Tara Knowles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drownedindreams) wrote2014-05-06 10:59 pm
drownedindreams) wrote2014-05-06 10:59 pm
(no subject)
It takes her hours to actually let herself call him.
The first time had been a mistake; she'd fumbled around, calling everyone she knew like a cry for help. She couldn't hold herself together, couldn't manage this on her own. What she said then was simple; I need you to come to the hospital. It's Jax. She'd meant to call him, too, but now that the surgery was done, now that people were gone and he was in recovery and there was nothing she could do...
She felt so alone. She'd meant to call him in the beginning, but she'd called Mary instead. Now... now that Jax was resting, and the boys were with Melissa, and she found herself alone. She found herself in the bar across the street from Darrow General, and it didn't matter what time it was. It didn't matter how little sleep she'd gotten. She'd get sleep - she would, but everything was in pieces and broken; everything was a mess, because he told her-- because Jax told her that he'd gotten her a ring and she'd started crying. Because she'd lost it.
And now she was in this dive bar with a rum and coke and she looked like death. She'd been thinking to call him - she didn't know how late or early it was, but she needed a friend, and somehow... there was something about John that made Tara think he'd understand, maybe.
What she said in the phonecall wasn't actually important. It was pretty much I'm going to be honest - I need you to come to Flannigan's, I can't do this. Please. Just you. Not Mary, who had been well meaning but her saying that this place was a new start after Jax had been stabbed again, just like he'd been back home... that wasn't something she could deal with.
She sat there - and had drained at least two drinks, enough that when he comes in, it takes him talking to her for her to notice him. She's still in her scrubs, and even though she's washed Jax's blood off her arms, she's not wearing her brace; the raised ruin of the scar across the back of her hand and the thin, straight scars from the repeated reconstructive surgeries go unnoticed by her, even though the only person who'd seen it before today was Jax.
The first time had been a mistake; she'd fumbled around, calling everyone she knew like a cry for help. She couldn't hold herself together, couldn't manage this on her own. What she said then was simple; I need you to come to the hospital. It's Jax. She'd meant to call him, too, but now that the surgery was done, now that people were gone and he was in recovery and there was nothing she could do...
She felt so alone. She'd meant to call him in the beginning, but she'd called Mary instead. Now... now that Jax was resting, and the boys were with Melissa, and she found herself alone. She found herself in the bar across the street from Darrow General, and it didn't matter what time it was. It didn't matter how little sleep she'd gotten. She'd get sleep - she would, but everything was in pieces and broken; everything was a mess, because he told her-- because Jax told her that he'd gotten her a ring and she'd started crying. Because she'd lost it.
And now she was in this dive bar with a rum and coke and she looked like death. She'd been thinking to call him - she didn't know how late or early it was, but she needed a friend, and somehow... there was something about John that made Tara think he'd understand, maybe.
What she said in the phonecall wasn't actually important. It was pretty much I'm going to be honest - I need you to come to Flannigan's, I can't do this. Please. Just you. Not Mary, who had been well meaning but her saying that this place was a new start after Jax had been stabbed again, just like he'd been back home... that wasn't something she could deal with.
She sat there - and had drained at least two drinks, enough that when he comes in, it takes him talking to her for her to notice him. She's still in her scrubs, and even though she's washed Jax's blood off her arms, she's not wearing her brace; the raised ruin of the scar across the back of her hand and the thin, straight scars from the repeated reconstructive surgeries go unnoticed by her, even though the only person who'd seen it before today was Jax.
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She was alone. "I hadn't realised you were with him when they took him to the hospital, when I called you. You must have had a hell of a day." Her voice sounds not quite right - it's pitched just a titch too high, and sounds hollow to someone who knew her. She's trying to make this not be about her, because the last thing she needs to hear is another person telling her to keep fighting and trying when it's been her life for nearly a year.
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Her hand - the scarred one, when she picks up her glass it's shaking like she's... well, like she's got nerve damage and is exhausted and has lost a lot of fine motor control when she's fatigued, and it's the final straw because she puts down her glass abruptly with a thump and she covers her face with her hands and just starts to cry. It's quiet - hell, it's telling in and of itself that Tara cries silently - she has since she was a little girl, all pulled into herself because she's used to being the only person she has.
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