The voices whispered in the dark. They hissed in the corners of her mind. They were armed with claws and she could feel them pinching and pulling at her, tugging her back into the dark. She was so tired of fighting them. She was so tired of telling herself that they didn't matter, that she was better than them.
She didn't have any weapons left to fight them. She had used them all and the voices were still there. It was time to acknowledge that they were stronger than she was.
It wasn't just her father's voice or Chris's voice, either. It was a full chorus of voices, blended together in discord, telling her it wasn't enough. That she wasn't enough. She would never be good enough; she would never be smart enough; and she would never be able to quiet them.
Her opinion of the quiet had changed. If it could drown out the sounds of her demons, she wanted noise. She left the radio playing in her bedroom, the television on in the living room. During the day, while Harm was at work and she was waiting for her appointment with Dr. Hepburn, her apartment was a barrage of noise. It poured from the doorways and spilled into the apartment's central rooms.
And still, the voices were louder. She didn't know how to clear them. She slept, pulling the covers over her ears. She read. She ran. And the voices would not go away.
Every once in a while, she was tempted to tell Harm about them. Her mouth would open and the words would be there, waiting to be formed, and she would lack the air to push them out. She couldn't bring herself to say the words. Contrarily, she found herself wanting to ask him questions, wanting the answers in order to restock her arsenal against the voices. She wanted the reinforcements without having to explain why she needed them. So she tried to stay silent. Twice, she bit her lip to keep herself from blurting the questions out like an insecure teenaged girl asks, "Do you think I'm pretty?" It was an odd position to be in. To want to talk and not be able to, to not want to ask for reassurance and be powerless to do almost anything else.
Instead, she found herself chattering inconsequentially, talking about the weather, how much she loved this time of year, asking about his job, and his family. Her jaw ached from the fake smiles and the constant pressure of trying to maintain a calm façade. She suspected that he probably missed the days when she didn't talk at all.
One night, over dinner, he interrupted her babbling. She nearly cried from relief. Shut me up, she wanted to scream. Make it quiet again. Make the noises stop. But he didn't, because he didn't know they were there. He couldn't know because she couldn't tell him.
"Mac," he said. He sounded nervous and she raised an eyebrow. "I have to leave tomorrow."
"Oh." She lowered her fork to her plate. "Of course. You have things you need to do. You can't just spend the rest of your life here." She pushed herself back from the table and began to clear the plates. "You didn't have to stay this long. I appreciate it, but you know you didn't have to stay, Harm." She smiled to let him know that she was okay with his going. "Do you need help packing?" The hand holding the plate shook lightly as the demons danced in her head.
"No, Mac--"
"Oh." It shouldn't have hurt. This had been her goal since that night in the hotel in Paraguay. "Okay. Well, I'll just start clearing up then. You can start packing. You made dinner, you don't need to help with the clean up." She set her plate down when the tremors wouldn't stop, drew a deep breath, and decided to start over again.
"That's not what I meant." He moved his napkin from his lap to the table and made an ineffectual grab for her wrist, but she was a flurry of movement. "Mac, please sit down."
She sat. Her lips trembled open and closed again. "Okay, I'm sitting." She gestured to the chair beneath her.
"I have to go away for work," he started to clarify.
"How long - no, never mind. You probably can't say. Where are…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "I know better. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He clapped a hand down on hers to stop her fingers from tapping against the table top and squeezed her fingers lightly. "The point is, I don't know how long I'll be gone."
"Harm," her voice was calmer, soothing, "I'll be fine."
"I know. Because," he paused, sucking in air to give himself time and courage. "You won't be alone," he said in a whoosh, running the words together.
"I don't understand," she said, her eyebrows sinking low on her forehead.
"You won't be alone," he repeated.
"But you won't be here," she pointed out. "You'll be in some exotic locale."
"Yes, but - "
"And Harriet and Bud have AJ and the baby. And the Admiral and Sturgis are busy. And you won't be here."
"No." He wanted to scoot his chair back into the safety of the kitchen. "But my mother will be."
"Your mother." She wondered if she heard him correctly.
"Her plane lands in an hour. We're going to have to leave soon to pick her up."
Her fingers curled around her glass. She wanted to throw it. She wanted to give into her childish urge and have a temper tantrum. "I'm not a child," she said slowly. "I don't need a babysitter."
"I know that, Mac."
"Obviously, you don't."
"Yes," he said calmly, "I do."
"Then tell your mother not to come." Her tone was almost pleading.
"It's a little late for that. She'll be her in," he checked his watch, "fifty-six minutes. Get your shoes, we have to go." He stood up and took the stack of plates away from her.
"Don't handle me," she snarled the words out.
"I'm not." He dumped the plates in the sink. "Get your shoes."
The muscles in her arm bunched and tightened as she lifted the glass slightly. Realizing what she was about to do, she lowered it and pulled her hand into her lap. "I don't need a babysitter," she repeated, pouting.
He turned back to face her. "I know." At her skeptical look, he repeated, "I know."
"Then why fly your mother out here?"
"Because." He shrugged. "Because I trust her."
"Harm," she began.
"Mac," he cut her off. Kneeling before her, he said, "I need to concentrate on my job."
"I know."
"I can't do that if I'm worried about you." He tugged her hands and hauled her to her feet. "You'll be okay with my mom."
"Oh."
"That's it?" he asked.
"We're
going to be late." She avoided his question. Watching him move about
her apartment, she wanted to ask him why he cared. She had done everything
she could to make him leave and he still wouldn't go. Nothing worked.
It was no damn good, but she didn't know what she could do to make him
see that. She was a black hole and it was only a matter of time before
one of two things happened. He would see her one day. One day, he would
look at her and see beyond the woman and into the abyss and he would run.
Or he would never see it and he would stumble into it and die.