Hurt
So this is how it feels when your heart breaks.
I must admit that I hadn't been expecting pain so physical. When I'd sat there in silence, listening to words of love that weren't mine, an ache had blossomed in my chest until I felt constricted. Winded. All those trite clichés involving stabbing and daggers had suddenly made perfect sense, and everything had faded until the world was condensed into my line of vision. It was a tribute to the automated responses of the human body that I'd even managed to keep breathing, because breathing really didn't seem important any more. I hadn't been sure I still wanted to breathe.
I'm still not sure.
And here we are now, all nice and cosy, trading wit and smiles, all friends together. I've never felt so isolated. I'm in the bosom of my family and I don't belong, not any more. I'm the outsider. The reject. This is how I'll die; tonight or tomorrow or years from now. The loneliness is tearing me apart.
I think Frasier kind of understands. Every so often I catch sight of him shooting desperately concerned glances in my direction, until something distracts him and he turns to smile with Donny, or Dad, or ...
Or Daphne.
God it hurts.
If Donny advises her to "show 'em the rock" one more time, I may just scream. It's a garish engagement ring, anyway, going for size over style, ostentation over elegance. It's a ring that says more about him than it does her. He's announcing his good fortune to the world, and demanding an acknowledgement that the recipient of that good fortune should count themselves lucky.
But that's not fair. That's just sour grapes. Donny deserves better than my hostility, not only because he's a decent sort, but because I need to be able to believe in him. I'm reliant on him now for Daphne's happiness.
She does look happy.
I think I'm going to break down.
"Would you all excuse me, for a minute?"
There. I kept my voice admirably level. I even smiled, I think. One foot in front of the other, and another, keep going, keep the shoulders straight until you're inside. Right. Now, calmly, close the powder room door. That's good, nice and quiet, nicely unobtrusive. You've bought yourself a few minutes.
Okay, maybe I'm not going to weep after all. Not yet. But I need to sit down. It seems so quiet in here, even with the laughter and congratulations bouncing off the walls next door.
I feel so alone.
God help me.
~~~~~
Frasier isn't going to say anything, then. Strange. The way he insisted on walking me down to the car suggested otherwise. I think I've done quite well, all things considered. I stayed until nearly eleven, didn't I? And whilst I may have been a little quieter than usual, I wasn't completely silent. Even when Dad fetched his camera and insisted on taking a few party snaps, even when Donny wrapped his arms around her and posed possessively, even then, I smiled and quipped and pretended not to be falling apart.
All those chances. Nearly six years' worth of chances. And I never once took one.
"Are you going to be all right, Niles?"
Ah, so it does speak, after all. Funny that he should wait until we're out of the privacy of the elevator.
"Of course. I just need a little time to get used to this." Voice is still steady. I had no idea I could be such a convincing actor.
"Will you come by tomorrow? Maybe we could talk about this?"
I'm never coming here again, brother mine, you must realise that. Every time I walk through your door I'll see Donny Douglas on one knee, proposing to the woman I love.
"Sure, that sounds good."
He's not buying it, that's plain enough, but he seems to understand. We're nearly at the car. Good. I want to be alone.
"Are you okay to drive?"
He doesn't let up, does he? "I only had one glass of champagne."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
"I'll be fine."
"Niles -"
"Not now, Frasier!"
Okay, I'll admit that sounded a little desperate. My chest aches. I want to be alone.
A nod, as we draw level with the car. A supportive pat on the shoulder. A goodbye.
Goodbye Daphne.
I need to be alone.
~~~~~
It's been a week. Seven days and seven nights. I haven't set foot in Frasier's apartment, despite numerous invitations. I haven't seen her. It's about as long as I've gone without seeing her in six years.
I miss her.
And, strangely enough, I hate her. I hate her for never realising, for never seeing the difficulty I had in expressing my feelings. I hate her for all those throwaway comments which made me think twice.
What utter nonsense. I don't hate Daphne, I hate myself. Laying the blame for my procrastination at her door would be the height of selfishness. And I'm not selfish, not when it comes to her. I've let her go, haven't I?
Because I love her.
I haven't cried yet. Even lying in bed alone, in the dark, unable to sleep as thoughts career around my mind at ninety miles an hour; even then, I can't seem to weep. It's as though the pain is still too intense for me to register just how much I hurt.
I hurt.
But I'm still functioning. I'm still working. Still putting one foot in front of the other. Still getting up in the morning. Even though nothing seems to matter any more.
~~~~~
Here's something interesting.
I have a friend, a confessor and all round sympathetic ear. I'd never have imagined it happening this way, but Roz has been remarkably supportive. Apparently Dad let it slip that my heart had just been dumped down a mincer, and she was concerned enough to drop by. I had to retrieve the dragon from the library and place it more prominently in the living room whilst she went to the bathroom.
We talked for two hours, but it was she who ended up in tears. Would you believe that Donny is the one that got away, for her?
By the time we finished our third bottle of wine and had moved from maudlin to muddled, we were tipsy enough for one of those moments. You know, one of those 'if we look at each other this way for much longer then something horizontal is going to happen' moments. I really thought she was going to kiss me, but it didn't last more than a fraction of a second before I was thinking about Daphne's beautiful face and Roz was no doubt remembering how she doesn't find cultured men attractive, and then we spluttered with giggles and I called her a cab to get home.
I guess she'll pick up her car in the morning.
~~~~~
Daphne came to me again.
She did it before, just prior to Donny's proposal, when she asked for my guidance and I very nearly betrayed her. How far had I fallen, exactly? I put things right, back then. Told her that the visions were purely jitters. And she hated me for that, because she thought I was ridiculing the things she believes in. I suppose I was, in a way. It seemed pretty unlikely that some psychic force was really trying to tell her something. So I did it. Pushed her back into Donny's arms.
And I did so again, tonight.
She told me about her reservations, sitting on the fainting couch, sniffling into my handkerchief. It was almost as though she were daring me to beg her not to marry him. No, really, it was. That's how unstable this whole affair has left me. But I've learned from my errors. I told her it was none of my business and that if she had problems with Donny then the only honourable thing to do was talk to him about them. I virtually threw her out of the apartment. Politely, of course. Never let it be said that Niles Crane forgets his manners, even when he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
The irony is that she probably hates me even more, now. She hates me because the friend she'd always been able to depend on turned his back and sent her away. She has no idea how much it cost me to do that.
It's good that she hates me. She won't try to see me again. I can hardly breathe when we're in the same room.
I'm thinking of moving away from Seattle; matching physical location to emotional detachment. Much as I love my family, I think I need the distance. I need the fresh start.
If I'm going to stay sane.
~~~~~
I've been offered a job. Well, not a job, a partnership. The money will be good and my profile will be raised. And Philadelphia is a long, long way from Seattle. Couldn't get too much further without crossing an ocean.
I haven't accepted yet. But I'm thinking about it. You see, they've set a date.
And I still haven't cried.
~~~~~
Frasier came round this evening and I told him about the job. I've written a formal letter of acceptance. There's nothing left for me here. Even being close to him and Dad means nothing. He tried to talk me out of it. He did his usual 'give it a few days' routine, and I surprised him by telling him that I'd already been sitting on the decision for nearly two weeks. There was nothing he could say to that.
I haven't seen Daphne for over a month. I asked him how she was, trying to be casual. Frasier hesitated before he said she was fine. He added that she'd asked why they saw so little of me now. I told Frasier to tell her I don't like to mix with kooks, then I laughed. Hard and mean. See how low I've sunk? I have to get away.
I think I might be able to cry tonight. Now I've made my choice, now I can put this hurt behind me, it's all finally sinking in. It's over. I'll never have her. She loves another man. She'd never have loved me anyway. Not the way I wanted her to love me.
Frasier left after an hour and told me he'd see me for dinner tomorrow. I don't really want to go out and dine with him, but I guess I should show willing while I'm still in town. I wonder whether Dad's going to be mad about me leaving.
Even the apartment doesn't feel like home any more. It's as though I'm already distancing myself from everything that is familiar, here in Seattle. I suppose I should see Daphne before I go, to say goodbye and find out whether she's still angry with me. I used to love her being angry with me. It used to turn me on. I'm a sick bastard, really.
Was that the door?
What time is it, anyway? It's after ten. Late, for someone to be calling. Probably Frasier, wanting to try to talk me out of my decision again. Well, he's on a loser there. Still, can't leave him standing out in the hallway.
Her.
"Hello, Dr Crane."
Her. Can't breathe. Hurts.
"Daphne, won't you come in?"
Did I just say that?
"Thanks."
I feel dizzy. I should take her coat. There. "Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you. I just came over to ... to talk."
What the hell is there to talk about? You're in love with another man. You're going to marry him. You broke my heart.
"Okay." So, talk then. Want me to start? "Won't you sit down?" When did I get so formal? This is one of my closest friends! She's talked and laughed and cried on that couch. She's rubbed ice over her neck while sitting on that couch.
"Thank you."
Well, here we are, Daphne. Hit me with it. You want me to apologise for ridiculing your beliefs? You want me to say sorry for chasing you away when you needed a friend? You want my advice about your forthcoming marriage? Hey - you want me to be a bridesmaid? I mean, I always did get the girl roles. In fact, that's how you see me, isn't it, Daphne? I'm a girlfriend, someone to come to with your secrets, a shoulder to cry on, a safe haven. Shame I'm not closer to your size, we could swap clothes. You never saw the man when you looked at me, did you? You never saw the aching passion that this yellow haired, spindly, pathetic excuse for a man concealed.
"Dr Crane told me that you're thinking of leaving Seattle."
Ah. That's why you're here. He sent you to try to talk me out of it. That was below the belt, Frasier. And you accuse me of doing all my thinking there.
"Yes. But not thinking. I've made my decision."
"You're definitely leaving?"
"Yes."
I wish you wouldn't sit there like that, all taut and tremulous. Your beauty deafens me. It makes my ears ring. I don't know why you seem so upset. You have a life ahead of you, with a man you love and a home to build. Why should my whereabouts matter?
"Please don't go."
...
What?
What did you just say?
"Umm ... well, Daphne ..."
"Please. I know I have no right to ask."
"You don't want me to move to Philadelphia?"
Is this having your cake and eating it? Have you any idea how much you've hurt me?
Of course you haven't.
"No, I don't want you to go."
It's as easy as that, is it? And just what exactly is so fascinating about my floor? And why are the tips of your ears red? Daphne, what the hell is going on, here?
"All right, I won't go."
What the hell was that?!
Shut up. Don't think. Don't analyse. Go with what feels right. Where did I put that damned letter? Oh yes, it's over on the counter. I was going to post it first thing in the morning.
And now I'm ripping it in half and handing the pieces to Daphne. Her eyes are so very full. So very beautiful.
"That's it? You're changing your mind, just like that?" She sounds uncertain. Startled.
Shrug it off. "Looks like it."
"For me?"
"I don't see anyone else here." Now come on, Niles, that just sounded snippy. Just because your heart has been forcibly extracted from your chest, carefully laid out on a road and steam-rollered by this woman, doesn't mean you have to be rude.
"Oh god, it's true, isn't it?"
What the hell is she talking about?
"What are you talking about?"
Nice goldfish impression. Open ... shut. Open ... shut. Come on, Daphne, the words can't be that difficult. Mind if I sit down? You always did make my knees weak.
"The way you feel."
What?
"What?"
No, that's all I'm going to get. When the head shakes like that and then drops forward, you can't expect much more. And anyway, she's said enough.
She knows.
And she's right. This is one interesting piece of floor. I think I'll talk to it.
"Who told you?"
"Your brother. But 'confirmed' might be a better word than 'told'."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"That was unforgivable of him."
"No it wasn't. Donny and I broke off the engagement three days ago."
What?!
"Why -"
"Because it would be wrong to marry a man I'm not in love with."
"No, sorry, I mean, why didn't Frasier tell me?"
"Because I made him swear not to tell anybody until Donny had informed his family and friends. I didn't want them hearing it second-hand."
Oh my god. There's not going to be a marriage. Daphne isn't going to marry Donny. I should have realised. She's not wearing 'the rock'.
"I see." Oh for heaven's sake, Niles, the woman you love more than life itself has just told you that she has broken up with her fiancé and that she doesn't want you to move away. Can't you say something a little more articulate than that? "Umm ..."
"You'd have stayed here, just because I asked you to, even though you didn't know I'd finished with Donny?"
Well, she's certainly being helpful enough.
"I guess I would." You're smiling, Daphne. Is this funny? Or are you just nervous?
"And it's true?"
No going back now. "Yes, it's true." Heart's pounding. For god's sake, Niles, say the words! Can't you see it's okay to say the words, now?
Deep breath.
"I love you, Daphne."
Well, that wasn't the reaction I anticipated. A kiss ... that would have been nice. A slap ... not so nice, but not unexpected.
But tears?
"Don't cry, please, here." Give her your handkerchief, man. "Please, Daphne, there's no need for tears!" Oh, now, look at that. Your eyes are getting all puffy and your mascara is running.
Dear god, you're beautiful. Breathe, damn it, Niles.
Okay, good, she's calming down. Give her a moment. Let her catch her breath.
"How long ...?"
How long what, Daphne? Oh! "How long have I loved you?"
"Yes."
"Since the moment I laid eyes on you."
"Rubbish."
She's got you there. "Okay, maybe it took half a minute or so before I realised that I wasn't just feeling a rush of lust but was, in fact, falling passionately in love."
"Half a minute?" She's doing that dubious look. Oh lord, I love the dubious look.
"If that."
"Then why the hell didn't you say anything before?!!"
God, Daphne, you're ravishing when you're angry. "Because it was easier to go on hoping that one day things would work out, than to risk destroying that hope by asking you the question directly."
In other words, you're an emotional coward, Niles Crane.
"Asking what question?"
It's time, is it? Well all right. What's the worst that could happen, now? Deep breath. Heart's still pounding.
"Is there any chance you might ... share my feelings?"
...
Oh, that's right, make me wait. It isn't as though I've already -
"Yes."
...
What?!!
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
Daphne has feelings for me?
No, I must have misheard. "You feel the same way?"
"Yes!" You don't look comfortable, Daphne. "What do you want, a solicitor's letter?"
"No, no, no. Just the ... just the words ... would be fine."
"Fine! I love you too. Happy?"
'Happy' isn't the word I'd use, Daphne. Delirious? Over-joyed? Come on, you might at least look at me. Ah, there we go. Thank you. Your eyes look a mess, my love. Tears and mascara will always bring out the panda in a woman. Allow me. There. That's better. Handkerchief's ruined though. As if that matters.
So. Daphne loves me.
Okay.
Or is she on the rebound?
Oh lord, we're going to have to talk about this, aren't we?
"So, Daphne, how long have ... ummm ... have you had ... these feelings?"
"I'm not sure."
"Could you ... take a guess?"
"All right, all right. I've been thinking about ... you and me ... since that night two summers ago, when we nearly ... you know. On and off. And I was jealous when you fell in love with that woman from this building -"
"I wasn't in love with her, but ... that's a story for another time."
"Whatever. And more recently, I guess I've been becoming ... attuned to your signals. That night that Donny proposed, well - everybody seemed to be looking at you."
"I see."
She's been thinking about me for two years. Daphne thinks about me. I wonder if she dreams about me? Lying in bed, all relaxed and comfortable, silk sliding over her skin as she ...
Oh, god.
So she really wanted me that night. The ice-cube night. I knew it. I knew she wanted me. I knew I wasn't kidding myself. She was giving me bedroom eyes. Come-hither eyes.
Oh god, Daphne, I love your eyes ...
"So ..." Wow. Where did you get this talent for dialogue, Niles?
"So."
"What do we do now?"
"I think this is the part where we kiss." Your voice is shaking.
"I get to kiss you?" Oh, look, my hands are shaking too!
"It's in the script. 'After the mutual declaration of love, comes the kiss.'"
This can't be happening.
"Is it a pre-watershed or a post-watershed script?"
She's smiling. I liked that one, too. Sounds a lot wittier than 'please, please, please will you stay with me tonight?'. She's making me wait, though. She's teasing me, the vixen! Oh, god, I'm in love. I'm in love with you, Daphne Moon! Do you hear me?
"Phone your brother."
What?
"Why should I do that? He knew you'd finished with Donny and he didn't tell me. He's going to stew for a while."
"Niles, he's your brother. He's Frasier Crane. He doesn't sit at home stewing, he gets wound up and then decides to telephone or drive over or something. Phone him, tell him we're working things out, and maybe ... maybe, we'll have the night to ourselves."
Ah. Post-watershed. My favourite. Not that I can really remember ...
She called me 'Niles'.
Phone Frasier. Right. Cellphone. Speed-dial. Connecting .... okay. "Frasier? I'm not going to Philadelphia and you have a lot of explaining to do. I'll see you tomorrow." Good. That ought to do it. Disconnect. And let's turn the thing off, too. Just to be on the safe side.
Now how about that kiss? Yep, looks like that's still on the cards. I wish I could stop trembling, I must look like a teenager on a first date. So what's it to be, my beautiful angel? Slow and tender and ...
Mmmm.
Oh, Daphne.
Daphne, Daphne, Daphne.
Oh god, this feels good. And that ... oh momma. That feels even better. What's the opposite of slow and tender? Oh who cares?
Wait a minute.
Hurt's gone.
Why the hell am I crying, now?
The End
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