The One Where The Lines Get Kinda Blurry

The One With The Battle Scars

David never lost his temper, well very rarely at least, and yet today he had already yelled twice.  Once at the poor stagehand who had accidentally brushed too close to his feet and tripped him up, and once at the coffee guy who had brought him a single instead of a double espresso.  He had of course, already sought both of them out to apologise at least twice.  His problems were not theirs to deal with and he shouldn't be taking it on anyone else like that.

Ninety seven and a half hours since the call and he had maybe slept for three of them. He hadn't showered.  He hadn't shaved.  He had half eaten a bagel but it made him feel ill so he threw the rest in the trash and hadn't tried again since.  He was entirely fuelled by caffeine and grief right now as he unlocked the door to his Chicago loft.  It was dark and cold and felt entirely appropriate for his present mood. He dropped his rucksack on the floor and opened the fridge.  His hand wavered over a bottle of beer but he was still feeling the effects of the ones he had been drinking until the early hours of this morning, so he forced himself to grab a soda instead.  He slumped down onto the sofa and stared at the wall, listening to the ticking hand of the clock as the seconds passed by and turned into hours. 11.43pm which meant 9.43pm in Los Angeles.  He wondered what she was.... No. "Fucking stop it" he shouted aloud, shaking his head violently as if that was the way to rid himself of all images of his past with her.

He had been having a lovely day before his cell had started to ring in his pocket.  He had slept late, he had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast reading the paper before doing some more research into one of his upcoming directing projects, and he was about to set off to spend the afternoon at his Looking Glass Theatre Company. He had been contented. He had been relaxed. And he had been blissfully unaware of the total and utter heartbreak that was about to besiege him, changing the trajectory of his life forever.

He had sensed in an instant that something was wrong. Her tone was different. He could feel the vibe through the airwaves and it wasn't a good one. "Sure, what is it?" he answered as she told him they needed to talk.  But he knew.  Honestly, somewhere deep inside he had always believed it was too good to be true.  He had let himself get swept along in her aura, flattered and exhilarated by the fact that she was still attracted to him after all this time and after everything they had been through.

"I can't do it" she had sobbed in to the handset, "I can't walk away from my marriage. I am so sorry but I just can't. I love you so much, but this.... us..... I have to stop.  I can't keep running away from the commitment I made.  I need to let you go and I need you to accept that... please. I love you and I'm truly sorry but this is how it has to be."

"What about all the things you said that night? Was that just talk to get me to sleep with you or did you change your mind again Jen, like you did all those times before?" he had fired back at her, stunned and angry and absolutely wracked with despair all at the same time. "I'm not a toy you can pick up and put down whenever you want a bit of fun you know."

"I'm sorry" she had whimpered, "I never, ever wanted to hurt you..... but I just can't be with you."

"Can't or won't" he had retorted, "....it seems to me there is a lot of can't, can't, can't but from where I'm standing it feels more like won't."

"I'm sorry" she had said again, her voice breaking with every other word. "I have to go now.... I love you."

She had hung up only a few moments later but not before David had heard her sorrowful wail and heart wrenching sobs.  That was the sound that kept replaying in his head every time there was silence, like here and now in his darkened apartment. He just couldn't shake it from his brain.  Why couldn't she be just that little bit more brave?  Why couldn't she just pluck up the courage and walk out.  If she loved him as much as she said she did, and he had truly believed her when she told him she that she did, then why was she thousands of miles away with another man and not here in his arms where he, and he was sure she too, felt she truly belonged.  He picked up his phone and scrolled through his messages.  They had always been careful not to send too many for fear of being caught out, but he had saved a few especially sentimental ones. He felt his stomach lurch as he read them over and over and over again, trying to commit to them to memory before he hit delete on every single one, and felt another piece of his heart tear open as each of her written declarations of love for him disappeared forever.

Four days, three hours and seventeen minutes, that's how long it had been since she had made the phone call which had finally broken her. And of those four days, three hours and seventeen.... now eighteen...... minutes, she had been out of bed only a handful of times.  The drapes were closed, her hair was unwashed, her eyes were gritty and sore from the countless tears she had shed. Her skin was dry. Her mouth was dry. She looked at the numerous empty cigarette packets and wine bottles strewn all around and she felt sick to her stomach. She picked up her cell as it buzzed with an incoming message. She opened it up, read it, typed a response, then flung the phone down on the covers with force. She had never felt so completely bereft and wretched in her whole life. Every fibre of her being ached; actually physically hurt as she moved, and yet that pain was entirely caused by her emotional distress. The phone buzzed once more as she reached over and opened it up, hoping it was from the one person who could heal her screaming heart but also dreading it being from him at the same time because she knew that would only lead to even deeper anguish.

David. Since the day she had met him, she had known he was it. He was the one. Ten years ago, she hadn't been great believer in soul mates or the perfect person for everyone, but with him she had actually, truly thought that maybe those things really did happen.  But twice now she had chosen to let him go, and twice she had shattered his heart, and now she too was paying that ultimate price.  She was completely and utterly broken; mentally and physically exhausted; totally destroyed. She had never even tried to move on from him before and she didn't have a clue where or how to even start. She didn't want to do this, not any of this. She had always kept him firmly and deeply entrenched in her heart, absolutely convinced that one day their time would come. But now somehow, she had to try and accept that her dream was over and find a way to rebuild a heart that didn't beat entirely for him. She knew that the only way she could possibly protect him was by setting him free. If she had gone against advice and told him everything, she didn't have a shred of doubt that he would have vowed to stand strong beside her, holding her up all the way through the storm and accepting whatever battle scars he gathered in the process. But she couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen. His happiness and well-being was infinitely higher priority to her than her own. Her heartbreak was significantly less important than his privacy; his emotional security; his reputation. And that was why she could never let him be dragged down by her sorrowful mess. She loved him far too much to ever let that happen. She knew how much he would be hurting right now.  She could feel his anguish etched into her every sinew. But she also knew he would mend. He was strong. He was capable. He could achieve anything he set his mind to. He was as solid as a rock. He had got over her once before and she knew he could do it again. But she wasn't at all sure that she would make it out the other side of this catastrophic landslide without him by her side.  She felt absolutely terrified and so completely and utterly alone.

The text message wasn't from him anyway, she should have expected that.  After what she had done to him again, there was no way on this earth that he would be reaching out to her ever. She typed a brief reply and slammed the cell shut again. As the imaginary jack hammers in her head began to bang louder and more forcefully once more, she wrenched herself from under the covers and dragged herself across the room.  The blast of sunlight as she pulled back the drapes and opened the blinds made her wince.  She hauled her weary, empty, broken body to the kitchen where she fired up the coffee machine and grabbed some trash bags.  She returned to her, no sorry, their bedroom, and proceeded to collect up all the empty bottles and packets and stubs.  She opened the large glass doors wide and breathed in some warm, late afternoon air, which smelled decidedly fresher than the stuffy, smoky confines of the house. 

Within an hour she had stripped and remade the bed; showered and dressed; washed and dried her hair; applied some subtle make up, paying careful attention to hiding the puffy black rings beneath her eyes; and she was just about to make herself a herbal tea when she heard a car arrive in the driveway.  He was back. She heard the front door open, then close and his keys being set down on the marble topped table, followed by the heavy thud of his overnight bag dropping to the floor.  She heard him kick off his shoes, as usual leaving them out in the hallway and not storing them away in the large closet where they belonged. She heard him clear his throat a couple of times then crack his knuckles, both habits he had when he was nervous or uncomfortable. And then she heard him moving slowly down the corridor towards the kitchen where she stood, rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe.  She closed her eyes. She focused on one breath at a time. Calm...... Just. Keep. Calm. She opened her eyes seconds before his close shaven head appeared in the doorway. She flicked the internal switch and began to play the latest role she had been cast to star in. The loving wife.