"Wait-" you panic, the sudden awareness that he'd already made his mind up, that'd he'd already decided that the conversation was over, and that there wasn't a single thing you could do to stop him, bringing yet another wave of that same helplessness from before crashing down over you, flooding your senses and drowning out what remained of your rationality, "wait, Max, wait! Not yet, not yet-"
Because this one, this one is ridiculously, pathetically, inexplicably worse than those that had preceded it– leaving you frantic and cursing the selfish desperation that takes sets in, taking hold of your mind and your tongue, systematically silencing every thought in your head that counseled restraint in the same deft stroke that severs the last tether you'd had on your self-restraint.
Because now, the rising tide of emotion does not recede, it does not lessen, it does not retreat and unlike before, the waters do not ebb, instead only continuing to rise, to strengthen, to deepen... until, for the first time, the possibility of being pulled under by the current of your fear for Kaia, for Max, even for yourself, is no longer a simple threat but a guarantee that promises what is to come.
"Don't hang up! I'm not- you still haven't explained-" it's pointless, an exercise in futility but you keep talking all the same, knowing that you could stop the words from coming about as much as you could force Max to listen to them, "baby, please-"
Well... fuckkkk. Fuck me– baby? Baby?! Of all things, baby? Really? Just why in God's name-
That had certainly been a choice... and unfortunately, it had been one that there was absolutely no undoing, regardless of however much you wished there was. That being said, you reasoned things could have been worse, there could have been the silence of an ended call coming from the other side of the phone still pressed to one side of your head, where instead there was only the silence of a man evidently at a loss for words.
And that quiet could be a good thing or a bad thing, there was really no telling when it came to Max.
"Uh, well... I'll just talk to you later-" he doesn't seem to be breathing as his tongue gets tripped up by its own words, "Okay! Love you! Bye!"
----------
But to add insult to injury, there isn't a single flight home for hours, with the first one out of the closest airport not being until a little after 1 pm today and that simply won't do. The mere thought of having to sit here, helpless and overwrought with emotion, simply waiting and watching the clock for the next nine and a half hours is fucking unfathomable.
So, not knowing what else to do or who else to call, you dial the only person that comes to mind, stealing yourself in preparation for waking him, which isn't a task you're looking forward to any more than you are to asking such a huge favor of him as this but surely, if anyone will know what to do, he'd be the one.
"Horner, I know you said to never call this late unless someone is dead, or Lewis announced his retirement but-"
"Of course, he did. Insufferable, isn't he?" The soft, lyrical voice floating through the speakers of the phone is a far cry from the one you'd been expecting, and it takes your half awake, panic-stricken mind a moment to recognize it.
"Mrs. Horner, I'm so sorry-"
"Please, don't call me that," she laughs lightly, like the mere thought of being addressed as much is amusing but only marginally so, "Geri will do fine."
"Right, yeah, Geri," you repeat, the moment feeling a little surreal when a voice in the back of your head reminds you this isn't just Christian's wife you're talking to– she's a Spice Girl– which is just a strange thing to try and wrap your mind around, "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm calling this late but-"
"We know. That poor sweet girl," Geri sounds like she's fighting tears, the emotion in her words threatens to open the flood gates of your own just barely contained sobs, "and Max... he's putting on a brave face but-" she comes up short, her cadence catching as she remembers herself, "Christian's on the phone, seeing to your flight. Didn't seem right, you being here when they're there."
"I-" the guilt that had already been building to a fever pitch seconds into the phone call with Max, which you'd only managed to compartmentalize out of the sheer demands made by necessity, very nearly takes you out at the knees when it makes a savage resurgence, the wake of worry crashing over your head with a violence that suggests the feeling is on a campaign of revenge following its earlier, rather unceremonious exile.
"I know, love," the understanding that floods Geri's voice should be a comfort, the reassuring cadence of her tone should be a balm to your rubbed raw and bleeding emotions, and yet at this moment, it's anything but.
The sympathy she speaks to you with is suffocating because there is nothing, nothing, that she can say or do in this moment that will change the one thing you know with absolute certainty just now– that you do not deserve the gentleness and the compassion that colors her every syllable, not when you should have been there in that car tonight, instead of an ocean away.
"Oh, don't do that," she remarks with a sigh, the frank delivery of her words cut from a far less forgiving cloth than anything she'd said prior and takes you entirely by surprise because this time around, instead of pulling punches, Geri hits home with disarming accuracy.
"Don't do what-" it's a desperate, last-ditch attempt on your part to try and deflect which quickly proves to be futile.
"Don't do that. Don't blame yourself, don't torture yourself with the what ifs. It won't do you any good and it won't undo the horrors that have been inflicted on your family."
"I'm not–" evidently you find maintaining the facade of dissent is infinitely easier than conceding to the truth. And if you were to be entirely honest with yourself, that definitely tracks.
"Yes, you are. Of course, you are," Geri retorts with unwavering certainty, dismissing all of your protestations out of hand, "because any mother would. I know I certainly would be. It's simply a reality of motherhood, one which you have to face head on and learn how to handle on your own terms because now is not the time to waste worrying about the past and what can't be changed. Focus on what's to come, not what's done.
So, from one mother to another, focus on getting yourself dressed and ready to head home and let Christian and me handle getting you there. You understand?"
"Yes," there's a great deal else you'd like to say back right now but instead, you set a hard limit of one worded assent for yourself because, as it has already been rightly stated, there's hardly time for any long winded waffling at present.
"Wonderful– that's settled then. One of us will email you the details. Give Kaia and Max my love," she announces with an air of prim finality, and with that, the line goes dead.
Not A Scratch On That Bastard
Start from the beginning
