Heather, stop-- ( he immediately interjects, desperate to jump in before she does what he fears she might: hang up on him. the thought of that is pretty unbearable, immediately stings him before it even happens, makes him ball up his fist into the worn fabric of his blanket.
maybe he's overreacting. maybe they're both overreacting. will's felt like he's taken steps since she left, once the actual reality of it set in. got his ass off the couch for the first time in a long time. reconnected with heather. finally, at long last, made an effort to have some kind of relationship with, take some responsibility for, their child. it's frustrated him that she hasn't really acknowledged his efforts, truthfully. yeah, she lets him watch simba, but it feels like it's just out of necessity sometimes.
maybe, though... maybe he's not acknowledging the steps that she's taken to ensure that the two of them aren't irreparably splintered. the thought is kind of unsettling, the idea of him being so oblivious (though, after his months-long spiral into a haze of altogether numbness, it probably shouldn't), but it kind of makes him hopeful, too. maybe this call was just another step for heather. )
You didn't bother me. I just -- fucked up. Please don't go. ( will's backed down considerably, sounds desperate as hell and somehow doesn't give a fuck. again, he repeats, smaller still: ) Please.
( the words have only just left her mouth and already the phone is away from her ear by the time he calls out, finger hovering over the "end call" button. remains frozen there longer than it probably should. this phone call, the one she had hoped might re-build (or at least haphazardly mend) the bridges burnt between them only seems to have kindled that flame once again. hanging up won't take back anything that's been said (or unsaid) between them the last few months, but it can at least prevent the devastation from spreading.
but will, he's always been the weak link in her otherwise perfect armor, so she listens in silence. squeezes her eyes shut when tears start to burn there at his hushed plea.
none of this; leaving that night, calling him now, none of it was ever about hurting will. if anything, knowing that pain was an inevitability had allowed her to put things off for longer than she might have otherwise. he was already so shattered after johnny and tunny left, breaking him further seemed cruel. no, it was never about hurting him, it was about saving herself. taking this child, that she still had no idea how to take care of and still somehow loved more than life, and figuring out how to give him the life he deserved. which, in no way, included watching will drink and smoke his life away on the couch.
at a certain point, and with no real way of knowing how long she's been sitting here in the stillness of the living room, unspeaking, simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the phone, she lets out a shuddering breath. maybe her reaction to a harmless nickname was a bit exaggerated, but she and will are a slippery slope. a fact she knows all too well. no, putting her foot down was good. no matter how awful she feels now. )
That's what I want too. ( a small concession, all things considered. there are a lot of things she wants. this may just be one on a long list, but it's pretty goddamn close to the top. ) Things are really...god, things are really messed up, I know that. (this is why night time is the hardest. during the day, it's easier to smile and tell people that she's fine. to act like she has her life together even though most days it's all she can do to function. might not be able to at all if it weren't for the baby. but the truth is that she's still a mess (just a functioning one), doesn't tell anybody about the days she leaves work to go home and finds herself parked in front of that cramped little home they used to share. muscle memory leading her here before her brain can kick in to stop it. )
We can't just go back to the way things used to be and pretend like everything's normal. I know that. ( the longer she talks the more strained her voice becomes, until it's almost painfully obvious, at least to herself, that she's struggling. with the conversation, maintaining any small semblance of composure. just struggling. ) I just wanted to talk to you. ( a short pause, a pained little laugh. )Want to talk to you. Present tense.
his eyes sting and will squeezes them shut, staves off any strong emotions that threaten to swell up and overtake him, swallows the lump in his throat and exhales deeply into the receiver. he can't afford to not get his shit together, already tiptoeing that thin line of what's okay and what isn't with heather like it's some damn sobriety test. will's balance has never been anything less than shitty.
heather's voice is so sad, so clear over the phone that he nearly breaks. instead, he just holds that bundle of blankets closer to his chest, squeezes it tightly with knees curling inwards as though his life depends on it. allows her words to settle over him. it's all but impossible to think of what he can -- what he should say to her.
and still, it's hard not to linger on the whats and the whys of this conversation to begin with. after a drawn out silence, will finally manages: ) I know it's been rough but things are--
Things are okay, right? You're okay there?
( she's never really shown any indication, at least to his oblivious ass, of anything wrong between her and her new boyfriend. after all, he isn't sure if she would move in with the guy otherwise. will would rather drown guzzling a bottle of jack daniels and die instantaneously before giving the allegedly happy couple his blessing, but ...
at the end of the day, heather -- her wellbeing, her happiness -- means more to him than the heart-shattering pain it causes him. )
Yeah, of course. ( the response comes a bit too fast, as if trying to defend herself against an accusation that just isn't there. this new relationship is still very much in the fledgling stage, and she's all too aware how it must look to others. especially to will. dating someone else was bad enough, a betrayal of sorts. moving in with him would have been a punch to the gut. most would probably call it a rebound, but it's never been her style to take things slowly.
especially not when she's in pain, trying to leave her past behind her. )
Everything's...- ( fine? too bland. great? too enthusiastic. too cruel. ) Things are good. ( this is ordinarily where she would tell him how simba almost always sleeps through the night. how he tried his first taste of baby cereal earlier tonight and didn't even spit it up. how he looks so much like will that some days just holding him, watching him sleep is enough to break her.
though she might at least leave out how, on those occasions, she has to lock herself in the bathroom before allowing herself to cry. kyle is sweet, he's kind, he he doesn't understand her lingering attachment or the fact that she might not ever (probably never) get over will. not fully, anyway. ) Still kind of adjusting, I guess.
( it's the first real indication she's ever given that maybe she's still every bit as fucking lost as he is. the only real difference being that she's at least trying to move on.
rolling onto her side, she curls into herself faintly, lets her head rest flat on the couch cushion and her eyes drift shut. tries to remember what it felt like, lying in this position so many times before. her head resting in his lap and his fingers carding idly through her hair while some cheesy old movie or stupid reality show scrolled across the screen. ) Are you? ( she finally breaks the silence. voice soft. fragile, and completely unlike heather. ) Okay, I mean.
( immediately she steels herself for the response. it isn't as if he's made any attempts to act like he's happier than he is, or more settled than he is. not living, just surviving. )
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maybe he's overreacting. maybe they're both overreacting. will's felt like he's taken steps since she left, once the actual reality of it set in. got his ass off the couch for the first time in a long time. reconnected with heather. finally, at long last, made an effort to have some kind of relationship with, take some responsibility for, their child. it's frustrated him that she hasn't really acknowledged his efforts, truthfully. yeah, she lets him watch simba, but it feels like it's just out of necessity sometimes.
maybe, though... maybe he's not acknowledging the steps that she's taken to ensure that the two of them aren't irreparably splintered. the thought is kind of unsettling, the idea of him being so oblivious (though, after his months-long spiral into a haze of altogether numbness, it probably shouldn't), but it kind of makes him hopeful, too. maybe this call was just another step for heather. )
You didn't bother me. I just -- fucked up. Please don't go. ( will's backed down considerably, sounds desperate as hell and somehow doesn't give a fuck. again, he repeats, smaller still: ) Please.
I just want to talk to you.
no subject
but will, he's always been the weak link in her otherwise perfect armor, so she listens in silence. squeezes her eyes shut when tears start to burn there at his hushed plea.
none of this; leaving that night, calling him now, none of it was ever about hurting will. if anything, knowing that pain was an inevitability had allowed her to put things off for longer than she might have otherwise. he was already so shattered after johnny and tunny left, breaking him further seemed cruel. no, it was never about hurting him, it was about saving herself. taking this child, that she still had no idea how to take care of and still somehow loved more than life, and figuring out how to give him the life he deserved. which, in no way, included watching will drink and smoke his life away on the couch.
at a certain point, and with no real way of knowing how long she's been sitting here in the stillness of the living room, unspeaking, simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the phone, she lets out a shuddering breath. maybe her reaction to a harmless nickname was a bit exaggerated, but she and will are a slippery slope. a fact she knows all too well. no, putting her foot down was good. no matter how awful she feels now. )
That's what I want too. ( a small concession, all things considered. there are a lot of things she wants. this may just be one on a long list, but it's pretty goddamn close to the top. ) Things are really...god, things are really messed up, I know that. ( this is why night time is the hardest. during the day, it's easier to smile and tell people that she's fine. to act like she has her life together even though most days it's all she can do to function. might not be able to at all if it weren't for the baby. but the truth is that she's still a mess (just a functioning one), doesn't tell anybody about the days she leaves work to go home and finds herself parked in front of that cramped little home they used to share. muscle memory leading her here before her brain can kick in to stop it. )
We can't just go back to the way things used to be and pretend like everything's normal. I know that. ( the longer she talks the more strained her voice becomes, until it's almost painfully obvious, at least to herself, that she's struggling. with the conversation, maintaining any small semblance of composure. just struggling. ) I just wanted to talk to you. ( a short pause, a pained little laugh. ) Want to talk to you. Present tense.
no subject
his eyes sting and will squeezes them shut, staves off any strong emotions that threaten to swell up and overtake him, swallows the lump in his throat and exhales deeply into the receiver. he can't afford to not get his shit together, already tiptoeing that thin line of what's okay and what isn't with heather like it's some damn sobriety test. will's balance has never been anything less than shitty.
heather's voice is so sad, so clear over the phone that he nearly breaks. instead, he just holds that bundle of blankets closer to his chest, squeezes it tightly with knees curling inwards as though his life depends on it. allows her words to settle over him. it's all but impossible to think of what he can -- what he should say to her.
and still, it's hard not to linger on the whats and the whys of this conversation to begin with. after a drawn out silence, will finally manages: ) I know it's been rough but things are--
Things are okay, right? You're okay there?
( she's never really shown any indication, at least to his oblivious ass, of anything wrong between her and her new boyfriend. after all, he isn't sure if she would move in with the guy otherwise. will would rather drown guzzling a bottle of jack daniels and die instantaneously before giving the allegedly happy couple his blessing, but ...
at the end of the day, heather -- her wellbeing, her happiness -- means more to him than the heart-shattering pain it causes him. )
no subject
especially not when she's in pain, trying to leave her past behind her. )
Everything's...- ( fine? too bland. great? too enthusiastic. too cruel. ) Things are good. ( this is ordinarily where she would tell him how simba almost always sleeps through the night. how he tried his first taste of baby cereal earlier tonight and didn't even spit it up. how he looks so much like will that some days just holding him, watching him sleep is enough to break her.
though she might at least leave out how, on those occasions, she has to lock herself in the bathroom before allowing herself to cry. kyle is sweet, he's kind, he he doesn't understand her lingering attachment or the fact that she might not ever (probably never) get over will. not fully, anyway. ) Still kind of adjusting, I guess.
( it's the first real indication she's ever given that maybe she's still every bit as fucking lost as he is. the only real difference being that she's at least trying to move on.
rolling onto her side, she curls into herself faintly, lets her head rest flat on the couch cushion and her eyes drift shut. tries to remember what it felt like, lying in this position so many times before. her head resting in his lap and his fingers carding idly through her hair while some cheesy old movie or stupid reality show scrolled across the screen. ) Are you? ( she finally breaks the silence. voice soft. fragile, and completely unlike heather. ) Okay, I mean.
( immediately she steels herself for the response. it isn't as if he's made any attempts to act like he's happier than he is, or more settled than he is. not living, just surviving. )