"We've been here for hours," Little said, "and all you've done is talk in circles. It's 4am, John, you feel like wrapping it up anytime soon?"
Reynolds paced, scratching the back of his head. "That's just the thing, I...I don't know that I can," Reynolds said, "because...because there's so much that has to be talked about. Like...like how lately I haven't been enjoying myself and how hard it's been and I know that relationships take effort, hell I was married and had a child for god sakes, but...but it shouldn't take so much effort that it feels like another job, you know? And right now it feels like another job, and it isn't you, and it isn't me, sometimes people are just incompatible, right? You're amazing, and you're intelligent and gorgeous and compassionate, and so very interesting. But I'm none of those things. I'm very bland, very...not mature. I'm certainly gorgeous, but that's beside the point." Little laughed at this, and Reynolds smiled a bit. He always had a way of cracking jokes it seemed even in the worst of times. "Then what is the point, John?" Little asked, sitting on the back of the couch and watching him pace. "I...I don't know," Reynolds said, "all I know is that with you, it's become difficult, and yet I've been hanging out with Janice, specifically making time to see her, and that - which takes effort - doesn't feel difficult at all, and..." He didn't want to say it. He didn't. He'd fought so hard from saying it for so long. Reynolds lifted his eyes up at Little, and he sighed. Whether he wanted it to or not, the truth was finally going to come out in this apartment, and he was so upset about that. *** Hawley was asleep on the couch with Clarissa, having ordered in pizza and fallen asleep watching TV, when she heard a knock at the front door. Hawley, in her state of half awake, noticed that Clarissa had put headphones on, and that was why she hadn't stirred at the knocking. Hawley groaned as another knock came through, and she slowly rolled herself off the couch, seeing the clock on the wall read '4:15 am'. Who would be knocking at the door at this time of night? Hawley yawned as she reached out for the doorknob and turned it, opening the door before realizing the chain was still on for good measure, surprised to find, of all people, Misty standing on the other side. "...what are you doing here?" Hawley asked, and Misty, her eyes bloodshot, looked so scared. "I...I need to talk about something, and...and I...I didn't know where else to go," she muttered quietly. Hawley nodded, pulled the chain off the door, and allowed Misty to enter. Once inside, Hawley, yawning again, shut the door and relocked it, chain and all. Hawley looked at Misty, who had noticed Clarissa asleep on the couch, and then approached her, taking her hand and leading her down the hall to her bedroom. Once inside, light flipped on and door shut tight so as not to make more noise, Misty sat on the bed as Hawley pulled her desk chair away from the table and seated herself on it, facing Misty. "You look awful," Hawley said. "To be fair, nobody looks good at 4 am," Misty said, making Hawley laugh a little. "True, true." "...I need help," Misty finally said, looking at her shoes, "...it's about Drew." For weeks now, Misty had been living with this secret, and it had been killing her. Lately she hadn't even been sleeping much, and she'd been showering so much more than she ordinarily would've. She'd begun dressing worse, in the misguided hopes that it would deter his advances, but it did no such thing, and it didn't matter, and ultimately he didn't care about her clothes, just what was under them, which made her feel all the stupider. Misty shook her head, exhaled long and then shut her eyes tight, trying not to cry again. Felt like crying was all she did anymore, and her eyes had begun to hurt a lot lately. "Drew has...he's been..." she started, but she just couldn't bring herself to say it, so instead she stood up, pulled her large sweatshirt off and then, after that, pulled her shirt down by her shoulders and Hawley gasped, noticing the red marks; teeth imprints, nail scratchings, and immediately Hawley understood. After that, Misty sat back down and started crying on her shoes. "...how did...how did this.." "I don't know, he just started coming into the equipment shed while I was putting things away after practice, and he would..." Misty started, but she could never bring herself to finish the sentence, and frankly, she didn't need to. The context was clear enough. "What can we do about it?" Hawley asked, "should we go to Reynolds?" Even asking this, she knew that wasn't an option at the moment, given all he was tied up with, but it was the only thing she could offer aside from her understanding. Sadly though, she wasn't wrong. Reynolds was already busy destroying something, and trying to build something new. *** "I kind of always figured," Little said as she sat cross legged on the couch, watching him continue to pace in front of her, trying to think of how to say it without saying it. He stopped near a bookshelf and looked at it, chewing on his lip, groaning in his throat. "I don't want to say it, you know? Saying it makes it real, means I'll have to deal with it, and I don't want to deal with it," he said. "Why don't you want to deal with it?" Little asked, confused. "Because if I deal with it, it could end," Reynolds said, "I already lost my family once, I can't...I can't do that again. I've worked so hard to build a new life here, my daughter is here, I have Hawley to look after, I can't blow all that up just for the possibility of something with Gorey. That isn't...that isn't fair to those who might suffer the consequences of my actions if my actions don't work out." Little shifted on the couch, letting one of her legs out and dangle off the couch as she shrugged. "But you tried to make something happen here," Little said, "you and me, I mean. You didn't seem to hesitate at that." Reynolds wanted to argue this, but he knew she was right. "So what makes me different from Gorey?" Little asked, "and I'm not asking because I'm upset, I'm just genuinely curious what would make that all the more dangerous to deal with that wasn't in the same way with me." Reynolds put a hand on his hip as he leaned on the bookshelf and thought about this, and the thing was...he couldn't come up with an answer. For some reason, there just was marked inherent difference. One he couldn't explain. He finally turned and looked at Little, who just smiled at him. "You ever meet someone you just...got? It felt like you'd known them your whole life, and you have a rapport with them instantly, as if you've been talking for years and you're best friends, despite having only met scant minutes ago at this disgusting bar on the worst street in town at 2 am?" Reynolds asked. "That's an extremely specific example," Little said, chuckling, "but sure." "That's what it's like with her. That's what it was like with my ex wife. Before she and I separated, or more appropriately before I blew our lives up with my misguided and poorly managed decisions, we were like that too. And I don't know how to explain it, but with you it hasn't been like that. With you I've had to work at communication. It hasn't come easily. Especially in regards to similar interests. Not that that is a bad thing, often times it causes growth and that's great, but...sometimes it can be a warning sign too, you know?" "I know," Little said, nodding. "I like you, Becca, I do. You're a good person, but you deserve someone who's just as good as you, and I'm just not it," Reynolds said, walking to the couch and sitting beside her, hand on her knee, "I'm not it. Not the same kind of good, anyway. I need someone like me, someone who's...who's aloof and has well placed intentions but can't help but also be kind of a fuck up. Someone...someone like..." "Like Janice?" Little asked, and Reynolds looked away, down to his shoes; Little smiled and sat forward, her hand on his arm, adding, "you don't have to be afraid to say it, John. It's so obvious you two are so right for eachother. Hell, I saw it from the get go, I just...I guess I hoped it might dissipate after a while, but it hasn't, and that alone is proof of how right you are. We had some fun, but ultimately we aren't meant to be, and that's okay, not every relationship is meant to end in longevity." Reynolds continued looking down at his shoes, his eyes shutting tight, tears spilling. "You don't get it," Reynolds said, "...she...she's...she's...unexplainable. One could say she's like me, but I don't think that's fair because she's far more driven and, despite what she'll tell you to the contrary, far more intelligent than I could ever hope to be. Hell, she survived serious brain damage and look at her, renovating a theatre to try to bring culture back to the town. All I did was...well, what I did doesn't matter. What matters is that she's inspirational, and yet, she doesn't mind taking the piss out of myself and herself to boot." "Taking the piss? Are you British?" Little asked, chuckling. "...I didn't want to acknowledge it. I thought maybe if I ignored it, it'd eventually go away, you know? But it hasn't. Now she's talking about leaving town, and all it's done is scare me, far worse than when my life went to shit, even. But the chips are down and I...I can't let her leave." "What if leaving is what's best for her?" "No, no, see...that's the thing, she's made what's best for her clear, and leaving was the alternative, because what was best for her was too scary to try and make it work," Reynolds said, fighting back more tears as Little rubbed his back; he groaned and cleared his throat, running his hands through his scruffy black hair as he said, "fuck, I didn't wanna do this to you. I really did like you. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're just..." Reynolds glanced over at Little, who smiled and cocked her head, waiting for him to finish. "...not her." *** Clarissa could feel herself being nudged, gently, as her eyes fluttered open and she slowly reached up, pulling the headphones down around her neck. Hawley was kneeling in front of the couch, and Clarissa reached up, rubbing her eyes as she leaned up on her free elbow. "What...what's going on?" she asked. "I don't...I need your help, I don't know how to handle this, but you're from a big city, you're older, you might know," Hawley said, "um...my friend is here and she...she's been..." Even Hawley couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead, she grabbed Clarissa's wrist and tugged at it, pulling her to her feet and leading her down the hall to the bathroom. Once she opened the bathroom door, Clarissa gasped, her hands over her mouth, as standing there in a towel, her eyes red and watery, bruises all over her body, was Misty. Misty locked eyes with Clarissa, and Clarissa immediately knew. Hawley had done the right thing coming to her for this. Clarissa entered the bathroom and approached Misty, who sat down on the side of the tub while Clarissa dropped to her knees in front of her. "Who did this to you?" Clarissa asked quietly. "Drew," Misty whispered, barely audible, "our...our as...assistant co...coach." "Well, he's not gonna get to do it anymore, that much I promise you, okay?" Clarissa asked, and Misty nodded, before finally collapsing into her, sobbing. Clarissa reached up and held her, rubbing her back. She'd grown up in LA. She'd seen this happen more times than she could count. She knew how to handle it, but wished she never had to. Hawley, still standing at the door, didn't know how to react quite frankly to the entire ordeal. All she knew was that she wouldn't send Misty home, and she sure as hell wouldn't let her be alone with Drew ever again. Hawley turned and headed back to her bedroom. She began to dig through her dresser, looking for an extra pair of pajamas that Misty could wear for the night; something soft, something comforting. While doing so, however, Hawley couldn't help but think of her father. Sure their abuse was vastly different, but it was still abuse regardless of specifics. She just hoped that, someday, men would stop hurting the women they claimed to love, or women in general. But she wasn't holding her fucking breath about it. *** Reynolds was looking out the window of Little's apartment. He glanced down at his watch. It was almost 5 in the morning, and he groaned. He felt Little's hand on his shoulder and turned to face her as she shoved a mug of coffee in his palms and smirked. "John," Little said, "for what it's worth, despite everything, I think it's safe to say you're easily the best man I've ever dated." "That's kinda sad actually," Reynolds remarked, lifting the mug to his lips and sipping carefully, as she laughed. "It is, you're not wrong!" she said, "but, it's also kinda perfect. On the surface you seem like a wreck. I mean, you were essentially shamed out of Hollywood, had a major drinking problem and wound up as the coach of a middle school little league team. I think that's about as bottom of the barrel as one can get. And yet look at who you actually are. You took in a scared young girl to save her from abuse. You stopped drinking. You're admitting your feelings. If ever there's an example of 'don't judge a book by its cover', then you're it, and I can make that analogy because I'm a librarian." "Why are you saying this?" Reynolds asked. "Because, John, you're able to see who Janice is beyond her outer shell. All the world sees when they look at her is how broken and damaged she is. A lost hopeless cause. A girl who had so much potential who had it ripped away thanks to one accident. But what you see when you look at her...you see beyond that. You see how driven and determined and intelligent she is in spite of what happened. You see the good in everyone, and you do what you can to help it bloom and blossom. You're a good man, John Reynolds, and you deserve the right woman, and I think we both know she's it." Reynolds smiled, tears slowly rolling down his face. He nodded, finished the coffee and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before leaning in and kissing Little, who happily kissed him back. After it broke, he nodded, then turned and headed for the door. His hand on the knob, he turned and looked back at her, as she watched him, grinning. "...thank you," he said. "Thank you," Little replied, making him confused. "For WHAT?" he asked, half laughing, as she shrugged. "For just being you," she said, "for being someone who saw that I deserved better, that you wanted different, and not dragging this out. Most men wouldn't do that. But you're not most men. Where are gonna go?" Reynolds pulled the door open and smiled, looking from the barely lit outdoors back at Rebecca. "I've gotta go find Janice," he said.
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GRAVE INNINGS is about A funeral home that has sponsored a local little league, the coach who is a disgraced reality show host, a young transgirl and the odd family they create for one another. Archives
May 2024
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