Fence

Platonic.

That described Dante's new relationship with Astrid. They weren't together together, but every time they were together, they kept it strictly business: movies, breakfast or dinner outings, shopping trips, the beach... They did all of the things people who were together together did, minus the kissing and sex. Dante felt as if someone had built a fence between them; Astrid was far, far out of his reach, and he felt even further away from her than he had during their big blowout.

Two weeks had gone by since they had started hanging out -- that time they had gone to the mall, when he was still detoxing -- and he didn't know how much more he could take. It came down to this: either he was going to have a drink, or he was going to a club and picking up the easiest girl he could find. He knew, of course, that he didn't really want to do either of these things -- not if he wanted to make things right with Astrid -- but he felt himself slipping further and further away from sobriety and celibacy.

He frowned as he cleaned up his work station at the tattoo shop. They had never talked about the fence between them, but Dante got the feeling that he shouldn't so much as put a hand on her waist. He scowled.

"You good, man?" Finn asked, clapping Dante's shoulder. "It's seven on a Friday! Time to get out of here and get out!"

Dante snorted. "Yeah right."

Finn shook his head and sprayed the work station down with a bottle of bleach and water solution. "You should come out tonight. There's a lotta single ladies."

Even Dante's coworkers thought it was high time to find someone else. "See ya tomorrow, guys," he called over his shoulder as he left the shop. He slid into his car and started the engine. He wondered what Astrid was up to, and decided to stop in at the grocery store she worked at to see if she was in. She didn't have to know that Dante didn't actually need to go grocery shopping. He sighed as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the store. Finn would call him pathetic, and he would be right.

Another long evening at the grocery store. Another long, tiring twelve hour shift of complaints from one ornery customer after another. Astrid was beginning to feel frustrated. How she had gotten herself lassoed in this was beyond her, but her bank account certainly was not complaining! And, her boss had hinted at a possible promotion of assistant store manager. That meant less time behind the desk, and more time on the floor. That meant a promotion, having more people working under her, more benefits and responsibilities - and most exciting of all, a salary. Just like at a real job.

So, needless to say, those were the thoughts that kept her buoyed through the afternoon. And as evening settled in, traffic in the front end slowed to a reasonable pace. Standing behind the counter, she stretched luxuriously, lifting her arms above her head as she surveyed the scene with a note of satisfaction. All the registers had cash drops completed and were replenished with enough change, and the cashiers weren't standing around idly - under her careful eye, they were straightening their spaces when not otherwise helping a customer. Watching them refill their bags, wipe down the conveyor belts, and straighten the candy and magazines, Astrid finally decided that it was high time for her break. After all, she earned it.

"Hey, Dawn? I'm going to take my lunch." She called out over to the blonde shift lead who was standing a few registers away, chatting with a customer.

"Alright, go on!" The older woman waved her off, and Astrid wasted no time logging off her register and unclipping her name tag from the front of her shirt.

A few minutes later, she was walking out of the store, her purse and bagged lunch in hand when she caught sight of a familiar face. "Dante!" She waved at him, picking up the pace to close the distance between them. She found that she was actually glad to see him. The day had been long, and the customers had been rough on her, so seeing Dante was a nice little surprise.

"What are you doing here?" She beamed up at him; a moment's hesitation passed, before she leaned up, pressing a quick little kiss to his cheek.

He lifted a hand unconsciously to the spot on his cheek where her lips had been, brushing it lightly with his fingertips. "Hey," he said, lowering his hand and smiling back at her. He fought the urge to kiss her back, full on the mouth, and ran a hand through his hair instead. "I was on my way out of the shop and just needed to grab a few things. I didn't know you were working."

And he hadn't, he reminded himself. He felt lighter seeing her, and suddenly his own doubts and the doubts his coworkers voiced dispersed, like rain clouds being blown away by a breeze. Things were good, and would be perfect in no time; he had a full-time job at the shop now that what's-his-face had left, and his girl -- ex girl? -- was on lunch. "You just go on lunch?" he asked, his mind racing with the possibilities. How much longer until she got out of work? Would his Friday night finally be a normal, real Friday night? Looking at her, it was hard to think about fences.

Truly, she had forgotten just how hard it was to see him. Every time she saw him, her heart lurched with joy - and simultaneously turned icy cold with fear, remembering all of The Trouble. In her mind, that's how she was beginning to refer to it: The Trouble. But ... maybe, just maybe, things were changing. As she stood there smiling up at him, she felt a small yet strong wave of cautious optimism - but already, she could see something in his eyes, something unfocused.

Astrid opted to leave it be. "Mhm! Yeah, I was going to go sit in my car and have lunch. It's pretty slow, so ..." Looking around the parking lot, she noticed that it was nearly empty. Pursing her lips, she gazed up at him, somewhat shyly. How odd! "Did you ... want to sit and hang out with me? I'm here for another hour after I get off lunch. Maybe we can do something after." Her hands wrung at the fold of her paper bag, twisting it with nervousness. A small part of her was incredulous at her behavior, but it felt right. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to let him in again. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to throw caution to the wind, however, and jump head long into things again. 'Baby steps, Astrid,' she reminded herself as she took a breath, looking up to gauge his reaction.

He started to say, "Sure, why not?", then checked himself. He didn't want to look too eager. Besides, if he didn't go into the store at all, she would know that he didn't actually need any groceries. At the same time, though, he didn't want to miss an opportunity to hang out with her, fences and Finn's comments aside.

"You go eat," he heard himself saying. "I'll try to get what I need as quickly as possible, and if I'm done and you haven't left for the night yet..." He shrugged. "I might be going out with the guys, anyway," he added.

Astrid did her best to keep her surprise from not registering on her face. Of course he came to get groceries. He didn't come to see her. She had to admit it, annoyingly enough, a small part of her was rather crestfallen. However, she did quite an admirable job of not letting it show on her face. Instead, she just continued to smile with a nod. "Alright, that's fine! Give my cashiers something to do! They've just been standing around." Giggling, she reached for his hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "I'll text you when I'm leaving, and see where you're at." A final smile, and she dropped his hand, turning for her car. The instant her back was to him, her face fell into a bewildered expression.

He didn't come to see her. He did not want to make set plans with her. He 'might being going out with the guys'. That could only mean one thing.

She felt her heart sink as she climbed into her car, turning on her radio and putting in a CD. The opening track to Sia's Some People Have Real Problems calmed her, soothed her as she unwrapped her sandwich with a sigh, gazing down at it. Taking a half-hearted bite, she contemplated what all this really meant. Was this distance between them irreparable? Did she need to let him go to do his own thing, so he could see how much he needed her? Or would that just drive him away even further? Feeling sick, she set down her sandwich and closed her eyes with a sigh, her face in her hands. Suddenly, she could not face going back into work, even if it was for just another hour.

Dante watched as his plan resulted in exactly the opposite of what he hoped, watched as she walked away, and watched as she got in her car. "Way to go, Dante," he said to the parking lot. He realized he looked weird just standing there and talking to himself, so he went inside. A cool blast of air hit him as he walked through the entrance. He stopped just inside and looked straight ahead into the fresh produce section. What could he possibly buy for his one bedroom bachelor pad? He grabbed a cart and pushed it into the produce section, thinking as he walked. Maybe she didn't even care if he went out. Maybe their relationship was really and truly over, and he was really and truly wasting his time trying to play hard to get.

I'm building my own fence for nothin', he thought as he stopped to examine some corn on the cob. He sighed and began bagging some ears; if he was going to spend the night -- a Friday night -- in by himself, he might as well eat something good. He put the clear plastic bag of corn into his cart and grabbed some fixings for a salad: romaine lettuce, baby spinach, red onions, basil, tomatoes, croutons, and oil and balsamic vinegar for dressing. He added a bag of red potatoes, and then selected two New York strip steaks from the meat section. He stood looking at his cart. "Who am I kidding?" he asked an old woman examining a package of hamburger meat. She gave him a baffled look, glared at him, and limped away with empty hands. He put the second cut of steak back, then picked it up again right away. Just in case, he told himself. I can always eat it tomorrow.

He pushed his cart to the checkout and glanced around the front end, looking for crimson hair. He didn't see her. She probably left without saying anything. He saw the same old woman in the line next to his, and smiled and winked at her. She gasped and moved to another line, further down.

He chuckled and began putting his items on the belt. So far, that was the highlight of his Friday night.

Dante was still inside when Astrid came back in. Tossing away her empty bags, she glanced over at him just as he began to unload his basket. If she hurried with punching back in, she could maybe catch him before he left.

Hustling to the back end of the store, she made it to the time clock and back out front in record time, practically dashing down the aisle. When she approached the register he was standing at, she slowed her steps and silently cheered - he hadn't even paid yet. Positioning herself at the end of the belt, she smiled at him, bagging up his groceries while the cashier handled the money. "So!" She began as casually as she knew how, slipping the bottle of balsamic vinegar in a brown paper bag for safe keeping. "I think we'll be out of here pretty quick tonight."

There was a pause as she slipped the two steaks in their own plastic bag. What was he planning? Dinner with ... someone else? Momentarily, she felt deflated, and she felt her confidence and resolve waver. 'No. Don't do this to yourself,' she thought, looking up at him as she finished bagging.

"So, if your plans fall through, you should call me. I'd like to hang out with you." Astrid did not sound as confident as she had a moment before, but hell. She had to finish what she started. She had to try.

Surprised, Dante fished his wallet out of his back pocket and dug for his savings card for the store. He saw her bag and pause at the two steaks out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help but smile. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to carry it on a little longer -- just a little longer.

Still, he didn't want to lose her completely. "I'm probably not going out," he said. "What time do you get out again?" He payed the cashier and began gathering his bags.

Okay. Astrid could definitely work with that. Suddenly, the distance between then didn't seem quite so far, and for a moment, her heart lurched with joy. But she wasn't out of the woods yet! "Erm." Pausing again, she checked her wrist watch - a delicate silver thing - and furrowed her brow as she ticked off the minutes. "I'd say we'd be out of here in about 45 minutes." Looking up, she skirted a cursory glance at the registers. Most of them were already straightened and cleaned, and the shopping cart full of returns wasn't as full as she thought. She smiled.

"Yeah, definitely no more than 45 minutes." She stepped away from the end of the register, as if she were about to walk him to the door. Goodness - could she be any more desperate?

He thought about it. He'd never hear the end of it from Finn the next day, but forty-five minutes wasn't that long; he could just wait outside for her. Or, he could bring the steaks home, get them marinating in the fridge, throw together the salad, and start the potatoes. Either way, he knew he wasn't too far from pathetic; they weren't even together together anymore, but he couldn't stop himself from pretending.

"All right." He stood there holding the grocery bags, his arms hanging, and looked at the shiny metal of the counter. "I can't really hang around, but you can stop over after, if you want..."

Giving herself an air of indifference was difficult, seeing as how she really, really wanted him to say yes. And as she stood there, she could practically see the fight in his eyes. The joy that had consumed her moments before began to dissipate.

"Sure." Astrid nodded her head a few times, watching him. "Yeah, why don't I head over to your place after work? It'll be just a bit, so I can go home and change, but ..." She trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath, she offered him a little smile, mustering up sincerity. "I can't wait," she added after a moment's thought, but it was too late - her timing was awkward. Inwardly, she cringed.

"Astrid!" Dawn was calling for her, waving her over, and she whirled around, sending bright red hair flying.The older woman's timing was a blessing.

"Oh! I gotta go. Give me an hour, tops. See you soon!" She smiled at him again, before turning and jogging off back to the front desk counter, where Dawn and a very irate customer waited for her.

"See you," he said softly after her, watching her practically fly away. He trudged out of the store, his head slightly bowed in defeat.

He drove home deep in thought. Maybe dinner would be overkill. Maybe it was all overkill. His earlier certainty chipped away with each turn of the tires as the Cavalier bounced home. He could just wait until she'd come and gone, and have dinner by himself. He pulled into the driveway and parked, then realized he had no memory of driving home. His stomach growled loudly as he shut off the engine. Waiting to have dinner was out of the question.

"Fine. You win," he said to his stomach and the otherwise empty Cavalier. He shook his head at himself. Maybe he was having delayed delirium tremens -- very, very delayed.

He lit a cigarette and leaned back, smoking and thinking some more. "Fine," he said again, and got out of the car. He grabbed the groceries, went inside, and started dinner.

In spite of her anxiety, her fear, Astrid did the quickest close of her life. Fortunately, her cashiers and fellow supervisor were also itching to get out and home early; therefore, she made it out in record time. She might have even sped a little bit on her way home, but that's neither here nor there. As promised, she was at his door within the hour, a little earlier than she had intended. Her fist raised, poised to knock when she stopped.

"What are you doing, Astrid?" She whispered to herself, fixing her stare at the door, as if it held the answer for her. For a full minute, she breathed quietly, trying to focus her mind. Something in her gut told her this was either going to be very good, or very bad - and frighteningly enough? She wasn't sure what she wanted the outcome to be. That was precisely what scared her.

"Get a grip." With a sigh, she straightened up and cleared her throat, looking down her front to make sure she looked presentable enough. She looked pretty damn good if she said so herself. 'Dante would be crazy to give this up,' she thought before she could stop herself. Blinking several times, she shook her head, and knocked firmly on his front door.

Dante pulled the steaks out of the broiler just as she knocked. He jumped and glanced out the window. Her car sat in the driveway. It couldn't be anyone else. He set each steak on plates already filled with salad and potatoes, then quickly checked his reflection in the oven door. His hair could use another run through with a comb, but he didn't have time.

Chill out, he told himself as he strode toward the door. It's not like it's the first date.

In a way, though, it was. He braced himself, then pulled open the door, unleashing the scent of spices. Astrid stood on his front stoop, looking damn good for someone who closed a grocery store about an hour ago. "Hey," he managed. Then, composing himself, he gestured to the kitchen. "Come on in." He glanced at the table, all set with napkins, steaming food, and candles, and wished he held back on the candles. They might be way, way too much. Hell, the whole thing might be too much, but it was too late. "You hungry?" he asked.

Astrid had all of about five seconds to compose herself and put her game face on. When he opened the door, she smiled brightly up at him, as if this wasn't already awkward enough. "Hi!" She stepped inside, her heel clicking rhythmically on the tile. Wincing inside, she wondered if she should take them off.

"Oh, I'm starving!" She nodded as she set her purse down beside the couch, turning to look at the table. Her eyebrows raised, but not at all in a disapproving way. This was a rather pleasant surprise. Why couldn't he have done more stuff like this when they were dating? ... While they were dating? What the hell was their status, anyway? she wondered as she took a seat.

Sniffing the air, she turned to smile at him. "Wow, Dante, this smells great! You must've really out-done yourself!"

"Thanks, but try it before you thank me," he said, taking the seat across from her. Since he had no idea what their status was, he set the table with their places across from each other -- just in case. His stomach growled as he cut into his steak, and he chewed a little warily. The juices from the burnt off oil and marinade -- a variety of spices he found in his kitchen -- burst into his mouth. He couldn't help but smile, impressed with his own cooking.

But, he reminded himself, it can be the best cooking in the world and it still won't change anything. He suddenly realized that, beyond eating, he had no idea what to do now that Astrid arrived and sat across from him. "What do you think?" he asked, focusing on the food and hoping the rest would fall into place.

Somehow, sitting across from him eased her fears. Astrid unfolded her paper napkin, spreading it rather lady-like on her lap, and scootched her chair in close to the table. Her tongue wet her lips as she watched him cut into his steak, and she mimicked his movements, fork in her right hand, and knife in her left. Looking down at her plate, she took her time cutting up her steak into small, bite-sized pieces. Once satisfied, she stabbed a piece, and popped it into her mouth.

She knew that Dante was a sufficient cook, but the tenderness of the steak combined with the marinade made the piece of meat practically melt in her mouth. A little groan was exhaled: "Oh, Dante, this is fantastic." She simply could not help her enthusiasm, and she beamed at him as soon as she swallowed. Somehow, he was beginning to change in her eyes, and for the time being, she allowed herself to see him as a new man.

Just relax. Eat your food, relax, and try to have a good time. Astrid breathed in, listening to the little mantra replay in her head, and felt her nervousness dissipating. For a long minute or two, she calmed down and enjoyed her food, though eventually she slowed, setting her fork on her plate. "I miss you, Dante." The words came tumbling out before she really had a chance to consider their weight - but once they were out, there was no stopping them. Her hands fell into her lap, clasping, gaze trained onto her plate. After a moment, she dared to look up at his face, testing his reaction.

His last bite hung in midair as he absorbed her words. Slowly, he put the fork down. Now that he finally heard what he most wanted to hear, he had no idea how to react without blowing it.

"I miss you, too," he said slowly. "I really, really do." He stood and crossed the kitchen to the counter and came back with a pamphlet. "I've been sober for a few weeks now, but honestly, I'm kind of afraid I might have a drink the second something goes wrong. So," he said, putting down the pamphlet, "I've been thinking about doing some kind of program."

He slid the pamphlet across the table to her. "It's thirty days, and I can keep working and stuff. It's outpatient or something like that. I'm willing to do anything, anything for you, so I can be the man you deserve. I know I haven't been that guy. I'm trying, though. I really am. Maybe, if I do this... Maybe we can hang out more or something," he said, leaving the proverbial ball in her court.

Astrid felt her heart drop into her stomach.

Her lips parted wordlessly as she looked up at him, mild surprise and alarm evident in her eyes. Breathing in, she stared at the pamphlet right in front of her. The words Rest Haven stared back up at her as she bit down on her bottom lip, finally reaching a small white hand out to pick up the paper. Her hand trembled as she looked from the pamphlet, to Dante, and then back to the pamphlet. In the soft lighting, her green eyes had grown red, glassy.

"I ..." Her voice broke immediately, and she pursed her lips, blinking hard. Was this all a dream? This was far more than what she had ever expected, ever hoped for. She swallowed hard, and tried speaking again after several long, agonizing moments. "Dante ..." She raised a hand, fingertips wiping away unshed tears that threatened to ruin her well-done makeup. "If ... if this ... I mean, if you want this ... Dante, you know I'm behind you completely if this is what you want to do." Her words came quickly now; they did not properly convey the range of emotions she was experiencing.

"This ..." Astrid set down the pamphlet back down in front of her, looking up at him. "I think this would be a very good idea." Her quivering lips turned into a small, hopeful smile. The tears began to roll, one by one.

He smiled, relieved by her reaction, and reached across the table to wipe the tears as they fell. Rest Haven would be good for him. In thirty days' time, things would be back to normal again, all for a small fee. He wished he had thought of it before. It all came back to commitment; if he could prove to her that he could commit to thirty days of treatment, he could prove to her that he could commit to their relationship. They could have avoided everything, if only he had realized it sooner.

He wanted to say so, but didn't know which words to use. Instead he left the table and returned with a few tissues. "Here," he said, handing them to her. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he said, referring to much more than the last few minutes. "I'm sorry."

Astrid had the same hopes as Dante. She hoped that maybe, just maybe this was what he needed. She tried to speak, but the tears kept coming in huge, heaving, soundless sobs. Her makeup was completely destroyed.

"T-Thank you," she snuffled, accepting the tissues. Her face was red, streaked with tears and mascara, and she covered her face, wiping it. It was several minutes before she could speak again, wiping her face clean with the ball of used tissues, taking a gigantic breath of air. "Oh, Dante," she said when she could, her lip still quivering. She wiped her palms on her pants before she rose to her feet, moving around the table. Her hands found his, and she urged him back onto his feet, wrapped her arms tightly around his body when he stood.

"When will you go?" Her voice was thick with emotion, muffled as she was speaking into his shoulder. She closed her eyes. This had to be a dream.

He hesitated. He hadn't thought of "when." He held her tight and stroked her hair while he thought, all fences down for the moment, and wondered what he got himself into. He couldn't even remember if the pamphlet had listed hours, mostly because he hadn't read much of the information in it. He suddenly remembered something about a payment plan.

"As soon as I can pull together enough money to start a payment plan," he replied, and felt his heart slow. He would have to call them first thing in the morning to see when he could start. "Are you okay?" he asked, and slowly let her go.

Astrid could feel his tension, his hesitation, and she almost started to sob all over again. Was he second-guessing himself, his decision? But from somewhere within her, she found a reserve of strength, and she steeled herself. No more crying. She had to be strong, for the both of them.

"I-I'm okay," she breathed, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep, gusty sigh. She wanted to keep holding onto him, to hold his hands, and to hold him close, but she could not bring herself to reach for him again. Why? Biting her lip, she looked up to him, almost hopefully. "I've ... been saving my money. I could lend you some, if that's what it takes." She paused. Was that too much to offer? But that was just how much his sobriety was worth it to her. "It's .. it's no problem, to do that, I mean. I have enough, and I can get financial aid to go back to school, and I still live with my parents, so it's not like I have bills to pay, and ..." She was clearly discombobulated, overwhelmed by the idea of him actually taking such a huge step towards recovery. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

He felt nauseous at the thought of taking her money, especially when he hadn't given much thought to the program until he realized it would help him win her back. He staggered back and sank into a chair, disgusted with himself. He realized he was taking advantage of her again, and it made him despicable, even if he hadn't meant to. She's a good girl, he thought. She's a good girl, and you're ruining her.

He knew he needed to answer her question. He just didn't know how. The need for a drink swept over him again like a dark, warm blanket in the dead of winter, and he knew without a doubt that even if he went to rehab, he would end up drinking again anyway.

"I..." he started, then shook his head. "I can't take your money. And you need to go. I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore," he said, tapping the final nail into the fence he had been building for years. This time, though, he knew it was the only choice.

The hope faded from her eyes immediately as soon as he banished her from his apartment. Her mouth hung open, slack: she felt the instinctual drive to fight for him ... until she realized that she was drained. The fight, the desire had been worn away, and she looked away from him, not moving. Was this really how it was going to end? Was he truly that far gone that he was already second-guessing himself minutes after he told her he would get help? It felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.

She did not say anything, her limbs moving independently while static buzzed in her brain. If he said anything more to her, his words would not register - her vision swam. Astrid could see herself pushing her chair in, the plate of barely-touched food, her hands picking up her purse. She watched as the door opened and then shut, her feet carrying her back to her car. It had started to rain while she was inside, but she did not notice it, the way it caused her hair to plaster to her face.

Astrid got into the driver's seat, and sat there numbly. She sat perfectly still and listened as the rain pelted the car, the thunder rumbling in the distance. Slowly, she raised her gaze to the review mirror. She felt naked sans makeup: her green eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, the shadows of her make-up remaining beneath her eyes.

Unable to comprehend, unable to think, her hand lifted to the ignition and turned the key. As if on auto-pilot, she pulled out of the parking space and turned out into the street, into the rain, leaving behind Dante and his impenetrable fence behind for what could very well be the last time ever.

If Only I Could Make You Mine

Dante lay on the floor of his newly cleaned living room, staring up at the ceiling. The multiple beer bottles and pizza crusts littering the floor had been trashed, and he had also vacuumed. A new ceramic ashtray replaced the broken one. Using his unemployment check, he bought Pledge, Windex, and Fantastic, rushing through the apartment and scrubbing away the fears and thoughts that plagued him. The kitchen floor gleamed. The refrigerator looked full when he opened the door. He had gotten rid of the alcohol in the apartment: the vodka in the freezer, the whiskey in the kitchen cabinet underneath the sink, and the small "emergency" bottle of whiskey in the bathroom cabinet. The only bottle he missed was the small bottle of Jack Daniels he had hidden behind some DVDs on the entertainment center remained in its space, but only because he didn't remember putting it there.

An hour ago, Chris had called to see if Dante wanted to hang out, but Dante had told him he couldn't.

The apartment smelled fantastic -- no pun intended. For the first time in months, Dante felt honestly proud of himself. He still doubted that he could change, that he could make Astrid happy, and that he could ever be a father, but he felt like he had taken a step in the right direction.

He reached for his cell phone on the coffee table and dialed Astrid's number. It was five o'clock. Listening to the phone ring in his ear, he hoped that she was up -- even though he had no idea what he was going to say to her.

Astrid herself had been awake for several hours: having scored the day off for a doctor’s appointment, she was more than elated to have another day off in her shitty week. Plus, she was interviewing three people tomorrow, so with any luck, she could fill the other position and have her life back. Once work settled down, she decided she was going to school – and to look for a better job.

At the moment, however, she was finishing up putting away her folded laundry in her room. The entire house was silent, since Mr. and Mrs. Liljegren went to Arizona to visit some family. They’d be gone until the following week. Normally, Astrid would have called all her friends over for a party – she had before, on a few occasions back in high school. The memories made her smile slightly, though somewhat sadly. She was a little too old for that now, though many of her peers would have disagreed. She was nearly twenty-three, and already she felt like an old woman. That was another thing that needed to change – she needed to stop stressing out, loosen up a bit.

It had been over a week since their parting at Denny’s, and Dante had been quiet. She expected that. So when her phone began to ring on her nightstand, she raised an eyebrow at his name on the display, but picked up all the same. “Hey, Dante.”

"Hey," he said, relieved that she wasn't ignoring him. He glanced around the room, finding it soothing that he could actually move around in it. Everything felt clean and new. Even the couch smelled good, thanks to Febreze.

He sighed. "I don't know where to start. Things have been so shitty, and I didn't realize that everything I was doing was affecting us. And me." He paused and shook his head. "No. I need to say that I didn't realize my drinking so much was affecting you. Us. Me. I didn't even realize that I was drinking so much. I don't know how I couldn't have." He knew the signs: an agitated father, a crying and isolated mother. When he stepped back and looked at the big picture, there wasn't much of a difference between Mr. and Mrs. Cerevino's relationship and Dante's relationship with Astrid. Except, he reminded himself, he had never hit Astrid. He had hurt his hand, badly, and he had called her a tyrant and made her cry, but he hadn't physically hurt her. Yet. The thought made him want to vomit.

"Anyway," he said, sitting up and physically shaking his head and shoulders as if to shake everything off, "I threw everything out. No beer, no vodka, no whiskey. I might even throw away the one-hitter. And," he said, grinning, "I cleaned the whole place."

As Dante sighed and began to talk, Astrid cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, listening as she finished putting away her clothes and set the hamper down, sitting down on the foot of her huge bed. The part where he said he hadn’t realized he had been drinking so much sounded like the truth to her; after all, he had been so indignant and insistent that it wasn’t that bad. Breathing in through her nose, she closed her eyes, straightening her back. She was sure Dante was a good person beneath the alcoholism, the rough and shady past with his family. Some people on this planet were inherently evil, and there was no redemption for them – but Dante … she could tell Dante was beginning to really want to make things right.

Opening her eyes, she smiled softly at the thought of him cleaning. “Everything out, huh?” Her voice was lightly, a bit airy as if she was teasing him – she believed that he dumped everything, though as they both knew, there was nothing physically stopping him from replenishing his supply. Even so, it was a step in the right direction. “Cleaned the whole place? I don’t even know if I can picture that.” She laughed with a little grin. “That sounds great, Dante.”

He stretched and chuckled, feeling kind of like a little kid. "I even Febrezed," he said. He didn't need AA; he had his own twelve-step program: clean the house, use Febreze, and throw out the booze! He felt airy, too, as if he had taken something. He almost felt giddy. There was even a good amount of money left in his checking account.

"Listen," he said, pushing off from the floor and searching for his car keys. "I have some extra money from my unemployment." Had he told her about that? Oh well. No worries! They could talk about everything they had missed in the last few weeks, play catch-up. "I was thinking I could take you to the mall, take you shopping?" He bounced the keys -- found on his kitchen counter -- in his hand. The summer sun coming in through the kitchen windows felt exhilarating on his skin. Things were so, so good.

Astrid paused, blinking at his sudden perky tone; pulling the phone from her ear and glancing at him. Did she hear him right? He wanted to take her shopping? “Uhm,” she said, a bit flabbergasted. He had mentioned losing his job, so the unemployment check mention did not surprise her, though she made a small mental note to ask him about that. “Well, we, uh …” She was more flustered than she thought. Brows knitting together, she tried again. “We could get together if you want, but you don’t have to take me shopping. You should probably save that money …”

What had gotten into him? Clearly this was him trying to make a chance, but she found this new Dante a bit unnerving – but then, maybe she was making things out to be bigger in her head than what they really were. They’d only seen each other twice in the past three weeks; it would be nice to hang out with him, maybe talk again. He seemed cheerful and reasonable enough.

"Aww, come on! It'll be fun. You can try on lingerie." He winked, then remembered she couldn't see him. "There's a wink after that," he said. "I'll pick you up?" He spoke quickly, barely pausing between his words. It was like his brain was brand new; he could see every detail, everything felt so fresh and perfect and great.

He just felt so damn good.

Astrid was conflicted. Dante being cheerful was not normal, so she was slightly apprehensive – on the other hand, maybe this was him making an honest effort. He said he was not happy with things either; perhaps this was Dante’s way of trying to rectify things. She wasn’t sure why he wanted to take her out shopping, and she hoped he wasn’t consciously attempting to ‘buy’ her back, so to speak. Still, she could indulge him with her company. And he was so damn happy-sounding, she couldn’t refuse him. Briefly, she saw her old boyfriend, before things got too complicated.

“Alright, alright,” she laughed. “Come and pick me up in twenty minutes, then.” A cursory glance to the mirror: she’d put on a little make-up and change her shirt.

"Okay, cool, see you then!" He hung up and walked out the door.

Almost twenty minutes later, he pulled up to her place, fingers tapping out the drum beat to Megadeth. They could grab something to eat (maybe even at an actual restaurant, instead of the food court or Denny's again), do some shopping (he would love a new CD), and just hang out. Things would be just like normal -- the way they used to be. He refused to say or do anything negative that might start another fight. He would not call her a tyrant, he would not make her cry, and he would not think about having a drink.

He glanced anxiously at her front door, as if she may have changed her mind at the last minute and decided to barricade the door. Remembering her hinting that she didn't want to be alone with him, that she was afraid of him, he kept glancing from the digital display on the dashboard to the front door.

Astrid was in the middle of putting on her black Oxford heels (short heels, of course – she saved the stilettos for going out and other special occasions, lest she break her neck in them) when she heard the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. Peeking out the front window, she confirmed it was Dante before picking up her purse, and turning to the mirror on the wall by the door to check her reflection. She had to admit it, she looked great: her hair was still a deliciously vibrant dark crimson, her make-up was nearly flawless, and the shirt she had changed into suited her black skinny jeans well. Over time, she noticed how her style evolved: from grungy punk rocker teenager, to well-dressed and polished adult. Interesting how these things happened.

One final long look in the mirror – she told herself not to worry, to just try to have a good time – before she stepped out the front door, purse over her shoulder. Making her way to the car, she slid inside, smiling congenially over at him. “Hey,” she said, suddenly almost shy.

His eyes roamed from her heels to her hair, his face wearing a soft and crooked smile. He felt like a teenager again, remembering when he first saw her at one of Chris' long ago parties. "Hey," he said.

Seeing her had a calming effect; Dante's very molecules stopped jumping all over the place, and he continued to glance at her as he put the car into drive and pulled away from her house. "You look nice," he said, eyes flicking down to his nearly retired jeans and Nirvana tee shirt. A horrible thought occurred to him: What if she grew out of him? Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he wiped it away with the back of a hand.

Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on driving and making small talk. "How was your day?"

Astrid smiled at the compliment as she buckled in, leaning back in the car seat. “Thanks,” she said, glancing out the window as they pulled away from the house. “My day? Uhm … it was okay. Had a doctor’s appointment. Did laundry. That’s really about it – I go back to work tomorrow, so, you know how it is.” Or he used to, anyway. That’s right, she had to ask him about his job! Just as she was about to, the thought occurred to her that, really, she probably already knew the answer.

“How was yours?” She said, a little lamely. Small talk like this seemed okay – they hadn’t had any time to catch up, though as Astrid really thought about it, she didn’t have anything new to report to him. “So you really cleaned, huh? That’s impressive. Were you that bored?"

He laughed. "No, I just... I dunno. I just had to do something, you know?" He jumped onto the highway, urging the car up to fifty, sixty, then an even seventy.

"My day was okay. I was at the tattoo shop this morning, cleaning toilets like usual. One of the guys might be leaving, so the position might be mine, but I'm not holding my breath. It's all right, though. My unemployment check was pretty nice." He wanted to ask her about the doctor's appointment, but told his mind to shut up. Her wanting a family and going to the doctor just a week later had to be a coincidence, that was all.

She laughed a little, shaking her head. “At the rate I’ve been working, I’d almost kill to be unemployed right now. I’ve been so tired.” Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the window, watching the road. “Thankfully that’s all going to come to an end – the stress is really taking its toll on me. Hence the doctor’s appointment.” In case there were any misconceptions; she knew that deep down, Dante was not much different than she was when it came to over-analyzing things.

Sitting up a bit, she looked back at him. “At least you’ve got something to help occupy you; the tattoo shop, I mean.” It wasn’t much of a comfort, though. She knew how badly he wanted to move up at the shop and become a real artist – maybe things would be better for him now he was trying to change his life.

“I’ve been thinking about going back to school.” She wanted to fill the silence between them, keep the flow of positive conversation going. “I have my associates, maybe now it’s time to get my Bachelor’s, so I can get a real job. No more of this grocery store crap, I want a job that I actually somewhat like.” At least something that pertained to her interests – like Dante and the tattoo parlor. She envied him in that respect, even if he was doing basic grunt work.

Dante glanced at her, then quickly looked back at the road. He wished that he could go to school, but his high school grades had sucked and he had no special skills other than playing guitar, drawing, and fucking things up when they were going well. Still, she had asked him just a week ago how he would take care of her and their hypothetical family. Although he was relieved that the doctor's appointment was just normal, the possibility of an accident or Astrid wanting more was now too real, and he had no idea how he was going to live up to that.

He swallowed hard. Refusing to let anything ruin his elation, he tried to turn the happy back on. "Well, one of us has to actually succeed at life," he said, winking.

Poor Dante. Astrid didn’t really realize just how much pressure she had put on him. She looked over at him, a little surprised – she hadn’t meant anything against him. “There’s no reason you couldn’t go back to school if you ever wanted to,” she said softly, feeling a little guilty. “I just … I don’t want to get stuck, is all. I don’t want wake up as an old woman and realize I’m still cashiering in a freaking grocery store.” She shook her head, sending red strands to and fro.

Dante, however, could viably make a living from tattooing if he ever had the chance. She’d watched him practice on Chris one day a year or two back: Chris wanted Dante to ink a small, old school-looking bomb on his ankle. She remembered watching Dante, how skillfully he maneuvered the gun, the concentrated look on his face as he easily but carefully inked on the straight lines. Hell, Dante could do much more with himself … what, exactly, Astrid didn’t know. “Isn’t there anything you would want to learn? Or what would be your ideal job?”

He shook his head. "I know you didn't. And I dunno. I have no idea what I want to do. Something. Something that makes money." He shrugged and signaled for the mall exit.

"I did a touch-up the other day, though," he said. "As long as this guy leaves, I'm in. I still want a grownup job, though. Something you have to get an education for, so no one can say you're unqualified or not doing anything with your life." He shrugged again. The ecstatic feeling from before was fading, and he knew he had to lighten the mood before he got too serious. "What are you gonna go to school for?" He asked, continuing with the idle banter.

Clearly Astrid’s words had gotten to him. Dante was not someone that was overly concerned about making money – so long as he had enough to scrape by on, he was fine. Money did not hold the same security to him as it did to her, and that’s where her guilt had come in. She wondered if he took to heart what she said about wanting a family: ideally, she had hoped that he would eventually want the same thing. If not, then she wasn’t entirely sure what would happen. Even now, she couldn’t tell if he was opposed to the idea, though hopefully children would still be a long way off for them. Just because Astrid was certain she wanted a family one day did not mean she was in a hurry to begin.

However, it seemed like he had done a lot of thinking. She wondered about the remark about not doing anything with ones’ life, trying to remember if she had said anything to that effect the previous week. Uncertain of whether or not she did, she still warmed to the idea, because she knew in the long wrong, he’d benefit from obtaining real life skills. “I don’t know yet. I’m torn between psychology, nursing, or maybe something practical, like business, or education, or whatever.” She was more inclined to the first two herself. “I don’t know, though, I need to figure out how I can pay for school … I need to talk to my parents.” The Liljegren’s had been on Astrid to finish her schooling; easy for them to say, since they each had their Master’s, and her father was beginning his Doctorate. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to invest so much time into school, but the future was still wide open on that one.

It had been quite some time since they had been to Woodfield – the last time Astrid remembered coming here was when they went Christmas shopping a year or two back. She smiled to herself as they cruised the parking lot for a space, before finally pulling into one and getting out. This was going to be a good day, she decided as she stretched her arms outside of the car. She was going to make damn sure of it.

Dante wished that all he had to do was talk to his parents. After almost twenty-three years of practically raising himself, he doubted they would care now, nor would they be willing to pay for any school expenses. In many ways, Astrid had it really good, and he felt like he was just bringing her down.

Sighing, he followed her into the mall, hands jammed into his front pockets. He tried to recall the way he had felt before leaving the house, but it seemed like his earlier (over) enthusiasm had taken off without leaving so much as a note. Still, he was determined to not let his cloudy thoughts and worries ruin their night. "Are you hungry?" he asked, forcing a little enthusiasm into his voice.

If only Astrid realized what a hole she had dug for them both. She hadn’t meant to send Dante into self-doubt, nor had she meant to flaunt the help she could get from her parents. The thought sent a small cringe inward, and she resolved to be more careful of what she said and how she said it, least she bothered him. She felt like she had done enough damage to his poor psyche to last him a life time.

“Sure, I’m hungry.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled quietly; she had eaten breakfast, but skipped lunch that day. “What are you in the mood for?” She left his side to head a few feet off to the left to examine the mall directory.

Sensing her worry, Dante bent down and kissed her forehead. He straightened up and looked at the directory, his head cocked to one side. "Uh." His stomach growled, loudly, and he tried to remember when he had last eaten. This morning? Last night? "It's up to you," he said. "We can eat at a restaurant, the food court, whatever."

Leaving it up to her, he scanned the directory for men's clothing stores. He wanted to replace the tee shirts and jeans he had worn since high school for something more sophisticated, mature. The problem was, he didn't know what mature men who listened to death metal and grunge wore. Luckily, he had Astrid with him for advice, but he didn't want to make too big a deal out of it. He suspected that she would suspect him of trying too hard if she knew all of the things running through his mind. He rolled his eyes at himself. He was turning out to be a real head case.

Luckily for Dante, Astrid already had a few ideas of her own when it came to clothes. She was female after all, and since he seemed keen enough to get on track, she figured maybe getting him out of jeans and t-shirts might help give him a boost. She knew once she shed her own casual image into something a little more feminine, she felt much better about herself, and though it would be a step for Dante, perhaps it would make a difference. Secretly, she was plotting on taking him to some stores to see if she could get him to try anything on.

That, however, would have to wait until later. She read through the list for apparel first and made a few mental notes, before examining what the mall had to offer for food. “You wanna go to Todai?” She asked, referencing the Japanese and seafood buffet. She knew one of the hostesses there who could hook them up with a discount, provided she was working today.

"Uh-huh." He frowned. There were three -- possibly four -- sports stores, a Hot Topic, PacSun, Hollister and Abercrombie (he would die first) and the standard department stores: Sears, Macy's, JCPenney. The thought of walking into one of the department stores made him feel like he should just hit rock bottom and buy loafers.

"Huh? Yeah, Todai is fine," he said, forcing himself to look away from the directory. "I could go for some sushi. They do have sushi, right? It's been way too long."

Astrid couldn’t imagine Dante in loafers. The stores that caught her eye ran more along the lines of H&M, Ralph Lauren, Urban Outfitters, and the like – she’d spent the day before scrolling through sites, looking for things for herself before her mind began to wander on how she could improve Dante’s style. This, however, would probably have to take place in baby steps, but she would be patient. In the meantime, she tallied up a list of stops along the way in her mind, before she turned to smile at Dante. “Yes, they have sushi. They have pretty much anything along the lines of seafood and Japanese food, so I think you’ll be happy.”

Leading the way downstairs, she suddenly felt a wave of exuberance spread through her, making her feel giddy and slightly light-headed. This was going to be something positive: even though she sensed Dante’s move taking a slight nosedive, she was not to be undeterred. She would take the reins if she had to!

And so, she marched them to the front of the huge buffet/restaurant. Sure enough, her friend Emiko was sitting behind the counter, mouth opening in surprise at the sight of Astrid. “Assi!” The young Japanese woman came around the counter to embrace her old friend – they took a moment to chatter girlishly between them, before Astrid turned to Dante. “Dante, this is my friend from school, Emiko. I don’t know if you remember her, but we were in Creative Writing together for Junior year. Emiko, this is Dante.” She only had a second to make a snap decision on how to introduce him: calling him her boyfriend was probably not entirely accurate at the moment (Were they truly broken up? Stuck in relationship limbo?), and friend seemed much too fillipant. She didn’t want to hurt Dante’s feelings, so she bypassed the relationship part, settling instead to introduce him by name.

“Good to meet you, Dante.” Emiko smiled broadly at the young man, before turning to Astrid. “Here, let’s find you guys some place to sit.” She cheerily headed off inside the restaurant; Astrid turned and gave Dante a small smile, before following her friend.

They were given a table next to the window, far enough from the crowd of other people seated, but close enough to the long, winding counters that displayed trays upon trays of tantalizing Asian fare. Todai, Astrid decided, had been a good choice. “Thanks, Emiko,” she said to her friend with a smile. “Can I get a Pepsi, no ice, please?” While Emiko got Dante’s drink order, she removed her light sweater, her purse, setting them down on the chair beside her.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks – go ahead and enjoy, you two!” And with that, Emiko bounced back off out of sight. Astrid, meanwhile, grinned over at Dante.

“Ready to get stuffed?” With lots of delicious food, of course!

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Last one back to the table pays." Of course he would pay, but he took off for the buffet before she could respond. Grabbing a plate, he began weaving through the aisles, piling on things he didn't know and things he was familiar with -- crab legs, teriyaki chicken, white rice, and sushi of course -- without really looking at them. He needed to regroup, and grabbing food was the perfect excuse.

As he reached for a few pieces of shrimp tempura sushi, Dante too thought about their romantic status. Astrid had not called him her boyfriend, but that didn't mean anything, right? His eyebrows knotted as he stared at some other sushi he had never seen before. He missed high school, as much as he hated to admit it. Things were so much less complicated then, even though he had all but dropped out in order to work so he could keep the apartment he rented in his sister's name. He needed to call Val; he hadn't spoken to her in a few months.

His plate almost overflowed. Dante looked down at it and sighed, then headed back to the table. Couldn't he be someone else, just for the next couple of hours? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astrid. He slowed, pretending to consider something that looked like seafood but could have been some kind of alien. He didn't want to be the first one back, race or not.

Meanwhile, Astrid took her time selecting her food, lost in her own thoughts. Hovering over near the soups, she debated whether or not she wanted the udon or miso. Sighing, she settled for a cup of miso, half-wishing that was the hardest choice she'd have to make. Glancing back over her shoulder, she looked across the way at Dante. Something about the way he looked made ... well, something in her stomach break.

She loved him. He had been the most important person in her life the past four years; she couldn't just turn her back on him. He had been more than her boyfriend, he had been her best friend. He knew all her secrets, her private thoughts and desires. He knew her inside and out.

On the other hand, she felt like her grasp on him had slipped drastically. He knew her well - but how well could she say he knew him?

Stop, she told herself. She needed to be in the moment, focus on him. If she stopped thinking, started observing him, read his body language, maybe she could learn something about him. Biting the bullet, she returned to the table to discover, unsurprisingly, she had gotten there first.

Dante eyed his overflowing plate for renegade rice balls as he carefully weaved through the buffet tables and other people, reaching his and Astrid's table seconds after her. "I'm not sure I'm gonna finish all of this," he mumbled as he slowly set the plate down and slid into the booth.

Things had changed between them, but Dante couldn't be sure whether the change had occurred because of his drinking, or if their individual personalities had changed too drastically for them to be together. Face it, he wanted to say to her. We've grown apart; you've grown up and I've gone absolutely nowhere. Just looking at their appearances told him just how much things had changed. Astrid had morphed into a woman, while Dante remained a clueless teenager trapped in a man's body. No wonder those public service announcements always encouraged a strong paternal presence in children's lives.

He shoved something that might have been calamari but didn't quite taste like it into his mouth, chewing slowly and then swallowing before speaking. He hated to ruin the light tone of the day, but he hated even more to pretend like his head hadn't turned into a whirlpool. He set down his chopsticks and looked at her.

"You think I've got enough food? I don't even know what this is," he said, pointing to the calamari thing and mentally kicking himself for being such a chicken. "It's good, though."

Astrid laughed, gesturing to her own plate. “Are you kidding me? I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish this.” Should have smoked a joint before we left, she thought to herself. Still, her appetite was healthy after being on the rails for the past few weeks – she was beginning to grow concerned that the only time she could really eat was after she smoked. It was difficult enough to get herself on a healthy eating pattern, so taking a toke or three off a joint every two hours was damn near impossible at work. She did it here and there when she knew she could get away with it, but still …

Even so, the food was delicious: the sushi was a burst of many different flavors in her mouth, so good that she skipped over the soy sauce. It was clear she had been very selective in her food choices – if one didn’t know any better, it would seem like she was watching her weight. Astrid was a slender thing, but over the past few months, she noticed that, while she retained her girlish figure, her breasts and hips had begun to grow just a bit. She wasn’t bothered by her newfound curves – in fact, she had begun to re-do her wardrobe around them. But there was still the paranoid fear that she would one day become like the rest of America’s population, and that did not sit well with her. May as well start prevention early, right?

She was focusing on her miso soup now, leaning forward with her lips pursed to blow, ladylike, on the soup. Glancing over to Dante, she smiled at him after swallowing the mouthful of miso. “This is really nice, Dante,” she said honestly, heartfelt. “I’m really glad you invited me out.” Astrid was merely happy to get out of the house to spend some time with him. Maybe this was what they needed to help give them a boost to get back to normal – whatever normal was.

Maybe, by dredging up the bad stuff, he would ruin their chances at fixing things.

"It is nice," he agreed, setting his questions about their status aside for the moment. He needed to focus on the here and the now, and put all of his energy into having a good time. He wished he could figure everything out instantly -- or at least figure out how he was going to prove himself to her. Ever since their conversation about the future, Dante had turned his mind over and over trying to figure out how he would take care of Astrid and their hypothetical family.

As they ate, he watched the way her newly red hair caught the light, noted the curves that he had somehow missed as they appeared. Not only did she have her shit together -- she looked like she had her shit together!

"You look good," he blurted.

Astrid looked up suddenly, a bit surprised at the sudden remark. “Oh, you think so?” Straightening up a bit, she grinned. “Yeah, I’ve, uhm … put on a few pounds over the past few months somehow, but not too many.” She finished off her miso, and resumed eating her teriyaki chicken. “I thought I looked okay, but you know.” A dismissive shrug as she pulled back strands of hair behind her ears as she ate, wishing she’d remembered a hair tie. Too late now.

After his remark on her appearance, she really began to examine his discreetly as they continued chatting and eating. He hadn’t put on much weight himself – in fact, he definitely looked as though he lost a few pounds. Astrid supposed that’s what happens when you drink your calories, but it was still a bit unsettling. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex, and searched her memory banks. Had he looked so thin then? Even the bagginess of his clothes couldn’t mask his gauntness, because it was beginning to show on his face. Dante looked different too – still handsome, of course, but also a little older than his near twenty-three years. The realization depressed Astrid.

When they finished, he had settled the bill; bidding Emiko farewell and stepping back out into the mall, Astrid glanced around. “Alright,” she said, turning to him with a wide grin. “Where do you wanna start first? Any suggestions?” She’d already made up her mind that this was going to be a good day; time to turn back on the cheeriness.

Dante shrugged and dropped into a bench, rubbing at his face with his hands. Waves of heat washed over him. He swiped sweat off of his forehead and wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. He had hoped he could get through this shopping trip without the hot flashes, hoping that he was out of the woods (a quick Google search days ago had told him he might deal with the nausea and sweats for over a week). Maybe cold turkey was not the best idea. Maybe he should just have a shot of something, just to make this stop for a while.

"Wherever you want," he said. "Just give me a minute." He leaned over, balancing his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands. At least he wasn't having any weird hallucinations. He had read some horror stories on one website. He peered between his fingers, afraid that Astrid would be watching him, disappointment clear on her face.

When Dante did raise his head up, he could see that Astrid’s face was full of concern. Eyebrows raised high as she dropped down on the bench beside him, a hand snaking around his arm to rest on his knee. “Dante,” she said, voice gentle, “are you alright?”

She was no fool – she knew what this was. She searched the recesses of her memory banks; long ago, she had looked up alcoholism, its causes and symptoms and what to expect when going cold turkey. Recalling that list, she realized that was precisely what was happening: he was going through withdrawal, which meant he truly had gone cold turkey. The thought touched her, but also caused worry; this was liable to push him back over the edge. An irrational voice told her it was her job to make sure he stayed on the wagon at any cost: move into his place to keep an eye on him night and day. But that was ridiculous, she told herself. Dante was a grown adult, and this was the choice he made. Therefore, he had to live with it – at least, with her to help take care of him.

He was looking better, but she made no move to get up, instead moving closer so their legs were touching. “Is there anything I can do?” Reason told her no, but the maternal mother hen instinct had taken over. She was not getting up until he was ready.

He took a deep breath, trying to force the nausea away. He remembered his mom rubbing his sister's wrists, on a rare occasion when she had pretended to mother them. The Cerevinos had gone on a cruise, and Val was violently seasick. The pressure points, he remembered, eased the nausea. He found the soft bone easily; before, he had not realized just how much weight he had lost. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the place where he felt his pulse the strongest, and began rubbing in a clockwise motion.

"Shoot me," he said, smiling weakly. "This is normal, though, for stopping," he added quickly, not wanting her to think he had drank too much the night before or something. He realized she might already know that, but he didn't want any assumptions made. Again he thought of having a single shot. He would feel so much better if he just had that shot. During his Googling, he had learned that a hangover was actually alcohol withdrawal. Maybe it wasn't true, but it made sense; he had felt hungover for the past week. Besides, when you were hungover, drinking a beer first thing in the morning -- after aspirin -- helped.

Dante took another deep breath and stopped rubbing. For the moment, at least, the nausea and hot flashes had passed. "Okay," he said, getting to his feet shakily. "Where to? Lead the way." Nothing was going to ruin this day, not even his stupidity at thinking he could self-detox.

The poor thing. Astrid could only watch as he rubbed his wrist, observing his fixed gaze. In her heart, she knew he had quit cold turkey, and wasn't just giving her lip service. Dante was not that great of an actor, and it was hard to pull off looking as ill as he did. "Give it a minute," she said, palm resting flat on his leg.

When she seemed satisfied that he would be steady enough to get up, she rose to her feet. "Let's go over here." She curled her arm around his to keep him close, steady on his feet; leading him over to the front of H&M that was split down the middle, guys clothes on the left, girls on the right. Instead of bee-lining to the ladies section, she went for the guys, straight to the rack of jeans. "We need to find you new jeans," announced Astrid as she shuffled through the piles. She didn't have to give his present pair a pointed glance; they both knew the state of all his pants

"Try these on," she said after a minute, handing him three or four pairs of pants with a wide, but slightly expectant smile.

He obeyed, trotting off to the dressing room. He glanced over his shoulder at her a couple of times, his eyebrows furrowed. How had she known he wanted to look for new clothes? And, why hadn't he thought of H&M? It had worked out pretty well; now he didn't have to ask for her help, but he also didn't have to admit what he thought their very different appearances meant.

In the dressing room, he yanked off his old jeans and tossed them onto the bench. He pulled on one of the pairs Astrid had handed to him, zipped the fly, and buttoned them. He didn't have to look in the mirror to know they didn't fit; even with a belt, they would still be loose.

Dante opened the door and poked his head out. "Hey Astrid," he called. "Maybe I should have eaten more."

At the sound of his voice, Astrid looked up at once from the rack of shirts that she had been perusing. Regal brow furrowing into a frown, she abandoned her search, and headed over to the dressing rooms. Slipping inside his changing room, she looked him up and down, a pale hand raising his shirt to examine his abdomen, his hips; taking in the looseness of the denim waistband literally took her breath away.

She drew in a deep breath, looking up in his face: for the briefest of moments, her green eyes were glassed over. “Oh, Dante,” she sighed suddenly, impulsively wrapping her arms around him. As she held him to her full chest, his gauntness seemed all the more apparent. Head and face buried in the curve of his neck and shoulder, she held him tight for several long moments. Had she done this to him? Her lip quivered at the thought, but in the end she firmed, and released him.

“You’re right: we need to work on fattening you up.” Astrid’s voice sounded more light-hearted than it had before, and she offered him up a smile. “I’ll be right back.” She turned away and was out the door, brusquely strolling back over to the jeans rack she had began at. A quick search turned up the same style of jeans she initially had chosen; this time, she picked out a size that would be snugger on his hips, but still left a bit of room in the event he put on a few pounds. A belt would also be sufficient.

Returning with the new stack, she handed the pants over and took the first batch – also giving him several different styles of shirts that she thought would suit him. “There, “ she said brightly, back to her normal perky self. “These should be better.”

"Well, at least I'm not fat," he said, immediately feeling empty when she pulled away from him. "I mean, it just means I can eat whatever I want for a while. That's kind of a nice thought. Fried chicken, Burger King, tacos, Chinese takeout... I think I'm hungry again." He let the jeans fall off of him and stepped out of them. A hanger in one hand, he squeezed the clip with shaking hands, trying to hang the jeans the way they had originally been, and failing. "These freaking things," he said, holding the hanger back and looking at it with his head bent all the way to the left. "If you look at them like this, they don't look crooked." He grinned and hung the hanger from the rack fastened to the dressing room wall.

"Okay, here goes." He took the new jeans and shirts from Astrid, tugged on one pair of jeans, removed his Nirvana tee, and pulled on a crisp white tee shirt and brown cardigan. He had to admit, he looked pretty damn good. The brown complemented his eyes, hair, and skintone, and altogether, he looked his age. "How does my ass look?" He wiggled around in front of the mirror, then turned to Astrid with one eyebrow lifted.

“Wow.” Astrid’s eyes went wide when he finished dressing, her brows raised in shock – but she looked pleased. “Turn around!” Biting down on her bottom lip, she could barely contain her glee at the very sight of him: he looked mature, he looked clean, he looked his age and not like some scruffy homeless teenager off the street. This was turning out better than expected.

“Here, try this shirt on with those pants.” She handed him a dark green short sleeved button down shirt; behind that one to try on next was a plaid long sleeved shirt, with more dark greens and blues. With his tawny complexion and dark hair and eyes, the color combinations were winning ones. She watched him try on the outfits she brought him, hands clasped to her chest, beaming brightly as she watched him transform. He looked like a grown man. “I just can’t get over this,” she said, shaking her head when he was through. “You look like a completely different person – it’s unbelievable!”

He couldn't help but grin. Maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance here. As he tried each outfit on, he felt more and more confident that he could win her back.

"Let's go check these out," Dante said, pulling his own clothes back on and practically dragging Astrid out of the dressing rooms and to the register. He tossed the clothing onto the counter, the hangers clattering together as they touched the surface. When the cashier read him the total, he handed her a wad of bills.

"Where to next?" he asked, turning to Astrid as he took his change and bags.

This had been much easier than Astrid expected. She anticipated him pouting, sulking, or flat-out refusing to shop for himself, and they would be left to a really awkward afternoon of skulking about the mall uncomfortably. Of course, Astrid was doing a little window shopping herself, but this trip was all for him. it was nice to know that his appearance was on his mind: it had not been a deciding factor in their relationship of course, but Astrid was beginning to grow disenchanted with his appearance, just as she was beginning to fully embrace hers. She was feeling more and more like a woman as time went on, desperate to shed the awkward traces of her high-school self - now she radiated confidence, and she badly wanted him to do the same.

"Well," she said with a small, thoughtful sigh as she glanced around at their surroundings. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes narrowing before she spotted both Foot Locker and ALDO at the same time, and then training her gaze to his beat up Converse. "The good news is, with all the new clothes you just got, a new pair of Cons would still look great with them. Or, if you want to look for something a little more fancier, we could try there." Gesturing to ALDO, though she was second-guessing her choice: she did not want to push him too far into a new realm. Baby steps needed to be taken.

Dante looked down at his very ripped, very old, and very comfortable shoes. He glanced at the shoes displayed in the window. Their leather, expensive version of Chucks looked pretty cool, sure -- especially the grey ones -- but the shoes he wore had been with him throughout the last couple of years, literally carrying him through.

He looked at Astrid's hopeful face, then back at his beaten shoes. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic but instead sounding like a little boy whose mother wanted him to go to church. He tried again. "Those grey ones are nice." He walked into the store, purposely avoiding looking at the shoes he was betraying. He found a box marked with his size and stuffed it between his torso and arm. That part, at least, had been quick. He hated to think of his Converses sitting in a landfill somewhere, but they were not part of the big picture. "This is probably a dumb question, but do you wanna look at anything here?"

Right as he asked, Astrid had spied a pair of heels that caught her eye. Shiny patented red, as crimson as her hair. Reluctantly turning to glance back at Dante, she bit down on her bottom lip, suddenly no longer able to contain her grin. "Yeeeaah, actually ..." She wanted this shopping trip to be all about Dante, but it was clear he wanted to take the pressure off of himself. "Gimme just a minute, okay?"

After flashing him a quick grin, she turned and hurried over to the other side of the store where the shoes sat. It was a good thing she hustled; there was another woman hungrily eying the shoes. A quick look revealed that there was only one box left - and they were precisely her size. Holding her breath, she slowly sat down with the box, removing the lid and pulling the shoes out. Kicking off the heels she was already wearing, she very carefully slipped the red ones on. They fit perfectly.

And now for the ultimate test. She stood up - the heels gave her an extra four inches, boosting up her diminutive frame - and walked back and forth in them. They did not rub the back of her heel annoyingly, they made her legs look incredible, and best of all: when she turned and looked at herself in a full length mirror propped up a few feet away, they made her derrière look absolutely fantastic. There was no doubt about it, she had to get them. The price on their tag was a little much, but upon further examination, she saw they were drastically marked down. "Okay," Astrid said once the shoes were boxed up and protectively held to her chest, consciously away of the other woman who had eyed her shoes glowering furiously at her. "I'm ready." She led him over to the check out counter, setting down her box and learning down to rifle through her purse.

Dante watched Astrid check herself out in the mirror, his lips parting slightly and the corners of his mouth turning up a little. Suddenly he realized that, if he could manage to grow up, too, they would be able to look back at the last few years and see that they had grown up together. Years and years of measurement stretched before him, and he wondered what it would be like to look back on their lives when they were, say, married and had a baby.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so bad.

He shook himself out of it as he followed her to the checkout. "I've got it," he said, putting his free hand over hers as she searched for her wallet. He added his own things to the counter and managed not to blink when the cashier announced the total. It wasn't too bad, especially if he reminded himself that the state was covering it.

"I need to find a job," he said as they left the store. "Maybe go back to school." He realized he probably sounded like a sheepish child who had just admitted he was wrong for knocking his sibling's blocks over. He rubbed at the back of his neck and sat down on the nearest bench. The nausea was coming back, just a little, and he swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry," he said. His eyes stubbornly remained dry, but his voice cracked a little. He realized he might be a little dehydrated; it would definitely explain why the nausea wouldn't subside.

Astrid hated to admit it to herself, but sometimes, Dante damn near broke her heart. A small part of her knew he'd cover the cost of her shoes: her kneejerk response was to be slightly perplexed. She didn't need to be bought off. Then she realized that it wasn't that Dante was trying to buy her affection; in a way, he was attempting the role of provider. So she did not protest when he paid. Let the poor man feel good about himself.

Her brows raised in concern as he sat down heavily on a nearby bench, and once again, she moved in close beside him. She closed her eyes when he apologized, and shook her head. "Don't be sorry, baby," she sighed, pursing her lips and pressing a kiss to his brow. His dusky skin was hot, sweaty, and she pulled back with a frown. "Wait here," she instructed. The nurturing aspect of her personality kicked in: he was sick in some way, and she wanted to make him better.

Rising from the bench, she took off briskly, finding a vending machine not far from where they sat. Fishing out a dollar bill and some change, she shoved it into the machine and selected the bottled water. Triumphantly, she returned to Dante's side, proffering the bottle. "Drink this." Once the bottle was in his hands and uncapped, she relaxed next to him once again.

Allowing him a few moments to recollect himself, Astrid sat quietly, thinking. Dante knew he had to get a new job. He even mentioned school. An image of them together, married and with a baby flashed in her mind: her staying at home, him off to work. The idea struck her as very 50s, and very unlike Dante. Was she doing this to him - trying to pidgeonhole him into a role he did not want?

Winding her arm through his, she clasped her hand with his own, lacing their fingers together. "One day at a time, Dante." Turning to peer at him, she raised an eyebrow. "Did you want to look at anything else? Or shall we get going?"

"Thanks," he said. His hands shook as he broke the seal and lifted the bottle to his lips. Water trickled from his mouth as he drained half of the bottle in one go. His head pounded and his stomach squeezed itself. Gritting his teeth, Dante shoved the nausea down. He could throw up later, when he could lay on the floor of his own bathroom, hot cheek against cool tile.

He nodded. "Hate to be a killjoy," he said. "Maybe we could..." He let the next words die, though they echoed through his mind: ...stop and get a drink. Just one shot, maybe two, and the nausea would go away.

He shouldn't have eaten. He shouldn't have drank the water so quickly. He rose from the bench and bolted outside, lighting a cigarette as the fresh air hit him. He gulped down the air, shoving the nausea down again, taking a drag. Part of him realized he looked insane, and that he had left Astrid in the mall, but he didn't care. He pressed his cheek against the cool brick exterior and took slow, deep breaths, interjecting with a hit of nicotine every three or so.

"Fuck me," he said. "I'm in way over my head."

Astrid let him go. It pained her to do so, but she knew she had to: waiting several long beats before she too, stood up. Straightening out the bottom of her shirt, she tipped her head up and breathed deeply. Dante was beginning to lose his grip. She had to do something ... but what? As she gathered up there bags, it hit her that really, there was very little she could do to help him. He had made an admirable choice, true, but ultimately it would be up to him.

She lingered just outside of a Borders to kill a few minutes, before making her way over to the exit. It hadn't been the one they came through, but close enough: they could walk back to the car easily enough. Before emerging out into the early evening, she considered what Dante said and din't say. She had an idea of what he wanted, his physical symptoms told everything. Poor Dante. She couldn't even begin to understand what he was going through.

He hadn't gone far: there were people standing outside smoking, some well-dressed. She found pressed against the wall and made her approach, holding her hand out. "Dante, let me drive home. You look like you need a ... rest." A rest - was that the best she could come up with? Even so, she was already formulating a plan: she'd stay with him tonight if she could, he could stay at her place if he wanted, her parents were still gone. Anything to help him. "Let's go back to your place - or mine, if you'd like."

He glanced at her, relieved she had missed the worst of it. A few yards down, the mall's landscaping company would find a very nasty gift. The cool brick still felt good on his face, though, so, after moving down, he had continued to rest his cheek on it while smoking a cigarette when she had joined him.

Smiling weakly while looking at her through his lashes, Dante nodded. He lifted his free hand slowly to his pocket, and pulled out his keys. His hand shook as he held them out to her. The other hand shook as well, and he clenched the filter of his cigarette between his teeth, the hand dropping to his side like a noodle. The thought of noodles made his stomach clench, but it was empty. He forced himself to keep from gagging.

He was sick. Astrid could smell his sickness: not just the vomit alone on the ground, but the illness pervaded from his body, surrounding him. It was almost like an aura - not that Astrid really bought into that sort of stuff, but in this particular instance, it was startlingly fitting. Wordlessly, she reached out and accepted the keys; she slipped her other hand into his after transferring the bags to the first hand. Gripping tightly, Astrid gently led him down the sidewalk alongside the parking lot: from here, she could see the section they had parked in. Now that it was getting a little later in the evening, the parking lot had thinned out nicely.

Once they arrived to the car, she opened the back door and put their bags on the floor before getting inside. Starting the car, she took a moment to orient herself: the last time she had driven Dante's care was eons ago, when she had to retrieve him from a party when he called her, too drunk to drive himself home. Banishing the memory, she fumbled with the radio, turning it to Q101, the local alternative station. As she navigated her way out of the parking lot and back to the highway, the song on the radio caught her attention.

"Love hurts, but sometimes its a good hurt; and it feels like I'm alive ..."

Turning the volume up ever so slightly, she focused on Dante. "I'd like you to stay over at my place tonight. My parents are still in Arizona; they won't be back for awhile." She hesitated a moment. "I think it'd be nice to ... you know, spend more time together." Falling silent, she considered her words and their intent. She did want to spend more time with him - a huge part of her missed his company, more so now that he was making a concentrated effort on staying sober. At her place, there was no alcohol - neither of her parents drank - and she could take care of him if she needed. That was all ... right?

"Love sings when it transcends the bad things; have a heart and try me, 'cause without love, I won't survive ..."

Astrid reached out, turning the radio down. The lyrics were unintentionally hitting way too close to home for her liking, as familiar as the song struck her.

He reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers. "Wow," he breathed as the song went into the second verse. "Yeah." He didn't want to say it out loud, but he saw the similarities between the song and their relationship, too. "That would be nice," he said, trying to play it off as though he were answering her.

"Sorry about all of this," he said. "I'm starting to feel better, though. Seriously." He glanced at her and laughed. "It was a lot worse a few days ago. I think I'm coming out of it. I just..." Want a drink, he finished to himself. "I think you're right. I think we need to spend some time together." He also thought that if he had her by his side, he might actually be okay. He didn't want to sound corny, and he didn't want to worry her, but he thought there might be plenty of time for honesty later, after...

'Cause without love I won't survive

He couldn't help but think that her invitation had a double meaning to it. It had been a while.

Love hurts

He suddenly realized that he didn't know whether they were okay, though. Yes, there would definitely have to be time for honesty.

'Cause without love I won't survive

"Maybe I'll even keep dinner down," he joked awkwardly. He sighed and looked out the window.

"You do seem a lot better," offered Astrid, a bit weakly. She wasn't entirely sure if she believed her words: he had just gotten sick, hadn't he? Did that mean he was still going through withdrawal? She thought hard as she turned her gaze back to the road, her hand giving his a little comforting squeeze. Suddenly, she decided it didn't matter: she knew that he wasn't drinking. She felt absolutely certain that she would have been able to tell if he hadn't been sober over the past few weeks - and she knew there were plenty of chances for him to drink behind her back since they hadn't really seen each other. But something in the pit of her stomach told her he was telling the truth. He had to be, he just had to be.

Have a heart and try me; 'cause without love, I won't survive ...

The line hung in her thoughts long after the song faded out, the DJ coming on and rambling on about some concert that was happening later that night. She needed to give him this chance, she needed to trust him. As she pulled off of the highway and into the suburbs, she looked at his face from the side, before glancing back. They were home.

Putting the car in park, she removed the keys, slipping them into her pocket for the time being out of sheer habit, reaching around the back seat and pulling out her bags. Turning to wordlessly lead him into the house, she realized truly that her parents really weren't going to be back any time soon. They had the entire house free to themselves. Something in her stomach dropped, realizing that her invitation for him to stay with her could be misconstrued - or was it? She felt the familiar lick of desire as she unlocked the front door, wondering how long it had been since they last had sex. Quite awhile.

"Want anything to drink?" Astrid set her bags down and kicked off her heels, heading to the kitchen for some water. She needed to be distracted. As she stood in front of the refrigerator, she decided that if they slept together, then it would be no big deal. Things were different now. If they didn't sleep together, then it would be no big deal. Simple as that, she thought as she filled her glass full of water from the water dispenser, refusing to dwell on the thought further. "We can hang out in the den. Big screen TV, and all that." Calling out to him in the front room, sipping her water.

Dante stood in the front room, taking in the familiar surroundings. Pictures of Astrid throughout her childhood and adolescence decorated the shelf to his left. A red and yellow mum plant sat on the table to his right. There were no sounds of curious parents, no sign that they were home. He and Astrid truly were alone. He stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and chewed on his lower lip. If things hadn't changed so suddenly, if he hadn't screwed things up, he would stride into that kitchen, take whatever she was doing out of her hands, kiss her, lift her onto the counter, and...

He sighed. He wasn't "boyfriend" anymore; now, as he stood in the front room of her house, he was someone she had decided to take responsibility for. Why had he agreed to spend the night? It would just be torture. He apparently wasn't even allowed in her room; she had said they could "hang out in the den." He almost squirmed with the simultaneous desire to kiss her and walk out, catch a bus home. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and swallowed the growl that rose in his throat. Argh, he thought.

"No thanks. Going into the den to see what's on," he called over his shoulder as he went into the big room. He turned on the TV and realized he didn't care what was on. "This is stupid."

Draining her glass of water, Astrid refilled it and carried it out to the den. Her initial plan was to start off in a neutral area - the den - and see what happened before she'd work their way back up to her bedroom. Now, standing in the doorway of the den and watching Dante mindlessly flip through the channels, it occured to her what a stupid idea it had been. She had been the one to end the relationship, and even though today had been just like a date, their relationship, as it presently stood, was over.

Feeling foolish, Astrid exhaled a shaky sigh, dropping to the couch beside Dante, setting her glass down. They had settled on a channel - AMC was re-airing the first episode of The Walking Dead, and it held her attention. Still, she stole glances at Dante whenever she could. If only she could make him hers again! Their love had been firey, passionate, unstoppable in the beginning; now she felt a sense of begrudging duty to him. The thought pained her as they sat in silence; she shouldn't have asked him to say. Her goal was to keep him in her sight, keep him visable, keep him sober - but now it just felt like a chore.

Checking the time, she saw it was still early in the evening. Closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed her tears, and sucked it up. It was going to be a long, depressing, and painful evening, and there was little more she could do aside from grinning and bearing it.

Off-balance

It had been just over a month from when Dante pulverized his hand against the bathroom mirror — and Astrid had not seen him for nearly three — almost going on four! — whole weeks.

It was partially unintentional: her job had gone from barely scheduling her to being flush with open shifts. The second PM manager had suddenly up and quit, leaving several extra afternoon to late night shifts open for Astrid to be forced into until a replacement could be hired. With her days spent pulling double shifts at the grocery store, her nights were increasingly devoted to sleep. She'd often go straight home from work, eat something, and fall into bed for several long hours before getting up and repeating the cycle.As grim as her new work schedule was, she was beginning to get accustomed to it, though she was depressed at how pathetic her life seemed. Things with Dante never quite reached a head — the angry outburst at him in the car when she took him to the emergency room was bad, but there was still plenty of dead weight left on her shoulders that she needed to unload. Between her lack of real closure with Dante and the shittiness that was her job, she felt like life wasclosing in over her head, and she needed to get out. 

Besides, he didn't really make much of an effort to reach out to her. The thought occurred to her one night as she stared at the shelf she was stocking, blurry-eyed. They had exchanged short phone calls and text messages; they'd even met briefly for dinner a week or so back, and before that, he'd come by her house to look at old photographs. But that was really the extent of Dante's outreach to her,which suited her fine, at least at first. Now, though, she was really analyzing, and that was bad. Her brain was still vaguely sleep-soaked as she set to work stocking, and still hazy, she contemplated the status of her relationship. When she thought back on it, the more displeased she became. How could she have been so blind this whole time? As she began her descent back down to the floor, she lost her footing on the step stool and nearly tumbled head first, just barely managing to catch herself on the shelf. That was when she knew she'd had it.

Astrid's recent soul searching finally prompted her to make the first move. Turning everything over in her mind was driving her insane, and she knew the only way to cease the madness was to make a choice and take action. Lying in bed the next day, she held her cell phone in her hands, eyes closed. It was her day off, late in the afternoon; Dante undoubtedly was around, or so she hoped. Gathering her nerve, she opened her phone and found his number, anxiously listening to it ring as she stared up at the ceiling.

Dante tore open the envelope containing his first unemployment check, squeezing his eyes shut briefly to force them to focus on the dollar amount. Unbelievably, the check was more generous than what he had been making at the car shop. During the last few weeks, he had been certain that losing his job was the last proverbial stair to trip over before he hit the bottom, but now that he had spent nearly every day sleeping, every night shooting whiskey and jamming (and smoking) with Chris — who had become a pretty good friend to him, even with Chris' history of lame parties — and had a nice check to boot, things were looking up.

Except, he thought as his cell went off, the fact that he and Astrid were barely speaking. The beat up phone was somewhere in his apartment, and as he searched for it, he realized that their relationship was probably over. He didn't want to admit that the thought of it sent a wave of terrifying anguish crashing over him.

Seizing the phone in one sweaty hand, he glanced at the caller ID. Astrid. He took a deep breath. This was it. This was going to be the conversation. Panicked, he glanced around the messy living room and his eyes fell on his cigarettes. He lit one up as he flipped the phone open.

"Hey," was all he could manage, choking the word out in a puff of smoke.

She was too late, Astrid thought as she listened to the ringing drone on. He was probably at work — she did not know about his unemployment yet — or passed out. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth,and when he actually picked up the phone on the final ring, she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.

"Aah... hey, Dante." Shit. Taking in a deep breath to regain her composure, she closed her eyes as she leaned her head back in the pillow. "I have today off — were you busy? I was kind of hoping we could get together." She bit into her bottom lip, chewing it sharply to distract herself. Uncertainty still overwhelmed her, but she knew that to make a change meant stepping outside her comfort zone. For once, Astrid was doing the right thing for herself — or so she hoped. It wasn't in her nature to be so proactive; she wasn't exactly passive, but until now, she'd merely been floating on the currents, letting herself go in any direction. Enough of that. She was an adult now; it was time to face her demons. Regrettably, Dante was one of them. 

She kept quiet after she poised her question — she wasn't going to say that she wanted to talk, because then it would set him up on his guard. Though, he undoubtedly knew that was what was going to transpire. He may have been a drunk, but he was still somewhat in touch with reality. Or so Astrid hoped.

He absorbed her words; they seemed to echo off the walls of his apartment. This was it. She wasn't going to break up with him over the phone, though, he thought. She was going to drag him out of the comfort of the four walls of his living room and do it to his face. No, he was not going to have that.

He flicked ashes onto the floor; the ashtray had broken one of the nights Chris had come over. They had gotten too reckless, shredding notes loudly and standing up on the furniture well past midnight. Luckily, none of his neighbors bothered to call the cops. Maybe they just didn't care anymore.

Dante had two choices: he could pretend he was too busy to get together, or he could get it done and over with. He could beat her to the punch. He kind of wanted to do both. A month or so ago, he would have voiced his indecision out loud. They might have even laughed about it. Then again, this whole thing wouldn't even be happening.

"Sorry," he said, realizing that he'd left her listening to him breathe for several measures. In his bewilderment, he lost his resolve, asking her before he could regain control of his mouth: "What did you have in mind?"

The problem was, Astrid didn't want to break up. In fact, she wanted to avoid the whole thing alltogether. She cared very much about Dante, and she had even been to the point where she was beginning to wonder if she even loved him. But then something between them had changed: he started drinking more and more, and she lost her nerve. Now he scared her at times, seemed like a ghost of the young man that she initially fell for. What happened to her Dante? The thought settled on herchest, weighing down oppressively. In spite of herself, tears welled up in her eyes. 

"Uhm," she said to fill the empty void between their words, a hand coming from beneath the sheets to swipe at her eyes. She mastered control over her voice, kept the quiver out of it though the urge to cry was becoming rather overwhelming. "I don't know, I was thinking we could go get... " She glanced at her alarm clock to check the time. ".. Lunch? It doesn't matter to me where."

She hated to admit it, but she was being somewhat sneaky: ideally, this conversation would take place in the comfort and safety of her home with him, alone. But since so much had changed in the past few months, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust being alone with him — who knew what his reaction would be? Would he be open to discussion, willing to listen, consider taking action to better things? Or was she going to have to cut him at the knees for her own self-preservation? Both seemed completely plausible to her, but in any event, she wanted to start out somewhere where they could be seen,where she might be safe. The thought of having to protect herself against him upset her terribly — but then, his recent demeanor warranted it.  "We could go to Denny's or something, if you wanted."

"Lunch," he said slowly. If she was going to break up with him, why did she want him fed? He returned to the kitchen and tapped his unemployment check against the counter. He couldn't outright lie and say he had no money, or that he was busy. Lying to her didn't come easy — even though he had easily deceived her throughout the last few years about his... Well, it wasn't a problem, and it was none of her or anyone else's business, anyway.

The thought of eating made him want to gag. He did not want to eat if he was about to get dumped. He couldn't even remember the last time he had broken up with someone. Maybe in high school, but nothing before Astrid was... serious. He considered the word and his feelings for her — at least, the feelings he had had several weeks ago. They still existed, of course, but he didn't feel close to her anymore. Something had driven a wedge between them. He didn't want to admit that the something might be him. He preferred to think of it as a "mutual distancing."

He sighed. If he couldn't lie, and he couldn't avoid her, he would just have to face the music. "I just got paid, so yeah, I guess. What time do you want to meet?"

Astrid heard the sigh: it confirmed precisely what she feared, and that was that he had sniffed her out. He knew that the conversation that was about to take place could very well lead to the demise of their relationship. But him agreeing to meet told her all that she needed to know, and that was he was ready, too. It didn't seem likely to her that he had wanted to change his life — probably he thought there was nothing wrong with it. That was equally depressing.

Still, a small part of her felt a sense of relief that he had agreed. She did not want to do this, but it was time to see if she had to kill off the very thing she desperately wanted to preserve. Otherwise, it was simply dying on the vine, and that did not sit well with her, either. "Okay," she said, her tone changing slightly. "Uhm, how about I meet you there in an hour or so? I still need to shower and get ready."

"Okay," he said, too, leaning against the counter. "See you then." He didn't give her a chance to answer; he clapped the phone shut, tossed it onto the counter, and buried his face in his hands. Had he really just agreed to meet her so that she could dump him? If asked before the possibility had ever occurred to him, Dante would have said that he would rather break up with someone face to face than over the phone or some stupid instant messaging system. Now, confronted with the possibility, he wished she'd just done it. There was no point in dragging it out, and dessert was not going to make things any better.

Not that he planned on eating.

He took a deep breath. "If it's going to be over, I might as well have a shot." He opened the freezer, grabbed the bottle of Grey Goose, and grabbed the mixer that was still on the table. Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea of a snake bite and drank from the bottle instead. He counted to fifteen, twenty, then thirty, pulled the bottle from his lips and put it back in the freezer. Stretching his neck, he went into the bedroom to grab fresh clothes for a shower.

Across town, she held the phone to her ear, hearing his shut and disconnecting the call. For several long moments, she did not move a muscle, keeping her eyes firmly shut. Dread took the place of anxiety and settled in the pit of her belly, but she forced herself up and out of bed and into the shower. 

An hour later, she was in her car, heading to the local Denny's that was between his apartment and her parent's house. Sitting at a red light, she noticed her palms were sweating; wiping them on her black slacks nervously, she licked her upper lip and tasted more sweat. She felt like her entire body was on fire, every nerve standing at full alert: she was ready to do battle, in some way, shape, or form. Poor Dante probably knew what was coming, but its outcome depended completely on him. Somehow, she had the distinct impression that she was going to be let down, and so she reminded herself to stay calm, stay cool. Don't be harsh, but don't get too close, either. It became her mantra as she pulled into the parking lot, getting out and doing a sweep to see if he had arrived. Satisfied that she had beaten him there, she headed inside and was seated in a booth. 

Smart waitress, thought Astrid: the woman had seated her in a far-off corner of the restaurant, and there was a medium sized crowd going, though only another table was occupied in their section. The seating was ideal: they'd have their space, but they were also surrounded, as well. Trying her best to relax, Astrid ordered a cup of coffee for the time being, settling her elbows on the table, and running her fingers through her newly-dyed red hair.

Dante saw Astrid's car as he parked his own. He got out and paced in front of his car as he finished a cigarette, trying to steel himself but unable to stop shaking. He didn't know if it was because he wanted another drink — the shaking had started about a month ago when he got really nervous or upset — or if it was because he knew what was coming, but he didn't like it. He desperately wanted to walk into the restaurant, sit down, and order a coffee or something without looking at all fazed. Instead, his newly washed hair was tousled hopelessly from running his hands through it so many times on the ride over, and his jeans were damp with sweat from the palms of his hands.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said, taking a last drag and flicking it to the pavement. He took a shaky breath and then opened the door, shivering against the blast of air conditioning. He spotted her right away — when had she dyed her hair red?! — and didn't bother waiting for one of the waitresses to greet him.

He took deep breaths on his way to the booth, telling himself that if she showed any concrete sign of breaking up with him, he was going to beat her to the punch and walk out with at least some of his pride. He even managed a half smile as he sat down across from her.

"Hey," he said casually.

Astrid was twirling a loop of crimson hair through her fingers to examine the color: the pink had faded out rather icky on her blondehair, so she opted for a slightly darker shade. She had been stuck with pink for the past several years, alternating only to her natural blonde hair. This was different, and it looked good onher, matching her skin tone better and setting off her light green eyes. Shewas in the middle of congratulating herself on her color transition when the door opened, and in walked Dante. 

Breathe. She absolutely had to remember to breath, to keep calm and unaffected. Right. 

"Hey," she said, offering him up an equally small smile in return. She had done her best to perk her eyes up with a little eyeliner and nude shadow, but she still looked tired. The dark circles under her eyes were so bad, traces of them peeked out ever so slightly from underneath the cover-up she had slathered on. Work — and now life itself — was beginning to take its toll on her. "How are you?" She hated small talk and chit-chat; she wanted to skip the pleasantries, but something inside of her would not allow it.

Despite what she may have been about to do, she still cared deeply about him: cared about what he thought, and how he felt, even how his day went. But he had continuously shut her out. When she thought back to all the times she'd asked how he was, she could see in his eyes that he had lied, though at the time she'd overlooked it. How could she have been so foolish? 

The waitress returned with a cup of coffee, with a small bowl full of creamer, setting both down in front of Astrid. "For you, hon'?"S he aimed her pencil at Dante: a new waitress, not one of their regular ones.

He didn't know which question to answer first. His eyes flicked back and forth between Astrid and the waitress, and he finally settled his gaze on the waitress. "I'll take a coffee," he said, clearing his throat. When the waitress left, he leaned on the table, staring at his hands clasped in front of him.

How to answer? When people asked how you were, they meant that they hadn't seen you in a while and didn't want to be rude. It was a pointless question, and he almost wanted to let her know how pointless it was. He still cared about her, though, and even if things were going to end right here, he mostly didn't want them to end on a bad note.

The emotions played visibly across his face; as he thought about her question — such a simple question, really — his eyebrows furrowed slightly and his chocolate brown eyes darkened, his mouth twisting slightly.

The waitress returned with his cup of coffee. "I'll give you guys a few more minutes," she said, and quickly walked away.

Smart waitress, he thought. Is it that obvious that we're going to break up? He looked Astrid dead in the eye. "I'm pretty sure you didn't ask me to meet you here to play catch-up, but if that's what you want to do... How am I? I'm putting together a band because I'm unemployed, although I might have a full-time job at the tattoo shop if one of the guys there decides to move to California." He took a deep breath through his nose, and lifted his eyebrows. "You?"

As he deliberated his answer, Astrid leaned back into the booth's cushion, chewing on her thumbnail. Her gaze remained locked on him as he paused to place his drink order; for some reason, it helped her maintain her focus and composure, staring at him so boldly. Weird how it was so centering...  

She cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable by his response. He was right, she really didn't want to play catch-up, since she could use her imagination to fill in the blanks. The fact he was unemployed did not shock her entirely, and same with the band. She nodded once to show his words registered. Once he poised the question to her, she sighed, leaning forward, both sets of fingers sinking into her hair. It was down just past her shoulders, curled in soft, gentle waves — the change from stick-straight pink hair to this felt good, almost empowering. Lifting her head up, she shook it, tired eyes closing for several long seconds. "A lot of work," she responded, voice low. "I told you about that, how one of our managers walked out. Work has been destroying me." It wasn't the only thing that would lead to her own undoing. 

Sitting up straight, she forced her shoulders back and leveled her in, breathing deeply. "You're right, though. I did not call you here to play catch-up." She rolled a small cup of creamer between the pads of her thumb and index finger to help distract her, take some of the pressure off. "I want to talk about us, what's going on, and what's going to happen." So there. It wasn't her breaking it off — not yet. Perhaps the promise of a conversation, a compromise would help influence him, instead of her issuing an ultimatum or putting her foot down and ending it right then and there.

Dante's skin went cold as she spoke, and he sighed, using the sigh to take in a huge breath of air to at least attempt to steady himself. He did not allow himself to believe that she wasn't breaking up with him; he could easily remember being fired from a stupid retail job after being lectured for an hour on how he could improve and even after offering to try harder.

He took his time adding sugar and cream to his coffee, using it as a distraction even though he really just wanted to drink it black. When he finished stirring and melting the sugar, he took a sip and then set the mug back down, cupping his hands around it and leaning on the table.

He glanced at the occupied booth nearby and turned back to Astrid, cocking his head. He kept his voice low. "You want to talk? Here? Really?" He smirked.

Sucking sharply on her teeth, she bit the inside of her cheek as she followed his gaze, watched the smirk spread across his lips. Why did he upset her so easily now? Had his presence really gotten under her skin that much? She still knew the care and concern she felt for him would always remain, but right now... now, the gravity, the darkness of the situation was beginning to bloom, tingeing the air. "Actually, yeah. I do want to talk here." She said it as firmly yet casually as she could manage, taking a sip of coffee after depositing a packet of sugar and some creamer into it; her hands wrapping around the mug to keep her skin warm. 

"My parents are having a small get together in a little bit,s o my house is out. And I didn't feel right just going over to your place." It was the truth, mostly: she knew she'd feel trapped at his apartment, unable to just get up and leave if things were getting dicey. She waved a hand in the air as she set her mug down. "The point is, we've been kind of dancing around the issue here for too long now. I don't know where you're at." She lowered her head, her gaze locked on him, peering through a curtain of lashes. "So where are you, Dante? Do you still care about me? Do you still want to be with me?" A well-groomed eyebrow rose curiously. It wasn't the route she wanted to take, giving him control; her bleeding heart could account for that. Typical Astrid: catering to others when what really mattered was what she wanted.

His eyebrows knotted for a second, and his shoulders slumped. She thought he didn't care. He practically screamed it in his head: SHE THINKS I DON'T CARE! Things had been bad when they had been on regular speaking terms, but until now he had thought they were just drifting, that the breakup would be something inevitable. Now, he realized, he could fix things. All he had to do was tell her that of course he still cared.

He stared at her, eyes softening and lips parted incredulously. "Babe." He shook his head. "Of course I care. I mean... I know we've both been busy, and things weren't exactly... great a few weeks ago, but... " He reached across the table, his hand palm up. "I don't know how you ever got the idea that I didn't care about you." He laughed. "Shit, you had me all scared here. Of course I care about you."

The second eyebrow followed the first as he exhaled a laugh, reached out to take her hands. Having released her coffee cup, Astrid's palms went back to being cool, slightly clammy. She read his face: he thought he was in the clear. Boy, he was really in for a shock. Her heart almost physically hurt when she looked down and pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. "No, no, I phrased that wrong. I mean, of course you care. I still care, Dante; nothing will ever change that." The couple in the booth behind them had paid the check, and begun collecting their things, and she fell silent. 

Once they had left, she sighed once more and released his hand, folding her arms back on the table.  "I've been thinking," she confessed, her gaze trained on a small drop of coffee that had spilled onto the paper placemat, bleeding into the paper. Suddenly she wished she had a pen handy to trace its outline — an odd thought. "Things haven't been great for the past few weeks, sure, but... they haven't been all that great for awhile now, too." Her eyes turned back up to him: glassy green marbles that were vaguely mournful. She didn't want to come out and say it, that she felt it was his fault to an extent. Sure, she had been busy with work, but there was no debating it: the cataclysm between them was increasing by the second, and she could feel it — why couldn't he? 

When he didn't say anything, she licked her lips subconsciously, and continued. "I've been thinking about the future, Dante — I just... " She paused with a sigh. "I don't know. I don't like where everything is going — not just with you, but overall. And I want to do something about it." Her eyesclosed, to steady herself. "So Dante, like I said: do you still want to be with me? Or should we just... cut this off?" She posed the question again, trying to keep it as simple as possible.

Wrong. He had been horribly wrong. His mouth dropped open a little and he withdrew his hands. Not only had he been wrong about how he could fix things, but his escape plan — breaking up with her before she could dump him — wasn't going to work; she clearly wanted him to decide. Maybe she even wanted him to break up with her.

"Is that what you want?" He kept his voice flat, even. "I'm kind of wishing I'd just stayed home, because I could have had this discussion on the phone and not in the middle of Denny's. I wouldn't have bothered if I had known," he said, even though he had known. His voice rose slightly. "Is that what you really want?"

"Actually, Dante, no. It's really not what I want." Astrid sat back with a sigh, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling and throwing up her hands. "You know, I get that I'm not a perfect person — but I do my best to be a good girlfriend. I do my best to be caring and understanding — but you can't seem to realize that when it counts." She glared at him across the table, hurt evident in her eyes as she folded her arms across her ribcage, pulling her black cardigan closer to her chest. 

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one actively doing anything in this relationship. I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one who cares whether it lives or dies." She took in a sharp breath, frowning as she steeled herself. "I don't want us to break up — but more than that, I want things to change. I'm willing, but I don't know if you are." She fixed him with that intense stare, probing. He had to know precisely what she meant by it — she hoped to all hell that he was not that dense, or rather, in that much denial.

He rested his cheek on one propped fist, and shook his head again. "I don't understand what you want from me. The phone works both ways. Both of us have been busy." He struggled to keep his voice low, hating that he had to have this conversation in a restaurant, of all places. If they had been anywhere else, he could light a cigarette, maybe a joint, pour a shot, something to keep him calm while she barreled him. "I have no idea where you're getting me not caring about this relationship."

He took another sip of coffee, and set the mug down with trembling hands. "I just told you," he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. He felt ridiculous, whispering an argument in the corner of a Denny's. "I just told you that I do care about you. And like I said, neither of us have made much of an effort lately. How does that mean that I don't care? I could have just as easily have called you here, complaining that you don't care, but it's both of us. You know, maybe it isn't worth it, since everything is apparently on me."

He wanted to continue, but he could almost feel dozens of pairs of eyes looking at the back of his head. He slumped back against the booth, arms folded across his chest, and stared at Astrid.

To her left, Astrid saw the waitress making her approach from the corner of her eyes; however, their table must have literally radiated negative energy, because the woman stopped, and promptly retreated. Lovely. "I'm not trying to put everything onyou," she said after a moment, sighing for a third time. "Listen, I'll cut to the chase, because I've already voiced this before: your drinking? Is really starting to get out of hand, and it's been going on for quite some time. I've kept as quiet as I could about it, because the last time I said something, you exploded at me and called me a tyrant." The memory was burned in her mind, still seething in anger.

The first thing she was going to do when she got home was get back in the bath and soak for a long time, smoke a joint and try to unwind. She felt herself getting all worked up, except now, her stomach remained twisted in knots, and she felt sick — the same way she had been feeling for the past week or two. "Dante, I care about you so much, you probably don't even realize it, but I need to protect myself." She took a quick breath, closing her eyes. "If you can't get your drinking under control — or if you don't want to, either way... then maybe we shouldn't be together. I can't handle this any more, it's making me sick."

Dante's eyebrows furrowed again, and his head tilted slightly as he leaned forward. He had to take several quick, deep breaths and remind himself that they were surrounded by nosy people before he could respond. Nosy people who were staring and practically pricking their stupid ears so that they could hear better.

"I'm not going to have this conversation here," he hissed, barely keeping his voice even. "Can we at least go sit in your car?"

For several  long moments, Astrid was silent. Part of her was frustrated that he would not just say anything, own up to his mistakes. All she wanted was an answer, to get things over quickly, and he wasn't allowing that. On the other hand, he did have a point: they were slowly culminating an audience, even several tables over. Taking a deep breath, she finished off her coffee, setting the cup down. "Alright," she said finally, standing up. "Let's go to my car." 

She gathered her purse and reached inside, pulling out a fiver and leaving it on the table. Since coffee was so cheap, and the waitress had left them alone, Astrid did not expect her change; merely squaring her shoulders and heading out the door. She waited for him by her car before she unlocked the doors, slipping inside the driver's seat mutely.

He lit a cigarette before he fully stepped outside, taking the fifty or so paces to the car slowly, thinking about what she said and how he wanted to answer. He slid into the passenger seat and rolled the window down.

"Okay," he said, as if she had asked him to start talking. "I don't want this to be over any more than you do. I don't even want to be having this conversation. Yes, my drinking got out of control a few weeks ago. I'm sorry I scared you and that I called you a tyrant. I was drunk!" He ran a hand through his hair. "But I do not have a problem." He let out a deep breath and looked at her. "If you want me to promise not to be such an asshole when I'm drinking, fine. I promise. I won't be an asshole." The corner of his mouth tugged up just a little. "Okay?"

Once they settled in, she leaned back in her seat, sniffing the scent of cigarette smoke. Smoking... that was another thing she was donew ith. As things with Dante got worse, her smoking increased, and as a result, she woke up with annoying chest pains every subsequent morning. Sighing, she rolled her own window down a hair, and listened to him. 

As he continued, her eyes opened wide, completely astounded. When he spoke about it, he made it sound so goddamned trivial, like it was a one-time thing. Laughing softly, she shook her head. "Dante, you just don't get it. How stupid do you think I am? I mean, I know I didn't acknowledge it in the past — maybe I was in denial myself — but thinking back on it now, it's all so obvious. You've been drinking more and more heavily since we've been dating — since the past year or so. You think I don't know when you sneak drinks while we're hanging out? You think I can't smell it on you?" She turned to him, her eyes wide, brows knitted together. "It is a problem, Dante, and it's definitely affecting our relationship. You hurt me because you were drunk. Because you have no self-control. Sure, you'll promise not to be an asshole, but that doesn't mean your drinking will let up." 

She sighed, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. "It's not that you're an asshole while drinking — it's the very fact that you're drinking, daily, consistently, and rather heavily." Shaking her head again, she remembered finding the huge 1.75l bottle of Jack in his closet one of the last few times she had been at his place. "I'm sorry, Dante, but that just kills it for me. You've changed — into a completely different person than who you were when we first met. Sometimes, I seriously don't know who you are anymore." Short of breath from her rambling, she shut up and closed her eyes, fingers balling into fists. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, throaty, thick with emotion. "I can't do this anymore."

As her last five words hit him, his resolve solidified. "Fine," he said. "So, it's 'Stop drinking, Dante, you drink too much,' or it's over. I don't tell you what to do. I'm an adult. I'm allowed to have a drink, even if I want one every day. Just like you're allowed to change your hair color," he said, glancing again at the softly curled red hair that framed her face. He wanted to tell her it looked good, that she could shave her head and she'd still look good, but he doubted she would care if he said anything.

He sucked the rest of the cigarette down and lit another. He clamped the cigarette between his lips and tried to remember when he had started drinking every day. On some level, he knew that wasn't good, but what else was he supposed to do? Even now, while he sat in her car having this awful conversation, he wondered if he should stop at a bar on the way home or if he could just wait until he got back to his apartment.

"So that's the choice? Stop drinking or be single? Because I'm not going to do whatever you tell me, no matter how much I want this to work."

"I don't do things that jeopardize our relationship," Astrid said, feeling somehow childish — she knew she was right. She knew she was not crazy, she knew that this was not all in her head. Shaking her head, she reached out and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, watching the blood drain from her knuckles as she listened to him brush her off. She was right. He was in complete and utter denial about his drinking, and he did not give a shit. He'd sacrifice our relationshipover his own pride, she thought, feeling sick to her stomach. 

"Is that so? Then... then I guess you didn't care much to begin with if this is so easy for you," she said finally, the tears stinging her eyes, her nostrils. She didn't really care if he saw her cry — he was already beyond the pale. "I'm not going to back down, and neither are you. So I suppose that leaves the inevitable."

Dante's eyes widened. "No, no, no, don't cry, please don't cry!" He tossed the cigarette out of the window and moved closer to her, touching her shoulder lightly as if he expected her to slap his hand away. "Please, please don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over. He had absolutely no control over this, he realized.

"I wish you would stop saying I don't care. I do care. It makes me sick to think that this is it, I love you so much—" He froze, then bit down on his lower lip. He had not meant to say that — not now.

Astrid had just been getting ready to wrench herself from from his grasp when he dropped the L-bomb on her. Over four years of being together, and neither one of them had the balls to say it first. And now, when they were breaking up, he chooses to say it?! The poor young woman went through an overwhelming change in a matter of moments: first she was stunned into silence, then fear showed on her face, before turning to an angry flush. She believed him — but she could not believe how quickly he could turn things around.

"If you did," she said quietly, angrily as she pulled herself from under his hand, glaring at him sharply, "you would not do this. You would not tell me that you would give up drinking, and then tell me you love me in the same breath." She wiped the tears off her cheek with the back of her hand. Her mascara was streaked and ruined, but she did not care.

"I... I didn't mean to... I mean, I do, but... " He stared at her, stunned. He scratched at the stubble on his face and buried his face in his hands. Why couldn't he control his stupid mouth? Why was it that no matter what he said or did, it didn't seem to be right? Why had he said what he had said — what he definitely felt — now?

Even worse, she hadn't said anything. She only seemed to be more angry with him.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'll just leave you alone." He reached for the door handle.
She was painfully aware of how she was treating him, how badly her reactions cut him down to the bone. Still, she couldn't afford to put herself in harm's way any longer. Despite how she felt about him, despite on how much she cared for him and wanted him to get better, she knew in her heart it wasn't going to happen — not without it becoming a long, drawn out battle. Dante had to go.

Closing her eyes as tears leaked past, she sniffed and eased her grip on the steering wheel slightly. "Just remember what I said, Dante — what you do doesn't just effect you. I'm here for you, I always will be, but — I need to save myself. I'm sorry." As she spoke, her voice grew smaller and smaller, before trailing off in an exhausted sigh.

He didn't know why, but her words surprised him. Shocked him, even. He wished he were sitting on his couch, watching repeats of Scrubs and scribbling down tabs. He wished he were at Chris', a joint in hand and something loud on the speakers. He wished he could get his hand to push open the door and his legs to swing out of the car and take him to his own car, but here he was.

He stared at her, one hand on the handle of the door and the other resting numbly on his thigh, where it had landed when she moved away from him. "Are you really... that afraid of me?" His voice sounded cracked and weak.

Astrid kept her eyes closed as she briefly considered his question, sniffling again and wiping her cheeks. "It's more that I'm afraid for you, Dante. I mean... I want to have a family some day. I like to think I can have that with you." This was a bomb, though not nearly as big as him telling her that he loved her. She went quiet after speaking, before she resumed. "But I can't even begin to consider it when I don't know if you'll be able to keep a job. To take care of me — or us. Either way." Sleeves rolled up to scrub at her eyes, she shook her head slowly.

"I just... I don't know how to get through to you anymore." The words came with more tears; she was crying quietly with no noise, tears rolling down her cheeks, her nose.

He kept staring at her. He did not think of of himself as someone who could be a father. The way his own father was — spending all of the money on his stupid brandy, staying out all night, and sleeping through the day — proved that fatherhood was not in Dante's blood. Pieces of his childhood and teenage years came flashing back, and he laughed bitterly. Halfway through the laugh he stopped, blood running cold, heart pounding in his chest.

"Astrid, I can't be a father. I'm just like mine!" The realization made him nauseous, and he turned away, shaking. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He wiped them angrily away, but still they came.

Astrid had no intention of making Dante cry; she didn't want to cause him any pain in the first place. But self-preservation demanded sacrifices, and here he was, crying in her front seat. At first she was stunned into silence by his tears — the entire time they had dated, she had never seen him cry, though he'd seen her break down many times. He had already told her bits and pieces of his past with his family, primarily his father, so his sudden admission did not come as a surprise to her. 

Slowly, she turned back to face forward wordlessly, staring out the windshield and contemplating his words. Tears welled up in her eyes as she closed them, lowering her head. "I know," she said finally, miserable as the tears made their descent. Her voice wavered, her lips trembled violently, and she had to bite down on them sharply to get them to stop. "I know, Dante,"she said again, tipping her head up and staring at the roof. "I knew it when I realized the full extent of your problem, when I remembered how you told me your father was. When I put two and two together, I realized that we... could never..." She could not continue, fresh tears spilling onto her cheeks as she began to cry harder.

He swiped tears off of his face, accidentally scratching himself with nails that should have been cut a week ago. Everything felt so pointless. He swiped the palms of his hands on his jeans, leaving little streaks of water on the worn and faded denim. If she had already known things would never work, then what had the point been in continuing? He felt as though he had been tipped upside down.

Hands shaking, he lit himself a new cigarette, deliberately looking away from her. He couldn't, not after what she said. Self-preservation of the Dante kind demanded that he instantly begin moving forward, or else the pain would ruin him.

"So this will never work," he said, nodding to himself. In his mind's eye, he saw himself shaking her hand and thanking her for her time. He glanced out the window and the ground tipped up slightly, his stomach in a knot of nausea from not having eaten in the last twenty-four or so hours, and the physical pain that burned through his chest. "Okay," he said. "I've gotta go." He stared at the cigarette burning in his hand, and didn't move. He knew he needed to get away before he broke completely, and he knew that he needed to eat before he got sick, but he couldn't make himself move.

Astrid was silent for several long seconds, wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve. "You don't get it, Dante — it could work. It could, if you would just stop drinking." Her voice sounded frail, though she curled her hands up into fists,long nails cutting into the soft flesh of her palms. The pain reminded her to stay present, to stay aware.  

She took a deep breath to steady herself, shaking her head. "But you don't want to," she said even quieter than before, returning her own gaze forward. Somehow, Astrid was finding it extremely difficult to face Dante. He couldn't even admit that he had a problem, or that his drinking was out of control; at the very least, that it was beginning to seep into their relationship, infecting it with its cancerous stranglehold and killing it slowly. Now it was time to put it out of its misery, and it was absolutely destroying Astrid. This is what you wanted — needed, she reminded herself. Her head knew it was the truth, that in the end it was the best course of action — her heart, however, was taking its time to catch up. Though she was the one effectively ending their relationship, it still felt like someone reached into her chest and gave her poor battered heart a tight squeeze. Sitting there in her car with him, she was beginning to feel suffocated.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, keeping the cigarette pointed away from his face. Now would not be a good time to accidentally burn himself. He had already messed up the conversation, in so many ways. There probably wasn't anything he couldn't mess up.

"I didn't realize... " ... that I turned into my father, he wanted to finish, but didn't. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath that seemed to go on forever, then let it out. "I don't know if I can. Stop," he added. "Completely." The one time he had tried to quit smoking, it seemed like the days dragged on constantly. At night, he dreamed of cigarettes, and each completed meal begged for his usual dessert. He lasted nearly a week, the feeling similar to wanting to crawl out of his skin.

He couldn't imagine enduring that feeling again. He couldn't imagine being without Astrid, either, though the thought of having a family horrified him. He didn't know the first thing about being married or having kids. He and his siblings had been self-reliant, his older sister cooking for and dressing him when he was still too small to do it himself. When he thought about it, he really didn't know the first thing about anything; he couldn't even manage a relationship, nor could he avoid the one thing he hated most, and he definitely wasn't smart enough or good enough to get a real job and take care of a family.

Astrid had to take several long deep breaths to steady herself: somehow, his agony radiating from his body, infecting her. Poor Astrid was so sensitive to others' emotions, particularly Dante's — she hated it. She loathed it, because right now, she wanted to be in control of the situation, to know she had power over something. Moreover, she wanted to soothe Dante, tell him that it was going to be alright, that he'd be okay without her... but she was not entirely confident in that. He wasn't like this when they had first met — or had he, and she just did not notice? Listening to his voice as he confessed he probably would not stop, it felt like a death sentence. 

His father had been an alcoholic. Of course. It was what he knew. Even if Dante hadn't been a huge drinker at first, she should have realized that he had the propensity to slide down head first into that path. Part of her desperately wished she could fix him; a smaller, lesser part of her wished almost bitterly they had never met, not if it was going to be like this. Somehow, she forced herself to nod slowly, accompanied with a small sigh. "You... You know yourself better than I would," she conceded, feeling a fresh batch of tears well up. This was beginning to get ridiculous; she wished to all hell she could just stop with crying like a child. "If that's what you think, if that's what you believe... " she trailed off to take in a sharp, quivering breath that somehow sounded like a moan. So much for self-preservation: doing this was destroying her.

He moved his head from side to side. "No, no. No." His lower lip trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the threat of returning tears. He couldn't believe he had actually cried. Crying was for babies and women — or so his father had said.

"I don't want this. I don't want to be like this." His voice waved. No. He would not cry. Dante blinked rapidly and finished his cigarette. "I just don't know what to believe. I didn't even know." He paused. On some level, he had to have known. Why else would he have kept it such a secret? Why else would he have gotten so angry at her when she first confronted him about it? He hung his head. "I don't even know what I'm saying. If you want me to leave you alone, I'll go. There's no point sitting here." The longer he sat in the car, the less he felt in control of anything. It seemed clear what she wanted. He didn't believe that she thought it could work, because he didn't believe he could make it work.

She breathed in sharply, feeling pain in her chest. Wonderful — one more worry to add to the mountain that was continuously growing by the minute. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "Listen, Dante... I want for you to get better. I want you to be okay. I want... even if... I just... I want for you to be okay." It was too hard to tell him that even if they wouldn't have a family together, at the very least she wanted to stay with him for a long, long time. The idea that he could kill himself with his drinking put a wrench in that, and she hated it.

The silence hung between them in the air, thick. Was there anything left to say? Was there anything left she could do? She had no clue; and it seemed like he had nothing more to say. Her hand, trembling, reached into her purse to fish out her keys, listening to them dance against each other as she tried to steady herself, unsuccessfully. "I'm sorry to keep you," she said, eyes focused on the ignition. Her way of releasing him, letting him go.

Suddenly Dante realized that, while she had spent the last few years making plans for them, he had never thought about the future — his or theirs. He always knew how he felt, and had even dared to hope that she felt the same, but his thoughts had never gone beyond that. He had so much to think about, and so much to say, and yet he couldn't get his thoughts together enough to voice them. Mournfully, he glanced at the door handle and quickly her face.

He had to get his head together. He didn't want to leave things the way they were, and he didn't want things to be over, but he had to think. He didn't know if he could think about anything right now, or even later, but he felt too off-balance to continue sitting in this car with her.

"I need to think," he said, pulling on the door handle and pushing the door open. It felt wrong to ask her to wait, but he could barely form coherent sentences, never mind figure out how he was going to save their relationship and not lose his mind. His words replayed in his head, and he realized she might think that he had to think about them. He shook his head. "That's not right. I just... I need a couple of days. I need to just... " He scrubbed at his face with his hands again, a pained expression on his face.

Frustrated, he made a fist and brought it down hard onto his thigh. "It's not you," he said finally. "I want this to work. I just don't know how I'm going to do what you want." With one foot planted on the asphalt and the other still in the car, he said, "I don't know how to stop." He wanted to say more, but the words slammed up against one another in his throat. The nausea swept over him again. "Do you... understand?" Was he making sense? He didn't think so.

A couple of days. To think. What would the outcome of that be? She hadn't expect him to say that; in fact, in her imagination, he would have long since stormed off, angry at her accusations. But he had thrown her off-balance, shocked her by seemingly considering what she had to say. Was there hope after all? 

The sharp pains in her chest quelled — she needed to go to a doctor, and soon — and she was able to breathe a little easier. As he began to shift himself out of the car, she nodded, tucking back strands of crimson hair behind her ears. "Okay," she said finally, nodding slowly and repeatedly like a lunatic. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. Just... keep me in the loop, okay?" If he wasn't going to storm away, if he was going to actually think, plan, try to make a difference, then that changed things drastically.

Perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel that wasn't just another train. "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know." Hesitantly, she reached out, her hand coming to rest on top of his fist. She gazed at him earnestly, a mixture of fear and hope evident in those glassy green eyes. "I don't want this either. But... more than this, I want to make things right, the way they should be." They had been together far too long to simply sacrifice all they had put into it, even if it had begun to go to shit. A part of her feared that nothing was going to change, or that he'd try for a little while, but slip back into old habits. It terrified her, and she wasn't sure she wanted to run the risk. But then again, this was Dante. He could still be saved, salvaged — things could be all right.

His own hands were cold. Her hand felt much warmer than his. He shivered in spite of himself.

"Okay," he said. He looked at her, debating whether he should kiss her goodbye or not. He shrugged and grasped her hand, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. He slid out of the car and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the dashboard. Then, without looking back, he walked toward his own car.