FISHER HOME, SARAH'S ROOM
"Hey."
The voice, so unexpected, rattles
Sarah.
She whips around to see Brent in the doorway. The first thing she
notices is that he is wearing a blue button-down shirt that she bought
for him while they were in New York. Her eyes linger over him for a little
longer than she might like them to, but she jerks them away.
He approaches the bed, where she
is sitting cross-legged. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine." She keeps her focus away
from him.
"I thought you might want some company,"
he says.
She snaps back around. "I don't want
your company. I don't want anything from you."
The words sting him, she can tell,
and it takes him a moment to collect himself.
"Sarah, I know a lot has happened,
but that doesn't mean--"
"That you can't make yourself feel
better by thinking you're making me feel better? You know what? It does!
That's exactly what it means. Too much has happened, Brent -- you said
it yourself. If things can't be the way they used to be, then they can't."
"You know you don't mean that," he
says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Sarah pulls her knees up to her chest
and wraps her arms around them. "Leave me alone."
"No." Brent moves closer. "Sarah,
don't do this. I want to be here right now. I know what it must feel like
to have Tim suddenly be gone--"
"You have no idea!" she snarls.
The comment strikes a nerve in Brent.
As images of his mother sweep through his mind, he tries to force aside
the urge to get into it with Sarah.
Sarah continues, speaking through
gritted teeth. "My brother is gone, my family treats me like some sort
of unwanted appendage, my marriage is over--"
"I'm here now."
She pauses, evaluating him. He can
see the pain, so real, so tangible, in her eyes, and he can almost feel
it, too.
"You're only here because you feel
guilty," she spits.
"No," Brent says after a moment of
extended quiet. He wraps an arm around her and it only takes a few seconds
for her to crumble, leaning into his chest as tears and trauma ravage her
body.
"I'm here because I care," he whispers,
pulling her rocking body closer.
Molly stands in the doorway. She
watches as much of the scene as she can stomach before she has to turn
around and run off.
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