Peter, Prue Ch. 01

Prue stared into the murky grayness that returned to the room after Peter turned off the light before leaving. The click of the bedroom door seemed to have a self-sustaining echo; it kept punctuating her jumbled thoughts.

Why did he leave?

Why now after she told him about the message? She did tell him she didn't believe it, didn't she? She'd been clear about it. So why run? Did he doubt her?

Or...

Prue pondered what happened since they came home. His half-hearted embrace, his looking away, the forced conversation and his lack of appetite. His leaving the table, drinking whisky and getting the sudden idea of sleeping on the couch. Her eyes burned with tears.

The ceiling gave no answers.

***

Lying on cold leather cushions and under an inadequate blanket is no way to find peace of mind, let alone sleep.

Peter hardly understood what happened or why.

Prue had told him about her message; why hadn't he told her about his? He wondered at his suspicious thoughts - how deep they ran and where they came from.

Prue had acted odd all evening, right from her reserved welcome through their forced conversation and her four damn glasses of wine. She never looked him in the eyes, did she? Why? And why not say 'I don't believe it?' Was he seeing ghosts?

Why had things become so damn complicated?

***

He must have fallen asleep.

Looking up from the sticky leather he saw Prue walk into the living room. She carried two mugs, one in each hand. She was completely dressed, but looking a mess - eyes bleary, hair in a sloppy bun, no make up.

"Coffee," she said forcing her lips into a smile.

Peter sat up, knowing he looked even worse - sure feeling awful. His skull seemed stuffed with cotton, his eyes burned. He accepted the mug, mumbling thanks. Prue sat down in the club chair across from the couch.

"What are we doing, Pete?" she asked. "What's going on?"

He sipped the scalding liquid, black with a pinch of sugar. It tightened his throat on its way down. He felt an urge to tell her about his text message, but he didn't. If his suspicions were right, she already knew, didn't she? It might help to keep her in the dark. He sure needed every advantage he could grasp, didn't he?

Yesterday Peter would have been appalled at his sneakiness.

But, well, today was today. Ah, damn it all - yesterday's Peter was a naïve sucker anyway. Sipping his coffee, supposing it cleared his thoughts, Peter Hawkins told himself that at last he saw through it all - the phony messages, the justified suspicions, the first outlines of truth.

"I guess you know what's going on, Prue," he said, amazed at his deep, gravely voice.

Prue's eyes widened. Cold fingers touched her heart. Was he going to confess?

"What do you mean?" she asked. "I know nothing. I don't even know why we are sitting here like we do; like strangers."

She put down her mug and leant forward. Her robe opened, showing the white t-shirt she'd slept in.

"I told you," she went on, agitated. "I told you how I got this damn anonymous slander message that I never believed anyway. It is silly: I know you'd never cheat on me. I told you. And when I did, you got up and left me alone? You've never ever done that before. What should I think? I didn't sleep a wink from worrying. I worry, Pete, about us, you and me. Something's changed. I'm scared!"

She grabbed the lapels of her robe, closing it tight around her chest.

Her eyes shone with tears.

Peter sat up straight.

His head felt as if caught in a cloud of steam. Seeing her cry hurt him; hearing her despair cut into him. Every fiber in her body screamed to be held. And yet he just sat and didn't move.

Prue was desperate.

She'd never felt more alone - abandoned, betrayed. How could he just sit there and not hug her, comfort her, cry with her? He really must have stopped caring for her. Who was that man sitting there, where had her Peter gone?

"Hold me," she whispered. "Please hold me and tell me everything is right."

Peter stared.

He knew he should rise, take the two small steps and hold her. Why couldn't he? He felt tears run down his glowing face, his hands clawed into the seat he sat on and he was sure it was his throat that produced the low moaning sound.

His body wanted to be with her, hug her and comfort her, but his mind was a convolution of conflicting thoughts, rolling and roiling. There was the cell phone text, there were the images of her with Kuric, there was the hesitation of her embrace, and there was a sickening pageant of Prue flirting, Prue dressing sexy, Prue being drunk and silly - Prue coming hard and loud.

Everything that had been dear to him up till now seemed tainted. And the horrifying thing was, he knew it was all about him: his unfounded thoughts, his silly suspicions. They were all based on nothing, weren't they? Almost nothing, and yet, they turned him into a statue.

"I... I can't," he said at last, turning away from her. "Give me time, leave me alone."

***

Peter Hawkins sat on the windy terrace of a seaside bar.

All chairs were empty, quite a few blown over by the gushing winds. He knew his coffee on the table would be cold by now. But he wasn't here for coffee.

Staring out over the gray sea with its long, lazy rollers running out onto the empty beach, he murmured wordless curses. Why, he thought, why had everything he held dear turned to shit in only one day? How could it? Was his love for Prue so shallow or his confidence in her so weak that just one anonymous message could make him doubt her in a matter of hours?

Obviously.

When she told him about her message he should have told her about his. But he hadn't. Why was that? It might have cleared the air between them. Maybe he didn't want the air cleared? He shook inside his raincoat. Crazy thought; of course he wanted the air cleared.

But he knew that wasn't true.

He'd held his information back because he didn't trust her. How could he suddenly not trust her anymore? Because of one crazy anonymous message? The mere thought flushed his mind with guilt.

What was wrong with him?

***

Prue stared at her phone - damn phone.

She'd wanted to call her best friend Julia to share her desperation with when she saw she had a new text message. Seeing the announcement filled her with fear. Maybe it was nothing - something totally unrelated. Spam, even. Or maybe, maybe it was from Peter, telling her he changed his mind and please, please...

But she knew it wasn't. There was no name.

It would be from the anonymous freak, and she should ignore it. Her thumb hovered and she knew she would press the button even if her mind was adamantly against it.

"He is seeing her right now."

No. Nooooo.

Prue dropped the cell phone as if it were a hot piece of iron. It bounced off the couch where she'd stayed to after Peter left. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked slowly back and forth.

It was all a lie, of course it was.

Just someone playing a cruel game. Someone hating her. Who hated her enough to do this? No one, for sure. She'd been everybody's darling all of her life. No one hated Prue. No one. So why?

And why was he succeeding? Or she?

The cell phone lay on the carpet, the message still there. "Right now," it said. Peter hadn't showered before he left. He'd just put on his used clothes and a raincoat. No bag, no extra clothes.

Where did he go?

She'd begged him not to leave, of course. But she'd never left her seat. The last thing she heard was his car, roaring into the quiet Saturday morning. Then there was nothing but the ticking of the big station hall clock they'd found on this little market two towns over.

She crawled into the corner of the couch that was still warm from his body, wrapping herself into his blanket - staring, thinking.

She'd stopped crying.

Julia Connors was her best friend since college. She'd shared all her highs and lows with her, and her calamities - all just minor things of course, in the sheltered cocoon of her privileged life. Nothing like this, Prue thought.

Nothing as hurtful and confusing like this ever happened.

She reached down for the phone, clicking the message away to speed dial her friend. The signal kept buzzing. Julia's familiar voice asked her to speak a voice mail message. She didn't.

She sighed. It turned into a dry sob.

After a few minutes the phone rang. Dear God, no new texts. Julia's name popped up; Prue pressed the button.

"Hi Pruts," a tinny voice said. Pruts was a nickname only Julia used. "You called me."

Hearing the voice caused Prue's throat to clog with new tears.

"Jules," she said. "Oh God, Jules, everything is so awful!"

***

"Damn, man, too cold out here. Let's get inside."

Gus Rennick had the kind of big frame that easily attracts fat after you turn 30 and don't work out enough to keep it away. Gus didn't work out a lot and he liked beer.

His hair got thinner too.

He'd been friends with Peter ever since they'd been selected for their high school football team. They stayed friends after Peter hurt his knee and Gus lost interest, which was the next year.

They didn't loose touch when Peter went away to become an architect and Gus got to work for his father's construction business.

Inside they found a table in a warm corner. Peter kept his coat on, however.

"You look like shit," Gus said after sitting down with a sigh that was echoed by his chair. Peter didn't answer.

"What's going on, man?"

"Prue," Peter said. "I think she's cheating on me."

Gus stretched his body, making the chair protest louder.

"You're kidding," he said.

It's what you say when you don't know what to say, which was often the case with Gus - especially around the slippery slopes of relational trouble.

Gus was an honest man, as honest as they come.

His mind was honest, and so were his morals and his imagination. Like many men he believed that keeping things simple was a virtue in itself. And like just as many men he was convinced that life got unnecessarily complicated once women started to meddle with it.

Duplicity was an alien concept to Gus.

That didn't mean he was easily fooled. He developed what honest men do when they are betrayed once too often: he distrusted anyone he didn't consider as honest as himself.

Most of those were women.

The problem with Gus, as he got older, was that he started to trust his distrust. So, although he said Peter must be kidding, he was inclined to believe him.

Gus was a divorced father, seeing his little boy every second weekend. He never understood why his wife wanted out. He was convinced he'd never marry again, ever.

"What happened?" he asked, not sure things would improve by him knowing.

Peter shrugged. "Someone told me."

Gus kept staring at him, obviously waiting for more.

"And?" he asked, eyebrows rising.

Right then the waitress brought two more cups of poor coffee.

***

Julia Connors arrived within half an hour.

She sat in the overstuffed club chair Peter had found in a little shop downtown. Her pale blue skinny jeans had fashionable holes at the knees; her sweater was beige and baggy. She looked good in a tired way, blond hair in a tail, no make up.

"So tell me," she said. "Where's the fire?"

Her smile was as tired as her eyes.

Prue was still in her robe and on the couch, legs folded under her. She'd made tea while Julia was on her way. It was still too hot to drink.

"Pete cheats on me," she said.

"Noooooooo," Julia exclaimed, her red fingernails finding the circle of her mouth.

"Yes."

The word ended with a dry sob.

Julia rose from her chair and sat next to Prue, holding her.

"Oh my, poor girl," she cooed. "Pete? Your Pete? Are you sure? With whom?"

Prue crouched into the hug, letting the warmth of her friend's body seep into hers. God, she needed this.

"I don't know," she said.

"Did you see them together? How did you find out?"

Maybe for the first time since yesterday Prue realized how little she actually knew.

"I got a text," she said, shrugging. It sounded rather lame now, even to her. "It said: he cheats."

"Who sent it?"

"No name, no number."

"That's all? An anonymous text?"

"I got another one this morning, after Pete left. It said "he is seeing her right now."

"Anonymous again," Julia said; it wasn't a question. She let go of the hug. Prue nodded. Julia sat back, looking around the room.

"It could be nothing, you know?" she said. "A prank, a bad joke?"

"I know," Prue sighed. "But he acted weird, Pete did, when he came home yesterday - he hugged weird, kissed weird, and he sounded weird. Everything was... odd, forced. I had made tian, you know? He loves it, but he hardly tasted it. Then he left the table halfway through dinner; he went into his room and started drinking."

Julia picked up her mug and sipped some tea.

"Did you tell him about the text message?" she asked.

"Only later, when we were in bed. You know, first he wanted to go and sleep on the couch. We never ever did that. We vowed we'd never ever sleep apart; you know that."

Julia produced some reassuring sounds.

"Now why would he suddenly do that?" Prue went on, her voice rising to a whine. "It was weird, don't you agree?"

"But you slept together," Julia said. Prue nodded.

"Yes. Until I told him about getting the message. He at once picked up his pillow and left. God, what an awful night!"

They sat in silence.

Julia was good at playing best friend to Prue. She'd had the opportunity to hone that talent from the beginning, when Prue had asked her to share rooms at the apartment her parents had bought for her.

Julia knew Prue didn't need her for splitting the rent, as she didn't pay any herself to begin with. She did it for company. Prue'd be lonely otherwise, and she couldn't stand being lonely.

Julia studied on a meager scholarship, having to take jobs to get by. She knew that her newfound comfort depended on Prue's friendship and generosity. She hated knowing that.

Julia, however, couldn't afford to hate. But she would never forgive Prue for the bitter taste of charity it left behind.

She remembered how naïve Prue had been those first months. The girl must have been brought up crazily sheltered. She gave momentous meaning to every simple date she had, reporting every kiss and every grab. Prue seemed prepared to give boys whatever they wanted. Julia remembered wondering how the girl had ever gotten through high school without getting pregnant. She'd saved her from quite a few awkward situations.

Then Peter Hawkins happened.

From day one Prue dropped everything for her newfound love, including Julia. Two weeks after her first date with the boy she spent hardly a night in her apartment anymore.

Six weeks later they were engaged.

Julia recalled feeling betrayed.

Prue carelessly discarded their girl-friendship and replaced it from day one with the cruel egoism of new boyfriend love. But Julia'd been patient. She'd also been practical. Breaking up with Prue might cost her the apartment, and she'd never find one as good again for the rent she paid.

Emotionally Prue had always been a magnifying glass - after meeting Peter Hawkins maybe even more than before. Every real or imagined bump in her road to marital bliss made her run to Julia and soak her shoulder in a cascade of tears - only to deny anything happened a week later; even accusing Julia of being jealous and nosey.

Still, Julia had always been there for her - weary and tired after yet another theatrically blown up drama - but always there.

Just like now.

She tried to ignore the flood of tears pressing behind moist eyes. Up until now the story had been vintage Prue: layers of emotion wrapped around zero content.

"But he did leave," she said. "I mean: the house."

And yes, new tears cascaded down Prue's cheeks.

"I... ," she tried after a minute. "I brought him coffee, this morning. I wanted to talk. You know: leave all the shit behind and talk."

"He didn't want to," Julia offered. Prue nodded, shedding new tears.

"I cried," she sobbed. "And he wouldn't even hold me."

Julia stared. Then she rose.

"Get dressed," she said. "We need some fresh air."

***

"A text message?" Gus Rennick asked, emphasizing the word. "That's all? And anonymous?"

Peter waved his hand.

"I know," he said. "But it was the way she reacted when I came home." And he expanded on the stiff embraces and the evading eyes, all the little alien things.

"As if she was hiding something, you know?"

Gus knew everything about women hiding things; or at least he thought so. But there was one slight problem: Prue had always been the one exception in his thick book of distrust. Okay, she was a woman - very pretty woman too - but she'd always been sweet with him, and open, hadn't she?

But then again, you know, she was a woman.

"Drink your coffee," he said, rising. "Let's go see her and talk."

***

Peter followed his friend's battered truck.

Gus had been driving it almost as long as he knew him. One taillight was broken and taped back into shape. Without thinking he'd given his friend the lead; the way his mind worked, he might get lost on the way to his own place.

The house was empty. Prue's car was there, though.

Gus hollered her name when he entered. Peter followed him reluctantly, walking into the sitting room right when his phone beeped. He had a message, the little screen said.

"She's with him right now." It was anonymous.

Peter stood and stared, just like he'd done the first time. He didn't hear Gus; he didn't even see the big fleshy hand taking the phone, or notice the man's low whistle.

At last he looked up, eyes wide, shoulders hoisted up in silent despair.

"Anonymous," Gus said, growling. "The damn coward."

Peter walked to the kitchen, picked up a glass and filled it with water. His Adam's apple bobbed when he emptied it. He put it down and turned around.

"Her car is still there," he said. "The bastard must have picked her up."

Gus didn't answer. He still held the phone, shrugging as he looked up at Peter.

"It might all be a sick joke," he said tonelessly.

"Yeah," Peter answered.

He walked into the back of the apartment, where the bedroom was. There he pulled a suitcase from a closet and started filling it with clothes.

"You know, Peter..."

Gus had followed him, standing in the doorway, watching him pack. Peter looked up. Then he got his shaving things.

Gus shrugged once more.

***

Prue shivered as they walked along the beach, right into the wind.

Its cold breath cleaned her head, but could only pluck and tear at the big, solid lump that lay at its center - the thought that refused to budge; the thought of Peter being with another woman right now - kissing her, fucking her.

"I feel he's with her, you know?" she said. "I feel it."

Julia pushed the stray hair from her eyes and watched her friend. Relying on feelings is dangerous, she thought, especially when you're Prue Hawkins. She quickened her steps, then turned and walked backwards, leaning into the wind, facing Prue.

"You feel, but you don't know," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the seagulls and the rolling waves.

She stopped, so Prue walked into her. Taking both her shoulders, Julia held her eyes.

"Before you destroy everything," she said. "Think. You know nothing. It might just be some bastard sending you messages. Think, Pruts. Who do you know? Who hates you enough? Who's jealous enough?"