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The tension continued to hang heavy in the air around them, regardless of the months of progress that Dr. Fischer had guided the broken couple through. They sat in front of him, on either side of the black leather couch, their body language pulling away from one another with a vengeance. Not wanting to touch, not wanting to feel, not wanting to witness each others presence.
McKinley rested her elbow on the arm of the couch and sighed as she laid her head in her open hand. She knew there was only ten minutes left of today’s session and the last thing that she wanted to do was get into an argument with him over how he didn't understand and never would.
“Just be honest, Dr. Evans. I’m asking if you still love him.” The statuesque, gray haired psychiatrist dropped his hand to the pad of paper laying in his lap. He continued to drum his fingertips against the thick paper as he waited for her answer, knowing that if he pushed her, it would only reduce the development that they have made this far.
"I remember the first time that I ever laid my eyes on him, standing there on my parents doorstep," McKinley dropped her dark, lifeless eyes to the beige carpeted floor at her feet. She attempted to shake the faded memory from her mind, but knew she was fighting a losing battle. "I knew then that he would break my heart, but I just didn't care."
"That's not the question that I asked you, Dr. Evans.” Dr. Fischer dropped his gaze to the paper, re-reading the realizations brought before him in their session. He had accumulated stacks of notepads while trying to decipher the nonexistent relationship between the husband and wife, the troubled couple who spent their time in therapy in their heads and barely spoke the words that they needed to hear.
The progress that they had made over the last few months had truly been impeccable. Successfully, Dr. Fischer had guided them from a sobbing mess of tears to an anger filled rage to finally - silence. Their silence was a welcoming stage, as it meant that they finally were at a place to sit down and discuss their situation with an opened mind and heart.
"Do I still love him?" Slowly, she brought her gaze back to the psychiatrist, repeating the question she was already asked twice. She tried not to hesitate, but thinking about every single decision and answer now always came at a greater cost - a cost that meant she had to rethink everything that came out of her mouth. "I don't know anymore."
Dr. Fischer turned his attention over to the stern, dark headed man sitting on the other side of the couch. "Chris, how does that make you feel?"
Chris closed his eyes tight and breathed deeply, relishing in the harmonious moment of silence these sessions seemed to bring. He didn't want to get angry at her, she didn't deserve it for being honest and finally coming to terms with her emotions. "How do you think that makes me feel? My wife doesn't want anything to do with me." The deep, raw, emotionally torn tone of his baritone voice scraped across her skin tirelessly.
"Well, do you blame me?" McKinley murmured the words carefully, knowing it would only get a rise out him. He didn't deserve it, and she knew that he “already had it up to here” with her antics, only she just couldn't stop. She raised her eyebrows dauntingly, her gaze still intent on the gray haired psychiatrist.
Balancing his elbows on his thighs, he dropped his head into his hands and shook it carefully. There were no words he could reciprocate without regret, but she had to stop punishing him at some point… right? He pushed the knot of emotion out of his throat and continued, his voice lowering to a tone where she could barely hear his plea. "I'm weak if I stay and I'm heartless if I leave you."
McKinley turned her head towards Chris, her eyes slowly falling across the cushions of the couch. She didn't have the heart to look at him, but the need to feel something spark between them was burdening. "Do you want to leave me?"
The pain struck him with such a force, he brought his right hand to his chest and splayed his palm across his heart. How could she think, that after everything they've worked through, that he would want to leave her? Sure, it’s been difficult, but in all honesty, the last thing that he expected was for her to still be with him. He just knew that she was going to throw him out of their house and turn her back on him, yet she only did the opposite. "You'll have to kill me first."
Dr. Fischer continued to study the couple in front of him with a heavy heart. He had never seen such a deep rooted love between two people in his lifetime, yet in front of all that love was their distrust, and, dare he say it, hate. "McKinley, you need to do what feels right for you two. Stop thinking about everyone else's opinion on your situation and just take a break. Remember why you love each other in the first place. Do something nice for each other. Just..." He sighed heavily and took off the thin silver frames from his face. "Just take a break. Please."
Chris and McKinley caught each other's gaze, the reality settling into their faces: They were tired. Tired of fighting, tired of crying, tired of pleading. A break - everyone needed a break once in a while, didn't they? They didn't want it to be a moment of weakness, they wanted it to be right. They wanted to fix this, regardless of how long it was going to take or how difficult it may be. They wanted to work through it - because they weren't going to let 14 years just go down the drain without their trying their damndest to save it.
*
McKinley stopped in the foyer of their three story townhome and took the photo off of the floating shelf, gripping the sides of the canvas tightly in her hands. She hated that it was one of the first things you saw while coming into their home; a pure representation of what they used to have and what they so desperately wanted to get back to.
Their smiling faces, loving pose, the right focus - it was the most perfect wedding photo she's ever seen, and the irony was so heavy it was maddening. It was fake, a misrepresentation of who they were at this present time - and it wasn't a happy time. Making her way into the kitchen, McKinley sat the photo down onto the counter with a sigh and hung up her leather jacket on the back of the barstool pushed underneath the island.
"I wish you wouldn't do that." Chris took the photo from the counter and placed it back up on the open space on the shelf. A heavy sigh rolled off his lips as he made his way back into the kitchen, stopping at the fridge and taking out a bottle of water.
"And I wish you you wouldn't have fucked one of your waitresses." Immediately, as the words fell from her lips, she regretted the entire sentence. She placed both hands on the edge of the marble countertop and leaned up against it, dropping her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have,"
Chris shook his head slowly. "Why do I feel like nothing ever gets accomplished when we go to therapy? Except paying an abnormal amount of money to talk about the same damn thing every two weeks?"
She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders lightly. "Because that's the way psychiatry works. They make you think about what's really going on, and rather than dealing with it themselves, they push you in the right direction to overcome it yourself. But you're right, we are paying an absurd amount of money for this."
"Why can't we just deal with this ourselves, Mack? Maybe take a trip, get out of here for the weekend. Somewhere... warm." He raised his eyebrows suggestively and smiled, his blue eyes sparkling in a way she hadn't witnessed in months.
The thought of getting away for the weekend was definitely a welcome suggestion, yet she wondered if it was truly the RIGHT decision. How would they last being cooped up in a hotel room together, where they couldn't run away from each other when it grew too tough? "And what would we do with a weekend away, Chris? Stay in a hotel room, hardly speak, hardly touch each other?" McKinley brought her gaze from her hands, startled by his constant, piercing gaze. She took a few steps towards him and leaned up against the countertop, her breath wavering at the mere thought of his velvet touch on her skin.
"We can touch each other all you want, Mack. That's up to you, you know that. I understand you want nothing to do with me since I," He hesitated in a single emotional effort to push the memory from his mind. "I know that you want nothing to do with me since I cheated on you, but that doesn't mean that I don't want you. Every single day, I think about touching you, kissing you, hugging you... and it's driving me insane. I know that it's my fault, and I just,"
A slight pull tugged on her abdomen when he spoke of touching her, kissing her, hugging her... And as difficult as it was for her to deny it, she couldn't any longer. Just because he hurt her more than she ever thought possible didn't mean she could just turn off the desire and affection rousing in her belly. The attraction that they shared for one another was more than just skin deep - it was an intense, mutual force that drew them together in an unfathomable way. She hated him for what he did, but she needed him in a way that only he could provide.
Maybe it was time to take Dr. Fischer's advice and just... take a break and relax.
"Just stop talking, Chris." McKinley smiled softly and brought her fingertips to his mouth, the soft pads resting firmly against his pink, plump lips. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I keep saying these things that hurt you, and I feel like I'm punishing you, when I shouldn't be."
Chris took ahold of her hand and brought it to his chest, his lips curling into a soft smile. "McKinley. Just stop talking." He tilted his head slightly and smirked. "Let's just go relax, okay? Take a nap. I just want to feel you next to me right now."
"A nap?" McKinley repeated the words slowly, furrowing her brows.
He shrugged his shoulders and brought her hand back to his lips. "Yes. A nap. We both have the day off, something that hardly ever occurs. And like I said, I just want to feel you next to me. Please?"
How could she say no to his plea? What was worse, was that he knew that she couldn't say no to him. She could try with all her might to produce that certain sound of those two little letters that was defined by "none, zero, nary"... but she couldn't.
"Fine," She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Let's go nap."