Shattered on the Ground

Communication. It’s the first thing we really learn in life.

Reese lay in bed listening to the rainstorm outside her window doing it's worst. It was one of those bad angry storms that only weeks of hot and humid air could bring. The storm brought with it the sort of rain that flooded roads, thunder that shook windows, and lightning that cracked through air recklessly.

Reese drank in the sounds around her the way the ground drank in the rain. She reveled in the peace of having the house to herself--living in a house with four other people rarely left room for having the place to your self.

Thunder rumbled the windows as the sound of pelting rain filled her ears. It was the loudest nature could be yet it was an easy comfortable silence to Reese. It was silence that lacked other people’s presence with their judging words and meddling advice and worrysome eyes.

She knew she shouldn't have taken off from work the moment she'd called out, she hadn't needed Regan confirming that, or Jessica's disapprovingly look when she thought Reese hadn't been looking. They thought she was hiding from everything including herself, they believed she was running from her problems and bitterly, all Reese could think was:
Have you met me? Obviously these four people I've spent years with don't know me at all.

Reese knew what she was doing; some called it hiding, she called it taking a breather.
A breather from Regan in all her meddling care.
A breather from any idea concerning Michael.
A breather from any idea concerning Nixon.
A breather from anything concerning herself.

Reese didn't know how to deal—that was a fact.
She envied the people who could stand up and fight for what they believed in, who didn't back down when their life threatened to change from what they knew.
But Reese didn't.
When life threatened to change it was like a semi truck running a clown car off the road. It ran her off the path of everything she understood and left her unable to grasp at anything at all. It made her find a new road, a different life, and travel pleasently down the new road before another car accident made her change again. Reese simply didn’t know how to pick up the broken pieces, she chose to junk the whole thing and call it a day.

Lightning lit up the sky, illuminating her room for a moment. Michael was like lightning; he lit up her life, sometimes striking bits of her life painfully. Regan was thunder: she wasn't afraid to get loud and rumble windows to be heard. Nixon was like rain, leaking into every aspect of her life. Reese, well Reese was like the clouds. The clouds drifted with the wind, they could be white and fluffy then dark; bringing with it the rain, thunder, and lightning--never being allowed to seperate one from the other, each of them only one aspect of one hell of a storm.

Funny thing is, once we grow up, learn our words, and really start talking, the harder it becomes to know what to say.

The phone began to ring beside her and Reese inwordly groaned. She contemplated answering it, she didn't want to talk to Life Coach Regan.
Ring.
She didn't want to hear any of it from Jessica or Emily who couldn't possibly understand.
Ring.
She didn't want to listen to annoyingly optimistic Connor who had just gotten back together with his boyfriend.
Ring.

Yet despite all that Reese answered the bubble gum pink phone.

"Hello?" she mumbled lazily.

"Hey Reese," a jolt shot through her at the sound of his voice. She could have predicted ten other people to call her but not one of them would have been him; that made her feel guilty.

It was silent for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say. "How are you?" he questioned finally. It made Reese sad that this conversation seemed slightly akward. She could never in a million years imagine an akward conversation with him.

"Been better," she admitted quietly as she hugged a pillow close as she listened to the sound of his voice; he sounded good, content and happy, and it made her feel relieved that he was okay.

"Hmm?"

He always knew how to make her talk without saying anything; he didn't pry, he didn't ask questions, he just listened.

"I don't know," she admitted vulnerably, listening to the wind as it pushed the rain harder against the door, lightning flashing across the sky. "I don't know," she repeated. "my life is just pressing in on me, I feel like I'm stuck in a box and the walls are just caving in."

"Theres always a way out of the box."

"I just want to run," she breathed hugging herself. " I don't want people to be looking at me wondering if I'm okay. I don't want people to keep advising on what to do, telling me right from wrong."

"What’s right or wrong for someone else may not be what's right or wrong for you Reese--never forget that."

"I just want to live my life quietly, I don't want what I do to have a domino effect on peoples lives."

The line was silent on the other end and Reese began to wonder if he'd hung up or they’d gotten disconnected from the storm.
Or, how to ask for what we really need…

"Chris?"

"I'm here Reese," She heard the undercurrent message in those three words; he would always be there for her even when she felt alone. "You have to understand that when people ask about you it's not to meddle and judge it's out of concern because they care about you. We all affect each other’s lives but it's because we are close, like trees growing to close together, their roots begin to tangle together. That shouldn't stop you from living your life the way you want...the girl I knew lived fearless."

"The girl you knew was an ignornant fool." she retorted.

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can’t help but talk about.

The line fell silent again and dread began to fill Reese in the pit of her stomach; this wasn’t strictly a social call.

“Why are you calling Chris?”

There was no answer but Reese heard shuffling on the other end and knew he was still there.

“Chris,” She demanded.

Some things, we just don’t want to hear.

“You’re friend Regan called me.” He stated finely and a string of curses left Reese’s limits immediately in response.

“Stay out of it Chris,” She hissed, the pink phone clutched in her hand. “Regan had no right to call you—“

“But I had every right to call you.” He shot back. “I promised I’d look after you, make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” he argued. ”You’re really really not, and I don’t need Regan to tell me as much.”

“You haven’t seen me in years-“

”I could go without seeing you for twenty years and I’d still be able to see through you’re bullshit.” He snapped.

That stopped her. The phone slacked in Reese’s hand and her shoulders slumped, Chris had never really cursed a lot in all the years she’d known him, least of all in her direction—she knew better than to fight him.

He sighed on the other end, ”Why is loving who you love a bad thing in your eyes? Why would you rather live a lie?”

“I’m not living a lie.”

”I don’t need Regan to tell me you don’t love you’re asshole boyfriend.”

“He’s not an asshole.” She stated weakly.

“Sorry, what would cheating on your girlfriend be called for you?” Reese couldn’t respond, she wasn’t used to this side of Chris and she could hardly argue with him. ”Sorry,” he mumbled in an afterthought as though he’d heard her thoughts for himself. ”You know I just care about you right? It hurts me to see you like this.”
“See me how?” She demanded in frustration. “I’m fine Chris.”

And some things we say because we can’t be silent any longer.

”You love Nixon.” He stated gently.

Reese opened her mouth to respond but no sound came out. It’d been a long time, a lifetime ago, since someone had accused her of liking Kenneth Nixon…but that wasn’t what Chris had accused her of. Chris had point blank said she loved Nixon. There was no accusation in his tone only the statement of fact.

”Why do you think having feelings for him is a bad thing? It’s been years Reese, we’ve all grown up—liking him isn’t going to set everyone off. You say you feel like your stuck in a box but it’s a box you put yourself in. You’ve put yourself in this box filled with things you think will make you okay; a college degree, a career, a boyfriend with a stellar record at the hospital—You’ve put yourself into a box filled with things that aren’t you.”

“And what is me?” She questioned quietly. She’d felt so foreign for so long she had no idea what was familiar anymore.

“Tennessee is you,” Chris said quietly. “we are you. Nixon is you. Graphic Design is you. Painting is you. Chocolate tootsie roll lollipops, root beer, chocolate chip mint ice cream, swimming in lakes, driving quads, mudding, sleeping in, scrapbooking, Nike shoes, pick up trucks, country music—that is you. Sterile hallways, sharp scalpels, blood, working eighty hours a week—that’s not you. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you do it—it doesn’t mean it’s who you are.”

Some things are more than what you say. They’re what you do.

Reese was silent, the phone cradled in the crook of her neck as she stared down at her fingers, finding a piece of dead skin amongst the raw edges of her nail. Chris’ words hit her hard and as her nail hooked under the piece of dead skin and pulled, the sudden flash of pain like lightning made her see clarity.

“I have to go.”

”Reese wait, there’s one more thing. Ni-“

“Bye Chris.” The phone dropped into the hanger easily but the weight on her chest didn’t lift all the same.

What did Chris expect of her? To admit that he was right and she was wrong? Hadn’t he just told her that what was right for one person might not be right for another? It had been years since they’d seen each other, who was he to say that she wasn’t a true doctor. Just because she liked to go mudding and liked ice cream didn’t mean she couldn’t be a doctor and a damn good one at that.

She’d changed, they hadn’t—that wasn’t Reese’s fault and it sure as hell wasn’t her problem.

Some things you say because there’s no other choice. Some things, you keep to yourself.

Reese does not love Nixon.
It was a mantra she’d gone over in her head a million times and it took on the tune of like ’This Is The Song That Never Ends’. She didn’t love him. She didn’t. Sure she held some sentiment to him, he’d been the first guy she’d ever loved, he’d been her first—no, she wouldn’t let her mind dwell on the past, she couldn’t go backwards only forward. The hospital was her future, her scalpel was her future, Michael was her future—Nixon was just the first guy to break her heart.

The doorbell rang through the house below almost the same time a large gust of wind sent an onslaught of rain onto the house.

“Now what?” Reese grumbled forcing her body out of bed, side stepping the puddle right outside her door; it was one leak of many they’d never gotten to fix.

Reese padded down the stairs, feeling the thunder vibrate the stairs beneath her bare feet. There was a singular knock on the door as she reached the bottom, then a louder more impatient knock as she drew closer.

She reached for the doorknob stepping directly in the puddle that leaked under the door.

“This freaking house.” She grumbled, twisting the knob. The wind caught the door and wrenched it out of her hand, swinging it open and revealing a thoroughly drenched figure on her doorstep.

“You gonna let me? It’s sort of a monsoon out here.”

In a daze she moved aside and allowed him in, only muttering: “Monsoons are only in Asia.”

His gaze drifted around the hallways before coming to land on her. “You okay? You look a little sick.”

Still she didn’t look at him, a frown had set upon her lips but she gave no other indication that she was upset by his being there.

“You’re dripping on the rug.” She grunted moving for the nearby closet and finding a beach towel beneath six different pairs of shoes and three handbags.

She tossed it to him and he caught it, rubbing himself down before laying it over his shoulders.
She should have been surprised he was here but somehow she wasn’t—it was just the icing on the cake.

“What are you doing here?” Her arms crossed over her chest defensively. She was tired of defending herself against people, tired of people pressing their opinions on her, she was tired of her own inner battles.

“I-“ His mouth opened then close, his eyebrows knitting together and the corner of his lips tugging down in a slight frown of confusion. “I just had to see you. Last time I saw you-“

“Nixon what the hell do you want?” She just wanted him to cut to the chase and get out.

“I’m getting to it,” He told her dismissively as he moved closer, his eyes judging her reaction to his being there but finding none. “When I saw you leave Tommy’s…that look on your face, I haven’t see it since the last time I ever saw you in Tennessee at the funeral home. I don’t like that look,” He stated. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You mean you could see me over that red headed whore? I’m surprised you could see anything other than her boobs.” She snapped.

Nixon’s demeanor suddenly changed. His back straightened slightly, his head tilted to the side, a glint lit up his chocolate eyes, and a slightly knowing smirk lifted his lips. He wanted to say it, he wanted to say it so bad—anybody else would have but Nixon knew better. If he uttered those words, if he made that accusation she might never forgive him, he might never get this close to her ever again. She’d shut down, she’d shut him out permanently, and in an instant he’d be back out in the rain.
Why? You jealous?

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I don’t even know that woman alright? Nothing happened.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue but he bit them back.
The thunder rumbled loudly overhead and Reese involuntarily jumped as the wind blew the door open. Reese and Nixon rushed at it, the rain blowing heavily into the house getting the two thoroughly soaked before they managed to force it close and Reese dead bolted the thing. The two leaned against the door, dripping wet and staring at each other.

And not too often, but every now and then…

Reese stared at him expectantly still awaiting his answer to his being there.

“You know, no matter how many years I go without seeing you it’s not going to make me care any less. It’s not going to make me look at you and not worry about you.” He admitted quietly.
“Why do you worry about me? I’m fine.”

The corners of his lips twitched in a sad smile. “Because every time you say those two words you frown. Because I can look at your hands,” He reached for them boldly taking her small nimble fingers in his large warm tattooed hand. “and see what I saw all those years ago. A girl whose so strong, so good at hiding her pain she’s mastered the perfect façade…except she’s human you see, so her pain, her problems, slip out a little bit at a time. These skilled fingers that save so many lives, that on their own help keep up the majority of her façade also fails her.”

He held up her hands for her own eyes to see. At first she saw nothing, they were her hands they were nothing she hadn’t seen a million times over. But then she saw what he’d always seen, the large strips of skin missing around the edges of her nails, red and assaulted. She pulled her hand away from him and held them tucked at her sides out of sight.

“Let me guess, Regan called you?”

“Who? What--no I came on my own.”

“What do you want Nixon?”

“What do you want Reese?” He mocked, his hand rising to brush a strand of stray wet hair out of her face.

He was still the same Nixon she’d always known. Her world had flipped over entirely and here was Nixon the same as he’d always been. She could see herself in pieces of him; She’d been there when he got his lip pierced, she’d been there when he’d gotten his first tattooed—even designed it herself.
And he could see himself in bits of her she’d chosen to ignore. The tiny, nearly invisible scar her lip piercing at left, the very same piercing he’d held her hand with through she’d gotten it. The three-inch scar on the bottom of her right foot from when he’d convinced her to go skinny-dipping in the lake and she’d cut her foot on a glass bottle. He knew the tattoo on her pelvis of the Barn Swallow and the meaning behind it—in fact it seemed to contradict her in all was now.

Boldly he reached out and grabbed her hips, pulling her toward him, his thumb putting pressure where he knew her tattoo to be.

“When will I be like the swallow, so that I can stop being silent?"

His right hand went to her lips, the pad of his thumb gently brushing the plush skin.

“When will I be like the swallow and return to the home I know?”

Some things simply speak for themselves.