Chapter 6
The shrill beeping of her alarm clock brought Sara out of her dreams. And they did involve tattoos and shaved heads. She rolled over and lazily hit the off button. The night had been too short for her, and the mere thought of starting a new job, trying to make a good impression, and dealing with the man on her couch was overwhelming.
Sara wondered if Michael was still asleep. If he was, she had no idea how she could possibly get ready without waking him. Then, as if on cue, she heard Michael's voice, faint and unclear, through the wall that separated them. "He must be on the phone." She sat up slowly and ran a hand through her hair. With sleep still nagging at her body, she got up and walked toward the bathroom that joined her room, hoping to put off leaving the dark quiet of her bedroom to be taken back into the world that was right outside her closed door.
Once in the shower, Sara let the water scorch her skin, turning it bright pink, trying to relieve the ache of lack of sleep from her bones. She took her time in washing her hair, her body, until eventually she ran out of things to keep her from finally getting out. She was greeted with cold air against the water droplets on her skin as she slid the frosted door open and stepped out. She quickly dried off and got dressed, dreading the thought of venturing out into the day.
---
Michael was seated on the couch, listening to his boss rant about how much he needed to finish this project, and needed to sign those papers, and how he shouldn't be taking a vacation; even though he had plenty of days saved up. Just as Michael apologized for the last time and hung up his cell phone, the bedroom door opened revealing a stressed-looking Sara, dressed in black pants and a button up shirt. Michael stood up.
"Morning, Sara."
Sara smiled shyly at him. "Hi."
"You're going to work today?"
"Yeah, it's my first day."
"Oh."
Sara looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt.
"So, uh, I say this at the risk of sounding rude, but if you aren't planning on going back home, what exactly are you going to do all day?"
"Well…I've never been to Springfield before, maybe I'll go sightseeing?" "Ugh, what a weak answer." Despite all of Michael's preparation, he hadn't thought of the most obvious thing—he'd been stupid to think Sara would just welcome him with open arms. He should have learned that the first time.
"Sightseeing? By yourself?"
Michael shrugged. "Maybe since it's New Year's Eve they'll have something going on. I checked the train schedule this morning, the next train to Chicago doesn't leave until 6:30 tonight."
Sara stared at him, trying to fathom what could possibly going through this man's head at the moment. Surely he came here with a better idea than this. He's supposed to be a freaking genius.
"Sara, I didn't come all the way here just to sleep on your couch and get in your way. I didn't even come with any particular idea as to what I was going to do once I arrived at your door. That's unusual for me. I just want you to give me…us, a chance. I, god…do you know what it's like to be in love, Sara?"
She stared at the floor, avoiding his eyes. It was too early in the morning to be having this type of conversation. She knew what it was like to be in love. But she didn't answer.
"It's absolutely horrible. You always hear about how wonderful it is when you fall in love, and how if you love at least one other person like that, your life will be complete. At least, that's what I've heard. Well, my life isn't complete, and even though I'm free, my brother is alive and free, and you're safe, I am absolutely miserable without you."
Sara continued staring at the floor, until she finally lifted her head to meet his hopeful eyes.
"Michael, I, um, I'm late."
And then she walked passed him, picked up her bag, and walked out the door. She seemed to be doing that a lot to him lately.
Michael sighed and sat down on the couch, his head in his hands.
---
By the time Sara got home at 10:30 that night, she was on her last nerve. Michael's words from the morning had plagued her all day, and even though her boss seemed satisfied with her at the clinic, her coworkers were less than welcoming. Everyone took advantage of the fact that she was new and desperate to make an impression, so she got stuck staying late finishing up paper work and doing other various tasks doctors aren't usually required to do. It had been an awful first day, and she was dead tired. What a grand way to start the New Year. And now, as she turned the key to her apartment door, she hoped Michael had decided to take the train home, because she certainly didn't have the energy to think about him.
Sara took a breath, and opened the door to see Michael standing over the stove, studying the contents of the pan heating on the top. He looked up when he heard her come in, and smiled at her.
"Happy New Year, Sara."
"Happy New Year." Sara grumbled as she shed her jacket and bag. Despite all the boxes still unpacked and all the emptiness, her apartment was warm and the lights were on, and the smell from whatever was on the stove reminded her how hungry she was. Now she was almost thankful Michael hadn't left, it was nice to have someone to come home to. It was something Sara could definitely get used to.
"I'm attempting spaghetti, and I think the sauce is done if you want some."
"Yeah, okay."
During dinner, Michael took a few shots at starting a conversation, about anything really, but it was pretty clear by the time they were finished Sara was in no mood to chat.
She collected their plates and glasses, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. She turned around to find Michael standing behind her, watching.
"You know it's 11:00. Another hour and we'll be starting a whole new year."
Sara scoffed quietly. "Yeah, I'm starting this year off fucking perfectly."
"Ah, come on. It can't be that bad."
Sara shot him a "how much you wanna bet?" look.
"They hate me at work. I thought this was my chance to start over, but for some unknown reason, they treat me like I don't deserve to breathe the same air they do. And my father? I haven't talked to him since Christmas. He thinks I'm running away from him. And then there's you. I am so unbelievably tired of this entire…thing…with you! I'm tired of thinking about you, I'm tired of losing sleep because of you, I'm tired of worrying about you, I'm tired of trying to hate you, and I'm tired of trying to pretend that I'm not in love with you!"
It took Michael maybe three and a half seconds to comprehend what she said, decide what he was going to do, and take a few steps to grab her in his arms. His lips collided with hers in a searing and passionate frenzy, their tongues blending in a way they couldn't tell which belonged to them. And she didn't pull away. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Michael's waist, desperately clinging to him, while his hands were holding her face to his, occasionally moving to run through that hair he had wanted to touch for so long.
Sara backed into the counter where Michael lifted her up so she was sitting with her legs on either side of him, never breaking the kiss. Eventually the need for oxygen forced their lips apart, but Michael continued planting kisses all the way down her neck and back up to her ear, breathing in the scent of Sara, in all it's vanilla sugar splendor. Sara buried her head in Michael's neck, her arms thrown over his shoulders, around his neck. His hands slowly worked their way from her hips to underneath her shirt, rubbing the soft skin of her back, tracing a line up her spine. With her breathing returning to normal, the reality of what was happening caught up with her. But she didn't care any more. This is what she wanted, and there was absolutely no point in letting it go this time. This is what she had wanted since she met Michael, to be in his arms, free of prison bars, the watchful eyes of a guard, a certain wife, to be able to touch him without the barrier of a latex glove, without the unspoken barrier of being his doctor and nothing more. No more denial, no more "it's for the better", no more anything, but Michael.
"Michael."
Michael pulled back to look at her, his hands still resting on the warmth of her back.
"It's almost midnight."
---
11:59
1 minute to go. They rested on the couch, Sara's back to Michael's chest, his arm over her and their hands entwined together, watching Dick Clark begin the countdown.
"I'm glad you came, Michael."
He placed a soft kiss into her hair.
"I love you."
She turned to look at him, with a small smile on her lips.
"I love you, too."
The ball began its descent in Times Square.
Michael gently kissed Sara's lips, this one less frantic and needy than the last one, while Sara responded and turned her body into his, placing a hand on the back of his shorn head. The clock hit 12:00.
It was going to be a good year.
The End