Sunnyside (a Sebastian Stan story)

This Is Not On You

   The idleness made me crazy. The irritability had been no surprise. The loneliness took me off guard. I reached for the phone half a dozen times a day over the next few days, but never made a call. Everyone was busy, right? Life went on as usual for most.

   Then my cell phone started ringing too often for my liking. People I'd never heard of. Magazines I'd never read. One very, very angry girl from Arizona who scared the shit out of me. A fan with entirely too much information who was slightly unhinged.

   I changed my number immediately. That put an effective end to that particular torment, but otherwise made the new silence of my life more profound. It was like I was burying another part of my life, hiding it away. I called Isabel and we chatted until I fell asleep one night.

   The next day, I went to see Bonnie. There was a Sunnyside car in her long, ridiculous driveway. I had to pinch myself several times to get myself to ring the bell. Anyone who was in that house was a friend, of course. It just hurt like hell.

   Bonnie opened the door and stood looking at me for a moment, tall glass of something green in her hand. I smiled weakly and she opened her free arm to me. I stepped into the house and let myself be wrapped in her expensively clothed embrace.

   “Darling girl, I wish you hadn't done it.”

   “I know. But it's done.”

   She ushered me through the house to her favorite sitting room and deposited me on a deep, plush red sofa. I sank into the cushions for what must have been fifteen minutes before my body settled and Bonnie handed me my own green concoction. I sniffed it hesitantly and she laughed.

   “Just juice in yours, though I daresay you could use a shot or two of something stronger.”

   My only response was to take a drink. I was pleasantly surprised. It didn't taste like cleaning products. Just looked like one.

   “You're bored, aren't you?”

   “Out of my mind.” I nodded.

   “Too much time to think.” Bonnie wasn't asking a question. She knew me.

   “It's killing me. Every detail of every day with Sam. With Seb. What I should have seen, what I should have done…” I took a sip of my juice but had trouble swallowing for a moment as an unexpected sob tried to force its way out of my throat.

   Bonnie left her seat and put her drink on a tray on the side table. Then she did something unexpected- which is saying something because Bonnie is always surprising. She hitched her elegant pants up and hit her knees right in front of me.

   Bonnie McBride is kind, and funny. Sassy and smart. Full of love and a very devoted and generous friend. That being said, she gets on her knees for no one. She stands tall, always.

   Tears slid down my cheeks. Everything hurt lately. Everything. Bonnie was doing her best to help me through it, and I'd never be able to repay her. Something about her lowering herself in front of me...it made me more raw.

   I reached for her and tried to pull her up to sit next to me, but she wouldn't budge. She just wiped the tears from my face and pushed my hair back behind my ears.

   “Winnie Hopkins, let me tell you something. This is not on you. Not one damn thing about it is your fault.”

   I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest. She was having none of it. She stuck a finger under my chin and lifted it.

   “You look at me. This is important. Sam took advantage of you. She betrayed you. Okay. Fine. There need be no addition to those facts. There's no 'because Winnie blah blah’ or 'but Winnie whatever’, you got me? What Winnie did or didn't do? Nothing other that 'Winnie was a good friend, and Winnie trusted somebody who acted like she was one too’ matters.”

   I looked at Bonnie for a few moments. I wanted to argue, but something held me back. Something a bit like agreement, actually. Sam had acted like a good friend. And I had been one to her, and how exactly did that make me in any way guilty of wrongdoing or in any way at fault?

   It didn't. Dammit. I nodded. Bonnie kept going.

   “Good girl. Now onto Sebastian.”

   “Bonnie, I don't think you're gonna fix that.” My heart couldn't handle this conversation.

   She made me have it anyway. “I'm not. I can't. But you can, and you will.”

   “He made it pretty clear that it wasn't fixable.”

   She waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Oh, what does he know? Other than the truth, by now, I should think.”

   I couldn't help it; I was openly weeping now. “Then why hasn't he called?!”

   “He needs time to be irrational. You and I both know he does. His unreasonable side often takes the lead, does it not? It always has.”

   She was right again and I couldn't stand it. I didn't want to think. I wanted to kick and scream and mourn my multiple losses. But from day one...he wouldn't hold my hand in public. Until he would. He went off looking for a place for me to live even though it really wasn't a task he had to take on. He just wanted me close to him. And he'd found the perfect home for me.

   He reacted and got emotional over things that we should have discussed like adults. And then he worked to make it up to me. He reacted, always. And not always well. Still…

   “He's had so long, Bonnie. So long.”

   Finally, she got off her knees and sat beside me. She picked up my hand and held it between her own. “When's the last time you called him?”

   “Why does it matter? Why is it up to me? We just established that this isn't my fault!”

   “It matters, my darling, because you're a fixer. You're a problem solver. You do it with that whirlwind of a twin, you did it for Barry and Sunnyside’s employees, you'd do it for me if I ever had a problem my brass balls couldn't handle,” she said.

   I chuckled a little, even though I didn't really feel like laughing.

   “And I'm wondering,” Bonnie continued, “when in heaven's name you're going to ignore that 'he made it pretty clear it's not fixable' and do it anyway. For yourself.”

   “Oh, Bonnie,” I started, but she cut me off.

   “It isn't your fault. He's taking his time to react. That's what he does. But what you do, is call him out on it. Isn't that true?”

   I thought back to the time I'd put him in his place- while he showered.

   “Sometimes,” I agreed reluctantly. "What if my calling him out on it this time means the end? No more chances?"

   "It'll hardly be worse than it is now," she reasoned. "And besides, whose loss would it be then, really? You get your turn to talk now. What happens next is on him. And it better be a damn good apology."

   I sniffled.

   “What am I going to do with the two of you?” she asked.

   “I don't know about him, but… got anything I can clean?” I joked. Except cleaning something other than my own home- which gleamed- would probably do me some good.

   “We can clean the rest of this green concoction out of my juicer,” she said, picking her glass up again, “and then I have a much better idea.”