either. Sometimes it was
best to keep quiet, accept all blame, and wait for it to pass.
“Monica stalking you really bothers you
doesn’t it?” Krista said, pushing down her memories and fear and
trying to keep Monica as the focus. “It’s hard when you get
involved with someone at work. You can’t repair what inevitably
breaks.”
As he realized the double meaning, the spark
in his eyes dulled. His desire pulled back into himself.
“Maybe you should give in, make her stop,”
Krista continued with regret. She was chasing him away, but it was
for the best. For both of them.
“It was always going to end like this
anyway,” Sean said robotically, looking at Krista with a sober
expression. “I was shortsighted for thinking we were two adults
about all this.”
Ouch.
He looked at her with a level expression.
She was sitting at one end of the couch, he on the other, but he
seemed to float away. The distance between them became a deep
chasm. Krista could actually see the distance growing. His body
language pulled back. His engaging eyes turned elsewhere.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she was
holding. She’d caused that, and she felt like a complete shit for
it. But at the same time, she felt cut loose. It felt like danger
was passing. It also hurt so bad it felt like she was stabbed.
“Anyway, I should go,” Krista said
quietly.
Sean didn’t make any effort to stop her.
They walked to the door in silence, Krista
trying desperately to hold back the tears.
“Well, I’ll see ya,” Krista said. It was
goodbye. Sean knew it.
Sean watched her walk away down the street,
not having offered to walk her home. He was at a loss.
Chapter Seven
Halfway home the smoke cleared. It was then
that the dam burst, reducing her to sobs. She walked and cried.
Partly she cried out of frustration, and partly because it felt
like something was breaking deep inside. Breaking and floating
away, like an iceberg in Alaska.
Being that she was crap at dealing with her
problems, she did the only thing she could think of, the thing she
always did when she felt like this; she went home and got raging
drunk. By herself. Like a real alcoholic. If she was a poet, she
would have written some prose and then stuck her head in the oven,
Sylvia Plath style.
She must have passed out on the floor
sometime during the night because she awoke to light filtered
through the cloud cover above. Ben was sitting on the couch
watching TV with a bowl of cereal. He looked down at her when she
roused and said, “Good morning. What’s the crisis?”
“Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh,” She grabbed her
swollen head.
“You polished off a bottle and a half of
wine on your own. You emptied two, but I think you spilled half on
the floor. You’re lucky Abbey didn’t come home last night.”
“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhmmmmm.”
“I was supposed to remind you that you are
supposed to be on a train in about an hour to go to the Folsom
Street Fair.”
“Not going.”
“I was supposed to remind you that you
promised to go, and not going would be unacceptable.”
“Don’t care.”
“I was then supposed to say that if you
don’t go you will have to rely on your department to help you,
because your two good friends will not.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Kate said that if that didn’t work, you
should probably be in the hospital.”
“I hate her.”
“Yes.”
“You going?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“I didn’t think you were a homophobe,” she
said, getting up painfully. It felt like she slept on razors.
“I’m not. Krista, my God you look like
shit.” For Ben to say it, with a swear word and everything, it
meant that it was probably true. Being that she also felt like
shit, there wasn’t much of an alternative.
The mirror in the bathroom
revealed exactly as Ben had said. Holy. I
look like I got run over by a train. Then caught at the bottom of a
stampede. Then thrown up on.
It was going to be an ugly, painful day.
She
best to keep quiet, accept all blame, and wait for it to pass.
“Monica stalking you really bothers you
doesn’t it?” Krista said, pushing down her memories and fear and
trying to keep Monica as the focus. “It’s hard when you get
involved with someone at work. You can’t repair what inevitably
breaks.”
As he realized the double meaning, the spark
in his eyes dulled. His desire pulled back into himself.
“Maybe you should give in, make her stop,”
Krista continued with regret. She was chasing him away, but it was
for the best. For both of them.
“It was always going to end like this
anyway,” Sean said robotically, looking at Krista with a sober
expression. “I was shortsighted for thinking we were two adults
about all this.”
Ouch.
He looked at her with a level expression.
She was sitting at one end of the couch, he on the other, but he
seemed to float away. The distance between them became a deep
chasm. Krista could actually see the distance growing. His body
language pulled back. His engaging eyes turned elsewhere.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she was
holding. She’d caused that, and she felt like a complete shit for
it. But at the same time, she felt cut loose. It felt like danger
was passing. It also hurt so bad it felt like she was stabbed.
“Anyway, I should go,” Krista said
quietly.
Sean didn’t make any effort to stop her.
They walked to the door in silence, Krista
trying desperately to hold back the tears.
“Well, I’ll see ya,” Krista said. It was
goodbye. Sean knew it.
Sean watched her walk away down the street,
not having offered to walk her home. He was at a loss.
Chapter Seven
Halfway home the smoke cleared. It was then
that the dam burst, reducing her to sobs. She walked and cried.
Partly she cried out of frustration, and partly because it felt
like something was breaking deep inside. Breaking and floating
away, like an iceberg in Alaska.
Being that she was crap at dealing with her
problems, she did the only thing she could think of, the thing she
always did when she felt like this; she went home and got raging
drunk. By herself. Like a real alcoholic. If she was a poet, she
would have written some prose and then stuck her head in the oven,
Sylvia Plath style.
She must have passed out on the floor
sometime during the night because she awoke to light filtered
through the cloud cover above. Ben was sitting on the couch
watching TV with a bowl of cereal. He looked down at her when she
roused and said, “Good morning. What’s the crisis?”
“Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh,” She grabbed her
swollen head.
“You polished off a bottle and a half of
wine on your own. You emptied two, but I think you spilled half on
the floor. You’re lucky Abbey didn’t come home last night.”
“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhmmmmm.”
“I was supposed to remind you that you are
supposed to be on a train in about an hour to go to the Folsom
Street Fair.”
“Not going.”
“I was supposed to remind you that you
promised to go, and not going would be unacceptable.”
“Don’t care.”
“I was then supposed to say that if you
don’t go you will have to rely on your department to help you,
because your two good friends will not.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Kate said that if that didn’t work, you
should probably be in the hospital.”
“I hate her.”
“Yes.”
“You going?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“I didn’t think you were a homophobe,” she
said, getting up painfully. It felt like she slept on razors.
“I’m not. Krista, my God you look like
shit.” For Ben to say it, with a swear word and everything, it
meant that it was probably true. Being that she also felt like
shit, there wasn’t much of an alternative.
The mirror in the bathroom
revealed exactly as Ben had said. Holy. I
look like I got run over by a train. Then caught at the bottom of a
stampede. Then thrown up on.
It was going to be an ugly, painful day.
She
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