Unspoken

Chapter 2

Marlena opened the door to her home and found John standing there. He'd been crying. She could tell. His eyes were pink and slightly swollen, but she'd never mention it, or even draw attention to it, unless he mentioned it. It was the look on his face that made her hurt for him the most. He was obviously struggling with Isabella's diagnosis. She knew that, not only from her conversation with Isabella, but also because John was at her home so late in the evening. Just like the previous night, his fragile emotional state had driven him to search out solace. Last night it had been the pier. Tonight it was her, and she knew why, because she'd spoken to Isabella earlier.

Marlena softly closed the door as John entered the house. He turned to face her, walking into her outstretched arms, and sobbed into her hair. Marlena fell into the corner by the door with the weight of him, as he continued to cry uncontrollably. It broke her heart. His body shook, and trembled with the release of emotion. All she could do was hold him, and let him get it out. His hands made their way into her hair in desperation, almost as if he was trying to ground himself in the moment, because the reality of life was too hard to handle, and he buried his face in her neck. Marlena ran her hands up and down his back, speaking to him in soothing tones, whispering in his ear, "John, I'm so sorry, honey. G-d, I'm so sorry."

He'd held it in all day, so that by the time he made sure Isabella was asleep, and left the house, he was shaking from it. Now he couldn't seem to stop the flow of tears. He knew his hands were wound so tightly in Marlena's hair that he was likely pulling it, but she didn't complain. "Doc," he gasped. "I can't fucking loose her. I've lost everything. Her and Brady are all I have...they're all I have—"

"No, John, no. You have me. You have me," she said, her own tears flowing over her ruddy cheeks. "I will always be here for you. Always. Always." His weight leaned heavily on her, and she continued to hold him long after, until his sobbing gasps subsided.

He was finally quiet, his heavy breaths wafting over her neck as he rested against her. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly. "I'm sorry to just show up, and dump all of this on you. I know—I know you spoke with Isabella today."

"I did. She called me at the hospital, and asked me to go by," Marlena murmured back.

"What am I going to do, Doc? How am I going to get through this? I have to be strong for her, and here I am crying all over you."

"John, if you need me, you come. That's it. No reason is necessary. No explanation is needed."

Untangling his fingers from her hair, John stepped back from her slightly, wiping the tears from his face, while he looked at her, and used his thumbs to wipe her tears from hers. "She says she done with doctors and testing," John said.

"Let's go in the kitchen. Do you want some coffee?"

"Are you making it, or can I?"

Marlena smiled, and laughed quietly, "You can make the coffee." Taking his hand in hers, and lacing her fingers through his, she gently led him into the kitchen.

"Where do you keep the coffee filters, and the coffee?" he asked her.

"I didn't move them. They're in the same place that they were," she told him, while reaching around him to get two mugs from the cabinet.

John's hand took hers, stopping her progress momentarily, and he said softly, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, and then moving away to place the mugs on the table. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about? She's dying, Doc, and she doesn't want to spend her last days with doctors being poked and prodded. I don't like it. As a matter of fact, I hate it, but I also respect it."