Henya
Subject: April Challenge - The Book of Life (1/1)

A/N – This is in response to Cece’s April challenge. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimers as usual.

The Book of Life

Mac’s Apartment
Georgetown

Mac stood beside her nightstand staring at the unassuming book. She had spent quite a while in the bookstore looking at the various assortments of blank books before choosing it and there it sat on her nightstand, reminding her of what she knew she had to do but at the same time dreading it. The book itself was inviting and beautiful; soft leather with gold leaf on the edges of the thin, lined paper, the inside cover papers being a simple but pretty flowered pattern. But the blank pages inside the book mocked her. How was she ever going to do this?

When the Admiral insisted on her seeing Dr. McCool, Mac had been angry and incensed. But over time, she began to realize that it indeed had been a good suggestion and she soon began to feel like her old self again. She had only seen her briefly and then had stopped by quite a bit later when she was having trouble sleeping. Again, Mac had been reassured by her visit.

But the one thing that she had been ignoring was Dr. McCool’s suggestion during their last session together that she start a journal to help her explore her feelings and come to terms with her past so that she could ultimately figure out where she was going, what she wanted from her life, and who she really was deep down inside.

She had purchased the book a few weeks ago and it still sat in the same exact place ever since she brought it home. For some reason, the act of sorting through her mumbled feelings, putting them down on paper was frightening. The very thought of having her life written in black and white, making her buried self tangible, seemed to make her every emotion, good and bad, even more real. But, she trusted Dr. McCool and felt that it was worth a try. At first she considered typing a journal on her laptop but that seemed too cold. She could type faster than she could physically write which made her afraid that the words would come too fast and she wouldn’t be fully thinking them through as she wrote them down. She also didn’t want to go back and edit what she wrote which would be all too tempting given the opportunity. She needed her words to flow from her very being, inked onto the paper in perpetuity.

It was a rainy Saturday morning and Mac could really find no excuses as to why she couldn’t start the journey into her mind, heart, and soul. Gently, she lifted the book off her nightstand, found a pen, and sat on her bed. She stroked the outside of the book a few times, lavishing in its smooth, soft cover, smelling the faint, sweet scent of leather. Finally, she took a deep breath and opened the book, revealing the first blank page.

“Well, here goes,” she said out loud. Her words seemed to echo through the silent room. Lifting the pen, she started to write; first slowly, then quickly as the words flew out of her head onto the pages on her lap.

Tears of anger poured out of her eyes as she wrote of her childhood: the horror of living with her father, the anger with her mother for leaving her behind, the guilt she knew lingered over from childhood that she had done something to make her mother not only leave but leave without her.

How could she have left me with that man? How could a man be so horrible, especially to a child, not only any child, his own child? Why did I deserve to be treated this way? I can hear Dr. McCool right now telling me that I didn’t deserve it but getting that fact to stick into my head is going to be one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. But I know that I need to do it. I’ve got to move on, make peace with myself. It’s time to stop making excuses for their behavior and blaming myself for things that they did to me. They did those things, I never asked nor deserved for those things to happen. Remember that Mac!

Before she knew it, she had written fifteen pages, front and back, about her so called family.

Family should mean a loving, supportive environment, not a black hole of terror and pain.

Stopping to grab something to eat but never losing her train of thought, she gulped lunch down and returned to the writer’s nest of her bed to continue. She was amazed at how refreshing it was to finally purge herself of such painful memories in such explicit detail. She continued next with her troubled early adulthood. Her sham of a marriage, her dive into alcoholism. That whole part of her life was almost like a blur to her. She was such a different person now. She could hardly believe that the events she was describing were actually about her and not somebody else.

Alcohol was a blessing and a curse for me. It soothed my pain in so many ways, it was my crutch, my lover at times, but it also turned me into an unrecognizable person from whom I was really meant to be. But I learned so much from the curse of addiction. I learned what not to be. I learned to be stronger than the urges, stronger than the lull of a bottle of crystal clear liquid escape.

Everyday, Mac continued to write. It became a secret obsession of hers. She would rush home from work, grab something quick to eat and continue her writing. She worked her way through to her decision to join the Marines and the early events of her Marine career. As she reflected, she could see how many mistakes she had made by simply not listening to her conscience but letting her lack of confidence, her lack of self esteem, her emotions, drive her. She smiled when she thought about her emotions driving her decisions. She could recall saying something very similar to Harm. She stopped when he popped into her mind.

Harm. The very thought of his name made her stop short and reflect. There was so much to say about him. Where would she start? Where would it end?

She forced her mind to break out of Harm’s shadow and continued the journey through her life. She next explored her time in law school and how that became a new passion for her. She was eager to apply her learning and devoted herself into becoming the best litigator she could be. She became focused, thorough, and as tough in the courtroom as she had been during Marine basic training.

Inevitably, she began to explore the various relationships which she had ventured into. One by one she described the nature of what was good and what was not good about each of them.

Did I really love any of them? Yes, I know that I did in many aspects but I’m sure that it was never an earth shattering love with any of them. Maybe it was the allure of not being alone, of security, of being loved back, of not being hurt, of not being able to have the man I truly wanted. But I in turn had hurt many of those who said they loved me by settling for something I often didn’t really want. I know now that most, if not all, of these relationships had not been very healthy.

Did any of these men even know who I was, who I really was deep down inside? They saw me for what I was on the outside, and slightly below the surface possibly but I think they never really knew me. Knew about the baggage that follows me every day of my life. About the pain and shame I’ve accumulated over the years. Knew that in my heart of hearts that I never really loved them because really, I’m not sure what love even is most of the time. No wonder these relationships have fallen apart around my ears. But I pick myself up and move on, mourning what I’ve lost, at least what I think I’ve lost, and I continue with my life. But then every time I think I’ve put the pieces of my life together, someone comes along and jumbles them all up. I feel I’ve got a big hole where my heart used to be. I often wonder if I will ever know what it is to love. To really love someone and have that love returned and sculpt it into something good, satisfying, meaningful, not painful.

Over the course of a few weeks, Mac had poured her heart and soul onto the pages of her journal. She had filled over half of it with reflections about her past and she had to admit that she really was feeling more settled about many of the things that had occurred in her life. There was only one more thing to write about. That being Harm.

The following Saturday turned out to be a lovely day. It was early spring, the trees were in full bloom, the air was slightly warm with a gentle cool breeze blowing. Mac decided to sit by the open French doors with a cup of coffee and start her journey to explore her relationship, whatever that may be, with Harm. Immediately, her mind was flooded with thoughts and memories and she realized that this was going to be harder than any of the other writing she had done. She had to slow her mind down and start at the beginning; all the way back to that sunny day in the rose garden. She remembered his hesitation in shaking her hand. She had thought about that many times before she discovered her uncanny resemblance to Diane. No wonder he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

But he never treated her as if she were Diane. He knew from the beginning that despite their resemblance she was Mac, through and through. They became friends very quickly and she remembered the early days of initial awkwardness that effortlessly became ease and comfort.

What was it about him that made my heart stop the first time I saw him? Well, just taking one look at him can give part of the answer. He’s so damn handsome. A woman would have to be unconscious for her heart not to skip a beat just at the sight of him. But it wasn’t only the physical attributes. There was something else there from the beginning. When he finally took my hand in his for the first time, my subconscious knew that there was something different about him. Funny, I often ask myself when it was that I truly fell in love with him and I have to admit that the falling in love process started with that handshake. How can that be? Could it really be that there is something to be said for “love at first sight”? I never thought it really existed. But the feel of his hand in mine was like a gift, a gift of comfort and safety and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that our meeting was meant to be.

Mac continued to write of their experiences together. The first time she flew with him, their journey to Russia, their countless trips on official business, their friendly flirtations, the fateful trip to Australia.

Why couldn’t he have let go then? What was it that held him back? I still can’t figure that one out. Maybe one day I’ll have the opportunity and courage to ask. Given my past I still have twinges of thought that it was something I did, or maybe it’s that I feel like I didn’t really deserve him, that it was all my fault once again.

It’s hard to believe how different things may be if he had just opened up to me that dark night on the ferry. Did I scare him away? Was I wrong in assuming that there was something between us? I don’t think so. The kiss on the Admiral’s porch and the subsequent dissolution of our relationships with Mic and Renee proved that but then we were back to square one. Sometimes it felt like it was even before square one. A big piece of my heart broke off during that period. I was so confused. It seemed like we were getting closer than ever to working things, something, out but then all of a sudden it was ripped out of the realm of possibility. The pain of this was and still is tremendous.

But then one day he stopped backing off and started advancing. And I panicked. I couldn’t forget the past and seeing that he was beginning to move forward scared me. I think it all goes back to painful memories and insecurity on my part. But also, damn it, why couldn’t he, why can’t he, just say what he is thinking? Why is it so hard for him to say the words, assuming that they exist for him in the way he has insinuated? But given my previously stated insecurity, would it have made a difference? I have to think yes but what is it about me that needs to hear them? Why can’t I open up to him anymore? What am I scared of? Well, of course the answer to that question is that I’m scared of loosing him forever. That is a thought of which I cannot bear. But pushing him away certainly isn’t the way to accomplish anything. He told me to let him know when I’m ready to talk. Harm, here I come.

Harm’s Apartment
North of Union Station

It was close to midnight when Harm heard a soft knock on his door. His heart skipped a beat because he knew it was Mac. Whether she knew it or not, he had memorized the sound of her hand upon his door.

He walked over to the door and opened it. He found her standing there, clutching a small leather bound book like it was a lifeline. She looked at him, smiled, and said, “I’m ready.”

Harm smiled back, fully opened the door, and moved aside to let her in.