CM fic: For fear of falling - part 1
Part One - Emily
It’s been two weeks since she told you she didn’t love you. Two whole weeks.
You have no idea how you survived this long.
You suppose that burying yourself in work and then drowning yourself in scotch as soon as you get home would be the adequate answer.
You thought you knew her, you think bitterly as you play with the glass in your hand and marvel at the different shades of amber. You thought she loved you. A bitter snort escapes from your mouth and the sound seems to hang in the silence of your condo for several moments.
Loved you.
Like hell she did. By now you suppose she was just lonely and thought that while she was waiting for Mr.Right she could as well have some fun with you.
Loved you.
As if someone like her could ever love you. It’s true, she has her demons as well, who doesn’t in your line of work. But to you, she’ll always be your shining angel. She’s far from innocent, but to you she’s always been the epitome of purity. She’s not like you, with your compartments, your armors and defenses and your trust issues.
And for all the anger you’re nursing so eagerly to get you through the day, you can’t help but think that maybe she’s right choosing him. Maybe he’ll make her more happy than you ever could. Because he can care for her, comfort her, love her, without second-guessing himself every second.
As you know you would.
Because you would be scared to do something wrong. Because you don’t know how to love her without being afraid of losing her.
Well, at least now she’s gone you don’t have to live with that fear any longer.
In one gulp you drown the rest of your scotch and move to get a refill. Your toughts are still far too focussed for your liking. And you don’t really care that tomorrow you’ll have to apply an extra-layer of make up to work yet again. You just pray to God that it’ll be enough. The guys may be your family but that doesn’t mean you can stand the thougth of breaking in front of them. As long as they don’t ask you what’s wrong you’re fine. As long as they don’t give you the ‘’you can tell us, Emily, we’re family, we want to be there for you’’- thing you can hold yourself together.
But you’re afraid that as soon as someone merely shoots you a sympathetic glance you’ll fall apart. You’ll break into a million pieces and you have no idea whether you’ll have the strength to put yourself back together again. And right now you’re not even sure what’s the point in trying.
You drag your body over to the cabinet where you put your bottle of scotch and while you watch the thin jet of amber liquid falling into your glass you think about tomorrow.
You’ll walk into the office as if nothing happened. As if you don’t have a killer headache, as if you don’t dread the morning meeting during which she’ll look so beautiful it hurts and as if you don’t notice her avoiding any kind of eye contact with you. You’ll act for all the world like confident, strong Emily when you know that in truth, you’re neither. And when you get home, nothing will have changed. Tomorrow you’ll find yourself in the exact same spot. And somehow you can’t even find it in yourself to care.
Suddenly the bell’s chiming and you almost drop your tumbler in surprise. A quick glance confirms your first thought: It’s way too late for ordinary visitors. Who the hell could be at your door at 3.27am?
Somewhere deep inside you already know the answer, but your brain refuses to acknowledge that. You want to take a little extra time, to pay her back at least a little bit by making her wait in front of your door but you find you can’t. Worry makes you quicken your steps and you actually make it to the door in record time even though your vision’s blurry and your movements are sluggish.
You open the door and as always her beauty takes your breath away. But for all your worry, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You’re afraid of what will come out of your mouth once you open it. She’ll have to do the talking. After all she’s the one who turned up on your doorstep at almost 3.30 in the morning.
She raises her gaze and for the first time since that fateful evening you make eye contact.
You’re shocked to see tears glistening in her eyes and even more shocked at your own reaction to the sight. Your stomach’s tightening with worry and you feel a sharp jolt of panic hitting you square in the chest. You’re just about to berate yourself for your emotional response, wanting to tell yourself that you no longer have the right to care about her like this, when she begins to speak.
Her voice is thin and childlike in its highness. You’re so captivated by her tone that it takes a moment for the words to sink in.
‘’He asked me to marry him.’’
*****
It’s been two weeks since she told you she didn’t love you. Two whole weeks.
You have no idea how you survived this long.
You suppose that burying yourself in work and then drowning yourself in scotch as soon as you get home would be the adequate answer.
You thought you knew her, you think bitterly as you play with the glass in your hand and marvel at the different shades of amber. You thought she loved you. A bitter snort escapes from your mouth and the sound seems to hang in the silence of your condo for several moments.
Loved you.
Like hell she did. By now you suppose she was just lonely and thought that while she was waiting for Mr.Right she could as well have some fun with you.
Loved you.
As if someone like her could ever love you. It’s true, she has her demons as well, who doesn’t in your line of work. But to you, she’ll always be your shining angel. She’s far from innocent, but to you she’s always been the epitome of purity. She’s not like you, with your compartments, your armors and defenses and your trust issues.
And for all the anger you’re nursing so eagerly to get you through the day, you can’t help but think that maybe she’s right choosing him. Maybe he’ll make her more happy than you ever could. Because he can care for her, comfort her, love her, without second-guessing himself every second.
As you know you would.
Because you would be scared to do something wrong. Because you don’t know how to love her without being afraid of losing her.
Well, at least now she’s gone you don’t have to live with that fear any longer.
In one gulp you drown the rest of your scotch and move to get a refill. Your toughts are still far too focussed for your liking. And you don’t really care that tomorrow you’ll have to apply an extra-layer of make up to work yet again. You just pray to God that it’ll be enough. The guys may be your family but that doesn’t mean you can stand the thougth of breaking in front of them. As long as they don’t ask you what’s wrong you’re fine. As long as they don’t give you the ‘’you can tell us, Emily, we’re family, we want to be there for you’’- thing you can hold yourself together.
But you’re afraid that as soon as someone merely shoots you a sympathetic glance you’ll fall apart. You’ll break into a million pieces and you have no idea whether you’ll have the strength to put yourself back together again. And right now you’re not even sure what’s the point in trying.
You drag your body over to the cabinet where you put your bottle of scotch and while you watch the thin jet of amber liquid falling into your glass you think about tomorrow.
You’ll walk into the office as if nothing happened. As if you don’t have a killer headache, as if you don’t dread the morning meeting during which she’ll look so beautiful it hurts and as if you don’t notice her avoiding any kind of eye contact with you. You’ll act for all the world like confident, strong Emily when you know that in truth, you’re neither. And when you get home, nothing will have changed. Tomorrow you’ll find yourself in the exact same spot. And somehow you can’t even find it in yourself to care.
Suddenly the bell’s chiming and you almost drop your tumbler in surprise. A quick glance confirms your first thought: It’s way too late for ordinary visitors. Who the hell could be at your door at 3.27am?
Somewhere deep inside you already know the answer, but your brain refuses to acknowledge that. You want to take a little extra time, to pay her back at least a little bit by making her wait in front of your door but you find you can’t. Worry makes you quicken your steps and you actually make it to the door in record time even though your vision’s blurry and your movements are sluggish.
You open the door and as always her beauty takes your breath away. But for all your worry, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You’re afraid of what will come out of your mouth once you open it. She’ll have to do the talking. After all she’s the one who turned up on your doorstep at almost 3.30 in the morning.
She raises her gaze and for the first time since that fateful evening you make eye contact.
You’re shocked to see tears glistening in her eyes and even more shocked at your own reaction to the sight. Your stomach’s tightening with worry and you feel a sharp jolt of panic hitting you square in the chest. You’re just about to berate yourself for your emotional response, wanting to tell yourself that you no longer have the right to care about her like this, when she begins to speak.
Her voice is thin and childlike in its highness. You’re so captivated by her tone that it takes a moment for the words to sink in.
‘’He asked me to marry him.’’
*****