Chapter Fifty-One:
Fifty Ways to Lose Your Lover

Carly felt warm.

She'd been floating in mid-consciousness, slowing becoming aware of her external senses. She could tell the sun was up and shining to break all records; birds were singing outside an open window. Inside the room, the air was churning on a breeze. She opened her eyes, confronted with the familiar walls of the bedroom. She let them fall shut again, nestling closer to the body she was resting against. An arm tightened around her waist, and she sighed, sinking into the warmth generated, lulled by the steady beat of a heart under her ear. It was very still. It was very quiet. And something deep inside her told her not to move, or she'd spoil it.

She felt him shift under her, and working on instinctual response, she stretched against him, and tipped her face up to see him looking blearily down at her.

They stayed there a moment, a smile just beginning to form at the edges of Carly's mouth, when suddenly it hit her -- like a brick wall jumping out from behind a tree.

Oh. God.

She pushed herself up, rolling quickly off of him. He struggled to sit up, moving infinitesimally further onto 'his' side of the bed. They eyed each other warily. After a moment, Nikolas cleared his throat.

"Uh... Morning."

"Yeah," Carly tore her eyes from him, glancing towards the balcony doors. "Looks that way."

She listened to the wind pick up, outside. Bedside her, Nikolas shifted on the bed, and the covers rustled underneath him. These are the sounds of silence... She started to pull at her shirt -- Nikolas's shirt -- which was too big, and wrapped around her torso like a binding. They had slept on top of the covers, fully dressed -- which might explain why she had no clear memory of going to bed. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to get her mind to focus.

"It's Saturday," she exhaled, with numb sense of realization.

"Yeah."

"What...?" She started to turn around.

"10:30."

She blinked. "That's not possible."

He took off his watch, and handed it to her. She took it from him, squinting at the clock face. It proclaimed the name of some obscure Swiss designer at her, with an otherwise cryptic and blank face. The minimalist pattern seemed to swim in front of her, while she tried to work out what the little hand and the big hand meant.

"It's 10:30," she murmured to herself.

It hit her in a wave: she wanted to cry. Why did she always wake up to disaster on Saturday mornings? She always felt discombobulated, worn out, scared. There was a tight ball of doom sitting in her stomach, and she had a few hours to pull herself together. Staring at the unreadable watch, she wondered if it was going to be possible -- or if this was going to be the day, finally, when she just couldn't do it.

"Do you want the first shower?"

She started, then looked up at Nikolas, while her brain scanned possible answers for the 'right' one.

"Uh... Ok."

She was starting to slide out of the bed, feet just touching the floor, when Nikolas reached out and grabbed her shirt tail.

"Carly --"

She spun back to him, eyes unnaturally wide. "Yeah?"

He studied her a moment, then let her go. "The glass."

She looked blank.

"The mirror." He gestured in the direction of the bathroom, and she turned her head, eyes focusing on the fallen table across the room. "You'll cut yourself."

Carly nodded, staring at the catastrophic mess she'd made. The table was still on it's side and there was reflective glass everywhere. Some of her cosmetics had cracked open and were spilled across the floor. Which explained the scent of lily of the valley on the air.

"Right," she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Seven years bad luck."

"That's for mortals."

She stopped herself short of saying, mortal or not, her luck couldn't get much worse. He might take exception to a remark like that. The thought -- awareness of and consideration for Nikolas's feelings -- felt out of place and unfamiliar inside her head. She rubbed a hand over her face.

"I'll get my shoes."

As soon as Carly was safely behind the bathroom door, all the strength in her body abandoned her. She locked the door with a shaking hand, then leaned, weakly, against it. Gulping down several breaths, she felt the anxiety in her body start to spread.

Nikolas had said he loved her.

Was he out of his mind??? Her brain couldn't comprehend it. The last week had been hell. Nikolas had been miserable, and she was pretty much the cause of it. She just couldn't make herself do anything about it. She had just turned away from him -- and it hadn't even been something she'd wanted to do. She just couldn't be near him, couldn't let herself be comforted and cared for by this man after everything that had happened. That was what he'd wanted to do. She knew that if she said something, he'd listen. If she asked for a hug, she'd get it. That was how Nikolas had always been with her. She wasn't used to that kind of attention.

He'd nearly begged her to just open up and tell him what was going on inside of her -- but she hadn't know where to start. She hadn't wanted to spell it out for him -- or herself. And she didn't know how to talk about the way the fog would roll in on her when things got crazy. How her mind and body would just shut down -- push everyone and everything out. She didn't know how to be that way in front of him. And she didn't know how to tell him he was part of the problem.

Besides. The effect of thinking about everything that had gone wrong in the last week was the emotional equivalent of drinking Drano. It did nothing but make her insides feel stripped. Swallowing down some very insistent nausea, Carly pushed herself off the wall, and started across the bathroom. It was, like most things she'd experienced since marrying Nikolas, her version of opulent, and his version of conservative. You could drown in the bathtub -- though they said you could drown in all bathtubs. This one, you could drown in while playing Water Polo. The shower was across the room, and larger than the head of the Zephyr. It had more than one shower head, and there was no aspect of it that couldn't be adjusted. She should probably be licensed to use it.

She twisted the knobs with reckless abandon, and let the room fog up while she stripped out of her clothes. There were marks, impressions on her skin from having slept in her jeans. Her face felt sticky -- presumably from crying all night. She had, now that she was trying to remember it, a vague recollection of the night before.

It was out of focus, and even then, it was a picture she had a hard time looking at. But even as she stepped under the hard blast of the shower, it came, insistently back to her. The parade of visitors. Robin. The realization that Robin knew about her and Jason -- She swallowed again. Couldn't think about that -- and then Nikolas. She'd done just what she'd been terrified of doing -- she'd broken. And after that, everything was shapes and colors. She didn't remember going to bed. She didn't even remember getting to the bed. She just remembered his arms around her, his breath on her neck while he'd tried to talk her down. She could remember being held, rocked -- and at some point she must have just collapsed into unconsciousness, because the next thing she knew with any certainty was that she'd waken up in his arms.

She stepped into shower, and closed her eyes tightly, tipping her face up to the spray. Willed it to distract her. She had the water pressure turned to max. Her skin buzzed, scalp tingled under it's effects. But her brain remained stubbornly impervious.

She was going to see Michael today. That realization, on top of everything else that was going on inside her, had felt like a slash across her throat. All the past week, if she thought of Michael, it was always of those last moments. Of him screaming -- she had dreamed of him screaming -- reaching for her. Begging her not to leave him. He was frozen like that for her, and she had no indication that he hadn't spent the week in the throes of that kind of pain. He'd never done that before. Not ever. Only one thing had changed in that week. What was she supposed to think? She'd gained a husband, and Michael didn't like it.

Michael was a deal breaker. He always had been. If Nikolas hadn't put Michael firmly into their plans, she never would have married him. But he had, and she had, and... this wasn't part of the bargain. Michael being upset, Michael hurting. If she was any kind of mother, then she'd do something to stop that. But like Edward and AJ had said -- she couldn't do much of anything where Michael was concerned. Most of the time she tried to convince herself that it was AJ's fault -- but sometimes it got hard to deny that they'd gotten custody for a reason. It wasn't losing Michael that made her crazy. She'd always been crazy. At her darkest moments, she always knew that about herself. There was a strange sort of clarity gained at the bottom of a pit -- she was a bad mother. She was unstable. She was flighty. She'd left him when he was a baby. Then she'd let him get kidnapped. To top that one, she'd left him again because she was dumb enough to shoot his kidnapper.

She'd spent all her 'screw up' coupons where Michael was concerned. And she'd figured that out. The day that her whole life fell apart -- the day AJ had realized he was Michael's father -- something in her had snapped. And for maybe the only time in her life, whatever it was had changed for the better. It had pushed her to get her life together. To pull together the seams, no matter how far apart they were, and show everyone that she could give her son something.

She hadn't surprised anyone more than herself. In the fallout of AJ's realization, she'd moved out of the place Jason had been keeping her. She didn't have any money, she had almost no place to go -- and she didn't have Leticia to rely on anymore -- It had been her and Michael against the world. She'd never been more scared in her life.

From the moment Michael was born, Carly had thought she couldn't handle him. Not alone. She's been terrified, initially, to so much as touch him. As time went on, she still didn't trust herself to be his mom. There was nothing -- NOTHING -- to suggest she could do that. But once she had been backed into a corner... Well, that was where she performed best. And shock of all shocks -- she'd had this in her. Even the practical stuff -- bedtimes, feeding, potty training. Yes -- it was work. Yes, Michael had, on occasion, driven her absolutely nuts. She'd collapsed into tears of frustration more often than she wanted to think about. But the rest of it... She loved that child more than she could describe to anyone. It had felt so simple and uncomplicated. They fit together. He'd say things, and other adults would look at her blankly for the translation. She knew the signs that he was getting tired, and how they were different than the ones that meant he was hungry, or sick. When he was scared, or upset -- he reached for her. She'd never felt that important, necessary to anyone. It had never been that easy to give to someone. All she wanted to do was make him happy. Keep him safe, give him a place where he'd always feel like he belonged. She's started to think her life could work, this way. That she could actually be content. If she could just hang onto him, if she could just keep that together...

Well. That had gone to hell. The perfect little life that had been forming around her, crumbled in half the time it had taken to set up. And when that happened, she'd realized it had been inevitable. From the beginning -- it wasn't in her cards to be happy. To have anything, anyone -- even when it was something as basic as her son. It had felt so karmically right, so true to the pattern. She couldn't believe she'd ever let herself think that she'd be able to keep her child. She always ended up alone. That was just the way it worked.

She'd felt hollow since that had happened. They put names on it, they told her what the technical terms were -- but that was what she always came back to. She felt like someone had torn out her insides, and since then, she'd just been a husk. She walked, she talked -- but she wasn't real. She was only as good as her batteries.

That, she thought, with a sickly stirring in her stomach, was what Nikolas was. A different power source. He'd made her feel things she hadn't actually experienced in so long -- It had energized her, made her feel concrete again. But it usually lasted about as long as he was in the room, and she'd run on the fumes for awhile, until he came back.

She'd unplugged from him this last week. More than that, she'd done everything in her power to stop him from trying to fix that. She'd known his buttons -- she'd known what it would mean to do that. Nikolas took rejection -- even tiny rejection -- like it was a punch in the gut. In their first week together, she had already become habitually careful about it. Say something that meant nothing to anyone else to Nikolas, you followed it up with a kiss, a light touch. A smile. Because otherwise he got really... distant. And since the Nurse's Ball, she's ignored that completely. Hadn't done a single thing to take care of him. To make him feel like she wanted to be there. And his response?

"I'm in love with you."

Carly threw out a hand and leaned against the wall of the shower. God, she was a horrible person. She was sucking the life right out of him, and he was too naive, or... God knows what, to see it. How can thoughts hurt like this? Something flits across your mind and your throat tightens so much it becomes physically painful. Your stomach seizes up, you feel like you just got pummeled. Been through a war; fought for your last breath. And why? Because her ex-boyfriend, love of her life, had a child with another woman. Because she'd been replaced for him in every possible way. It was like getting dumped all over again -- With what Robin had said yesterday... Sometimes she started to wonder if Jason even had a soul. Except she knew he did, because if he didn't he wouldn't have kept leaving her for his one true love.

She gritted her teeth against a desire to scream. It was either that, or start to sob. You would think that having a man in the other room who was willing to do everything in the name of making her forget that Jason Morgan even existed. There had been one or two moments where she would have laid odds that he'd be able to do that. You'd think that would make her feel better. You'd think that would be something that she'd want to hang onto. But instead the same sentence kept running through her head.

This couldn't be happening. Not again.

WHEN was she going to learn? Carly, Jason, Tony, Michael, Jason again. And again. And again. She always went down in flames. She always ended up alone. Every time it happened, it took a slightly bigger part of her with it, and -- How was she supposed to love Nikolas back? Ok, so conceptually -- it wasn't that crazy an idea. There had been more than one moment when she'd very nearly swooned in his arms. He made her laugh, he made her dizzy, he made her weak. And that was all good. But once the shit of her life emerged again, the idea of giving that much of herself away just proved impossible. She wasn't sure there was anything left. And the way he made her feel -- if she really let herself go, there'd be no turning back. There'd be no salvation for her.

She couldn't do that when she could still feel the strength of Michael's screams vibrating through her. When she remembered the cold assurance in AJ's voice when he told her that Nikolas would change nothing. That Nikolas would get bored. Nikolas had said he could help her get Michael back -- but she'd wrecked that the first day, when she told the Q's what was going on. He'd said that didn't matter; she couldn't tell if that had meant anything anymore. They didn't seem to think he was a problem. And it wasn't like Nikolas had come to her with any battle plans. There was no way to feel like this was something that could last. Not while she didn't know what would happen with her son. She couldn't even begin to think about what his big confession really meant to her.

He acted like that didn't matter -- if she loved him back. She hadn't known what to make of that. "Oh, you'll just adore me unrequited, never ask for anything back, and no part of you is going to feel ripped off by that?" Yeah, right. She was the unofficial Queen of Unrequited Love. You love them. You hate them. They take over your fucking dreams and suck up your self-respect, and the whole time they look at you as if to say "What? Really, what do you want me to do about it? I didn't do this to you."

Oh yes you did, you bastard.

The decent and human thing to do in situations like this was just to walk away. And standing here letting herself be assaulted by the shower, she already knew that wasn't a reality for her. Right now, she felt like hell, and all she wanted to do was step out of this scalding fog, steal back to their bed, and snuggle up with him. Let him keep whispering those words to her. Hold her, wrap her up in his warmth and strength, and give his heart over to her. She'd take it, too. Without any hesitation. Oh, for me? Thanks! Just what I've always wanted.

Carly fell against the wall of the shower, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the rivers of water pouring over her. She didn't want to hurt him. She'd never thought that about anyone -- ever. No one but Michael. But she was so god damned confused right now. Horrified, scared, empathetic, and...

Thrilled.

That was the worst part. The fact that, under all of this, she felt... relieved. As much as she knew those words didn't mean that he'd stay with her -- hell, they didn't even mean that he actually loved her -- something inside her had just wanted to laugh. Of course, the rest of her had turned around and beat that urge into a bloody pulp. But it had been there. She didn't want to know what that had meant.

She forced herself up onto her feet again, and stood in the eye of the shower. Her arms lifted over her head, eyes closed, she let the water beat down on her. She wanted it to strip the film of calamity off of her. To clear out all these twisted and undefinable feelings - just shut everything up and let her think. Help her figure out what the hell she was supposed to do now.

She didn't feel a whole lot better when she finally emerged from the bathroom a good forty-five minutes later. She was clean -- practically sterilized -- she'd gotten through those basic details of life that had been so challenging for her this whole past week -- brushed her teeth, dried her hair. Dressed in clothes that weren't out of the hamper. It had made her feel a little better -- pulling on her own clean T-shirt, a pair of jeans that she'd grabbed out of the bureau. She wasn't sure how many days straight she'd been wearing that last pair. Clean clothes hadn't been a priority.

Any feelings of competence and normalcy vanished when she stepped out of the bathroom, and remembered the glass shards that had been scattered all across the floor. She hadn't put her shoes on -- they were still sitting behind the door -- and she immediately took a step back. Even as she did it, her brain absorbed that there wasn't anything ON the floor. It was clean -- except for some deep groves and scratches in the hardwood. Her head snapped around in the direction of the dressing table, which was now sitting upright, with a collection of the unbroken, salvaged belongings that she'd thrown across the room the night before. There were still remnants of spilled cosmetics and other garbage, but that had been cleaned up a bit, too. She turned back, immediately, towards the bed, looking for an explanation -- but the room was empty.

"Nikolas?" she called out, apprehensively.

"Right here," his voice was closer than she expected, and behind her. She let out a yelp, and spun around to see him standing nearly right behind her, having snuck up on her from the part of the room that continued along the far wall of the bathroom.

"Oh my God," she breathed, putting a hand over her heart. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"I was on the balcony," he said, looking at her with something that might be concern, or might be scientific observation. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She let out an unconvincing laugh. "You didn't, I do that all the time." She winced. "You, uh... Cleaned up -- " weak smile. "The glass is gone."

"I didn't want you to hurt yourself." His eyes were still roaming over her face without embarrassment. He was always like that, she remembered, now that she was actually taking him in again. He just sort of looked at you and took the information he wanted. It was invasive, really. But she doubted there was any point in telling him that. "How are you feeling?"

Just fine, Dr. Cassadine. Can I go back to my room now? Maybe make a lanyard?

"Okay." She shifted her weight, hugging yesterday's clothes she was carrying to her chest. "The, uh..." she indicated the door less than a foot away from where she was standing, "The bathroom's free."

"Right," he ran a quick hand over his hair. "I guess I better get in there."

"Yeah. Probably."

"Ok."

They stood there, eyes fixed on each other, until Carly jumped, shaking her head. "You need to get past, sorry --" she started to step out of his way, but he caught her arm, spinning her back to him.

"Carly --"

Her breath caught, and she looked up at him, eyes wide. "What?"

He dropped her arm, brow furrowing. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Uh huh." Too close, too close. She wanted to take a step back, but she held her ground. Nothing to be scared of here.

"After I --" he dug his hands into his pockets, a gesture that reminded her of talking to boys in junior high. "After I get dressed -- I thought we could take a walk. Talk about some stuff."

Boom, thud, crash. She blinked, while her stomach ricocheted off her insides. Talk. Oh, God.

"I think," she tried not to squirm, and lowered her eyes. "I have to get through today first."

It was probably the most honest thing she'd said to him in days. She knew he'd understand exactly what she was saying -- that she didn't trust herself to get into anything heavy when she had to go see Michael. She wouldn't have to explain the rest; he knew enough to put the pieces together for himself. He knew more about her than she'd wanted him to. He knew more than she'd intended him to.

"Ok," he said softly. "Tonight, maybe."

She nodded vigorously, still staring down at the floor. "Tonight."

Her stomach flipped in complaint -- but hey, tonight was hours away. She'd deal with it later. She felt his hand brush along her upper arm, and forced herself to look up at him.

"I'll be quick," he said, like this was something she'd want. They both froze a second, trying to work out what came next. Finally, Nikolas just took a step back, and headed, mercifully, into the bathroom.

Once the door closed, Carly let herself breathe. How was it he'd been the one to spill all his emotional beans last night, and she was the one spun tighter than a top? Sometimes Nikolas made no kind of sense to her. She dumped her clothes on the hope chest, and flopped down on the bed. She stared at the canopy overhead and felt that same churning sickness stir inside her again. It was a lurching sort of feeling -- like there was something she was missing. A thread she was refusing to pull on, that might just reveal everything. That canopy -- she could remember, in a flash, lying under it, with Nikolas's body cuddled up to hers. That incomprehensible feeling of being annihilated and safe at the same time. She sat up, shaking her head. When had that been? How was it that stuff that she KNEW must have happened in the last few weeks, felt like a distant memory. She groaned, and buried her face in her hands.

What are you going to do, Caroline? Just tell me what you're going to do.

Raising her head, her eyes drifted unseeingly from the far wall, towards the bathroom door. They stopped with sudden focus and realization, on the dressing table. Nikolas hadn't moved it to it's original place -- He had just set it up on it's feet again. It faced her head on -- The mirror still had shards in it -- around the edges. Sharp and jagged -- like teeth -- It was staring at her accusingly. It was this old, antique, carved and ornamented mahogany table. It had been breathtaking the day before. Most of the furniture in the bedroom was beautiful -- In possession of a lot more personality than the downstairs. She'd thought it was one of the most incredible things she'd ever seen up-close and personal, when Nikolas had first shown her the room. Now the mirror was smashed -- and the wood was ripped -- one of the curving lengths of wood that held the mirror had split along the grain. It looked lopsided and abused. The wood was probably marked. And there had been scratches on the floor -- that wasn't going to go away, either.

God. She really did destroy everything she touched.

Suddenly, she was on her feet -- vaulted there by a realization -- something deep and certain inside her had suddenly spoken up and she understood what she had to do. She'd understood, really, since the beginning. She just hadn't wanted to listen to it. She hadn't wanted it to be right. But GOD, if last night had proven anything, it was this -- she had to get out of here.

She pivoted on the spot, then hurried over to the wardrobe on her side of the room. She threw open the doors and started to rifle through it. It was just so clear, now. She didn't want to hurt him, she didn't want to make him take care of her, and she didn't have it in her to give him what he wanted -- so what do normal, well-adjusted people do in situations like this?

They leave. Because that's the decent and human thing to do. So she thought she didn't have it in her? So what. So she wanted to stay? SO WHAT? This was about the only thing she could actually do right. It was the thing Jason hadn't done for her -- the best he'd managed was not to follow. If she did this -- then she'd release him. He'd be pissed, or course -- he'd probably be hurt, too. But he'd get over it. Once she wasn't actively clouding up his senses, he'd put the pieces together and understand that what he'd been doing was insane. He'd realize he was acting under the influence. He'd probably get over it in a couple of weeks, and then some other girl would appear to make him forget the whole stupid mess.

Probably Emily freaking Quartermaine. Or some other girl, waiting in the wings to help him get over her, the way she'd helped him get over Robin.

Her stomach complained again, but she ignored it. Through the debris, she finally located the bag she'd brought with her to the boat. That would be good enough -- She didn't have to take much with her. Most of what she owned was still at the apartment, anyway. Everything else was in boxes downstairs, and it wasn't that important anyway.

She started when she heard the shower turn off. Damn it! She turned and started to quickly pull the bare minimum of her clothing out of the wardrobe. She just had be gone when he got out of the shower. Then it'd all be fine. She could work it out from there.

Another powerful stomach pang. She tossed the bag on the bed, determinedly, and started to roll up a couple of favored pairs of jeans. Grabbing the clothes from the day before off the hope chest, she tossed them in, too.

This is for his own good, she told herself. When in your life have you ever done anything for someone else's good? Look at this -- you made a mistake, and you're actually taking steps to fix it. Wouldn't Gail be proud.

Don't cry.

She turned back to the wardrobe and picked up the little black dress she'd worn to their first dinner with their parents. No, no, no -- she wasn't going to think about that. She stuffed the dress into the bag, like it was burning her. What else? What next? Socks!

She ran over to the dresser, and gathered up a random handful of socks and underwear. This was ridiculous. She couldn't get this emotional about this. She'd had relationships like this before -- a few weeks, keep it going until it stops being fun, and get out. This wasn't that different. It wasn't like they were soul mates or something. What did she really know about him anyway?

Well, she thought, dumping the clothes on the bed, along with some tank tops she'd grabbed. She knew some stuff. Like he'd named his horse after a bible story. He didn't like kiwis. He had something against Pachabel's Cannon. She knew he liked the color blue -- but all of his clothes existed on a gray scale. And he loved his little sister, but he hardly ever saw her. That there was always more going on under the surface than he let on. He made plans. He was sensitive. He paid too much attention to what other people were doing -- Ok, maybe he just paid too much attention to her. He could dance, his Japanese was weak, and he wasn't that good at chess.

And, all right, he had a stupid childhood. His father lied to him, and his mother was just gone. His Grandmother, from the looks of it, was a full on psycho. And she knew that when he found out the truth about who he was, he didn't know where he fit anymore. He said before her he felt lost. Before her, he felt like he was going through the motions. He'd said that to her, when they got married. That she'd made him feel alive.

And he was gentle and he was kind. He was even, in his own slightly offbeat way, funny. Thoughtful. Intuitive. He took care of her -- even when she told him not to. He wasn't easy to scare. He was stubborn. He liked a challenge.

And he was brave. He'd have to be. He was still here.

She let the bag drop from her hands and fall pathetically to the floor. She stared at the nothing in front of her, unable to move. She'd been lost. She was lost right now. She hadn't even had motions to go through. But she'd been lonely, and sad, and angry. Numb, and without hope. And he'd made her smile. He'd made her laugh. He'd made her feel alive.

She shook herself. No. No, that couldn't matter. Because there were other things to consider. The unsentimental facts of the case. She was crazy; he wasn't. That was a little more compelling than conflicting politics, or differing religious convictions. It was all going to end horribly anyway -- why not get it over with? Just pick up the bag. That's all. Pick up the bag and get over to the door. It's easy, it's simple, it's --

Ah, to hell with it! What was she thinking? She was shit at selfless gestures!

Right. Which was why she was trying to do this. Because deep down, she knew she was lying to herself. The truly selfless thing to do wasn't leaving -- it was staying and loving him back.

She gulped for breath, the room spinning around her. She couldn't do that! She had to get out of here! Just pick up the bag, and leave.

And do WHAT? Nikolas wasn't going to let her leave -- he kinda had that insistent thing down, right now. She'd have to get away without him seeing her. And even if she got off the island, where was she going to go? Her mother's? Besides the fact that Carly wasn't officially talking to her right now, her mother loved Nikolas. There was no doubt which side she'd take. And besides -- she had to see Michael at 2:00! And Jesus, if she did this, there went any chance of changing her situation with Michael. AJ didn't seem to think that Nikolas was much of a threat, but AJ had been wrong before (RH Factors, anyone?) -- She had more of a chance with Nikolas than without him.

Unless he got sick of her.

She actually gagged that time. Clapped a hand over her mouth, and stopped short of doubling over. There it was. She'd known Nikolas for three frenzied, lust soaked weeks. And he'd just announced that he was in love. She had heard that before and ended up alone. What happened when the novelty wore off? When his brain wasn't as clouded by desire as it was right now? He'd get sick of her. She'd start to get on his nerves. They'd start to fight. Bicker. He'd lose interest -- first in what she said, what she thought -- and then in her body. He'd forget what it was that he'd been so passionate about in the first place. He'd get cold. He'd get angry. And then it would come -- It's over. I don't want you anymore. It's not me -- it's you. I want out.

She choked, and hot tears spilled down her face. She wiped at them impatiently. She couldn't do that again! Not with Nikolas. With Tony, it had hurt -- Tony had dumped her, and he'd done it without any empathy or concern whatsoever. He didn't love her; he didn't feel a thing for her. But it had healed. She hadn't loved him -- not really. By the end, she hadn't even liked him much. She hadn't missed him when he was gone. It wasn't like he'd known who she really was.

Nikolas did.

The door to the bathroom door opened without warning. Carly jumped -- for about the thousandth time that day -- her head snapping up and meeting Nikolas's eyes from across the room. She stared at him, agape. He stood in the doorway, wearing his bathrobe and that maddeningly implacable expression of his. His hair was still damp, and flat against his head -- She felt her heart pick up speed, and she gave the bag at her feet a reflexive kick, sending it skittering under the bed. She saw something flicker across his face, and she plastered on a smile.

"Hey..." she nearly cooed at him.

"What was that?"

Distract him -- that was about the only conscious thought going through her head. She cocked her head to one side. "Nothing."

He frowned. "You look upset."

"No," she swallowed painful. Ok -- so he wasn't stupid. She wouldn't pull that one off. She let herself droop, running a hand through her hair. "All right. I've had better days."

He started across the room towards her, and she watched him warily.

"You've been crying."

She shook her head. "I'm Ok."

He stopped, about a foot away from the other side of the bed. "Carly --"

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod...

"I didn't do something I should have last night," she blurted out. She felt her face heat the moment it was out of her mouth. She really was going to be sick. The panic was buzzing right under her skin, and any second now -- Ah! She had to do something. She had give him a reason to stay. She couldn't let him start to doubt things. He'd seen her at her worst last night, and God, if he changed his mind about her, it would be her end. She only knew one way to keep that from happening.

As he watched, she slid up onto the bed. She drew in her breath, then started to crawl across the mattress towards him -- eyes never leaving his. When she got the edge, she rose to her knees, and held out her hand to him.

"Come here."

He didn't move. Not at first -- He stayed so still, she began to wonder if he'd been turned to stone. Then he took a halting step in her direction. She reached out greedily, hooking her fingers through the sash on his robe, and pulling him towards her. His body was rigid, the tension radiated off him. She felt the panic in her gut again. Damn it, please. Don't let this fall apart, too. She focused her eyes on the dark blue material of his robe, trying to lose herself in the depth of the color, instead of looking up at his face and risking tears. She was walking a fine edge here, and the slightest breeze would sent her off the side. She tried to focus on what she knew about him. What he wanted, what he liked.

With her free hand, she gently stroked the raw silk that covered his chest. Barely touching him. Then she pressed closer, feeling his hard muscles under the thin material.

"I've been neglecting you," she murmured, finally raising her eyes. He was looking down at her, but his expression was closed and empty. She leaned into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck -- partly an attempt to arouse, partly a need to hide. He didn't push her away, but his body didn't seem to react to her in the slightest. She, however, felt immediately bowled over by the familiar scent of his skin. The shaving cream, the soap -- She breathed it in, against her better judgment.

"You've been very patient with me," she whispered it, her voice husky -- mostly because she was about ten seconds away from breaking down in his arms all over again. The novelty had to be wearing off for him. "I know it wasn't fair," she pushed forward, rubbing her cheek against his. "I want to make it up to you."

She pressed an open mouthed kiss to the pulse point on his neck before he could answer. That was the secret password, evidently -- She felt his heartbeat leap up just as his head dropped back. He let out a deep groan, his arms suddenly reaching out, and dragging her body towards him. He crushed her body against his, his arms enveloping her in a bear hug. That same buzzing moved up into her head, she shut her eyes against it. Her body sunk into him. She wanted to stay here. To just keep still in his embrace, and let everything else unfold as it may... But she couldn't. She lifted her head, and started to kiss him more fervently -- the side of his neck, behind his ear, under his jaw. This is what she had to do -- please him. Make him want her so much he'd never even think about letting her go. Make him stay with her.

His hands came up without warning, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her off him. She let out a cry of shock, and looked up at him for an explanation.

"Nikolas --"

His head was bowed. His breathing so fast, it was coming in pants. Zero to sixty. She'd broken through his first line of defense and on the other side, there was no resistance. He wanted her. And it was more evident, more demanding, than it had ever been before. He leaned forward, pulling her back to him. She stayed still, uncertain what to do -- how to respond to what she'd unleashed. It was simultaneously dangerous and exciting -- to realize the full reality of the effect she had on him. It was only slightly less unnerving than the effect he had on her.

She was beginning to feel the full weight of that now. His hands were moving over her, tracing her body like he wasn't sure this was really happening. His cheek brushed against hers, and he whispered her name over and over again in intimate space between them. Her hands gripped the material of his robe in fists, while she tried to stay upright under the brush of his lips on her neck.

His hands slipped up into her hair, and he pulled back, turning her face towards his. She just looked up at him, knowing she was succeeding in hiding nothing -- He had an ability to just look right into her when he wanted to. She usually tried to push away from him, but ... This time, all she did was close her eyes. She felt his thumbs massaging the back of her neck. She let out a whispered curse just before his mouth covered hers.

His kiss was sweet and aching. Familiar. Deaf, blind and out of her mind -- she would know whose kiss this was. She knew the way he tasted, the way his hands stroked her neck. His lips were soft and full, they moved slowly, worshipfully over hers. No one else ever kissed her like this. Her hands tightened into fists, holding the lapels of his robe, and bringing their bodies together. She'd forgotten how much she could want him. How good it felt to be close to him. Her body was tightening under his touch, and she could feel a heat starting to build in her stomach. It was something he'd done to her before -- set off this strong feeling that would spread through her, and compel her to open herself to him. Her lips parted, without thought, inviting him to go deeper. To take as much of her as he wanted.

His tongue touched hers, quick and teasing, -- she heard herself moan. It was a desperate, needy sound that seemed to touch something off in him. Their kiss changed -- became more demanding, hungry. One of his arms clamped around her waist, while his other hand seemed to be everywhere -- in her hair, on the back of her neck, up her rib cage, over her breast. She leaned into him, kissing him like she wanted to swallow him whole. And the way he was holding her, the undeniable possessiveness of his grip -- she was sure he wanted the same thing.

She didn't even know she was falling until her back hit the mattress, and in the time it took her to do the math, his body had already settled on top of her. Their kiss hadn't broken, and she didn't want it to. She slid her hands inside his robe, pulling at the material, and running her hands over his pecs, his lean torso. He raised himself up one arm, and started to pull up her shirt with the other, still kissing without reprieve. His tongue gently thrusting in and out of her mouth, stroking the roof of her mouth, and sending a sharp electric feeling throughout every part of her. She moaned, and slid one hand up his chest, and around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair and holding him close to her. She couldn't get enough of him -- suddenly and after a week of denying herself -- she didn't feel like she was going to be able to get close enough to him.

When he pulled back, it was suddenly and left her breathless and confused. She looked up at him, hovering over her, and tried to gain her senses. He brought himself down to her again, resting his head against her forehead a moment, and murmuring something to her, that she could barely make out over the sound of her blood rushing around her body.

"God, I've missed you."

She felt her body go hot -- then cold -- then heat again. "Mmm," was all the response she could muster. She swallowed hard, just as his lips brushed across hers. She parted her lips to accept his kiss again, but he moved away, laying light, sweet kisses across her face, on her temple, over her tired eyes. He was holding himself up on one arm, his other hand stroking her cheek, brushing through her hair.

She held her breath. She could feel so much pouring out of him. This cocktail of adoration, pain, longing. She could feel it all around her. More than the desire, the hunger -- there was this overwhelming emotion swirling around him. She let her eyes close, her body arching up towards him. She felt his lips on her neck in a matter of seconds, while his hands slid under her to unfasten her bra. She felt like she was floating. Away from the room, away from his ardent touch.

He probably does think he's in love, she thought, hazily. Anyone who can make him feel like this. Anyone who is willing to give him this -- she understood wanting it that much. She understood it feeling like it was more than just a physical desire. He wanted touch, he wanted intimacy -- and that was a good thing, because this was all she had to give him. It was all she'd ever really been good for.

Her hand was still threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck and she turned her head restlessly, as she felt herself sink back into her body. Short of breath, too warm, too aware. There was a difference between her and Nikolas. Truth be told, there were millions of differences, but the one front and center was this: He wanted her because she was new. Because she was something he'd never had before. But with her -- She'd had dozens of men in her life. She knew Nikolas was different than all of them. In the short time she'd known him, he'd turned her life on it's head. There wasn't any way to compare her before and after. The only thing that had stayed the same was her -- Crazy, unstable, clinical Carly. She really didn't have anything to give him. Nothing. This was it -- it was all she was -- and it wasn't special. It wasn't something he couldn't get from someone else. Once he figured that out... Oh, GOD.

"Nikolas," she gasped his name. His mouth was trailing across her stomach. "Nik --"

He dragged himself back up her body, and grabbed her mouth with his. She kissed him back, lifting her head off the bed, pressing herself as close to him as the weight of his body would allow. She was pinned under him -- she could only move as much as he allowed her to, and with every touch, every kiss, his power over her became more absolute. She felt a wave of cold, that prickling sensation on her neck. She couldn't breathe. Her desire for him started to feel like something that had coiled itself around her and was cutting off her air supply. The heat that had invaded her body started to feel suffocating. It was too much. He was too close, he was too heavy on top of her. She couldn't move, she couldn't think -- she wrenched her mouth away from his, dragging a deep breath into her lungs. His hands had grabbed hers and were stretching them over her head.

"No," it came out unconvincing, on a moan -- his hands trailed down her arms, down her body, reaching for the hem of her T-shirt.

"Nikolas --" she hiccupped. "No --" his hands on her skin. Hot, burning. She felt herself jerk. "No! Stop --" she brought her hands up to his shoulders, pushing at him. "Stop -- just stop --" she was choking on the words, but they must have cut through the fog of Nikolas's brain, because he was suddenly off of her -- rolled onto his back beside her, breathing hard. She sat up like she was being pulled on a string. She could see the wall in front of her, but it seemed to move -- waver -- like she was looking at it through heat cast off by a fire. She blinked.

Holy shit.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, and leaned forward, drawing her knees up. She could hear him struggling beside her, trying to catch his breath. She couldn't look at him. In the realization of what she'd just done, the humiliation was unbelievable. That wasn't her. She had never done anything like that. Never. She didn't push people away like that. Not in the middle of... They'd been seconds away, she was sure of it. And suddenly, she hadn't been able to do it anymore. She'd needed air, she'd needed, just for a second, to feel her body without his pressed against it. She closed her eyes, head resting on her knees, and dragged in her breath. Once. Twice. Ok. She could do this.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, raising her head.

"No," his voice was thick. "It's fine."

She looked over at him, stretched out on the bed, hands holding his head. His eyes were squeezed shut, and the bulk of his energy seemed to be devoted to getting a grip on himself. Fine was not a word she'd have used to describe his state of being. God, she couldn't believe she was this girl. She had spent a large part of her life hating this girl.

"Are you Ok?"

Nikolas's gave a breathy laugh. "I'll live."

She struggled for something to say. "It wasn't anything you did."

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "Good."

She bit her lip. "I..." deep breath. "We can try again."

Nikolas opened his eyes, and they stared at each other a moment. There was a strained, barely controlled hunger written on his features that Carly struggled not to shrink from. Something must have showed, though, because Nikolas sighed. "No," he grimaced, and struggled to sit up. "I don't think that's a good idea."

She prickled immediately. "Why not?"

"You're not ready."

Her faced heated. This was perfect. The so-called One Thing she had to offer, and suddenly she'd lost her ability to offer it. She let her eyes trail over his body, trying to convince herself that it was a false alarm.

"This is pretty much what I was built for," she murmured.

He shook his head. "This is different."

She wanted to argue that it had always been different, and that none of it mattered, because she sure as hell wasn't going to leave him hanging on this one. But she was stopped short by his choice of words. She felt exposed -- all of this had made her feel transparent and ugly. She wanted to wipe it all from both their minds. All she had to do was work up whatever it took to kiss him. It wasn't like he was going to put up much of a fight. In fact, it looked like he was working at not touching her right at this moment.

But she just sat there, arms wrapped around herself, staring across the room at the broken mirror on the dressing table. Caroline Benson, Master of Self-Sabotage. She really did destroy everything she touched.

"I ruined your table," she said, dully. Nikolas glanced over his shoulder.

"That's fine," he said with distraction. "We'll get it repaired. I'm sure there's another one in the East wing some place."

"Is everything in your life so replaceable?"

He turned and looked at her -- that same strained look on his face that she was sure he'd rather she didn't see. After a moment, he leaned forward, his hand slipping around the back of her neck. He pressed his lips to her forehead. She let her eyes close, and they stayed like that a long moment -- neither of them moving a muscle -- until he sat back, withdrawing from her.

"No," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's not."