Automatic

by: Anon

Character(s): Josh, Donna
Pairing(s): Josh/Donna
Category(s): a little bit of everything, including angst and ultimately romance
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Summary: Josh visits Stanley Keyworth after a month of hell and realizes that his path to sanity isn’t as distant as he thought.
Spoiler: everything through the beginning of season 5
Feedback: Feedback is lovely.
Author's Note: First, let me state that I strongly dislike Amy, but she appears in this story. I think you’ll appreciate hating her in a more realistic way after reading this. Also, I couldn’t have written this story without the assistance of the best writer in the fanfiction world. Therefore, this story is brought to you by the letters JP.

Some would say that we haven’t gotten along lately. Some would say that we seem disconnected. Some would be right.

Donna’s been frustrated with me. She witnesses the little changes in me every day. When she confronts me about it, I snap at her. As soon as the harsh words leave my mouth, I regret them, yet I can’t say, "I’m sorry."

Take, for example, last Monday. Donna told me that Shane From Accounting had asked her out. At first, I ignored her. Looking back on it, I might have ignored her because I was afraid of what I would say. Rarely does my foot stay out of my mouth.

"Shane has two tickets to see Matchbox 20."

"His name is Shane? Who names their son Shane any more?"

For a second, Donna probably thought I was bringing back the banter that we’d lost weeks ago. She developed that grin that she used so often when she was trying to be serious about a frivolous topic.

"Shane was a very popular name in 1968."

"Donna, you can see that I’m working here, so..."

"I just thought you’d like to know," she said as she started to sit in my visitor’s chair. "He has a master’s from Penn."

I stood. "Donna, do you remember a few years ago when I asked you if you thought I cared about the men you date? When I asked you that, what I meant was," I said with my palms raised and my forehead crinkled, "I don’t give a damn who you see or how you spend your time when you’re away from the office. Just show up and work. All I want from you is good work, which I cannot get if you’re in here talking to me about your pathetic love life."

She never had a chance to sit. I almost wish she would’ve because it might have given me the opportunity to apologize. Instead, she stood as straight as possible, looked me in the eyes and walked out.

I took two steps toward the door with every intention of apologizing to Donna. Instead, the memory of a similar outburst around Christmas three years ago jumped into my head. Did Donna walk away like that because she was afraid of another mental breakdown? Did Toby or Leo or the President suspect anything suspicious about my behavior? I plopped into the visitor’s chair, put my elbows on my knees and held my face in my hands, praying that this wouldn’t happen all over again.

So after a month of my PTSD-like behavior, I have been forced to talk to Stanley. And by ‘forced,’ well, I mean forced.

As I sit in Stanley’s living room fiddling with my tie, I review the events of the past four weeks.

First, there was Joe Quincy, a man who I might end up respecting despite his party alliance. But Joe turned my world upside down when he uncovered the Hoynes scandal. I’ll admit that he handled the situation well, but it was like the day I found out that my Uncle Frank never really played third base for the Mets. While Hoynes and I weren’t exactly close, I still admired his drive and power. That is, until Joe Quincy revealed him as an irresponsible, morally-challenged man.

Since I’m thinking about Joe Quincy, I might as well admit that I was bothered by Donna’s reaction to him. She has never tried to hide her crushes on men. In fact, she blatantly throws them in my face. Yet for some reason, she tried a different approach with Joe. I could see straight through her trying to butter me up, but I played along because that’s what we do. Or did. I should also mention, though I’d never say it out loud, that when it comes to Donna and men, I’m crazy jealous. This isn’t to say that I have a thing for Donna. I don’t, exactly. It’s just that here’s this vivacious, compassionate, beautiful woman who chooses these cardboard-cut-out Republican men who aren’t worthy of her. I’ll never understand that.

Not long ago, Charlie and I spent an evening drinking beer and watching baseball. The Yankees were playing the Braves, so the only reason I wanted to watch the game was to rub it in Toby’s face if the Yankees lost. For the most part, I just wanted to relax and enjoy Charlie’s company. I’d known he was having a difficult time adjusting to Zoey dating Jean Paul. He wondered the same thing I did about Donna and her lack of taste in men. I don’t think he thought that Jean Paul was dangerous, but I often wonder if he looks back on everything and thinks it was his fault.

Next, there was the kidnapping. Nothing I could write or say or think will ever do justice to the fear I felt during those 50 plus hours. My primary concern was Zoey’s safety. My next concern was the status of the United States government. I know I should’ve placed the President’s well being above the needs of the country, but I’m a shallow man in need of therapy. Reason number 246 why I’m sitting here now.

I slept a total of six hours in three days, and I was well on my way to being Toby. I kept coming up with worst case scenarios and voicing my negative opinions. I frowned more than I smiled. My grim outlook and lack of empathy frightened even CJ.

Except that Toby wasn’t being Toby. He was a new father, and his outlook shifted the minute that his son and daughter were born. I always allowed Toby to voice my dissatisfaction. He told the President and Leo things that I would only imagine telling them. I didn’t have to be the disgruntled deputy when Toby was around. So for the past month, I’ve been playing the role of two angry men wrapped into one weak body.

Finally, there was Amy. She never loved me, and I sure as hell never loved her, but we didn’t need love or romantic bullshit to sustain our dysfunctional relationship. Amy pounced on me when I was a broken man. She’d done it before, and she did it again during the kidnapping. As she manipulated and struggled to control me, I felt like another man inside my own body watching from above. Just as I couldn’t control my venom from Donna, I couldn’t control Amy’s grasp on me.

In my weakest moment, I slept with her. She was waiting on my stoop for me the day after Zoey was rescued. The only thing I asked her that night was, "What are you doing here?" She replied, "Trying to make you whole again." In my twisted mind, I wanted to prove to her that I was not falling apart. I was horrified that she’d even guessed that I was damaged. I didn’t put it past her to use this against me a few weeks later.

We had sex; I didn’t think about what I was doing with this woman for one minute. My motions were automatic, and I didn’t have an orgasm. I don’t even remember getting hard enough to enter her, but I do recall her slipping on a condom while I stared out the window. As she climbed on top of me, I couldn’t look at her face, so I kept my eyes shut. Then I began to cry. A few tears rolled out of my eyes, hitting the pillow beneath me. The moment after she came, she left.

I lay in bed for another hour with the condom still loosely hanging on my penis like a noose around my neck. How could I have allowed this woman to see that I was vulnerable? She had no right to analyze me or call me weak. She wasn’t supposed to know me that way. I wouldn’t have felt bitter or angry if it was someone else in my bed. But someone else wouldn’t have left. She would’ve stayed and held me, attempting to make me whole again.

When I had enough strength to take a shower, I removed the condom and scrubbed my body until it was red and nearly bruised. I hadn’t cried that hard or that much in three years. For that single day, I allowed myself to feel.

I hate what she does to me, and I hate even more that Donna sees it. Today, Donna announced that Amy was on the phone, and she asked if I needed anything. I told her to "get out and stop looking at me that way." I witnessed the sadness crawling into her eyes as she blinked twice before I could issue an apology. Of course, my apology never came. Instead, I closed my mouth and shot her a look that said, "What part of ‘get out’ didn’t you understand?"

That’s why I’m here. Donna never transferred Amy’s call. Instead, she put down a stack of files, walked behind my desk, grabbed me by the arm, and literally dragged me to her car.

"What the hell are you doing?" Despite my protest, I allowed her to lead me down the halls of the West Wing.

"Don’t say a word, Josh. You’re coming with me." Her tone left no room for compromise.

I reacted the same way that I had with everything else in my life for the past month: automatically.

I sat in the passenger seat of Donna’s car with what must have been a shocked expression on my face. She ignored it. When she turned the ignition, the radio blared some obnoxious music before she pressed the knob with more force than necessary to turn it off.

"Donna, we can’t just leave in the middle of the day."

Her eyes glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard, noticing, I’m sure, that it was not, in fact, the middle of the day. It was 7:35 p.m. "I’m warning you Josh, this is not negotiable. Shut up and buckle your seatbelt."

Glancing at Donna, I noticed the determination on her face. I’d only seen her look this way a few times before, the most recent being when we walked along the fence surrounding the White House, gazing at the memorial for Zoey. As we walked away from the site, she turned to me and said, "We’re going to get through this, and Zoey will be safe." When Donna has that look on her face, there is no doubt in my mind that she’s right. And the pride I feel in knowing her during those moments exceeds any fears that I have.

When we pulled up to the two-story, red-brick house, I knew exactly where I was.

"I don’t believe this, Donna," I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, "I know this house." My blood pressure rose, as did my voice. I got out of her car and headed directly back toward the road we’d just traveled.

Donna followed. "Josh, Stanley’s expecting you."

"You decided to take it upon yourself to bring me to my shrink?" I faced her with my hands in the air and shouted, "How dare you take that liberty?"

She reached for me, but I quickly pulled away. "Don’t touch me. This time you’ve gone too far, Donna. I am not your responsibility."

"It wasn’t my choice to bring you here." She was right on my heels. I stopped, and she almost plowed into me.

"Excuse me?"

Donna looked at her feet, then back at me. "Leo told me to bring you here."

"So you’re doing Leo’s dirty work now?" My body lurched forward, and then I turned around and rubbed both hands on my face. I took a deep breath. "It’s not you who’s concerned, but Leo?"

"You think I’m not concerned?" She let out a bitter laugh at the question. "You think it doesn’t break me watching you fall deeper and deeper into yourself every day? Watching you try to solve your problems by running back to Amy?"

Her expression changed from outrage to trepidation, giving away the fact that she regretted mentioning Amy’s name.

I held out my hand. Trying to control my guilt, I said calmly, "Give me the keys, Donna." Instead of handing me her car keys, she grabbed my hand and yanked me toward Stanley’s house.

It was dark outside, and the driveway was only illuminated by two gas lamps near the porch. As I struggled to pull my hand back, Donna tripped. She released my hand and landed hard on her left knee. I rushed to her side, but for the first time in a month, my movements didn’t seem automatic. I didn’t feel like I was watching from above. I knelt on the ground next to her.

"Donna?"

She quickly adjusted her skirt and looked at each of her palms, which were scraped but not bleeding. "Ah," she grimaced as she rolled onto her butt, away from me.

I think I noticed her knee before she did. "Donna, you’re bleeding." I reached my hand to her leg, but she batted it away without looking at me. She dabbed the stinging cut with her hand.

I took off my jacket and tried using a sleeve to help her wipe the wound, but she pushed me away again. "Donna, just let me..."

"Let you what, Josh? Help me? Why should I let you help me when you won’t accept my help?"

I stared at her big, wet eyes, unable to respond. She lowered her head and took a deep, shaky breath. For a split second, we understood something that neither of us could say.

I hadn’t been passionate about anything in a month, but sitting on the gravel with an injured Donna made me want to react. Everything around us was still, barring the occasional breeze that made Donna shiver. The cool air smelled like a combination of potting soil and cinnamon, and it made me feel three dimensional for the first time in ages. Maybe it was the seclusion, but I felt stripped of any restrictions at that moment. I wanted Donna to know that I was trying to be whole again, and that she was the only one who could make that happen.

For a third time, I reached out to touch her knee, but this time she let me.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yeah."

I dabbed at the blood on her knee while pushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. "Can you walk?"

She mustered a small smile. "I can probably make it inside Stanley’s house."

My face cracked into a wide smile, which mirrored Donna’s, until we both began laughing heartily. Her body collapsed into mine unintentionally, and my arm found its way to her upper back. My other hand applied pressure to her injured knee while pulling her legs closer to me until she was nestled against my side.

When our laughter subsided, we realized how close we were, but we didn’t move. Touching Donna felt like therapy. I could feel the air building up in my chest and recognized that I was breathing - something I felt like I hadn’t done since May.

I brought a shaky hand to her face. "I can’t do this alone."

"Yes, you can, Joshua, but the best part is, you don’t have to."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, brushed my thumb against her cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on Donna’s forehead. I helped her stand, and we walked to Stanley’s front door together. It didn’t surprise us to see Stanley in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face.

"After all the kicking and screaming you must have done before Donna got you here, I expected you to be the injured one, Josh."

My smile must have included the dimples because Donna bit her lower lip as she stared at me and smiled as widely as she possibly could. I ushered her inside and made small talk with Stanley as he retrieved a washcloth and a Band-Aid.

This was going to be a long night, but I was already on my way to healing.

***

After Donna’s knee was sufficiently repaired and it was clear that she didn’t need medical attention, she decided to leave. I had mixed feelings about her leaving. On the one hand, I didn’t want her to hear the things that Stanley would drag out of me. On the other hand, we’d just shared a pretty significant moment, and I wanted her to be a part of my conversation with Stanley. Nevertheless, she grabbed my hand, giving it a firm squeeze, and asked me to call her when I needed a ride home. I didn’t respond verbally; rather, I held her hand a bit longer than necessary, which forced her to pull her hand away.

Stanley watched my body language as Donna disappeared through the impressive wood and glass door. He didn’t speak to me until he was certain that I was aware of my surroundings. After the ignition started in Donna’s car, I whipped around to see Stanley sitting in an arm chair, sipping tea and watching me.

"I was going to suggest that we start with Zoey, but perhaps we should talk about Donna."

I ran a hand through my hair, then plopped on the leather sofa with a thud. My head fell back against the cushion, and I let out a sigh. "I always knew it would come to this."

"Come to what, Josh?"

"Our phone conversations weren’t enough. They never were. I knew the day would come when Donna would drag my ass to your house."

Stanley emitted a small laugh. "She’s a smart woman. She knows you well."

I lifted my head and looked at him. I wanted to tell him that he was correct. My nerves surfaced, as they usually did when I was confronted with saying something nice about Donna. I was always afraid that people would see right through me. So I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to speak.

"The last time we spoke was right before Zoey’s kidnapping. Was Donna with you when you heard?"

"No. I was at the club with Charlie. We were waiting outside, drinking beer." I thought that I was skillfully avoiding bringing the conversation back to Donna.

"Where was Donna?"

Damn. "She was at work."

"Did you talk to her immediately after you heard?"

I adjusted in my seat, playing with my tie again. Stanley cleared his throat.

"I couldn’t. I was with Charlie. I had to protect Charlie."

"Protect him from what, Josh?" Stanley asked, uncrossing his legs.

"From blaming himself." It was my turn to clear my throat. This conversation was obviously making me uncomfortable, but Stanley pressed on.

"Why would Charlie have blamed himself?"

"Earlier that evening," I began, rolling up my sleeves. "I’d gone to the Arboretum with Charlie to dig up a bottle of champagne. It was this thing with him and Zoey," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "When we got there, the bottle of champagne was gone, and we found out later that Zoey had already found it. Long story short, Charlie convinced Zoey to go to a graduation party at some club near Georgetown. A few hours later, she was kidnapped."

This is how our three-hour conversation began. My responses started out clipped. As the night drew on, I began elaborating on my feelings. When we discussed Amy, I stood and paced the length of the Oriental rug. Stanley sat on the edge of his chair, listening to me and watching me express my ill feelings toward her.

My voice rose as I told the story of the last time we had sex. I didn’t feel like I was in the room with a therapist. I didn’t feel like I was in the room with anyone. My lips were moving so rapidly; I couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

"...and I laid there crying!" I yelled. "I was furious with myself for allowing her to take control over me. All I could think about was that my life had come down to this. This horrible, humiliating moment." I sat back down on the sofa. "And I cried."

I lowered my head, looking at my hands, turning them over as if examining evidence. I wondered how I allowed these hands to touch Amy’s skin.

I must’ve been silent for quite some time, because Stanley startled me when he said, "Josh?"

My head popped up. "Hmm?"

"How’d that feel?"

I made a mental checklist of how I was feeling. A few seconds later, I realized that I hadn’t felt that relieved in a long, long time. "It felt great." A small smile grew across my face.

Stanley and I spent another half hour talking about nothing of great importance. After my confession about Amy, I honestly wasn’t paying attention to Stanley any more. All I could think about was Donna. I felt free.

"Let me drive you home, Josh."

"No," I said as I stood. "I’m just gonna call Donna. She’ll pick me up."

Stanley flashed a knowing grin, then stood and nodded once.

With that, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed her home number. No answer. I’ll admit that I was a bit nervous. I called her at work, and she picked up on the second ring.

"Josh Lyman’s office."

"It’s almost 11 o’clock. What the hell are you still doing at the office?" I was grinning because she was still at work.

"If you were sane, you’d be here too."

Only Donna could make a remark about my sanity at this point and have me smiling.

"You’re the one who drove me to insanity," I said as I tilted my head, adding a playful tone to my voice.

"Did Stanley have to sedate you, or does he have you locked up in a room somewhere?"

"I think you’re the one who should be locked in a room somewhere." As I said those words, my voice got a bit raspy.

Donna matched my tone. "I’m not the one in a shrink’s office right now."

God help me, there was banter, and it was sexy as hell. I could’ve stayed on the phone with Donna all night. But I had a better idea.

"Are you going to come get me, or am I going to have to walk home?"

"I’ll come get you on one condition."

"What’s that?" I asked, loosening my tie and unbuttoning the top button on my shirt.

"You take me to get a drink."

"Deal," I said, plopping back down on the sofa.

"I’ll be there in 20 minutes."

She was about to hang up the phone.

"Donna?" I paused, waiting for the "yeah?" that I thought was coming. "Talk to me on your drive over here." I could picture her smiling and turning a bit pink.

"Seeing as how you called me at work, I’m not exactly able to drive with the phone."

"Fine, hang up and call me on your cell."

I know she wanted to come up with something witty to say, but instead she settled for "Ok."

I have no idea where Stanley was during my twenty-minute conversation with Donna. He could’ve been sitting right next to me, or he could’ve been sleeping in his room. I felt relaxed and revitalized, and it didn’t hurt that I was going to see Donna in less than a half hour.

She asked me about my session, and I told her a lot of what I had told Stanley. I didn’t give her explicit details, especially about Amy, but Donna was always good at reading between the lines.

During the entire conversation, I stood looking out of the glass at the top of the door, waiting for Donna to drive up. She was rambling on about something, and I honestly tried paying attention, but when I saw headlights, my mind was not focused on her words. I clasped my phone shut and opened the door. Before shutting the door behind me, I stopped just outside. I looked back inside and realized that Stanley had actually been in the room the whole time. He was sitting in his arm chair, mirroring the position he’d been in three hours earlier.

"Go," he said, motioning his hands in a shooing fashion with a smile creeping onto his face.

I smiled at him, shut the door, and tried not to jog to Donna’s car.

"You hung up on me" were her first words.

"Yeah," I said, adjusting myself in her passenger seat. I hadn’t looked at her face yet.

"I was in the middle of an important sentence, and you hung up," she said, not putting the car in gear.

With that, I looked at her. All I could think was "How do I deserve this?" Donna’s jacket collar was tucked haphazardly into her shirt. Her hair had been down earlier that day, but tonight, it was swept up hastily, and blonde strands poked in every direction. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips sparkled. Donna rarely wore lipstick. She favored Clinique’s "glosswear for lips," which she’d made me buy for her once at a mall in Schenectady.

We spent a moment communicating with our eyes. I slowly shook my head. Noticing that her foot was on the brake, I shifted the car into gear and said, "Drive."

Donna smiled at me and drove away from the red-brick house.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The Hawk and Dove. I promised that I’d get you drunk there, so I’m fulfilling my promise."

"You promised that nine months ago."

"It wasn’t my intention to break the promise then," I said, looking at her, hoping she received my message. "And I don’t intend to break it now." Jack Reese had stolen her away from me that night, and despite my bitterness, I was determined to live up to my promise even if it was nine months, three days and 34 minutes later.

***

We arrived at The Hawk and Dove at 11:48 p.m., which meant that most of the Washington bigwigs would’ve already gone home for the night. They usually met around 9 p.m., had three rounds of drinks and 13 rounds of party-bashing conversations, then went home to their wives or mistresses around 11 p.m.

Placing a hand on Donna’s lower back, I led her to the far left corner of the bar. Most of the patrons were sitting at tables or on the other side of the bar because the jukebox was loud on this side. I didn’t mind the music, and quite frankly, I didn’t even hear it until an hour after we were there.

We sat at the two farthest bar stools and ordered gin and tonic. She liked Bombay Sapphire, and I preferred Tangueray.

"How’s your knee?" I asked, noticing that she’d taken off her ripped pantyhose.

She looked down at her bandaged knee. "It’s a little stiff, but I’ll live."

"Are your hands ok?"

She held them out, palms facing up. I took her left hand in mine and examined it. I rubbed my thumb on her lower palm where there were small indentations from the rocks, but no broken skin.

"They’re fine," she replied, not pulling her hand away.

I gave her a small smile. If there was ever a time that I needed strength, this was it. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more liquid courage, so I finished my drink and ordered another one. I was surprised to find that Donna’s glass was empty too.

"Sucking them down, huh?" I asked with a grin.

"Just keeping up with you."

By this point, she’d removed her hand from mine. Noticing that she was a little embarrassed about her fall earlier that night, I changed the subject.

"Anything exciting happen at work tonight?" I asked, sipping my very alcoholic drink.

"Actually, yes."

She went on to tell me a story about Margaret and the pizza man, but she lost me after talking about hamburger meat versus sausage. As I sat there, I was struck dizzy by the thought that I wanted nothing else than to be there, now.

"I’m sorry, Donna." Those three words slipped.

"What?" She was taken off guard.

"I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to say that for over a month."

She interrupted me, "Josh..."

"No, Donna, let me finish," I said, scooting my stool closer to hers to make sure that our conversation was completely private. It didn’t help that the jukebox was blaring Moby’s "The Sky is Broken."

Donna hated confrontation, so she shied away and looked down as I spoke.

"Donna, this month was absolute hell. I haven’t felt this way since I got shot four years ago. I felt betrayed, confused, and most of all, isolated...from you." I took another long swig of my drink, and Donna did the same. "Until tonight, I was so completely lost that I never thought I’d find my way home. You’re my map, Donna."

She placed a hand on my knee and her chin quivered. "Josh."

Let me finish, I thought. I can do this. "My pulling away from you wasn’t because I didn’t trust or need you. Stanley said that maybe I needed to be completely withdrawn in order to see my life for what it was. He told me that we often shy away from the people who mean the most to us and attach ourselves to the people who mean the least because we think we deserve to be miserable."

"Josh, you don’t deserve to be miserable," she pleaded.

"I know. At least I know now." I turned her hand over on my knee and held it. "I’m saying that I’m sorry, Donna." I wanted to say more, but that was all the courage I could muster.

Donna leaned in, placing her free hand on my cheek. She smiled at me, forcing me to smile as well. When I did, she traced my dimple with her index finger and followed it with a kiss. Then she kissed my other dimple. My hand began rubbing her hand and moving up her arm, and everything felt like slow motion. We looked at each other briefly, then Donna kissed my lips. I hadn’t realized how dry mine were until her smooth, wet, lime-infused mouth hit mine. I wet my lips and closed the gap between us again. There was no tongue involved; rather, a series of kisses that had my insides crackling with anticipation.

My hand on her arm pulled her toward me, and my other hand landed on her cheek. Donna’s right hand turned over again, grasping my thigh, and her other hand moved to my neck. By our fourth or fifth chaste kiss, I opened my mouth. She pressed a little more firmly.

If this kiss had been an argument, she’d be winning. She knew all the strategies: the way her fingernails scraped gently behind my ear; the way her thumb caressed my jaw; the way her hand moved up my leg with just enough pressure to make my head spin. I was intoxicated, not by the alcohol in my system, but by the movements and pressure of Donna’s hands and mouth.

She broke the kiss just before our tongues had a chance to dance. "Apology accepted."

I took her in my arms and hugged her until I feared she couldn’t breathe. When I released her, her smile lit up the room. She stared at me for a long moment, then looked down at her skirt which had risen as I’d moved my legs closer to hers, effectively parting them. She adjusted her skirt, then wiped away some wetness beneath my lower lip with her thumb. Because her chest was pink from the heat in the bar as well as the events of the last ten minutes, I noticed that Donna’s freckles had come to life, framed by the neckline of her blouse. I kept staring at the top button, willing it to pop open.

Maybe it was the lights flickering on and off signaling "last call." It was indeed the last signal I needed. I threw $30 on the bar and stood, taking Donna’s hand in mine. She finished the last of her gin and tonic in one sip, then led me out of the bar. I wanted to put my arm around her or do something else that let to the two people left in the bar know that Donna was mine, but I decided against it. I allowed Donna to lead me to her car just as she had earlier that night.

I had a sort of epiphany at that moment: wherever Donna led me, I was ready and willing to follow. I just hoped that she would be leading me home in the near future so that our bodies could continue the automatic dance that kept me whole.

THE END

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