Penny Takes the Stage

Chapter 35: And the Earth Shook

AN: Next to last chapter! Only an epilogue after this one, okay?

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As Penny had feared, Cam didn't want to return to therapy.

"I don't think that doctor is a good fit," he began when Penny brought up the idea of going back for another session.

"Why not? She was nice, and she understood our situation, our need for privacy; what's the problem?"

"She just rubbed me the wrong way."

"Would you prefer a man doctor?" Penny tried.

"No, you know I don't care about stuff like that," Cam answered scornfully. "Her gender means nothing to me."

"So what, then?"

Cameron shrugged. "I don't know, maybe I just didn't like her."

"What, specifically, didn't you like about her?" Penny prodded.

"Well, for one thing, I didn't like how she asked why we were there, like it wasn't completely obvious that I looked like I'd been front and center at Chernobyl, you know?" He gestured to his face before finishing off the drink in his squat, heavy glass and mixing himself another. Penny didn't know what he was drinking today, except that they were very dark, very potent, and smelled like they could knock a rhino sideways.

"I wish you wouldn't drink so much," she said, striving to keep her voice light and steady. "You know that when you drink a lot, your scars get inflamed, you get really bad headaches, and it makes your face hurt more than usual? Have you noticed?"

"Yes, I've noticed," he replied, mimicking her, his impression of her deadly accurate.

Penny lifted her chin and ignored his cruelty.

"It's just it makes it hard for us to have substantive discussions when you're drunk and whiny and puking your guts up all over the place is all," she continued. "I find it hard to communicate with a self-pitying infant."

"Ooh, nice one, Penelope, very nicely done," Cam responded as he turned around, eyes narrowed, smiling as best he could with lips that were already slightly numb from his drinking. "Bitterness suits you, doesn't it?"

She ignored him and went on. "Cameron, please. I'm trying so hard, I'm working so hard to save you, to save us, and I feel like I'm working all alone. Don't you want this to work? Don't you want to get past this?"

Cameron looked at her in disbelief and threw his still pretty full glass against the kitchen wall, where it shattered and mostly fell into the sink, thankfully. The sound sent Carol Channing scurrying from the room.

"Get past this? Get past this? How in the name of all that's holy do you think I'm going to get past this?" And he gestured again to his face. "Look at me! No, don't just let your eyes slide over me like you usually do, damn you, really fucking look at me!"

He grabbed her by her forearms in a very tight, very painful grip and pulled her close, half dragging her over to where a lamp was lit on this dark and drizzly April afternoon.

"There! Now look at me, dammit! Look at my fucking face, Penelope! Really look, see it, see the mess that it is and tell me how, how on god's green earth am I supposed to get out of bed every bloody morning, see this in the mirror, and fucking get over it?"

By now he was shaking her back and forth with every word, shouting in her face, causing her to turn away from him as tears slid from her eyes, as she murmured, "Please stop, please, please," over and over.