Chapter 58

Mark winced inwardly, looking down at Kristen's shocked, betrayed eyes, then looked up to Kayla and Aaron and jerked his head toward the door. "Make sure we have warning if someone's about to come in?"

Kayla shot him a significant, almost warning look, then took Aaron's hand and led him out the door, and Mark looked back down at Kristen. "She needed to hear it," he said, quietly. "And she needed to know that it was what you really thought, not just something that you were saying."

She stared up at him, speechless, then turned her head aside and closed her eyes, as if hiding from the world.

He squeezed her hand, hoping she'd understand soon, and gave Angie an expectant look.

The woman bit her lip, cringing, then whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't know it would hurt you." Her voice rose, tinged with hysteria. "I didn't know! I..." She shook her head, trembling. "I was so stupid. Please..."

When Kristen didn't respond, Mark looked at her. "Angie, I'll be blunt. There's only one way for the two of you to stop hurting each other."

Angie nodded shakily. "I know."

"And there's only one person who can do it."

She nodded again. "And she has every reason in the world to hate me."

He shook his head. "I don't think you've been listening to me. She doesn't hate you." He looked down at Kristen, caressing her palm with his thumb. "Do you, love?" he asked gently.

"No," Kristen said, her voice hoarse, but she didn't open her eyes.

"She doesn't hate you," Mark said. "Ed doesn't hate you. I don't hate you. The only person here who hates you seems to be you. Why don't you forgive yourself?"

Angie gazed over at the girl with desperate longing. "Kristen," she whispered, the word full of pain, and Kristen turned her head reluctantly to look at her, her own eyes full of the same pain.

Angie trembled, a tear running down her cheek, and her skin was sickly pale. "Kristen," she said again, her voice choked, "what have I done? Can you ever forgive me? Do I even have a right to ask?"

"I already have," the girl said softly.

"How?! How can you possibly forgive me?"

Kristen just closed her eyes and turned her face into the pillow, shaking her head mutely. Mark squeezed her hand reassuringly, but she still trembled, unable or unwilling to speak.

He knelt beside the bed so that his face was level with hers, and brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "Tell me, love, and I'll tell her, if you want." Still, she stayed silent.

"Kristen?" Angie asked, brokenly, and the girl cringed against the pillows, as if trying to sink out of sight.

"I can't, I can't," she whispered. "I'm too scared. It hurts."

"Then tell me, love," Mark said, softly. "I won't tell her unless you say I can."

She shook her head. "I just can't— not out loud." She shivered, looking up at him, her green eyes pleading for understanding. "I'd forgive you. I'd forgive Kayla."

"Do you love her, then?" he asked gently, and she started to tremble violently.

"I ... I don't know how. I don't even know her, except that she hurt me. It's not like you, how you're so sweet, so wonderful, or Kayla who I've known all my life. I just don't know how it happened!" Her words were fervent, full of emotion, but still quiet enough that only Mark could hear them, and him just barely.

He nodded slowly. "Can I tell her?"

Kristen's teeth chattered with the force of her shaking as she buried her face in the pillow. Mark closed his eyes, briefly, to see tha the link between his wife and the woman in the other bed was pulsing erratically-- it had to be hurting both of them. He squeezed her hand again. "I think it would help her work things out if she knew," he said, trying not to push, but worried that if he didn't, it would only get worse.

"She could hurt me so much if she knew," Kristen whispered, looking up at him fearfully. "You can, if you really want to, but I'm so scared..."

He knew, and he hated it. The instinct to scoop her up and carry her away, protect her from this threat warred with the certain knowledge that this problem wouldn't go away on its own, would only get worse if it wasn't resolved. "Love ... could she hurt you any worse than she already did?"

"I don't know! I didn't know I could hurt this much before I did!"

"I know," he said, his throat tight. "I guess ... the risk is getting hurt worse. The possible benefit, though, is stopping hurting. Isn't it worth it?"

She shuddered violently. She pulled her hand away from his, then snatched the blanket up over her face.

Gently, he tugged it back down again. "It's your choice, love."

"No it's not. I gave it to you," she said, then pulled the blanket back up.

Mark nodded, sighing, then stood up and walked back over to Angie. He sat down in the chair by her bed and looked at her solemnly. "Did you hear what she said?" he asked.

"No," Angie said, hoarsely, looking at him with violet eyes totally devoid of hope.

"I asked her if I could tell you something. She said that she was afraid, because you could hurt her so much if you knew. That I could, if I really wanted to, but that she was so scared..."

She hung her head, shoulders hunched forward, and looked sick. "God, I don't want to hurt her anymore. Please."

"Then don't," he said, sharply. He looked at her, his face hard, and wondered if he were doing the right thing. "She's in love with you, Angie. What are you going to do about it?"

She shuddered again, then seemed to just collapse in place, any trace of defiance, of pride, gone. She closed her eyes to escape his relentless gaze. "Whatever she wants," she whispered. "I'll do whatever she wants me to."