FORTY-TWO: Breaking (The Cycle) [FLASHBACK]

**NOTE: this is a continuation of the flashback scene posted HERE.**



As Charity McLeod stood in one of the dressing rooms at the old porn studio, she did her best to push aside all the memories these walls contained. The longer she took on her makeup, the more knots were twisting up in her stomach – she was grateful that she hadn't eaten anything. She'd been too nervous and it was all she'd been able to do to choke down a cup of coffee to perk her up after a sleepless and anxious night. Even now, she was questioning her decision to accept Bruce's help for this shoot. She'd though she could handle this, that she'd finally managed to close off the part of her heart that still belonged to him but the moment she'd seen him in that pinstripe suit, looking like he'd just stepped out of the 1940's, she'd been a lost cause all over again. He was still as handsome as he'd always been and it took every bit of restraint Charity had not to throw herself into his arms.

When she'd arrived on set, she'd expected to find the place busy. The fact that it was deserted, although cleaner than she'd expected, made her feel a little bolder than she usually would have. It gave her hope that he'd changed his mind, that maybe he was finding himself struggling with the same feelings she was.

Charity stood in front of the floor-length mirror, dressed in a matching violet bra and panties set. The material was sheer and left little to the imagination. She'd had other choices that weren't as revealing, but she was hoping it might be just the thing to entice Bruce. She'd also put on a pair of black stiletto heels, which made her legs and ass look great. Her makeup was on point and her blonde hair fell over her shoulders in beachy waves. She even made sure to wear the perfume that Bruce had always loved. Smirking at her reflection and feeling more confident than she had in years, she slid on a black robe and tied it shut as she made her way out to the set.

"Sorry I took so long," Charity said as her heels announced her arrival. "It's been a long time since I've taken any pictures." She watched him setting up his camera equipment and it brought back so many memories. "Thanks again for doing this…"

"It's no bother-" he froze as he glanced up from the tripod, seeing what she had on. Those shoes made her legs look incredible.

A playful smirk crossed her face as she approached him. "You okay?"

"Just fine." He winked, turning his focus back to fitting the metal pieces together. He struggled for a minute and then let out a little laugh of triumph when it finally clicked into place. "Aye, there we go."

Charity let out her own little laugh as she went to untie the sash on her robe. "Do you think I should keep the robe on for some of the pictures? Or just bare it all at once?" The whole scenario reminded her of the first night he'd ever spent with her and how she'd tried so hard to seduce him. He'd been so sweet, so wonderful and now that she looked at him as he finished setting up the lights, she couldn't really remember why she'd been so angry at him for so long – the good things were outweighing the bad, making her feel strangely vulnerable. "Bruce?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Do what feels natural."

Charity shook her head with a little laugh, "you're the one with the eye."

"Mmmm," he considered the question, "mebbe let's do a little of both?" He adjusted the light and switched it on, checking the levels on the handheld meter.

"Okay," she said, nodding as she walked over to where the props were set up for the shoot. That vintage red velvet couch had been brought out and she looked at it with a raised eyebrow, earning a laugh from Bruce.

"It's been cleaned – has been in storage for the last year, since we closed down." She had no idea the studio had fallen on hard times and it was on the tip of her tongue to apologize before he shook his head. "Was my own choice. We do redistribution now, foreign dubs an' the like. Better money in the overseas markets."

"Oh." She walked closer, running her hand over the ornately carved wood along the back of the couch, trying to steady herself against the onslaught of memories. She felt so jittery and was surprised that her legs weren't turning into jelly. "Are you ready?"

What a loaded question. Was he ready to shoot sexy photos of the woman he was still technically married to but hadn't seen in over a year? Was he ready to put himself through that misery, knowing he was just going to end up walking away at the end of it all? There was a weight of sadness in his gaze when he nodded and she realized for the first time in years, he wasn't wearing some sort of tinted lenses indoors – she could actually see his eyes. "Ready," he murmured, straightening up with the camera strap slung around his neck. "Should we try something on the couch?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." She took a seat on the arm of the couch and crossed one leg over the other. The robe separated at the bottom, showing off her upper thigh. As he started snapping photos, she posed for him. She wouldn't say so, but she could sense the tension that was there and it made her question her choice in asking him to do this. "Bruce… are you okay with taking my pictures? Are you uncomfortable doing it?" Worry was in her face as she crossed her arms against her chest.

Closing his eyes for a split second, he huffed a laugh and shook his head. "It's fine, love. Honest…" he reached out and adjusted where the robe fell open against her thigh, smoothing out a wrinkle in the silky fabric. "Just a lot of ghosts 'twixt these walls. That's all."

Charity looked around the room where countless movies had been filmed. She couldn't disagree with him as she had her own ghosts to contend with. It had been in this same room that she'd caught Bruce having sex with Shirlea. The memory made her slightly flinch. If she thought about it anymore along with everything that followed, she knew she'd fall apart and her makeup looked way too good for that to happen. Smiling confidently, she started to undo the robe. "How long are you staying in town for?"

"Another day or two," he shrugged, lifting the Nikon back up. He started snapping as she slowly slipped the robe open and off her shoulders. "Hold tha'," he murmured, "chin up jus' a touch. There. Marvie, love." He watched her move, watched her play it up as though she was flirting with the lens and it was hard not to read into it, to see something more in her eyes than just doing something she enjoyed. "Turn a little towards me now… let the robe fall behind – aye, there. Perfect." He kept snapping shots, losing himself in the moment and the direction he was giving as he found the best light and shadows to accentuate her flawless features.

The robe was completely off her shoulders and the cool air was touching her skin. "Would you want to have dinner tonight?" She posed as he directed, the knots in her stomach doubling. "We could go to that bad Italian place that had decent spaghetti?"

"The one with the garlic bread that could wipe out the vampire race? Aye… remember that one fondly – an' the flatulence that followed." He chuckled, lowering the camera slightly as he studied her for a moment. "Think we've got enough here…" he moved in closer, his hand coming up to touch her hair and he gently twisted a lock of it around his finger to smooth it. Doing his best to keep things professional, he didn't answer her about the dinner invitation even though he wanted to say yes, to say to hell with this whole damned charade and just fall back into the old patterns. Releasing her hair, he didn't immediately move his hand, watching the way she looked up at him. "Cherry…" he trailed off, remembering the first time they'd done this, almost seventeen years ago. She'd been pregnant, just barely showing. Those photos had never seen the light of day and he wondered if she even remembered.

"Yeah?" She was smiling softly up at him as her hand came up and took his. She still had on the engagement ring he'd had made for her out of his necklace. The ring was the most precious thing she owned and she never took it off. Her free hand went up and rested on his cheek. The flirting she'd been doing for the camera had been for him, he realized. That look in her eyes was still there.

"Was thinkin' about the first time," realizing that was a little too vague, he tried to clarify, "I took yer picture here. The way you looked that day." A sad smile was on his lips for a moment before he looked away, clearing his throat. "Eyes haven't changed. Not at all." He let go of her hand, taking a step back as if he needed to distance himself from that emotion he saw shining back at him. Setting the camera down beside the couch, he turned and walked over to the light, pushing it back a little with his boot simply because he was at war with the urge to flee and the urge to rip her clothes off and make love to her right here and now.

She had stopped breathing when they'd been touching and when he walked away it was like a punch to the stomach. "Bruce…" she got up from the couch and approached him. "I still love you just as much as ever and I…" she trailed off; she was stumbling over her words and sounded like an idiot. "We could try again… I wanna try again." She was standing behind him now and she wrapped her arms around his waist. "It's only been you and it always will." She pressed the side of her face to his back. Closing her eyes, she breathed him in, her heart physically hurting from all the memories it brought up.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. It felt so good to have her arms around him again, to hear her say she loved him. For the last four years, all he wanted was to feel that, to hear those three words without the inevitable 'but' that followed. "I…" he wanted to tell her that she would always hold the largest part of his heart next to the space reserved for their daughter. The words died before passing his lips, turning into a shuddering exhale and he felt like he was going to break down completely.

Charity moved so that she was standing in front of him, her arms never unwrapping. "Could we?" He was holding himself so still that it frightened her, made her second guess this entire moment. "We can take it slow, find our footing again." Something was wrong with him. "Baby, what's wrong?"

His arms moved almost without him thinking about it, loosely wrapping around her waist. When his eyes opened, they were haunted, narrowed as though he was trying to fight through some terrible pain. "How many more times're we gonna torture ourselves?" The words came out soft, his voice raspy as he tried like hell to swallow back all the hurt and anger he'd bottled up all this time.

The look in his eyes made her want to pull back, but she didn't. Her pulling away from him had been one of their problems. "We can be us again. I still love you, Bruce. I know you still feel something for me – I can feel it." She lifted her hand to his cheek, her thumb stroking over the scar that was barely visible beneath the stubble. Slowly, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. She expected him to pull away, to roughly push her aside and reject her all over again.

Instead, he groaned, kissing her back with as much hunger as there had always been where she was concerned. His arms tightened around her, crushing her against him. When the kiss broke, they were both out of breath. "I do." He couldn't lie to her, not now. "Always have."



After a night of marathon sex, Charity had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning. They'd gone back to Bruce's motel after that kiss and had spent hours lost in the throes of rekindling that old passion. Waking up, she couldn't keep the smile off her face, knowing deep down that she'd finally found her way back to where she belonged. She reached out for Bruce and frowned when all she felt was an empty space. Turning her head, she confirmed that he was no longer next to her. His side was still warm, though.

Sitting up, with the sheet pulled up to her chest, she turned her head just in time to see Bruce at the door as he slid on his coat – his hair was still wet from the shower and now that it wasn't slicked back, she could see how long it had gotten. It reminded her of the way he'd worn it when they'd first met and that smile was back as she whispered. "Hey, you." She breathed a sigh of relief, "are you going to pick up breakfast?"

In silence, he lit a cigarette and she could smell the acrid smoke before he slipped outside as though he hadn't heard her. The room felt cold, not just from the breeze that came in from outside. She noticed that the bag that had been on the chair was gone and so was all his photography equipment – he'd taken everything with him.

Her chest instantly tightened as confusion settled in. As she turned to get out of bed, she noticed a stapled stack of papers that had been left on the bedside. She picked up and immediately panicked as she saw the words Petition For Divorce. She dropped them as though they'd burned her and leapt from the bed, almost tripping over her discarded shoes. Quickly moving, she threw on the first article of clothing she could find – it was the Harley Davidson shirt Bruce had given her from his suitcase, the one she'd planned to wear to bed. Clad in that, socks and underwear, she practically ran to the door and threw it open. Scanning the parking lot, she spotted her husband. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He looked up from the trunk of the rental car as he finished stowing his things, that cigarette still dangling between his lips as he slammed it shut. He stood there, watching her with that strangely unreadable expression on his face. When the silence stretched out past the breaking point, he shook his head and flicked the cancer stick away. "Too early for comedy, luv."

Charity stepped out of the motel room, not caring that she was barefoot and the ground was freezing. "Divorce? Seriously? What the fuck?" She couldn't believe this was a conversation they were having. It wasn't just the divorce; it was the fact that he'd left the papers and tried to sneak out of her life. Again. She hated herself for being so gullible, for being so trusting when he'd proved time and time again that he couldn't be trusted to stick around.

"It's time," his voice was calm and quiet as his eyes met hers. He didn't seem sad or disappointed. In truth, he'd already had his breakdown in the shower while she slept. He just felt numb, hollowed out as though he'd poured every emotion into what they'd spent the night doing – the rest had gone down the drain a few hours ago. "Need tae move on with our lives, Cherry. This limbo… it does neither of us any good."

Something inside of her snapped; all she could see was red and she ran at him and tackled him onto his back. Her fists were already clenched as she started swinging at him. White hot rage, grief, anger, anxiety, desperation, everything she'd felt since he'd walked out on her years ago had finally come to the surface and she was letting it all out.

The screams that left her lips were agonizing to hear, like a wounded animal. He didn't fight back, didn't try to stop her even when she nailed him in the face a half dozen times. His chest ached already and with her weight on him, it was hard to breathe. He felt his nose crack, blood flowing over his lips and down his throat. A part of him welcomed this assault, wanted her to tear him apart because at least it was something new, something different than the guilt and shame and twisted up shit he'd been feeling for years. Choking, gagging on the coppery taste, he finally got his hands up and shoved her off, halfway expecting her to come right back in like a hungry lioness and finish the job. The lot was deserted this early in the morning. The gravel was digging into his back where his jacket and shirt had hiked up – cold little spikes against his spine keeping him from passing out as his head swam.

Her knuckles on both hands were bleeding and she didn't even notice as she pulled her knees against her chest. Her sobs were silent at first before turning into a low howl. "Do you know how fucking cruel you are?" The words came out in between sobs. "You just leave the papers for me to find and clean up the pieces again?" She looked up at him, her face tear-streaked and her nose running. "Why do you hate me so much when all I've ever done was love you?"

His hands pressed against the ground and he forced himself upright before he actually suffocated on the blood and snot. He heard a raw sound of anguish, thought it was her until he felt the pain in his throat. His face was wet, dripping and it wasn't just blood as he leaned forward, spitting a gob of bloody phlegm into the dust. "I…" the words wouldn't come, the explanation stuck. He didn't hate her, couldn't ever bring himself to even though she'd hurt him beyond belief after her father had passed. He'd wanted to salvage things then, the whisper of mortality making him see the bigger picture of dying alone with nobody to find him – it held little appeal. He repeated what she'd said to him that night, throwing her words back, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't do this."

"You…" she used his car to help herself to her feet, feeling the gravel digging into her soles through the socks. "I'm so glad I could get you off several times as a parting gift, then." She wanted to hit him again, wanted to keep hitting him until he begged for mercy.

He kept his head bowed, trying to keep the hateful words inside as they threatened to boil over. He didn't want to hurt her – that had never been his intention.

"God, you're disgusting." She spat the words, "surprised you didn't film it. Could have made big bucks for old time's sake." She was staring him down, trying so hard to hate him. She couldn't, even now. The anger was there, the hurt and the crushing knowledge that she still wasn't good enough.

"Stop," he murmured, his voice strained but she shook her head.

"At least now you can move on, no longer tied to your gash of a wife." She leaned back against his car, her knuckles starting to throb as she looked down at them. "You got yourself a pretty sweet deal. You got to come into town, fuck me, and then get rid of me – make a few bucks on the side with those photos." She couldn't stop the words that were coming out of her mouth. "After today, you're never gonna see me again." The declaration came out hollow and she turned back to the motel, cradling her hands to her chest – she felt numb. Utterly broken.

His head was bowed, blood covering his shirt where it dripped from his nose and the deep cut above his eye – it would probably need stitches. He didn't feel it, didn't even care. He wanted like hell to call her back, to tell her she was right. He was the worst sort of asshole imaginable for doing this now. He'd had the papers drawn up for more than a year and hadn't been able to bring himself to send them. If she'd bothered to check when he'd signed and dated them, she'd know that. He hadn't planned any of this but the old patterns, their old habits were hard to break. He could barely breathe past the pain, past the ache in his soul and the blood clotting in his nostrils. "Am sorry," he whispered, barely audible to his own ears, "I love you." She couldn't hear him and the slamming of the door as she disappeared from sight was like the final nail in the coffin. He dragged himself up, leaning against the back of the car for a moment while he waited out the dizziness. It didn't matter if he was good to drive or not. With any luck, maybe he'd wrap the car around a tree down the road and be done with it all. The thought of going after her, of breaking down that door and tearing up those damned papers didn't occur to him, didn't really register until he was back on the highway with no knowledge of how he'd even gotten there and by then it was too late. The damage was done: she hated him.