hosted by tripod
E-mail this page to a friend Tell me when this page is updated


TOO LATE?

BY TORRI

CHAPTER

48






Chapter 48

As I lie in my bed, my mind constantly drifts toward my upcoming case. During the past few days, my mind has alternated between thoughts of Todd and thoughts of this case. Sometimes, I even manage to have a thought or two about myself and my health.

I'm not getting better, but I'm not getting any worse either. I am suspended between both states, hanging loosely from each, waiting for my body to fail me once more. Surprisingly, it has not let me down, not recently. So, it's easier to lie in bed and think about Todd, and my case; let my thoughts wander all around.

On this night, I am haunted by insomnia, but I can't complain. This is something I can handle, a welcome visitor compared to the alternatives. I watch as the minutes tick away endlessly, each minute being one less of my life cycle. Each minute, slipping from my grasp, lost to the endless night.

Rachel's footsteps are pacing softly up and down the hall. She hasn't said much to me these past few days and as much as that bothers me, I can live with it. Compared to the alternative of seeing her throw her life away, this is something I am easily able manage. Am I happy I told her? Yes, but I am not happy with what has become of our once unbreakable bond.

I give up on sleep for tonight, toss the sheets off me and reach for my briefcase which is never far from my bed. The case file on top is currently my only case and I go over the notes for quite possibly the millionth time in the past week. I know everything in here by heart, but I don't want to risk missing anything.

I saw Derek today; his eyes were gray and empty, the same color of those who have given up on life entirely. His voice held no inflection, no signs of life at all. His bruises have all healed, probably not properly but we can only attack one part of the justice system at a time.

It occurs to me that he is the reason I cannot sleep. His eyes were mine, right after my mother died, after my first broken heart, each and every time a man has left me but more than anything, his eyes are mine, right after Todd walked out on me on our wedding day. I try to shake his image from my memory, but it's there on a fifty foot screen, everything movement and expression exaggerated, begging me for help.

"Miss Delgado, please get me outta here," his lips mouth, though only in my mind.

*****

My favorite day of the week is Sunday; Sunday morning to be more specific. When I was a child, my mother would wake me early, help me into my only Sunday dress and take me to church. It was just the two of us and afterwards, she and I would get ice cream cones, two scoops for me and one for her. We would take our cones, purchased with the few dollars she was able to scrounge and save during the week and go to Central Park. When I was a child, those were my favorite days; anytime I could spend with my mother, just the two of us, meant the world to me.

When she left, I began to dread Sunday; hated everything it stood for because it reminded me of something I would much rather forget. I used to think she would come back to us on a beautiful Sunday morning, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. For years I waited; it took that much time to understand that she was gone forever.

I must've been in my late twenties when Sunday became something to look forward to. It was Sunday morning when a little voice would holler, "Tee," and come bounding into my bedroom, jump onto my bed with the biggest smile on her face.

We had a routine, Starr and I. She thought she would wake me up; in reality, I awakened much sooner than she and when I heard her calling, I would close my eyes and wait. I would tickle her until we were both exhausted from the activity.

Usually, Todd was at the paper, so us girls were left to fend for ourselves, which was okay with us because it was our time. She helped me make breakfast, pancakes, those were her favorites. Yes, Starr and I had some really good times; we played until late in when Todd would make his first appearance. Until then, it was just the two of us, best friends, nearly as close as, or maybe closer than mother and daughter.

I don't know why I'm thinking of her so much right now. It's Sunday, nothing out of the ordinary, and I can't stop thinking about her. If I had the slightest bit of courage, I would call her and not give Blair a second thought.

I can't keep thinking about this; the tears are building and I know once they start, there will be no stopping them. Like Niagara, they would fall endlessly, forming a pool on my comforter. I wish I could have one more Sunday like that, but I know that one Sunday, if granted, would make me want another and then another; I would never get enough of spending time with her.

I get out of bed, depressed, wanting to crawl back underneath my sheets. I dress slowly avoiding the mirror in my eyes because when I get like this, I don't recognize the reflection. I know it's me, but I look like a foreigner in my own body.

I look around my apartment; there's no one here. It's best that Rachel and I avoid each other, especially given my mood; I am too tired to continue with our incessant arguing. As I take an inventory of all the things around me, I grow even sadder because I realize how truly alone I am.

I am lying on my couch, facing the ceiling, staring at the white as if it will actually peel itself back and reveal what's underneath. This is what I'm left with; it's what my Sunday mornings have become. This is me at my most pathetic.

It doesn't take long for me to drift to a netherworld of exaggeration. It is in my dreams where I find my soul at peace, sometimes anyway. It is there where I am completely unguarded and my most deeply hidden feelings and thoughts surface.

I am no longer in my New York apartment; instead, I am riding on a bicycle through Italy. My backpack is securely fastened around my waist and the hills, they're so high, but I know that beyond the steepness lies something more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

The rocks have turned into something else, but I can't quite make out what it is. I pedal harder, but I'm not getting anywhere and I look around me, panicking inside. I try to scream, but no sound comes as I open my mouth. My eyes have grown to twice their normal size and I feel my heart ready to leap out of my chest.

It's quicksand I think. I look down; the bottoms of my tires have already sunken beneath the surface. And there, coming up from beneath the sand is some sort of green plant, maybe a vine and it's moving all over the place. It lunges toward me; I nearly jump out of my skin as I abandon my bike and run across the surface.

The slant of the hill has steepened; it is now a mountain. I do not notice that as I run toward the sunlight and closer to my destination. Just as I get to the top, I see a figure standing there, but the figure is in shadows. I cannot make out the gender; I cannot see if it's someone I have met or someone I have yet to meet.

This is odd, but I think I can feel my heart overflowing with something more powerful than my own blood. It's so beautiful, whatever it is and I cannot help but to smile. The closer I get to this figure, the better I feel and I know that I will be protected from the quicksand beneath my feet and the vines that are grasping emptily for my ankles.

The hand extends toward me and I reach toward it. That is when I awaken, just before my fingers touch theirs and just before I can see their face. When I become more alert, I hear the phone ringing right next to my head.

"Hello?" I answer, slightly breathless.

"Where were you? I've been calling for hours."

"You called here?" I ask, very surprised that I slept so deeply, I heard absolutely nothing.

"Yeah."

I look at the clock on my cable box; I had been asleep for three hours. I don't remember the last time I slept so deeply. "God, I must've been really tired."

"You okay?" Todd asks; I know he becomes alarmed, attributing everything to my illness.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He and I have reached a point where we can read each other's minds. It very well could've been the very first time we met each other that we connected in that way. That is how I can tell, even though we're far apart, that there is something drastically wrong with him.

I have made several promises to myself, one of which is to stop trying to push Todd to tell me something when it's obvious that his pain is something he doesn't want to share. I'm supposed to be taking care of myself and because of that, there is a feeling of guilt that courses through my veins, slowly gnawing at me. There has never been a time in my life when I have taken care of myself the way someone who truly loves themselves would. At this point, I'm forced into this state of what I call narcissism because the "experts" say that I have to start putting myself first and cut down on my stress.

"Hey, you want company?" he asks with a strange tone. It is then that I understand the depth of what he's feeling. He has told me countless times that I make things better for him and how soothing he finds my presence and that's what he's expecting me to do now. It's his kids and that woman; he's lonely and looking for comfort from me.

Am I his second choice? Blair always hurts him and I'm always the one left to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. I don't know why I'm thinking of it like this; I know what his presence does to me, how it soothes me, so let me take Blair out of the equation and enjoy what he can give me. If it's just his company, so be it; at this point, we can't take this any further anyway, and that won't change until the ink is dry on his divorce papers.

"If you don't want me to come over, just say so."

"How about I come over there? I need a change of scenery."

"But I still don't have any furniture," he says softly, as if he's ashamed.

"I don't care; I just need to get out of here."

"Okay, I'll send a-"

"No, don't send a car," I protest, "I'm perfectly okay to walk."

When I hang up the phone, my heart is thumping against my chest, knocking as if it's asking to be let out. My palms are sweaty and for some reason, I am so nervous. It's like there's a different dynamic between us; the beginning of something and nobody quite knows where this road will lead.

*****

Todd's Brownstone

His place hasn't changed since my same visit, but I think my feelings have. Sometimes, I fight so damned hard for or against something, that I just get tired and I give in. That might be where I am with Todd; I'm tired of fighting my heart and fighting his iron will. When he answers the door shortly after I arrive, my breath completely leaves my body and that's when I know I'm through with the fight and I am going to give in.

I know I tried to be the sensible one who absolutely would not let this married man writhe his way back into my life but it's those beautiful eyes that say more than he would ever dare to verbalize. It means everything to me, that look, which starts at his face and burrows its way through my veins, capillaries and everything else before it reaches my heart. There he is, standing before me, doing nothing special and I cannot utter a word.

A perfect moment, that's what this is. The kind in movies where the two people know at first sight that their life is no longer their own, but rather a part of someone else's. As independent as I am, I don't care anymore. I have to follow my heart and right now, it's pushing me right into Todd's waiting arms.

"Hey, Delgado, you comin' in or you gonna stand there catching flies with your mouth?"

I hadn't even realized it was hanging open, ready to catch anything in a three foot radius. "Sorry," I chuckle, "I didn't realize it was open." I step past him, glancing down at his bare feet and blue jeans, which are cuffed at the ankles.

Sometimes, the beauty around me is almost too hard to take. That's the way I feel as I look around Todd's place again, taking in the detail of every molding and every banister around me. Within them are intricately carved figures and designs, all unique to that particular piece of wood. It doesn't surprise me that he would pick a place like this given his own unique personality.

"Okay, what gives?" he asks, following closely behind as I wander around his new place.

"I'm just looking around, that's all."

"It's not like it's the first time you've been here."

"No, it's not, but I just can't get over how beautiful it is." When I turn to face him, I am surprised to find him right on my heels. My heartbeat quickens, I swallow hard, clear my throat and force myself to not react visibly to his proximity.

"I love beautiful things," he says, so softly I his words nearly whisk past my ear without my knowledge.

My ears focus on the word "love." He "loves" beautiful things and I know he's not lumping Blair into that category. He said that to me, for my benefit; all I can do is smile.



2002 COPYRIGHT BY TORRI





FanFiction Home



Home




COPYRIGHT NOTICE:: The stories published on The Florencia Lozano Home Page are the property of the individual authors. You may not: Distribute the text to others without the EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION of the copyright owner. You may: print copies of the information for your own personal use, store the files on your computer for your own personal use, reference hypertext documents on this server from your own documents.

This site (and linked sites) is not affiliated with ABC Soaps and is not endorsed by them. The images, characters and settings are all copyrighted by ABC Daytime. All material included on these pages is for educational purposes, in accordance with the "Fair Use" Act.