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Everything I've Known	By : SolusNemo Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > MEST Views: 1142 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of MEST. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Nine: Cold

And I’m sorry about all the lies
Maybe in a different light you could see me stand on my own again
’Cause now I can see you were the antidote that got me by
Something strong like a drug that got me high
I never meant to be so cold.

The silence in the room had been deafening, the look on Matt’s face forever stored in Abigail’s mind. “I need to think about something like this. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you—because I do—it’s just ... sudden. Let me close a few doors before opening another one.” She had said, hoping that she wasn’t being too rude.

Matt had nodded solemnly, but kept holding onto her hands. He told her that he understood and that was that. They had gone out for a nice dinner, but not after Abigail had given Matt one of her five rings (a token that she wasn’t lying and that she would truly think about it, that in the future she’d do what was right for her). He had slid it onto his left pinky, telling her that he wouldn’t take it off anytime soon. The mood for the rest of that night was lifted; blissful and intimate. After spending a few hours in the hotel room Abigail and Matt had agreed on spending some time with the guys, hanging out and trying to stay out of trouble (which didn’t work well).

Matt walked Abigail to her car the next day, giving her backup phone numbers to reach him by. They said length good-bye’s before she set out to Vermont, her radio blasting because the volume was still set to that of the stormy day 24 hours before. Now Abigail was back in her apartment, Matt many miles away by now.

Brennan walked into the bedroom and slowly looked around the room. It looked like a tornado had touched down in the room and only that room, sending clothes flying onto the bed and floor. “What are you doing?” He asked, seeing Abigail throw things out of the dresser drawers.

“Late spring cleaning.” She paused her ‘cleaning’ to look at an early 1990s style sweater. With a shake of her head the article of clothing sailed behind Abigail and onto the floor.

“Hey!” Brennan whined, “I liked that sweater. Why are you getting rid of half your things? You’re not ... leaving, are you?” He walked over and started to collect pants, shirts and other of his wife’s things off the ground and cradled them in his left arm.

Abigail laughed. “I’m just getting rid of some of my clothes, it’s no big deal.”

“But why?”

She closed the now empty drawer and moved on to the one below it. “I’m tired of hiding in my clothes, I need something that fits me. I need to stop dressing like a kid and be my own age.”

“There’s nothing wrong with dressing like - you can’t throw that away! You wore that on our first date.”

Not stopping to look at the skirt, Abigail checked the size of a tee-shirt and set it in a small pile to her right. “I wore pants on our first date, hon. You’re thinking about the night I met your parents.”

“No, you were wearing that skirt and the mohair sweater on our first date. I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not, but your mother called me a Kurt Cobain wannabe the night I met her. I was wearing that outfit.”

Brennan picked up the skirt and stared at it. “She never called you that, did she?”

“I went to the bathroom. On my way out I overheard your mother in the kitchen, she was talking to your grandmother.” Abigail stood up and looked around the room, soon frowning at the mess she made. She saw the look on Brennan’s face. “They’re just clothes,” she explained, “it’s really not that big of a deal. Why are you home so early?” She changed the subject.

“Computer problems. The whole network seems to be fried.” He set the clothes in his arms onto the bed and sat down, most likely crushing a dress or two, and sighed. “I told that little punk not to touch the computers until I gave him a tour of the system, but he didn’t listen.”

Abigail walked over to her husband and stood in front of him. She watched as his eyes traveled from her hands, which he took in his own, to her face.

“You’re missing a ring,” he stated in monotone.

“It was turning my finger green. Besides,” Abigail smirked lightly, “I got tired of seeing that one. Not like it cost me my soul.”

He nodded and pulled her toward him, kissed her.

Everything was wrong about that kiss. Brennan’s beard scratched against her face like steel wool, not the gentle way Matt’s growth from his laziness for shaving did. Matt had a tenderness to him that Brennan wasn’t close to, a way of not causing a nauseating lump to rise in her throat. Abigail closed her eyes tightly. It took every ounce of strength in her to picture Matt in replacement of Brennan.
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Everything I've Known