Challenge: A failed relationship

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Ace

A roll of thunder sounded over the ocean, a flash of lightning following as it raced toward the sea and met the water with a crash as a wave rose up to fight them off. Above swirled a mass of grey clouds, melding into an indistinguishable blanket of grey. It weighed heavily on those below, a thick blanket of suffocation. It was the sort of setting that you only saw in romance novels, building the tension as the sea swelled. There was a sense of foreboding, or maybe a pang of sadness that soured one's tongue. But it didn't feel like that.

It was bitter and freezing and empty, and even from the inside of Haley's father's truck, Finn could feel the cold seep into the vehicle. He sat in front of the wheel, engine humming beneath his seat as his foot still rested on the brake. There was a lack of commitment, a pit of fear in the bottom of his stomach that told him to turn around and drive back to the girl's house and forget all about this. The car was on. The engine was running. Just go.

Finn's grip sunk tight into the steering wheel, his bitten, gnawed fingernails scraping softly against the leather casing. The heat blasted from the inside fans, burning his face enough to cause an involuntary flinch, but it left his knees freezing cold and bouncing to stimulate their own warmth. On the radio, the last song died down and was replaced by another ad for some jewelry business the boy had never heard of. He sucked in a breath and let it out before finally finding the courage to reach down and yank the keys out of the ignition. With a last reluctant glance back at the road behind him, Finn unlocked the truck and slid down out onto the concrete.

It was slick with rain, wet sand gluing to the underside of his shoe as the car door slammed behind him with a gust of wind. The shadow that sat only a few yards down the beach still hadn't moved. Not to turn in his direction once since the car pulled up. He kept staring out at the ocean as if everything else was lost to him, but it didn't hurt anymore. Not for Finn at least.

He stepped down, over the chain-link rope that was hanging in front of the pavement and onto the sand. It kicked up with the wind, scratching at his face as he waded forward. It was like a desert storm but with less sand, moisture weighing down the ground as the boy walked forward with an arm over his gaze.

"Jamie." His voice rose above the roar of the ocean but died beneath the thunderclap that rattled the sky. Still, the boy sitting on the beach didn't answer. He only pulled his windbreaker tighter around his thin frame and tucked his head in farther toward the ground.

An exasperated huff escaping the blonde's lips, Finn marched forward with a new sense of determination until he could stand in front of the smaller boy and stare down at him with every ounce of strength he had less. Which turned out to be admittedly less than he thought as his hands began to shake before they were crossed firmly over his chest. "Jamie," he repeated again, this time managing to receive a brief, half-glance from a pair of baby blues. He wavered further, trying to strengthen his voice by clearing it. It only pulled more sand into his lungs, irritating the inside and bringing Finn into a harsh fit of coughing until he was bending over and dripping spit from his chapped lips.

At least Jamie was now paying attention. His eyes were wider, captivated by the worrying sight of the other boy choking half to death in front of him. One hand hovered in the air, the other on the ground ready to push himself to his feet at a moments notice. Before he was needed, however, Finn swallowed a deep enough breath o fair to right himself and collapsed onto the ground beside Jamie.

There was silence. A long moment of shared, uncomfortable intimacy as Finn wiped drool from his mouth and flicked it into the dunes before resting his head on Jamie's shoulder. His stomach was in knots, a painful ache racing up his side and pulsing with every sharp intake through his noses. The dizziness spiraled only for another minute or two before Finn gained his clear headspace. His eyes were cast out toward the sea where another bolt of lightning shot down and grazed the surface with its tip.

"You shouldn't have come out. It's dangerous," he reminded, pulling himself back off of Jamie's stiffened shoulder.

The younger boy shifted, tucking his feet beneath his legs and forcing himself to look at the wet sand he was forming into a makeshift, clumsy ball over Finn. "No one said you had to come get me."

Finn's lips twisted, his nose scrunching. "I didn't want you to die." It should have been obvious, or he felt it should have, but the expression that overtook Jamie's expression said different.

His lips were pressed in a thin, tight line, chin tilted up by blue gaze turned away. There was a slight exhale through his lips when he opened them, an elongated pause as he dug around for the words he wanted. "Why not?" It was quiet, insignificant under the roar above. Finn only heard the words when he watched the boy's lips move.

An uncomfortable pause, followed by a tight arm wrapped around Jamie's back. It felt stupid, really. That there was a wide rift open between the two like the thunder and lightning had split open the earth even as they sat together and widened the gap between them. But of course it wasn't a freak accident, something that had come all at once with a flurry of rain and sizzling electricity. It'd been slow at first, painfully slow to the point that looking back at it now made all the difference between looking at it them. They weren't just missed calls and unreturned voicemails but the first cracks in the ground. The fights and bitter refusals to yield had split the earth with tedious fingers pulling and tugging until they had bled. The rift was lost nights of sleep over confusing text messages and turned down dates.

And even though the rift was a soothing relief in the back of Finn's mind, he still forced himself to stretch over it, to secure both arms around Jamie and keep him from tumbling in. There was something cruel about the idea of letting him fall, even as it swam in the back of Finn's mind putting whispers in his ears that overwhelmed the guilt beneath his rib cage.

"Come on." He used his arms to lift Jamie up with him as he staggered to his feet in the clinging sand. "Let me take you home."

Jamie's throat tightened, a seizing in his chest following. He sent his eyes out to the water, to the parking lot, and back to Finn waiting for a response. Raindrops began to drizzle down, blonde hair soaking to brown as it fell into the boy's eyes. As reluctant as it was, a nod came from the thin, shivering form of Jamie as he pulled back from the embrace and tightened his windbreaker around himself once more.

It wasn't hard from there to steer the boy back to the red pickup waiting in the parking lot and usher him inside. The temperature dropped and wind picked up as droplets splattered the windshield. Finn ignored, focusing only on heating up the car again, on turning his face away from the waves violently hitting the shore.

Even as he pulled back out and onto the road, guilt gnawed at the bones guarding his chest to break them down. Why not? It shouldn't have been a hard question to answer, but words caught on Finn's tongue and rolled off every time they got close to being uttered. It was because there was history, and not the bad kind of history that swept in once everything grew sour, but the history at the beginning. The foggy memories that weren't so bad. It was because when the earth opened up and a chasm halted your path, you turned a different direction, you kept moving forward. It wasn't always an easier path but rocky and painful to climb, and the only reason you took it was because you were hoping there was something better further on. It didn't mean that you never looked back.

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Shane- An Ending

Life's like a game of Jenga. You spend a bunch of time carefully building the tower up, placing the blocks and making sure everything lines up neatly. The problem with Jenga is that all it takes is for something to mess with one wrong block and the whole thing can come crashing down and then you have to start over. Sometimes we knock our own towers down, and sometimes people do it for us.

Something cracks under my foot as I navigate the maze that the floor of our lounge room has become these days. I peer around the stack of washing in my hands, trying to see which of Asher's toys I've broken this time and sigh at the sight of his favourite wooden horse, the head snapped clean off.

"Everything okay, babe?"

He swings into the room easily, trailing his slightly musky aftershave. I give him a smile, but I'm tired and even I know it looks halfhearted. He grabs his briefcase from the couch and comes over to press a quick kiss on the side of my head. I pout theatrically.

"That's the best I get?"

He gives me an apologetic grin and stoops to peck me on the lips. I hold back a sigh, because I hate that even after the last few months where he's seemed to lose all interest in touching me, I still feel disappointed every time this happens. I mean, I'm the first one who would admit that it hadn't been easy since Asher was born. Sure, my body wasn't the same it was before the pregnancy, but that was to be expected, right? And it wasn't like I was fat, just...I made a mental note to try digging out my old Jillian Michaels workout DVDs again at some point. Maybe once Asher was a bit older and sleeping through nights better and I wasn't so damned tired all the time...

"Babe?"

"Huh? Sorry?"

He laughs lightly. "And you say you always listen. I was just saying I'll probably have to work a bit later tonight. We've got a new client and Harris is keen to get all the paperwork sorted for it."

I set the pile of washing down on the couch and straighten, pushing a hand against the ache in my lower back that I couldn't seem to lose, no matter how many stretches I did.

"Oh...do you have to? I'm just so tired." I cringe inwardly, hearing the unintentional whine in my voice and hating it. "I mean Asher was up all night and...anyway, I was kind of hoping you might be able to take care of him tonight while I tried to catch up some of my other jobs. And I'd kill for a decent hot shower." I wrinkle my nose at him, hoping for a grin. "I mean, you smell of perfume and I just smell like baby powder and barf."

He nods. "Okay, I'll talk to Harris and see what I can do. I'll do my best to get away as early as I can, alright?"

It's his version of the "we'll see" my parents used to dish out when they wanted us to leave them alone without the arguments and squabbling that would break out if a flat no was issued.

"Promise?"

He pauses at the front door, one hand on the knob.

"Course, babe. Promise. See you later!"

The house goes quiet as the door clicks closed behind him and I sigh, stooping to scoop the pile of laundry back into my arms. It's going to be a long day, I can just tell. That hot shower tonight is promising though. Maybe while I'm in there I'll even break into the cheap bottle of red wine I'd bought last week. Hardly an exotic vintage, but enticing all the same...I pick my way out of the room, humming a little. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

***

"Hi babe."

If he thinks he can walk in here and sweet talk his way out of this one, he's got another thought coming. I'm so tired, and now I'm just pissed off.

"You promised, Mark. I needed you here tonight and..."

"I know, and I'm sorry. Work was ridiculous, and I just couldn't get away."

I choke out a little derisive laugh.

"Do you honestly think I'm that stupid, Mark?" The rocking chair creaks as I stand and take a step towards him.

"I don't think you're stup ­­­­­­­­­­–"

"Who is she, Mark?"

There's a moment of ringing silence.

"You think there's another woman?" He scoffs, but there's something about his body language that seems a bit off. Maybe it's the way he'd tensed up when I'd asked him that, or the defensive way he's standing with his arms folded, or the way he'd holding my gaze far too diligently. Marriage is a funny thing, how quickly you can get to know things about a person while still not knowing them at all.

"Well?" It comes out sharp, aggressive. There's a little voice in the back of my head begging say no, say no. Maybe I shouldn't be making a big deal of this. Maybe I should brush it off and carry on. Maybe it's better not knowing. The doubts chase each other round and round my head

His face screws up. "What the hell makes you say that?"

I shrug, not breaking eye contact. "Maybe it's the fact we haven't had sex since I found out I was having Asher. That was nearly fifteen months ago, Mark. And if you think I'm going to believe you've just been jerking off in the shower all this time, then you're dumber than I gave you credit for. Or maybe it's all the late nights at work, and the texts you get that you delete – "

His jaw juts. "How do you know I do that?"

I roll my eyes. "You're kidding me, right? It's always pinging, but I've looked and there's next to nothing on there. So it's not much of a deduction."

"You went through my phone?" There's a note of panic in his voice, and his hand twitches unconsciously towards his pocket. "Did you...find anything else?"

There's something perversely satisfying in watching him squirm and dig the hole he's in even deeper. "No, should I have?" I'm starting to get angry with him now.

Honey, there's...fuck! I don't know how to say this." He's pacing up and down, hands twisting together. I'm starting to get panicky feeling just from watching him.

"Mark, just say it, ok? Just spit it out and then let's deal with it because I can't keep going with you like this! Can't you see we're not working? This –" I wave my hands – "thing, whatever it is...we've got to deal with it before it wrecks everything! Before it wrecks us."

He turns to look at me, face tortured.

"Don't you fucking get it? That's why I can't tell you because it's gonna turn everything we've got here to crap!" He runs a shaking hand through his hair and gives me a burning look. "I don't want to lose you. Or Asher. I –" he gulps a couple times – "I love you. Both of you." It comes out as a whisper and his mouth crumples up.

The frustration boils up in me. "Then just fucking tell me what's going on!"

Down the hallway, Asher starts to scream, woken up by my shout.

"I can't. I can't. Please don't ask me to do this, Jackie." He turns away, and something bitter twists in my throat. I knew it. He can't even look at me. His shoulders shake though the fabric of his sports coat. Everything feels like it's moving very slowly, and I'm hyper conscious of the scratchy feel of the wool of my cardigan against my skin every time I move. My hands are shaking, and I ball them into fists. The bite of my nails into my palms does nothing to cut through the dull buzzing in my head. I want to hit him. He's followed his dick into another bed, just because I've had his kid and it's made me fat and unattractive, so he's found some other dumb blonde to screw. There's something cold and hard settling in my stomach.

"Mark. Look at me." He does so, unwillingly, his features twisting. His eyes meet mine for a second and flick back down to the floor. A memory darts into my mind; the time Dad found a rat caught in a trap in the laundry room when I was just a little kid. It was in a corner, trapped, and we'd hovered, fascinated and repulsed, in the doorway to watch it scurry back and forward, it's frantic, desperate eyes turning to watch us now and then. It's the same look in my husband's eyes now. It's the look of something that knows there's no escape from the current situation.

Of all the things I wanted to feel right now, pity was not on the list. But...

"Please, Mark. Please. I love you. Just tell me what's going on. Then we can...I don't know. Figure this out. Whatever this is."

He shakes his head, a violent twitch.

"Don't say that. You shouldn't say that." His voice is low and hitching. His words sting something in me, and I'm angry now.

"Shouldn't say what? That I love you?" His head bobs in a jerky nod. "Well guess what, that's not for you to decide. And God help me, right now I don't know why, I do. I love you." The words feel odd in my mouth, and I realise just how long it is since we've told each other that. Far too long. And it feels right to say it.

"Mark."

His chest hitches and his hands spasm at his sides, then...

"I'm gay, okay? I'm fucking gay!"

The words rush out, followed by a croaking sort of sob and he's crying now, giant sobs shaking his whole body. I stand there, hands still balled into fists, and there's just an odd empty kind of feeling settling into my stomach. The silence stretches on, Mark's sobs mixing with Asher's screaming. I look down at my arms, and they're covered in goosebumps.

"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry..." His voice is tiny, cracked and thick with tears.

I can't breathe.

"I didn't mean...I didn't want..." The words drop into the silence and do nothing to fill it up. My eyes have found a stain in the carpet next to the piano and are picking it apart forensically. It's probably from one of Asher's bottles. I should probably get some kind of stain remover. Or maybe it's time the carpets were cleaned anyway. If there's a stain there, who knows how many others I've missed? I'll need to get Mark to speak to the company next week.

But Mark's gay.

"You can't be. You must...no. You can't be gay."

Our eyes meet over the mess of toys and it feels like we're a lot further apart than the few steps between us. He gives me a miserable look, and I can't help but notice how old and worn he looks now. One shoulder twitches in a half-hearted defeated little shrug.

"I thought it was different. I had you, and then...and then -" the half shrug again – "and then it wasn't different, and then Asher came along, and I thought I could deal with it and be there for you both..."

"I'm sorry, Jackie, okay? I didn't know how to handle it! I didn't know what to do."

I eye him with more than a hint of scorn.

"So you thought this was the best way to let me know?"

He looks miserable, his forehead crumpling. "How would you tell the person you love – " He glares at me through the tears turning his eyes bright and shiny – "what? You think I don't love you? I fucking do, Jackie. I loved you enough to think I could do this for the rest of my life. And you're welcome to hate me for this, because you can't hate me more than I hate myself for hurting you." He sinks down onto the piano stool and buries his face in his hands.

My jaw aches from clenching my teeth.

Make me think you were cheating on me all this time?" I stop, because there's a nasty crawling feeling of dread spreading down my back. "Is there another..." I can't even bring myself to say it. "Is there? Somebody else?"

He doesn't answer, but the furious bob of his Adam's apple tells me everything I need to know. My skin crawls and my stomach churns. I press my shaking fist against my lips, fighting the nausea down. All those nights he'd come home late after working late or being at the bar with his friends, and climbed into bed beside me, had he just come from the arms of someone else? Another man? This time the twist in my stomach won't be swallowed and I dash for the hallway, shoving past him. I barely make it to the bathroom before my stomach heaves. The tiles of the floor are cold under my knees as I huddle over the toilet, retching weakly over and over. My reflection stares back at me from the rippling water. Out in the hallway, Asher's screams are starting to lose volume. I should go to him. There's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Jackie? Are you...can I do anything?"

I scrub the back of my hand across my mouth and suck in a deep breath.

"I think you should leave."

There's a pause, then he knocks again. "Jackie...please..."

I shove myself to my feet and cross the room to wrench the door open. He stumbles back a step as I face him, heart thundering and aching all at once. How dare he, how fucking dare he.

"This isn't...I didn't choose this, Jackie!"

My body is so tired. My hands ache from where my nails have dug into my palms. I give him a look loaded with as much scorn as I can muster.

"You think I care that you're gay? I could have dealt with that, Mark. We could have worked it out. I mean, maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to try fix yourself with this marriage. But you cheated on me!" The words come out in a kind of screech and Asher's screams start up again, and each one is like a reminder of just how much he's screwed us all over here. He steps forwards and I shove him back with both hands. "You're a liar, and a cheat and a bastard and you can get the hell out."

He opens his mouth to respond and I cut him off. "Don't. Don't make this worse than it already is. Just get out. I don't want to see you." The sobs are crowding up my throat, making it hard to breath, and my eyes are burning as we stare at each other for a long minute before his shoulders slump.

"I'll just get my things, then," he says, his voice heavy and cracked. I stumble backwards into the bathroom, shoving the door shut behind me. The rooms dips and spins around me for a moment as I stumble over to the basin. The cold water from the faucet does nothing to calm the whirl of thoughts chasing each other through my mind. I stare at myself in the mirror over the sink, the water dripping off my chin, red rimmed eyes gazing back at me. Part of me wants to be okay with this. I know plenty of gay people, and I know they're not what Mum and Dad have always said they are. I know he can't help this, that it's not his fault, but still...

I hear Asher's sobs stutter into silence and I know he's gone in to see him, and I can't stop the tears spilling out at the memories of the two of them that crowd in. Mark's face in the delivery room when they told him he had a son. The look on his face when Asher gave him his first real smile. The nights in bed with Asher between us while he told him all the things they'd do when he was bigger. Seeing them sleeping on the couch, Asher tucked in the crook of his arm.

The screams start up again and I hear his footsteps coming down the hall, slow, heavy, miserable. They pause outside the bathroom, and I pause too, my hand shaking around the door knob. I could let him leave. I want to let him walk out of our lives now, and take his lies and the betrayal, but that stupid rational little voice inside my head tells me that won't help matters. He loves Asher. He's a good dad. And I know myself well enough to know that if I let him walk out of here now, then I'll hate myself later for not being grown up enough to see past the hurt and shock of the right here and now.

He's standing by the front door when I come out of the bathroom. There's a pitifully small bag next to him. We look at each other for a long moment, then he gestures at it half-heartedly.

"I thought I'd come get the rest tomorrow. Then you can, you know, not be...you won't have to see me." His jaw clenches.

"Mark. I –" a shuddering breath, because this goes against just about every instinct I have – "just...stop. Wait."

His head snaps up, confusion written across his face. I shrug at him.

"I don't understand. How you could do this, or why you even married me in the first place, or how you managed to knock me up if I'm apparently so repulsive to you that you needed to go find some guy to do...whatever it is you do –"

"That's not fair," he interrupts.

"Yeah, well, you lost your right to say that to me when you lied to me and cheated on me. But Asher's going to need a dad. Not that I think you're going to be much of a role model, but I think you do love him, so..."

He blinks at me stupidly. "I can...you're letting me stay?"

"Nope. Whatever this was, it's done. We're done. But I think kids need a dad and Asher doesn't deserve to suffer in the future just because you apparently couldn't manage to keep your dick in your pants." I shrug again. "You love him, and that's something I can't be angry about. So I'm not telling you to get out of our lives, but I am telling you to get out of the house. And I want a divorce."

My eyes burn as I say it, but I'm not sorry. He nods jerkily.

"I think that'll be best for everyone." His voice sounds strained. The light from the porch is shining through the glass panels in the door, throwing one side of his face into sharp relief and it hits me again just how exhausted he looks. He turns to leave and the question that's been eating at the back of my mind bursts out.

"When, Mark?"

He turns back with a questioning look. "When what?"

"When did you decide you were –"

"Gay?" I dip my chin, glad he said it because I wasn't sure I could have. If I say it out loud, it makes it real and if I don't, then maybe there's still a chance I'll wake up from this nightmare. He gives me a sad little smile. "You know it doesn't work like that, Jackie. I've known since I was a little kid - I didn't just wake up one day and think this might be fun to try. The only thing I decided was that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life lying to myself about who I was." He looks down, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the carpet. "I'm just sorry I wasn't brave enough to do it with myself before I dragged you down with me."

The tears are hot on my cheeks now. "What did I do wrong though, Mark?"

"Oh, Jackie." That same sad little smile again. "It's not you, it's me." He winces. "That's the most cliché line ever, I know, but it's true this time. You're an amazing person, and what I said before is still true. I really do love you, I just..."

His voice trails off.

"Just not enough to change." It comes out more accusing than it should have. He shakes his head violently.

"You know that's not how it works! Do you think I'd be like this if I had a choice? I tried, Jackie! I tried so fucking hard to not be this, and I met you, and you're so...you're just so fucking amazing and kind, and smart, and I really thought I could be different for you. I wanted to change and be different. For you. But I can't and trying to is killing me. I don't want to live the rest of my life like that." His chest heaves with emotion. We stand there in silence for a moment, then he swallows. "I'll...just go."

There's a cold, dead weight settling in the pit of my stomach. "I think that's a good idea."

I stand there in the hallway for a long time after the door closes behind him, then my knees give out under me and I crumple onto the carpet, my breath coming short, sharp pants. I can't help it. A quiet sob wrenches out of me, and I pull my knees up to my chest and curl into the misery that's threatening to tear my heart apart. It's the first time in my life I remotely grasp the idea of real, true heartbreak. Why, why, why? It feels like I huddle there a long time, the sound of my crying mixing with Asher's. It's only the thought of him that pulls me back into reality. I have to be strong for him now.

I press my knuckles against my mouth to suppress the sobs that fight to keep rattling out of the tightness in my chest. I cannot afford to fall apart now. Asher needs me. I suck in a deep breath and push myself up to try and pick up the scattered blocks of the game of Jenga that is my life.