August 11, 2004

You're thirty-four years old. You're a grown man. You can do this. "Abby," I say to her, interrupting her reading.

She looks up from her magazine. "What?" she asks coldly.

So I was right. She's still mad about our conversation yesterday. "I want to take you out." Okay that did not come out so great. "I'd like it if we could just have coffee, pie, and talk a little."

"You want to talk?"

Why does she look so surprised? Before we slept together, all we ever did was talk. We should be titled 'professional talkers'. "Yeah, talk." God, I'm so nervous. If she turns me down for talking, I have no chance to get things right ever again.

"I won't sleep with you," she informs me with all the seriousness in the world.

"Well I didn't expect you to." And it's true. I barely even expected her to acknowledge me. This is going better than I thought.

She puts down her magazine and gets up. "Fine. But if you take me to Doc Magoo's, I'm going home."

Warning dutifully noted. I take her to a nice little café on Adams Street. It is a little expensive but Abby doesn't seem to care.

"The turkey sandwich, with cheese, a minestrone soup, a side of tossed salad, and coffee. I'll decide for dessert later." The waiter writes down Abby's order then turns to me.

"Just some minestrone soup and coffee please."

"You eat like a bird," Abby comments. "No wonder you're so skinny."

"And you eat like an elephant," I retort.

She shrugs. "I haven't eaten in the past twenty four hours."

"How come?"

"I was thinking too much."

She surprises me more every day. I don't know what it is exactly that I do, but she opens up to me more and more. It's weird how not even a month ago, I could have never imagined having this conversation with her. "About what?" I inquire.

"You. Us. Our history." She pauses, takes a sip of water, then goes on, "sometimes my thoughts are so cruel. Especially to you."

What? I thought I was the cruel one here. Did I miss something? "You lost me."

She takes a deep breath. "A few days ago I told Luka that I wish you never entered my life."

So what? She fed him a line so he wouldn't onto our little affair. I do the same thing with Susan. I don't see what the big deal is here. "And?"

"And I meant it. I really meant it."

Saying that I'm shocked would be an understatement. Why doesn't she just stab me in the heart? I live for her, I want to be with her as much as I can while she wishes I didn't exist. Everything in my life now revolves around her and her desires, needs, and wants. She tells me that she wishes I was out of her life. How am I supposed to take this?

The hurt must have shown on my face because she says, "You just complicate so many things in my life, so I wish, in a way, that I never met you. Then I wouldn't be in so much pain right now."

If that's supposed to make me feel better, it's not working. I make things complicated? I bring her pain now? I make her miserable? Meanwhile, she's the only thing that makes my life not miserable. "If you want me out of your life, just say the words and I'll disappear."

"That's not it. I -" she's interrupted by the waiter who brings our soup. We eat silently for a few minutes. A determination slowly creeps up. Maybe I should get out of her life, it might do both of us good. Maybe that's what we need: a permanent separation. Maybe after ten years or so, I would be able to move on, to be truly happy without her. And she, she'd have her wonderful little family that she loves so much, her Magda would be safe from all the heartache I bring her mother, and Susan, she wouldn't have to doubt my affection for her. I could finally reciprocate all the devotion she has shown me for the past year.

As soon as those ideas enter my mind, I know it couldn't work. I will never be able to get Abby out of my head. Ever. She's lodged in my heart forever.

"I don't think you understand what I mean," she pauses, reflects a little, then speaks again, "Actually, I think you do. Things are complicated and they wouldn't be this way if you weren't in my life, but there's something you don't seem to get. Something that changes everything." She sets down her spoon and pushes her bowl of soup aside. She reaches across the table and gently touches my hand. I look at her, fascinated. There's an odd expression on her face, I've never seen it before. I wonder what will come out of her lips. I wonder if it will even mirror what's on her mind.

"I love you John. It's that simple. I could never ask you to leave and I would have never known what love is if you hadn't been in my life."

My heart skips a beat. Then another. And another. I think I have to remind it how to function. She loves me? Could it be true? Could she really, truly feel this way about me? This raw and true emotion, this blessed feeling you have for another. Somehow, I can't manage to believe such a thing. I don't usually get what I desire the most.

Two minutes ago she was telling me how much pain I bring and now she tells me she loves me. Who loves the people who hurt them? 'Love hurts' is just a cliché. Real, true love, it doesn't hurt. It's not supposed to hurt. It's supposed to make you smile goofily and say stupid things. It's supposed to make you want to be with the person, not wishing to be away from them. And the person you love certainly does not bring you pain. "You just told me how I bring so much pain in your life and now you tell me you love me," I say in an accusing tone. I can't help it. I'm hurt. I don't know why she would say something like that to me when it isn't true. It can't be true…it just can't.

Pain flashes in her eyes, but it's gone faster than I can say it. "You don't believe me?"

"Never heard that love is not supposed to hurt, and if it does, it's not real love?" I ask.

"My love for you doesn't hurt," she tells me with vehemence, "it's actually being separated from you that hurts. The fact that I can't be near you whenever I want, I can't be affectionate toward you in public, and I can't show any kind of love to you without feeling guilty, that's what makes it hurt. That's why there's so much pain associated with you. Because it hurts to have you so close yet so far."

Could it be true? Oh God, please, I love her. So much. It has to be true. Everything. If she loves me half as much as I love her, I will never ask for anything again. Ever. "You love me?" My voice does a little squeal on the last word. I really have to keep these emotions in check.

She looks at me straight in the eyes and says, "I love you."

I take her hand and kiss it, never taking my eyes off hers. Right now the world is fading away and there's only Abby and I, and our love. I wish it would always be this way.

~o~

I roll over and smile when I hit a naked chest. Still half-asleep, I manage to scoot more closely to the said naked body and I moan appreciatively when a hand caresses my back softly.

"You fell asleep," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

No shit.

"It's already eleven o'clock," he tells me.

My eyes immediately open. I turn to the alarm clock on the nightstand. "Shit." I sit up straight and look around for my bra. Why the hell do I wear black bras? I never find them in a half-lit room!

"Relax. It's no big deal. Just tell Luka we've lost track."

I turn to him, anger rising. Is he really that stupid? "We're not supposed to be on good terms these days, remember?" Where the fuck is my bra?

"Isn't what tonight was supposed to be officially? About talking together?"

I slip on my jeans and shirt. "Not for five hours!" I exclaim. He is so calm about this; it's so frustrating. And where the hell is my bra? I look under the bed, next to Carter's clothes. I then check in the sheets. It's nowhere to be found.

"What are you looking for?"

"My bra!"

"Oh," he simply says and reaches out for something under a pillow. It's my bra. "There you go."

I snatch it from him and put it on. "Thanks."

God, what will Luka say? Will I smell like sex? What if he smells Carter on me? What then? Or what if he wants to have sex when I get home? Maybe he'll smell Carter then. Oh no, I could not sleep with Luka hours I've slept with Carter. That's just plain impossible. I'd rather confess the whole thing to him first.

Carter rolls over and digs in his suit pocket. He takes out his cell phone and starts dialing. What the hell is he doing at a time like this? He should do just as I am, dress up as fast as he can and then run home. But he's not, he's just sitting there making a phone call.

"Luka?" He asks on the phone. Oh no, please tell me it isn't true. He goes on, "Yeah, we're still out." He pauses. Luka's probably talking. I wonder what he's saying. "This nice little café on Adams Street." Another pause. "She's in the bathroom. I'm sorry, we lost track of time. We're actually the last customers here." There's another pause. A longer one this time. "Sure. I'll tell her. Thanks." He ends the call and puts his phone on the bed.

I patiently wait for a few moments but he stays silent. God, he is so irritating at times. "So? What did he say?"

A smile forms on his lips. "He said that it was alright. He liked spending time alone with Magda and that you can take all the time you want. He's going to bed and asking you to be quiet when you eventually get home."

I'll be damned. "He said that?" I barely hide the surprise in my voice.

"Yes. I told you not to worry. It was his idea in the first place." He picks up his phone again. "Now I gotta call Susan."

Now I'm intrigued on how the conversation will turn up. This evening was not Susan's idea; I doubt she was really enthused about the whole idea. The woman is sharp, she might be suspicious of this. I think Carter's aware of this because he looks a lot more nervous now than he did when he previously dialed.

"Hi honey," he says to, I presume, Susan. There's a very long pause. "Yeah, you're right. I didn't want to disturb you but I thought you might get worried." He pauses. "Alright. I should be home soon. I have to drop Abby home first. It shouldn't take long, she and Luka don't live far." He pauses once more, then says, "okay, bye." He turns off his cell phone and looks at me. "That's done. I'll get dressed and drop you off home."

As I watch him dress, I realize that we've had sex again. Well I realized it before, but now I realize that we've had sex again, especially after I've specifically told him that I would not sleep with him tonight. This is ridiculous; I might as well be a hooker. I wonder if the clerk in the lobby thinks so. It's not like we've been very discreet about the whole thing. I remember one episode of Sex and the City when Carrie and Big were having an affair. She was mistaken for a hooker. Could that happen to me?

Carter must have noticed some change in facial expression, because he asks, "What's wrong?"

"We're always having sex," I tell him.

"It makes you feel cheap?" he asks.

Has he read my mind? Sometimes I feel like we're so connected, I don't have to say a word to make him understand something, and other times, I feel like even if I yelled how I feel, he wouldn't get it. "Yes, a little." I sigh. "That's all we ever do. Have sex. We were supposed to talk tonight, and here we are, in this damn hotel room again."

"We talked earlier."

I shake my head. "Barely. We talked for about half a hour and then we jumped into bed." I sit down next to him, remembering our conversation. How I told him that I loved him and how he didn't believe me at first. And how he never said anything back. Does he really think she wouldn't have noticed? "You still believe that I love you, right?"

He smiles. "I'm still trying to get used to the idea."

What can I say to make him believe? I've told him and I've shown him. I don't know sign language, but I don't think that would even work! "Why is it so hard to believe it?"

He puts a hand on my thigh and caresses it gently. "Do you realize that it took us four years to be in this room? You could almost mistake us for Mulder and Scully. The fact that you love me is one of those things in life that are so amazing that it's hard to believe them." With his other hand he tenderly brushes my hair away to reveal my neck and plants soft kisses on it. "I love you," he says softly in my ear.

It sounds like a melody to my ear. It's so beautiful to finally hear it. I'm not sure if he was waiting for the perfect moment, but this is as close to perfect as you can get. I feel overwhelmed with joy; having Carter so near, touching me, caressing me, kissing me, while murmuring wonderful things to my ear, it couldn't be better. I can feel him everywhere, his heat, his smell, his breath on my neck. I want to stay like this forever.

"I better take you home," he whispers and the moment is gone.

I nod and I very reluctantly get up. We leave the hotel room in less than a minute and soon enough we're in front of my apartment building. Carter turns off the engine and gets out of the car with me. "I'll walk you to your door." I want to protest, I should protest, but for some reason I don't. It's only thirty seconds but it's still thirty seconds more with Carter.

When we're at my door, I give him a very tight hug. Every time we're together I feel like it'll be the last. I don't know if I have any foundation to feel this way, but with our jobs, our spouses, and Magda, it seems less and less likely that we can manage to be alone together without drawing any suspicion.

Carter loosens the hug and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Most appropriate since Luka is sleeping less than twenty-five feet away from us, but I can't be satisfied with just that. Not tonight, not after what we've just said to each other. I cup his face, stand on my toes and kiss him. "I love you," I whisper against his lips.

"I love you too," he whispers back. He kisses me deeply then lets me go. "I have to go."

I nod and walk in my apartment. I don't have the courage to say goodbye this time.

~o~

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