"Enough of Me" (1/1) Fic-let
Jesus Christ and all the saints.
I never thought he'd do this to me.
Well, not *to* me, but... how could he *do* this to me?
I'm sitting in my kitchen in my apartment at Georgetown. I'm holding my mail in my hand. The first envelope is a small, cream colored thing. I'm looking at its contents.
Mr. and Mrs. Harold Lucas cordially invite me to be present at the wedding of their daughter Josephine Mary to Joshua Jacob Lyman.
I choke back a sob. Sure, I'll come. But why did he do this to me? It would have been more simple, more economical, more *humane* not to tell me of this. Well, maybe it wouldn't have. I really wouldn't have liked the look on my face when I went to see Josh and found her keeping his house.
It breaks my heart, because the last time I ever spoke to him I was yelling. Why do you think we haven't spoken in a year? I told him that he needed to move on with his life after Bartlet and stop feeling sorry for himself. I'm more than ever convinced I was right. But see where it gets me?
And also I'm kicking myself, because who was the idiot moron who tried to set them up?
You're looking at her.
My phone rings, and I pick it up mindlessly. "Hello."
On the other end is one of the last voices I'd ever expect to hear. "Donna."
"Mrs. Lyman." She's been such a friend to me, but it just hurts to hear from her now. I reflect sardonically that pretty soon I'll be calling Joey that.
God, how could he *do* this to me?
"Hi, Mrs. Lyman." I try to make it sound like I'm not about to cry, because this woman is the sharing, caring type. Which means Josh will hear the basics of this conversation.
"Donna, I had to call you and see how you were doing." This woman has always known, since Josh got shot, how I've felt. We bonded over late-night phone calls, and ever since Christmas I've called her a few times, just to tell her how her baby boy is doing. I've always denied everything, but she's always known. Damn it.
"I'm fine. Really." I can't look at the envelope as I speak,
"Oh, really." Her tone falls. "I'm sorry, Donna. Really." She pauses, as though I might not want to hear what comes next. "Josh didn't want her to send it."
I'm stunned, yet not angry. He's just read my mind again. "Why?"
She laughs, just once. "He thought it might hurt you."
"Really." I laugh, just once again. "He's considerate like that."
I have no claim on Josh. I know that. He knows that. Mrs. Lyman knows that. But then why is my heart ripping in half?
I take a deep breath. "Listen, I've got to go," I lie deftly.
"Okay." She doesn't sound convinced, but she knows why I'm doing this. "If you need anything, Donna, I'm here. I mean that."
"Thanks." I hang up and return to my brooding. I'll take all this to Mrs. Lyman later, I swear. It's just that right now I need to be alone with my thoughts.
I don't like that word.
I guess I'm just angry. Stupidly angry, but it's there all the same. I mean, for eight years I gave everything to him, to the administration. I've helped him when he's down, let him strut when he needed to, and checked him when his ego has gotten astronomical. And this isn't enough?
Here in my kitchen, I can admit it, that I'm in love with Josh and have always been. I helped to turn those crazy dreams of his into reality. I gave him my soul. I gave him my skin. I gave him my pride. And with this one damn little envelope he's stomped on it all.
I'll go. I'll go with pleasure and dance at his wedding. Because then I can ask him, and remind him of all I've done. Isn't that enough of me? I can say. Isn't that enough of me for you?