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Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I’d been betrayed.
Your finger on my hairpin triggers.
Rebecca doesn’t know how they’ve gotten here, but she knows it’s her fault.
She remembers that it started out as a little niggle of discomfort and she’d ignored it because she was being silly and it didn’t matter and he didn't mean it like that. But the next thing she knew, it had grown into a deep, seething, full-bodied upset and now she can’t see through the red haze clouding her vision. She can’t make herself soften or yield even if she knows she probably should, knows she’s taking things too far.
And Ted…
At the thought of him, her stomach turns and acid burns up the back of her throat. She rolls over in bed and shoves her face in a pillow, letting a scream from her belly get lost in it. She hates this. A pit of dread has been steadily growing inside her for the past few weeks and she’s felt helpless under the weight of it. She knows the longer she lets it fester, the further and further she gets from rationality and it burns.
But she can’t let it go.
The familiar flush of shame and embarrassment cycling through to an ever-present self-doubt and anxiety that simmers just beneath herself skin brings a horrifying sort of comfort. Something that’s so so easy for her to fall back into after years and years and years of being married to Rupert. She’d walked away from it, but it’s clear that the feelings and her responses to them have never really left her. And she doesn’t know what to do with it.
All she can do is stew and wither.
Last night, Ted had taken her out for dinner and she’d spent two hours sitting across from him, falsely assuring him that she was fine, they were fine, everything was fine. He hadn’t been convinced and she’d known he wouldn’t be before she even opened her mouth. Three weeks of her making excuse after excuse not to see him for longer than half an hour at a time just to be a frigid bitch to him over dinner.
It’s not Ted’s fault.
It’s not.
Except it is a little bit.
She’d intended to talk to him about it last night, but then he’d… her stomach sinks in remembrance of what he’d done when they’d met inside the restaurant. Ted couldn’t have known and because it’d immediately sent her spiraling, she couldn’t have explained it to him. And it isn’t fair because she knows Ted and she loves Ted. She knows his heart and knows he would never mean it the way Rupert had meant it, but that’s the rub, isn’t it? She’d thought she’d known and loved Rupert and he still―
But Ted would never, right?
The doubt, not in Ted, but in herself, in her judgment, is paralyzing. It spills down into her and wraps around her chest, hardening and freezing. She wants to take a battering ram to it and shatter it. Instead she treats it like a shield, hiding behind it and letting it spread to the rest of her. She remembers when she’d first met Ted and how he’d systematically carved out a Ted-shaped hole in the ice she’d created to protect herself. She remembers how effortless it was and how much she’d wanted to let him do it. That’s perhaps why she’d kept herself from him throughout their date and then at the end of the night, dug her claws into his heart and wrenched it free of his ribs.
“Ted, I think it’s best that we take a break from each other.”
His eyes dimmed and his expression dropped. “Yeah, I was kinda gettin’ the feelin’ you might feel that way. Can I ask why?”
“I just…” she took in a deep breath to fortify herself for what she was about to say. “… need some space. Everything–it’s too much.”
You’re too much was what he heard.
And sure enough, she watched his whole face collapse and shudder closed with a dual sick sense of satisfaction and horror. He rocked back on his heels like he’d been dealt a physical blow and he turned his body slightly away from her, likely preparing for a retreat.
“Oh.” It was an exhalation more than it was the actual word and it cut at her. “Yeah, no, that’s... yeah, I get that. I’ll just um… you gon’ be okay gettin’ home?”
Something soft fluttered, twisted, and died within her, reborn as an anger so swift and moving it swept her away. It blazed through her with such ferocity, she couldn’t even attempt to stop the vitriol she spewed if she wanted to. “I’ve taken care of myself just fine without you, Ted. I don’t need you or your help getting home.”
She didn’t see him this morning. Her box of biscuits perched on her desk were the only evidence that he’d ventured up to her domain. She wanted to scream and cry and chuck them out the window onto the pitch, her chest so full of fury and despair it felt like she would never take a proper breath again. She didn’t do any of that though. She’d just swallowed down her feelings, sat her desk, and got to work. The biscuits were gone before her first morning meeting and she raged against the comfort they provided still.
And now she’s home alone. And she probably will be for the foreseeable future. But that’s not really shocking, is it? She’s never been able to hold on to a good thing for very long without crushing it in her hands. It’s a compulsion, an inevitability even. She’d known it was selfish to get romantically involved with Ted the moment they had their first kiss, but everything about him had convinced her to give it a go. That they could last and even if they didn’t, their bond was too strong to break.
Ted had never been shy about showing his admiration for Rebecca’s strength. Somehow she doubts breaking them apart so spectacularly is what he’d envisioned. Or maybe it’s exactly what he’d imagined, somewhere in the back of his mind. He already knew what she was capable of, knew the dark, twisted parts of her that she’d offered up to him willingly. Maybe her destruction of them was as expected to him as it was to her.
It's agony to think about the way he’d looked at her when she broke his heart, but it’s all she can see when she closes her eyes. It’s all she wants to see. She knows it was the last time she’d be granted access to the soft bits of him, the parts of him only reserved for her. She thinks, distantly, that she could have it back someday if she explained herself. If he knew why she was…
But then he’d know and he could use it against her whenever he wanted.
The rational part of her, the part of her who knows Ted, is well aware that he would never. But what if she’s wrong? She’d been wrong about the men closest to her for her entire life. What makes this time any different? How can she trust her judgment about something this monumental? Ted… he could have been forever for her, but it was always naïve to think that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Rupert had known her not even half as well as Ted had and he’d seen that she wasn’t worthy of anything good. So why would Ted be any different?
Rebecca is wrenched out of her musings by the sound of her doorbell.
She’s tempted to ignore it and burrow deeper in her sheets and her melancholy. It would be best if she did. The only person it could be is one of her friends who is also one of Ted’s friends and no matter what she says or how she explains it, they’ll take his side and they should because she’s horrible and he’s a much better person than she is even though she’s tried and she’s fought and she’s done her best―
The doorbell rings again and she clamors out of bed to answer it, spurred by a sudden, desperate urge she can’t explain and doesn’t care to examine. She nearly trips down the last couple of stairs in her haste to get to the door.
When she reaches it, she fumbles with the lock before throwing the door open and it’s―
“Ted.”
He looks just as shocked as she does that he’s standing on her doorstep.
“Hey.” They stare at each other. “Can I come in?”
She doesn’t think before stepping to the side to grant him access, too surprised that he even wants to be near her to feel anything else.
They end up in the kitchen on opposite sides of the island because he goes in first and immediately starts up the electric kettle –something he’s done dozens and dozens of times since their relationship began. It stops her in her tracks. Confusion is rapidly bubbling over into that acidic anger that’s been poisoning her blood.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, the words tasting just as sour as they sound.
Ted sighs, his shoulders slumping as he turns around to face her. He’s leaning back against the counter and he looks exhausted and hurt and sad and it’s her fault. “I don’t know, Rebecca. You tell me.”
But she doesn’t.
“I told you I wanted space,” she says instead.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” he replies, a tick of annoyance furrowing his brow. “But if you wanted that, you wouldn’t have been so mean about it. You said that to hurt me and I’d like to know why so we can work through it.”
Despite the confidence of his words, she can hear how thin his voice is, she can see the tremble in his hands. Under any other circumstance, she would go to him and hold his hands and kiss his cheeks and his nose and his forehead and his mouth. The inclination is so strong in her that the fact that she can’t do that because of her own actions makes her want to scream again.
“Oh, so now you know what I want better than I do?” She spits back at him in frustration.
“Well, yes, a little bit, I do,” he counters, shrugging his shoulders and shoving his hands deep in his pockets. She watches him curl them into fists and she knows they’re both treading on very thin ice with each other. “You… it feels like you’re in that headspace where you can’t see the forest for the trees and you really only get like that when you’re upset or hurt. So please, just tell me what’s wrong. I can take a lot, but I can’t let you keep hurting me if you’re not gonna give me a chance to help.”
She almost regretted dragging Ted to the charity event her mother had roped her into attending. It was their first high society outing as a couple and she didn’t care what anyone thought of him really, but she didn’t want him to have to deal with snide remarks the whole night. Remarkably, her worries were for naught. Ted was a hit because of course he was. He could charm anyone if saw fit to and he had their whole table in stitches by the time the first course was replaced with the second.
Rebecca was even having fun herself.
She was in the middle of tipping back her second glass of champagne when she felt it. Ted’s large, capable hand closed over her thigh and squeezed. He had a way of squeezing her that was mostly in his fingertips. It normally left her hungry for feel of the palm of his hand on her body. But this was different.
Her body’s reaction was instantaneous as her nervous system went into overdrive at the well-remembered gesture. She didn’t even freeze (she’d long since gotten out of the habit of that. Rupert hated it when she froze); she just placed her glass back on the table and played pretend for the rest of night. Just like she was supposed to.
“I think you’ve done enough,” she tells him slowly, robotically, trying to keep herself together under the weight of the memory. Her heart pounds, hard and slow. Or is it racing? The rush of blood to her face and neck makes her hearing go fuzzy and she feels unsteady on her feet.
Ironically, her words seem to energize Ted because he pushes off the counter and steps closer to the island. "What? What did I do?"
But she can’t tell him. She can’t because she knows how this goes and her chest is heavy with it. If he knows how to hurt her, he’ll do it again and again and again. That’s how it’s always been, with her parents, with Sassy, with Rupert. It’s just how it goes, but she can’t. She can’t take it anymore and she can’t give Ted anymore ammunition when he already has so much. He’s always had so much of her and she can’t, she can’t, she can’t―
“… Rebecca! Rebecca, darlin’, you need to breathe.” The feel of Ted taking her hand and placing it on her chest anchors her to the present, and she attempts to gulp in a breath, but her lungs are too small and she can’t get enough air. “Please, just breathe, baby. Breathe with me. Just like this. Match me.”
With effort, she follows Ted’s breathing to stabilize her own and it’s only when she feels like she’s not actively about to asphyxiate on her own panic that she opens her eyes. She’s on the floor now with Ted’s warmth surrounding her. He’s crouched down next to her side with one arm around her back and the other draped across her chest. She should pull away, but she can’t help but relax into his support as her heart stops beating like it’s about to leap out of her chest.
They sit together for long enough that Rebecca starts feeling it in her knees, despite the fatigue tugging at her consciousness. Ted must feel the strain on his middle aged body as well because he shifts slightly and murmurs something about getting her to bed. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t do much of anything, too rattled by her own reaction. She should retreat from him and tell him to get out.
“Why are you here, Ted?” She sighs it into his neck sometime during their trek up the stairs.
“Because I love you,” he says easily even though it’s the first time. “And I think you love me too.”
And she can’t think of much else to say to that.
Rebecca’s slow to wake.
Consciousness spreads through her languidly, allowing her ample time to get her bearings before she even opens her eyes. She’s on her side facing the window with Ted’s frame solid and warm at her back. She’s woken up this way many times, but it’s been weeks since the last. Holed up in silent isolation like it was what she wanted.
She’d missed him even while she’d cursed him.
She’d wanted him even during the worst of her darkness.
It’s been maddening and unsustainable and she’s unbearably confused on what to do next. She hadn’t counted on Ted coming back for her. She doesn’t know what to do with that.
She opens her eyes to the first light of dawn creeping up over the London skyline. She knows she’ll be blinded by the sunlight before long, so she contemplates slipping out of Ted’s arms and getting up for the day. But then what? She waits for Ted to wake and then…? She balks at the idea of an awkward standoff where Ted’s become too uncertain of himself to interrogate her and she’s too stubborn and terrified to explain herself.
Instead she turns over in her spot and there he is. Blinking back at her, sleep still tugging at his lids. She thinks he could easily drift back off, but he doesn’t. He shimmies a little bit closer to her and sighs.
“Rupert was nice to me in the beginning,” she starts without knowing she was going to. “He was kind. Not like you, but in his own way. He cared about what I said and what I thought and what I wanted. I felt listened to and… loved.” It’s not hard to admit that. It’s why she stayed with him once things started getting bad. She knew he was capable of treating her well and she’d just wanted that back. “The bad parts started slow, so slow I didn’t even notice them piling on top of each other until I was drowning in it. He used to frame it as wanting what was best for me. And Rupert of course knew what that was better than I did.” She watches him watch her and remembers. “You know how he is.”
“Unfortunately,” Ted says, his voice a low, sleepy grumble. It could be a quip, but there’s no spark of amusement in his eyes.
“He started… before he escalated to publicly embarrassing me,” she says it in a rush, feeling the shame and breathing through it. “When he’d want me to stop eating or drinking while we were out, he would squeeze my thigh or my waist or my arm.” She drops her gaze from his eyes to his chin when she says the next part because she’s not trying to hurt him now. He’s stayed and she wants him to keep staying. “You did that to me at the charity event my mum invited us to. And I know you probably didn’t mean it the way Rupert might have meant it, but I couldn’t—” She looks back up at his face now and the hurt there is devastating, and she wants to stop, but that wouldn’t be fair. He stayed and it wouldn’t be fair. “He was so nice to me, Ted. And I didn’t see it when he wasn’t and I thought that… I didn’t know if I could trust myself. My judgement.”
“About me?” His voice cracks on the second word and she feels it in her chest.
“About anything,” she confesses, relieved and tense all at once. “I’m sorry I’ve been horrible.”
“I’m sorry I made you hurt so much you felt like you had to be,” he says, voice pitched low and garbled like he has something stuck in his throat. His eyes are shiny with tears threatening to fall and she is an awful, awful person. “Rebecca, I love you so much it scares the life outta me, and I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose. I don’t—whatever you need me to say or do, I’ll do it. I hate that I’ve made you feel like this. It’s—”
She lifts one of her hands and cups his cheek to soothe him. “No, Ted, darling. No. It’s not…I know that and I believe you. But sometimes…” she thinks of how to phrase it. “Things happen and I can’t get out of my own head about it. I start questioning everything and it starts to make sense, you know?”
He nods slowly, gears turning in his mind. “You think because Rupert was nice to you until he wasn’t anymore that the same could happen with me?”
“It’s hard to remember that I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me when all I can remember is the way he made me feel. And it’s not your fault. I just can’t seem to get a handle on it all,” she says, shame and guilt tumbling together in an unpleasant cocktail in her belly.
“Rebecca,” Ted says her name like a prayer and she feels it move through her, dissolving away some of what she’s feeling. “It’s not your fault either. What he did to you is not your fault.”
She does know that. When she really lets herself think about her entire relationship with Rupert, she knows it’s not her fault. But she does have to live with it and it’s embarrassing because she should be past this. It’s been years since she left Rupert and she likes her life and she even likes herself sometimes and she feels fulfilled with what she's made of herself since the divorce. So why the fuck does he still get to have this power over her?
“I know,” she says, and the breath of relief he lets out fans across her collarbone and tickles. “But it’s not yours either and you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”
Ted doesn’t respond for a long time; he just looks at her and she can feel it. She’s always been able to feel his eyes on her and while it’d made her tetchy and annoyed at first, she’d quickly found comfort in it. She still does, despite everything.
“I knew and loved you for a long time before we got together.” His mouth tips up in a little smile. “And you know, I do remember why we met in the first place and that didn’t scare me off either. I’m sorry to say it, honey, but you’re stuck with me now.”
Tension shudders out of her. “I love you.” His whole face brightens and beams, unable and unwilling to hide from her. “And I’m sorry I’ve been the worst.”
“You already apologized and contrary to what you believe, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me other than Henry,” he declares like it’s a fact, like there’s no room for debate. “I wish I could make you believe that even when your mind’s trying to play tricks on you.”
“Sharon would probably tell you that you can’t do that and that’s something I need to work on myself,” Rebecca says softly. It’s a thought that’s been rattling around in her head for a while now: therapy. Being an absolute nutcase to her wonderful partner because her ex-husband screwed her up might just be the thing that finally pushes her back into seeking out professional help.
“Yeah,” Ted agrees, his eyes twinkling with something that looks like adoration. “She might say something like that.”
She wants to be better. Mostly for Ted and their relationship, but she’s hoping (because she knows it’s possible, she’s seen it with Roy) she’ll get to a point where she’ll want to be better for herself, too.