Fandom: Prodigal Son
Characters/Pairings: Jessica Whitly, mention of her children and husband
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, wish I did!
Summary/Teaser: It’s late at night and Jessica tries to drown her feeling of guilt over her husband’s arrest…
Rating: PG 13
Notes: This is unbetaed, so any mistakes therein are my own. This is a fill for a comment COM left over at LJ’s Comment Fic. The prompt she left was : Prodigal Son, any of the Whitlys, guilt.
Jessica Whitly reached for the bottle of bourbon and poured herself another glass. Her husband, the charming Dr. Martin Whitly, had turned out to be The Surgeon. How could she have married such a monster? And have children with him? Oh God… Jessica’s hand shook as she brought the glass to her lips and drank. All those poor mothers… Their children… butchered by that animal she had married… There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to drown out the guilt.
She stifled a sob when spotted a picture of her children. Malcolm… I’m so sorry, I didn’t believe you! Jessica closed her eyes. The room spun and she opened them. Breathing heavily, it took her a few minutes to calm herself. Appalled by her refusal to believe him, she was still very proud of Malcolm’s dogged insistence there was a body in the basement. The girl in the box was real and her baby, her darling little Malcolm did the right thing and called the police. But at what cost?
Waves of nausea and guilt washed over her. Thoughts of “had she somehow ruined her children’s lives?” warred with “thank goodness they’re okay!” and “luckily Ainsley’s still a baby and won’t remember all this,” and “my poor Malcolm!” It was all Jessica could do keep the contents of her stomach down. She set the glass down and leaning her head back on the sofa, Jessica felt the sharp prick of tears burning her eyes. She let out a soft sob when she realized not one of her friends had called to comfort her when the proverbial shit had hit the fan. Even her family was strangely quiet, but then again they were all about appearance, but still, it wasn’t her fault her husband was a killer, right?
As she drank herself into oblivion, Jessica wondered which hurt worse; the guilt over marrying that monster, or the feelings of abandonment by everyone she knew. She swallowed the last drops of the bourbon in her glass. I hate you so much, Martin! I hope you rot in that jail cell! Jessica threw the heavy crystal glass across the room. It hit the floor with a tinkling thud and shattered into pieces like her heart. No matter how many times she told herself she hated Martin with a passion for charming his way into her life, only to destroy it, a part of her still loved him and that was the worst guilt of all…