(IMHO, Nevermind should be a single word. So should Alot. Drives me crazy.)
Elena
John and I have been back for a few days now. We both slept like rocks on the plane ride home. When we got home even Marie was glad to see me, and I don't think I've ever been hugged so tightly by Xavier ... ever.
John had left the kids with Eric, his brother, and Eric said that Ben was really upset to have both of us gone. He said it was almost funny how Duchess had taken it upon herself to watch and care for him however she could... like he was her "puppy". In a way, that breaks my heart. My dog was being a better mother than I was.
I'm a terrible mother. Marie is barely passing her classes and won't accept my help with her guy troubles. I guess I don't blame her for that. Xavier's neurotic tendencies are getting out of control. Then there's Ben. My little Ben who will not remember his father. My DOG took care of him for me.
The thing is, I don't have the DESIRE to be a good mother. I don't have that mothering urge in me anymore. I'll make sure they're fed, clothed, clean, and healthy, but I just don't feel like I have as strong as an emotional attachment as I should.
John lightly snores in the reading corner.
He's hardly touched me lately these past few days, and he's spent alot of time at the station. I understand that he has a ton of paperwork that needs doing, but when he's home it's almost like he's afraid to touch me. It's breaking my heart. I NEED him to help ease this hurt... to erase these bad memories.
I've been having nightmares about my horrible experience. I hate them. I've been trying to not sleep, but that doesn't work for very long.
John has been losing sleep as well. Well, I guess he's not caught up from all that's happened.
I walk over to look down at him. I THINK he sat down with the desire to sit and read, but that obviously didn't work.
It's Saturday. He'd BETTER NOT go into work today.
His eyes open slowly and he sees me standing over him: Hello.
My voice sounds empty: Hi.
He stretches and stands up. He looks at me worriedly.
Me: Have a good nap?
John: Not really. Wasn't planning to take one.
I smile a small smile. He looks like he tries to smile back. He also looks like he wants to try to get me to talk again. I'm just not ready. I don't want to. Why won't he just let me forget? And why won't he set a wedding date with me?
I turn my head away from his probing eyes.
He sighs.
Here it comes.
John: Elena, please talk to me.
I decide to be snide: I AM talking to you.
He sighs again: You know what I mean. If not me, then SOMEone.
I continue to stare at the bookcase. There's that stupid romance novel I never finished. Don't really care now.
John: Elena, please look at me.
No, you read me too easily, and I don't like where this conversation is going.
He reaches out a hand and gently turns my head back to face him. His eyes are so full of love I can't help but smile slightly.
John: I'm sorry. I just hate to see you hurting. I hate to hear you cry at night.
Oh. I thought I was being quiet. Well, it's not like I can control it anyway, but when I wake up he looks like he's sleeping. So I figured he just didn't hear me.
Me: You can hear me?
John runs his thumb across my cheek: Yes.
Then why did you just lay there and not try to comfort me?
John: I wish I could make them go away.
He gives me a knowing look.
Dammit, John! NO!
John stops me from turning away again: Dammit, Elena!
I grit my teeth: No.
I'm getting sick of this conversation! Prosecution is badgering the witness!
John: You. Are. So. Stubborn!
My voice is nice and even: I'm in good company then.
John chuckles in spite of himself: Touché.
Change the subject.
Me: John?
John: Mm?
Me: When are we going to set a date?
He sighs in aggravation and drops his hands: I... don't think we should do anything about that until you've dealt with your past. Recent and older.
Older?
I feel my face fall: So you don't want to anymore is that it? Because I've gone all mental you don't want to anymore. You're using this as an excuse... just to get me to talk.
John looks slightly angry: I am not.
Me: Fine then, nevermind.
John: Elena...
Me: No, it's fine. I get it. Can't move forward until the past is dealt with.
He exhales quickly: Yes.
My shoulders droop.
John: Last time we were married you didn't deal with what happened to you and we had problems.
What was the problem last time?
Me: Last time? I don't remember a problem last time. What happened?
John: Tate.
I stand up very straight now and stare at the far wall. No. ... NO!
My voice is laced with sarcasm: Thanks, John. I'd done a good job of forgetting that.
John: And that was the problem.
I spin around to face him: Why do I have to remember it? What I CAN remember that is.
John: What parts do you remember?
Me: That party... and my garden... my new bed. Oh God, no. Please don't make me!
I turn around and start to run for the door.
John reaches out and grabs my arms before I can take two steps: I'm sorry. Not for making you talk about it, but that you have to remember it.
I feel like the walls are closing in: I've done such a good job forgetting it. Why do I have to remember it?
John: Because all you did was forget it.
Me: And I was happier that way.
John: Were you?
Me: Yes.
John: Having it always there kicking around in the back of your head to crop up on you when you least expect it and side swipe you?
Me: How would you know?
John sighs: Because I'm guilty of it too. I ... never dealt with how my mother was.
I turn around to see the pain in his eyes.
John: She was... a bad mother, and it took me decades to admit that believe it or not. For a large part of my life I worked very hard to convince myself that she would've been better if I had been better. And I hated my father for killing himself. All of that manifested itself into rage.
Oh.
There are tears in his eyes now: And then, after you came to me and told me what happened with him... all I could think about was my mom, and how she jumped from man to man without a care as to how it might affect me. I took that out on you... and you closed up about it.
Oh crap, John. This isn't your fault.
I hate seeing those tears in his eyes.
John: I'd give... ANYTHING to be able to go back in time to talk about it with you then... when it would've been easier. (He pauses for a second before he smiles slightly.) Sometimes I want to go back in time and give myself a good, swift kick in the balls.
I laugh in spite of everything.
John: It feels like it's been so long since I've heard you laugh.
I guess he's right. I'm really freakin depressed.
John: You remember one of those afternoons at Leo's when you were still married to Greg...
Don't say his name!
John continues without knowing what I just thought: and I apologized for how I treated you?
Me: Mhm.
John: Well, I get the feeling you thought I was only talking about... about (His face screws up in pain.) when I ... hit you.
I'm quick to jump in: You weren't yourself.
John: No, I got out of control, but that's not the only thing I was apologizing for that day.
My eyebrows raise and I blink once.
John: I still felt awful about not believing you. That's also the reason I relentlessly went after him. I thought I could make it up to you that way. I couldn't understand why you were so mad at me for arresting him.
Me: I had just wanted to forget it. Still do.
John: I'd hoped that you would use that opportunity to deal with what happened and finally get closure on it.
I shake my head and look up at the ceiling real fast: I don't have to worry about that if I pretend it never happened.
John: Dammit, Elena! This life of denial doesn't work!
Me: I'm not in denial!
John: Yes you are!
Me: I don't have to listen to this.
I walk off. John lets me.
Me: I'm going to the graveyard with Ben for a minute.
Yes, John. I'm visiting Greg's grave with Greg's son.
They had buried him during my awful time in Bridgeport. It ticks me off they didn't wait.
I sit down Ben and he plays with his stupid doll.
Last night I had dreamed about that creep killing Greg over and over. He killed him because he knew Greg was the one I really preferred. How could he know that? Am I really that easy to read?
Oh, Greg. I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry I married John. I'm sorry I encouraged you when I was married to him. I'm sorry I didn't want you when I was pregnant with Ben thus making it more tempting to cheat on me. I'm sorry I couldn't forgive you like you wanted me to. And... I'm sorry I was so mean to you the last time I saw you.
I fall down on my knees in the dirt. I look down at my hands. There's mascara all over them. Huh. I get waterproof and I can't get it to come off; I get non-waterproof and it gets everywhere. I can't win for losing. I get a tissue out and wipe my face and hands before I put it back in my pocket for later.
I calmly sit and listen to the wind in the tree above my head. The leaves seemed to have come out overnight.
Ben continues to play with his doll. He looks so much like him. I remember when he said he wanted us to have a kid that he hoped it would look like me and not him. Well, at least Ben won't have to worry about sunburns the way Greg did.
I remember that day he had that really bad sunburn and John had come by. I remember feeling surprise at how calm John was. I didn't know at the time that he was going through what he just told me. He was in therapy. Do I need therapy? I don't want to.
Well, I need to talk to someone. I hate to admit it, but John is right. I can't keep living like this. But who do I talk to about Tate being an as*hole?
Brook.
The breeze rustles my hair, and I feel like I have a heightened state of awareness, like life is a little too real for me at the moment.
Well, Greg, you're gone. I loved you. You didn't deserve it, but that's not how love works. I'd like to think that you were trying to defend me against that creep. That's how I'll remember your last moments. It just feels right. I'll take good care of Ben, even though sometimes it will hurt to look at him.
A tear escapes my eye.
I'll remember that you loved me, even though I didn't deserve it either.
I smile.
I'll remember how silly happy you looked when I told you I was pregnant with him. I'll remember that even tho that b*tch was begging you to leave me, you told her no. But now you HAVE left me, and I have to keep going. Maybe in our next life we can be together again. If that even happens.
I pick Ben up and I feel lighter, like a load has been lifted off my shoulders. I didn't expect that. Ben curls up on my shoulder like he's tired. His little hand has a death grip on my shirt. After all this, he needs his mommy. Grow up, Elena.
As I'm walking to the entrance/exit to the graveyard, I see Tate's gravestone.
Tate. You as*hole! I NEVER encouraged you! How DARE you drug me like that! If I were a man I'd p*ss on your grave! I hope you're having an awful time in hell.
I burst into tears and stomp on the ground with my foot like a child. I put Ben down and he crawls off to chase a butterfly.
When I finally stop crying, I first check on Ben before I decide that I really do need to talk to someone. I'm tired of carrying Tate around with me everywhere I go.
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