed for a few hours, but woke fully when he heard a knock at the door. He eased himself away from her , freezing momentarily when she murmured and rolled onto her side, freeing his arm. He pulled on his robe and headed out to the front door, yawning as he went.
The doorbell buzzed, and Doug called out, "Hold on, hold on, I’m coming," trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake Carol. He flung the door open and was greeted with a small, black man in blue overalls and a pair of hobnailed boots. "Ben," he said, surprised. "I thought we said next week...?"
The little man frowned and reached into his overalls, picking out a leather bound diary and flicking it open. "No, no, I’ve got you down for today, Doug... are you okay with that?"
"Yeah, I’m sorry... come in... I must have written it down wrong..."
"Well, actually, I’d rather not come in, Doug, see..." He lifted his foot up and Doug looked down at the muddy boots, caked in cement and gravel.
"Oh, okay... well, do you want a coffee?"
"That would be great. Can you show me round the back, then?"
Doug nodded and stepped outside. It was not nearly as cold as the previous day, and the light frost was already lifting. "How are you?" Ben asked, following him.
"Not so bad.. you?"
"Well, the wife’s pregnant... again," Ben chuckled. "We’ve only just got Toby out of diapers (My first Americanism! I remembered you don’t call them nappies!) and now we’re gonna have another one in seven months!"
"Congratulations!" Doug smiled, although he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy that a couple who already had two children and didn’t really want another could conceive so easily when he and Carol had tried so fruitlessly for so many months. Ben shook his head, grinning.
"Oh, well, I s’pose they’re in order..." He paused as Doug led him through the side gate and out onto the back patio. "I hear you were trying..."
Doug stopped and turned around, mildly shocked. "How did you know?"
"Well, the wife was talking to Carol in the pharmacy and she said..." Ben paused, noting Doug’s slight unease. "I take it you haven’t got a bouncin’ bubba on the way then?"
"No, not yet..." Ben took a step over to the patio wall.
"This is it, then, is it? You want me to fix this up for you with cement or stone?"
"Stone would great, but if you haven’t got any then cement will do." Doug glanced over at Ben, who had knelt down beside the wall and was running his work-worn hand along the cracks and crumbling mortar.
"No, no, I’ve got loads of old stone from a demolition we did the other week. Won’t be a problem, Doug..." He stood up and headed back out to the truck at the front of the house. Doug went with him, going up to the porch as Ben dragged his tool kit from the back of the truck.
"I’ll go sort you that coffee, then, Ben," he shouted. "Milk and two sugars, yes?"
"That’s right! You remembered!" Ben threw the brown canvas tool bag on his back and grinned up at Doug. "And, Doug, you know, if you don’t mind me saying... sometimes they come along when you least expect them to..."
Doug frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Babies..." Ben replied. "Bet you twenty dollars that as soon as the idea goes from your heads, you’ll find yourselves happy parents!" Chuckling, Doug shouted back,
"I’ll hold you to that one!"
****
Carol opened her eyes and took only a second to remember what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She turned over, expecting to see him, and felt a small leap of panic on finding herself alone. It was irrational, she knew, but that didn’t stop her memory harking back to the times when she would wake to find the bed empty and him gone. For a brief moment, she wondered if he had left already. It seemed unlikely, but wasn’t improbable. Doug had a way of always managing to surprise her in everything he did, so why should this situation be any different.
Then she heard voices outside, and, on recognising Doug’s, closed her eyes and sighed in relief. She climbed out of bed, trying to determine who the other voice belonged to, and stepped up to the window, holding the duvet around her naked body. Peering through the half-opened curtains, she saw Ben walk up onto the patio. The wall, she thought. She’d forgotten they’d arranged for today.
She knew Doug would not see her if he happened to look up and, watching him as he talked with Ben, she wondered if the night would have changed him. What might he think of her, having seen her so clouded and distant? What did she think of him, having seen the devastation behind his eyes?
He nodded to Ben and then the two of them made their way back around the side of the house. She saw his face, just, and it seemed to measure a deep sadness, and even as he joked and teased with Ben, she knew he had been broken irreparably. Last night had changed them both, she was sure of it.
She washed and dressed quickly, tying her hair up in a high ponytail and then brushed her teeth, standing in front of the little mirror, waiting to be seized by some terrible panic. But it did not come, she felt only mild trepidation at what he might be feeling, what he would say to her when she showed him her face.
She applied a little make-up, trying to avoid looking at his razor and shaving cream standing next to her foundation, moisturiser and mascara on the shelf above the sink. When he had moved into the house, she had found the sight of his simple wash things oddly stirring. It was a sign that they were now a couple, that he had moved into her life and now she shared her space with him. Now, their presence merely reminded her that soon they would be gone, along with him.
As she wandered out of the bedroom, she heard him making coffee in the kitchen, the refrigerator door banging and his bare feet sucking on the lino. She came up behind him as he stood back to let the coffee settle in the jug. On sensing her presence, he turned and smiled, but there was apprehension in his smile. "I made some coffee," he said, stating the obvious a more preferable alternative to silence.
"Thanks." She returned the smile.
Doug opened the cupboard above his head and took out three mugs. "Ben’s here,"
"I know, I saw him."
He set the cups down and then pushed the filter down on the jug, watching as the liquid turned a rich dark brown. Then, he poured it into each cup and took one, standing back again. Carol reached forward and took a cup herself, moving over to the counter to add some milk.
Alone in the house, they suddenly seemed unusually formal, like strangers that had arrived too early at a party. She swung herself up onto the counter and sat cradling the coffee cup between her legs. Doug stared at his own cup, not wanting to look up and face her. Silence passed for a moment, and Ben could be heard tapping at the wall outside with a chisel. Then, temptation forced him, and he looked up, studying her blank expression. "Carol?"
"Yeah?"
He swallowed, looking back at his coffee. "Look, I just want to say that whatever you feel, whatever you think or do... it’s okay..." His eyes were intense on her, but she could not look away.
"What do you feel?" she heard herself asking him.
Doug smiled simply. "That I love you..." He blinked and gave a little shrug that almost broke her heart. "And I need you."
Carol put her cup down on the counter and went to him, not even sure that she was still in control. "That’s all?" she asked quietly, facing him, a mere foot away from him.
"That’s all." She sighed and reached for him, encasing him, feeling his chest shudder with laboured breathing. He stood still, weak and unmoving in her arms, sadness embracing him. He dropped his head, and she covered his lowered face with kisses, trying to assuage the grief inside of her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And you give yourself away
And you give yourself away
And you give
And you give
And you give yourself away
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning past slowly. Doug went back to work to clear out his locker, and returned with a cardboard box straining at the seams. He dumped the most of it in the bin, but then went to the bedroom and laid the rest out on the sheets.
And that was how Carol found him, two hours later, hunched over the bed, his gaze resting on the items on the bed. "Hey, you’re in here," she said, walking over to him and crawling onto the bed beside him. "I thought you were out with Ben..."
"No."
She looked at the things laid out before him. They seemed like nothing but a selection of odds and sods, an empty beer bottle, a few ancient photographs, and a silver necklace. She recognised the necklace as her own and picked it up, fingering the metal. "That’s mine... I thought I’d lost that." She held it up, and he followed it, staring through it to her face.
"You dropped it in my apartment the night after Greg Powell..." he murmured. "I found it on the floor."
"And you kept it?"
Doug shrugged and nodded. "I just wanted to keep it." Carol nodded, surprised.
"And these?" she asked, looking back at the bed. Doug paused a moment, then reached out and picked each item up, one by one.
"The bottle was to do with my shrink. She told me to keep an empty bottle in my locker... something to do with the psychology of drinking." He shook his head and pushed the bottle away. "And the photographs are of you, and Mark," He flicked through them, briefly showing her them. "And you again..." Carol reached for them and smiled. Doug was never one for sentimentality, but it was moving to see his attachment to these simple freeze-frames in time. It was clear that at some point, they must have been in his wallet, as the edges were chewed and rough.
He let her look for a few moments, but then stood up, taking them away from her. "I really should throw them out," he said, partly to himself, and then walked out of the room. Carol followed him.
"Why?"
"Because I don’t need them anymore." He opened the back door and threw the photographs into the bin. He saw her expression, and saw the upset in her eyes, but pushed them to the back of his mind. It was his first step on the long road to detachment from her, and it greeted her with a hollow feeling in her stomach and a crushing in her brain.
They ate in silence, and then each retired to separate rooms, Doug to the lounge, where he switched on the television and pretended to look interested in a documentary on weasels, and Carol to the bathroom, where she soaked herself in a bubble bath until she heard him shut off the television.
He padded through the bedroom and began undressing, wondering if she was ever going to finish in the bathroom so he could go in and start packing. He heard her pull the plug, and the water begin to drain, and then, stood and walked in. She was wrapping herself in a towel, and glanced up as he headed for the sink. "Sorry," she said.
"For what?"
Carol narrowed her eyes a little. "For taking so long in here..."
"Nah, barely noticed." Doug replied, filling the sink with water. She turned and disappeared into the bedroom. For a while, he stared at the empty space where she had stood, but then gathered himself and splashed the water over his face. The hairdryer went on in the other room, and he peered through the door to see her kneeling on the bed, her head hanging back a little, her hair draping over her naked shoulders, being blown by the hot air. So unchanged.
Sighing, he reached into the closet, took out his travel-bag and began filling it with his toiletries and aftershave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well, well! All’s past amend
Unchangeable. It must go
I seem but a dead man held on end
To sink down soon... O, you could not know
That such swift fleeing
No soul foreseeing -
Not even I - would undo me so!
- Thomas Hardy, The Going -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he came back into the bedroom, carrying his wash-bag, she was sitting up against the headboard. He put the bag down on the dresser, and then went the wardrobe and started to take out his shoes and pile them up into his sports bag. "When are you leaving?" came an almost strangled voice from the bed. He glanced up, and saw she was gazing at him, her face worried.
"Tomorrow, maybe..." he answered. "Or the day after." He paused and turned fully around to her. "I called the HMO in Portland whilst I was at the hospital this morning, and they told me to come up and see them about the job. They were excited about my experience with the paediatric ER at County."
Carol nodded. Doug pushed the last shoe into the bag and zipped it up, then climbed into bed, fishing out the newspaper from his night-table. Even with the pale touch of his light, turned on, the room seemed unusually dark. The paper rustled as he turned the page, but still he did not move. Carol rolled onto her side, away from him, and sank into the pillow, not wanting him to see her teary eyes.
Doug stared at the newspaper, not seeing the words printed there. His eyes flitted across to Carol, lying still as a corpse beside him. She was tremoring slightly and it was then that he knew she was crying.
Helpless for a second, he simply stared, not knowing what to do. Her heard her sniffle, and he rolled over, reaching around her to settle her into his arms. She did not turn, but instead, trembled more violently. Her hands grasped his own, and her fingernails dug into his skin with such force that Doug had to stifle the impulse to push them away. "Carol... it’s okay..." he whispered into her ear. And then she turned and nestled her face into his chest, burying the tears in his skin, breathing in that beautiful, heady scent that would soon be gone from her senses.
She said nothing, but gradually, the trembling diminished and eventually stopped. The tears ceased and she pulled slightly away from him, bringing her hand up to her face to wipe the remainder of them away. His hand crept outwards and pushed a stray curl from her forehead, and smiled. The invitation was implicit.
Lips moulded together, arms enclosed and flesh met in perfect harmony. Both knew, as each imprinted the other on their brains, that this would be their last night together. Neither admitted it, neither gave it name, or meaning, only in the plangent joining of their bodies. Used to communicating with the physical, this night was no different. A thousand words were spoken in their minds as he buried himself in her, as she memorised his every shape, form and movement, as their hearts reached out to one another, begging, blessing, and confirming what both already knew; that this would be the last time they would feel such absolute and perfect bliss.
And so, they took no rest, squandered not one minute with sleep. They fed upon each other like beasts of knowledge that a unending drought would soon be upon them. Throughout the house it seemed that all noise had ceased. That there was nothing in the air, nothing in the world, nothing in the universe except the two of them and their discovery of their mutual agony and want.
As the pressure built beyond their ability to contain, they released, clutching each other, as if hoping they could meld their bodies into one as seamlessly as they had with their souls. And somewhere, mixed with a million other thoughts and needs and prayers, beyond their spirits, beyond the sky, a confession echoed in the heavens: love lies bleeding here...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My hands are tied
My body bruised, she got me with
Nothing to win
And nothing left to lose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End.