Everything I've Known

Title: Everything I’ve Known
Fandom: MEST
Pairing(s): Het (male/female).
Rating: R (Later chapters will be NC-17)
Summary: She thought that she was in love, even after her husband cheated on her, she never knew what love really was. Then one night changed everything; it flipped her world upside down and forced her to face herself.
Disclaimer: Do I really have to state this over and over again? I guess I do. I do not own Mest, nor do I know them and I highly doubt I ever will. This story is 100% false, maybe that's why it’s called fiction. Also, I do not own any song that has a blip and/or chapter title in this story.
Claimer: Abigail Lynch, Brennan Lynch, and [almost] everything else that you don’t recognize.

One: Until It Sleeps

So tell me why you’ve chosen me.
Don’t want your grip, don’t want your greed.
Don’t want it.

I’ll tear me open, make you gone.
No more can you hurt anyone.
And the fear still shakes me,
So hold me until it sleeps.

Often times, while lying in bed, she would scorn herself for marrying so young. It wasn’t like she had to marry him; she didn’t get pregnant or anything like that. They just decided that, when she was 18 and he was 20, they were so much in love that getting married was the greatest idea in the world. She was 26 now, old enough to know that what they thought was grand didn’t always mean that it was. Though she loved him deeply, she missed not having a bachlerette life.

“You there, Ab?” Brennan asked, she had been staring at the glass of water in front of her for six minutes. “Ab?”

Abigail gritted her teeth for a second; she always hated that nick-name, but could never seem to get the point across to Brennan. “Yeah. I was just thinking.” She looked at her spouse, his brown eyes wide with concern.

“About what?”

She shrugged, “How nice it is to be home and not driving around in my truck.” Abigail was a metal artist, spending long hours in her shop or on the road delivering things to clients. “Driving to Albany from here is murder.”

Brennan smiled slightly, “I keep telling you that you should fly or something.”

Abigail shook her head, “You know I can’t trust the airlines. I mailed cookies to Mother last year, when she got them they were nothing but crumbs.” She looked down at her spaghetti, twirling it around with her fork.

Brennan’s gaze still didn't leave his wife, “You don’t make cookies. Maybe if you shipped your stuff or got someone else to do it you’d be home more. You know how much I miss you when you’re gone.” He said, wanting nothing more than to go to bed.

“This coming from a man with a nine to five job.” Abigail muttered, wiping her mouth with a napkin and setting it beside her fork.

Before he could answer the doorbell rang. Abigail got to her feet rather quickly, “No need for you to get up.” She stated, walking across the loft to the front door. When she opened the door, Abigail hesitated when she saw an attractive blonde standing in the hallway. “May I help you?”

The woman looked at Abigail nervously, “I just thought I’d—”

“What are you doing here?” Brennan whispered, walking quickly over to Abigail as he stared unblinkingly at the woman. “You should leave.”

Abigail suddenly remembered the woman in front of her from an event at her husband’s work several weeks ago. “Nonsence, she came all this way.” She crossed her arms, “Boston isn’t exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away.”

Brennan went pale. He swallowed thickly as he watched Abigail walk back to the dining table. Turning back to the blonde, he said a few words to her and convinced her to leave, with a “don’t come back here again” as the latter’s back was turned. Shutting the door he headed back to his dinner, only to see Abigail cleaning it up.

“I can’t believe you, but I should’ve known.” She said flatly.

“What are you talking about?”

Abigail slams the plates in her hands down and turns to face Brennan, “I’m not blind, you know. Remember the Company Picnic last month? I saw you talking to that girl,” She motioned to the door, “when you were ‘in the bathroom.’ Whispering something in her ear, laughing, grabbing her ass— and I tried to forget about it!”

“I—”

“How long? How long were you fucking her behind my back?”

Brennan looked at his feet, “Once. A few days ago. You don’t understand, though. You weren’t here...”

Abigail laughed dryly, “So you called her up and slept with her? I’m not gone for years at a time!”

“You might as well be. I’m sure you’ve fucked a guy or two when you’re driving around.”

“What do you take me for?” Abigail yelled, “You’re my husband, of course I’m not going to sleep with anyone else! I’m faithful unlike you.” She turns away and walks towards the front door again, grabbing her purse hanging from a coat tree.

“Where are you going?”

Abigail opened the door, “I’m staying at a hotel tonight, I’ll be back in the morning.”

---

She stared down into her empty glass, the laughs and conversations of the other people around her being pushed to the back of her mind. Abigail sat at the bar of a club thinking about her relationship; how she should’ve said no that night on the beach, how she was a fool for thinking that Brennan was true... This wasn’t the first time. He cheated before, three times before, and each time she had taken him back. She loved him, though she didn’t understand why at times.

“Can I get you another drink?” A man asked, giving Abigail a start. She turned to the right, where the voice had come from, and saw a tall brunette standing somewhat next to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She looked at him, letting her heart rate return to normal as she did. He looked to be only several inches taller than she is and seemingly well built; not too muscular and not too little. He was wearing gray Dickies and a black tee-shit, tattoos covering both arms and creeping up his neck. A nervous smile was pulling at his lips, a signal that Abigail should start talking soon. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You look like you could use a beer or something.” The man replied with a shrug, hands deep in his pant’s pockets.

Abigail shook her head, “The last thing I need right now is to get drunk.”

“Had that many already, eh?” He laughed oddly, eyes debating between looking at her or the Vans housing his feet.

She sensed his discomfort and smiled softly, “I guess I could have another, but first tell me your name.”

The man smiled, walking toward her and sitting down on the stool beside Abigail. “I’m Matt. Matt Lovato.” He extends his hand, which Abigail takes.

She shook hands with Matt. “Abigail Lynch.”