Isolation

When the very worst thing that you never thought would happen does, how do you handle it? When your mind swirls, and your head aches, and all you can feel is your heart breaking, when all you can hear is the voice of your own insecurities whispering to you, how do you handle it?

Sitting next to the window, watching drops of rain splashing against the window, Mickey wondered if she had any tears left to cry. It was the complete isolation of the moment that was really playing on her fears. The letter had arrived when no one else was around. Isn't that the way those types of things always happened? Bad news only comes when you are alone. Earth shattering news only when there is no hope that anyone will be near until the crisis has worked itself out in your head.

"I promise I am coming back to you." The words sounded hollow to her now. How could she have been so much of a fool as to have actually believed them. "I need time to myself, time to sort things out in my head. I need to try to find the person that I used to be." It had all sounded so reasonable when she had said those words, and Mickey loved her enough to only want what was the best thing for her. Trust is part of love, and the love was so strong, meant so much. She had promised that she would come back, she just needed time alone. Who knows, maybe when the words had been spoken, they had been meant. That had happened not more than a week ago. How was Mickey to have known that so much would change in just a week?

How was Mickey to have known that what she had really meant was, "I need time alone with him, I need time alone so that he can convince me that everything I have thought wasn't real, that everything I had felt was just misunderstood." Mickey knew that the thoughts weren't fair, she knew that she didn't know the whole story, couldn't possibly know the whole story. The letter wasn't much more than a note, and she promised that she would tell her everything, answer all of Mickey's questions when she could. As Mickey tried to think of what the future could possibly be bringing to her, a wave of pain washed over her, almost stealing her breath from her. Not knowing was the very worst part.

"Please don't think the worst of me, please don't hate me." How could she think Mickey could possibly hate her? All she had ever wanted was for her to be happy. Mickey didn't particularily think that what she was doing now was going to lead to anything but more misery, but Mickey had known that it was possible, actually, quite likely, that she wasn't actually going to break the ties to him. He had spent too long convincing her that she couldn't live without him, that she couldn't survive without him.

Rather than being completely alone for this whole week, the time that she had told Mickey that she needed just for herself, she had been with him. He had spent the whole time, no doubt, convincing her that the real problem was Mickey, that without Mickey complicating everything, they would be happy. Mickey was the real problem. Hadn't they been happy before? Get Mickey out of the picture, and everything would be perfect between them again. That is what she kept hearing in her head, and that was what kept the tears falling, burning her swollen eyes, making her head pound even more. How much of it was true, though? How many of the problems were because of Mickey? How much happier would she be if Mickey were just gone from her life?

The only thing that had kept Mickey sane for the past few weeks was the trust that she had in her. She had been through so much, and it had seemed like she was finally fed up, that she was finally going to stand up for herself and try to make herself happy. She had stopped talking about how she was happy in her misery, she had started talking about finding a place of her own, to be out and free, and to find herself again, to do it on her own. If Mickey closed her eyes, she could almost see the little apartment that she had discribed. Not much, but she had said that it was in a safe neighborhood. Mickey hadn't even asked where it was, knowing that she always knew how to find Mickey, always would know how to find Mickey. She loved Mickey, didn't she? Hadn't she said that so very often? So how could this happen?

Last week when he had found out about Mickey, he had told her, he would do anything for her, they would work every problem out that they had ever had. He would do anything to keep her. Anything to make her happy. There was just one price for all of this. Have absolutely no contact with Mickey ever again. When she had stood in front of Mickey saying this to her, Mickey hadn't believed that someone could bargain with another person's life like that. Surely she wouldn't let that happen. Not that. See, that was what Mickey had so long been afraid of, to the point that the previous year, she had asked her, what will you do when he makes you choose? What will you do when he tells you, it is her or me, you can't have both? She had laughed when Mickey had said that. That will never happen, she said. No one will ever control who I spend time with, she had said. But then he had said it, and she had told Mickey that she was leaving, but that she needed time. She needed time away so that she could try to fix herself. She needed time so that when she came back to Mickey, and she promised so many times that she was going to come back, that she would be a stronger person again, more like the person she had been before. She had promised that it wasn't the end, that they would be back together again, but that was before.

The note didn't say that she couldn't ever see Mickey again, but that was the dark fear that kept creeping into Mickey, chilling her so that no matter how many sox she put on, how many sweaters, how many blankets, Mickey just couldn't seem to get warm. They were going to try to work things out, the note said. But no, that would mean that she had made concessions. That would mean that there had been give and take, that a negotiation had been enacted, and that to "work things out" meant that things were going to change. His price, and Mickey knew it, had previously been that Mickey be out of the picture completely. Shivering and shaking, Mickey picked up the note again and read it with difficulty. Not only was what was in the note painful, but the ink had become smeared with so many tears. Mickey had lived out the life of the relationship so far in the shadows, but she had known that was necessary at the time. Was this note pushing her even further into the shadows? God help her, she would take whatever she had to offer, because Mickey knew that she wasn't strong enough to just walk away. She meant too much to Mickey. Mickey loved her too much to not have some little part of her, no matter how small. Mickey had absolutely no self-respect where this was concerned. She had become too enmeshed in the fabric of Mickey's life for Mickey to be able to imagine what life would be like without her.

Through the waves of dispair, Mickey felt another emotion beginning to appear. He had so much of her, how could he be so selfish as to take away the small bits of her life that Mickey had been allowed? And how could she allow that to happen? How much had Mickey meant to her, if she could just be bargained away like that? Just a negotiation within the process? Had Mickey meant enough to her that she had demanded a huge concession in return for breaking her heart? Or had she been relegated to, well, I will agree to never see Mickey ever again if you will clean the kitchen every other tuesday? For a few minutes, the anger fought with the tears, but it was no use. Mickey couldn't ever be angry with her for too terribly long. The grief and self pity, mixed with a rather large portion of self doubt won out over the anger. Resting her head against the cold dark glass of the window, Mickey took a deep, deep breath, knowing that all she could do was wait for the explanation that would inevitably come, knowing that she would, of course, accept whatever scraps she chose to throw toward Mickey by way of affection. No matter what else happened, Mickey could no more turn her back on her than she could cut her own heart out of her body. She had no other choice but to wait, and trust that things would somehow work out the way they were supposed to. This wasn't the first time she had hurt Mickey, and it wouldn't be the last, most likely. Sometimes that is what love is about, though, surviving the hard times.

Sitting back and wrapping a quilt around her shoulders, Mickey looked around the tiny room, wishing that the isolation, at least, would end. The hard times are always the more difficult when you are all alone to face them.