Chapter Text
They told me to write. For someone supposedly so literate it's taken me twenty minutes to write my opening line. And it's not even any good. I'm merely repeating an instruction. I'm supposed to write to someone I trust; someone who trusts me. Trusts that I'll get better. Believes in my ability to recover. I'm expecting a lot of you, I know. But my instincts tell me you do believe in me. There were times when I treated you so badly but the fact that I know I can write this to you now.... That in itself speaks volumes to me, Gillian.
27 October 1996. You remember that date? You may not, but I do. Another night on set, a late shoot. Another night where I was too tired to drive home, another night about to pass out exhausted in my trailer. Your knock was different that night, more timid. As if you were hoping I wouldn't hear you so you'd be able to walk away. You wanted me to answer but part of you hoped I didn't. Don't think I'm storytelling here, I remember every god damn last detail. I did hear you. What I heard was that you needed me.
You told me you were getting divorced. I couldn't deny I hadn't seen it coming but I knew you'd talk when and if you were ready. I could see the weight of the burden that you carried; you shoulders sagged, your head dipped more than normal. But most of it was in your eyes. Your eyes have such a beautiful sparkle, a mischievous twinkle and in the weeks before that night you'd lost that, a dull sheen over you. I couldn't read you as well, our scenes took longer. I could god damn well hear you crying between takes but I couldn't go to you. I needed to wait for you to come to me.
I didn't want to sleep with you that night, but I knew it was what you needed. Five words telling me you were getting a divorce and you undid the buttons on Scully's trench coat, letting it drop to the floor as you stood in the middle of my trailer. I still haven't felt that pull I felt that night to kiss you with anyone else.
I remember the deep coral pink of your breasts, the crimson colour against your white skin. It was the first part of you I kissed that wasn't your lips. Every part of your skin I touched unlocked a little secret to me. Your moaning, your breathing, those little pants over a sensitive spot. I never wanted to stop listening. I couldn't get enough of you, I wanted to get everywhere, to own your skin, to taste your cunt and to never get rid of the scent of you. You wanted the lights off but I needed to see you. If this was a one time event then I needed it all that night.
You were starving, the urge you had to orgasm was so great and I lost it as I pounded inside you against your cervix. I was the one your were hungry for. I was the one that sated you. I filled you: and all I could think of was when I'd get to do it again. One night with you was never, ever going to be enough.
The hunger you felt the night you told me about your divorce is the hunger I was feeling all day, every day. I had to come, I had to orgasm, I had to feel... Yet at the same time I was feeling nothing. I'd only be distracted from the numbness that I felt after emptying myself by touching myself again. I had to train myself to wait. Sometimes I'd fall asleep, sometimes I'd just sit and think. It wasn't always that easy; sometimes I needed more.
I was at a party one night, one of those LA parties. You know the ones I mean. And admittedly I was getting more into the role of Hank than I ever should have done. There was this model.... And I needed someone, needed to feel something more than my own hand. I don't know what I was thinking because I knew I was straying onto one hell of a slippery slope. She had red hair, turquoise eyes. A little over five feet tall and she was nearly as wasted as I was. I asked her her name, she told me she could be whoever I wanted her to be. We ended up in a hotel room and seven hot, fast minutes later I'm fucking her ass screaming out your name. I was careful before you ask, of course I was.
You may have not wanted to have read that. Maybe I should have written a disclaimer in the previous paragraph, I don't know. As fucked up as it sounds it told me something. It told me I was still attracted to you, I don't think that ever went away and I'm not sure it ever will. But it told me I shouldn't be with my wife anymore, because I couldn't love her the way she deserved to be loved. I'd fucked another woman and was thinking of other woman when I used my hand. I'll admit I spent a lot of time thinking of you.
We never really talked about what happened between us all those years ago. I loved you, I wasn't ready for what I felt and I know I backed away without explanation. That was so wrong of me and I am sorry. We should have talked but we didn't, we found other things to do that didn't involve words but actions. I hope I was what you needed post divorce, but I can't help but think I muddied waters by not being sure of what I wanted and not being ready to admit that what I really wanted more than I was offering.
I've always believed that people can fuck each other up to a point and then goalposts change. What they want from each other changes, silent expectations are made but there's fear over voicing them. That was what happened with us and I should have told you, it's that simple. Instead you somehow weirdly ended up being the girl before the girl I married. That wasn't what I wanted, that wasn't how I thought of you, that wasn't why I carried on for those few months that we had together.
I need you to know what you mean to me. You've always understood without asking. Is that what comes from spending so much time with another person under such fuck awful conditions? You always listen, you never judge. Is it wrong to say you make me feel safe? Because I feel safe when I'm with you, I can just be I don't have to be anything. You're accepting of me. And you've allowed me to stay in your life, you've kept me in your life and honestly I am so grateful. You're in my heart, you're deep inside and I don't want you to ever leave.
Why and how did I become this addict? Why sex? They're helping me to understand, but why does anyone have an addiction? It's an extension of what's considered normal that becomes an obsession, it becomes you. It owns you. I'm trying to want it less, and when I'm better and sex and coming feels like something I wait for, a treat, (as trite as that sounds), I'll head back to my family. I miss my kids, I do miss my wife but I worry that I'll never go back to being the person she remembers me as, the person she wants to be. I know I can't be that person anymore. I was ill. Now I'm getting better and it's brought that all home to me.
So why do I tell you this? Something has happened to me here and I have clarity with one thing and one thing only. And that, is that I need to see you more. I want to spend more time with you and that, for the moment, is all I ask you for. I know you'll give me that chance, so thank you.