"Sometimes I just feel like choking her to death. I know that sounds awful, but I get so pissed off. It's like something takes over, and all I can think about is pinning her to the ground, forcing her to stay still until she does what I want. Does that make any sense?"

For a moment, no one spoke. There were the usual sounds of chairs squeaking on the linoleum floor, someone coughing, the steady drip drip of the coffee maker in the corner, the hum of the street outside. John, the group leader, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together as he stared at the person who had spoken. His name was Andy, and he was new, and young, and looked scared. He was on probation; the courts had put him here. Now he sat with his hands crossed over his chest, digging fingers into his arms until the skin was spotty white underneath his t-shirt sleeves. He didn't like them all looking at him, and the color was gone from his face except for his very black eyes.

"It makes sense, Andy, because you have transfered your problems onto her. You see her as the very essence of everything that's gone wrong in your life. You pin her down, you hit her, because you want control over those problems. If you can prove that you're bigger, in control of her, then for just a second you can feel like you're in control of your life as well. And you'll do anything to feel the way you feel in that second. It's a rush, an addiction."

The young man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He shook his head. "I don't think that's it. Really. I think she just needs to-"

"She doesn't need to. You need to. You can't change others; you can only change yourself."

"But it's her fault the money-"

"It sounds like you're reacting when what you really need to do is respond," said another voice. This one came from the other side of the room. It belonged to an Asian man in his mid-thirties. As he spoke, he balanced his chair on two metal legs, gently rocking back and forth.

"Nathan?" John said, turning his attention away from Andy. "What about you? Do you have anything to add?"

A shaft of bright summer sunlight draped across Nathan's knee. It had been steadily climbing up his leg for the last half hour, making him hot and itchy underneath his white work shirt. For what felt like the hundredth time, he turned his head and glanced out the window, running his index finger under his chin. The parking lot was mostly empty, the street beyond it thick with rush hour traffic. He could see heat waves dancing on the car tops like developer fluid, bringing out a hazy photo of Ashton, Georgia in mid-August.

"Nathan," the voice said again.

Nathan turned his attention back to John, a middle-aged man with light brown hair and unblinking green eyes.

"Sorry," Nathan replied, clearing his throat.

"You've been very quiet today. What's on your mind?"

Nathan shrugged. "Nothing. Just a long day."

John smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Do you have any advice you want to give Andy before we close?"

Nathan was quiet for a moment, then, "You want to be in control right?"

Andy shook his head. "No! That's not it-"

"You want to be in control," Nathan repeated slowly, "Right?"

Andy sighed deeply, but this time said nothing. Nathan continued.

"Because being out of control makes you feel helpless, like you did when you were a kid with your dad. You can't stand it."

"I can't change it either," Andy mumbled softly.

"Start small. Choose something in your life you can control and use that as your outlet," Nathan said.

"Like what?"

"For me, it's art. I can see something in my head and paint it, and I can control every brush stroke. I can control every movement. I can make it be what I want it to be. It's not much, but I need that. I need something, just so I don't feel helpless. You want my advice? Choose something small you can control, but keep your eyes open for all the things you can't control."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, I can't control the lighting. I can't control the mistakes the brush sometimes makes. I can't control the way colors mix together and look on the canvas, no matter how great they looked in my head. You have to find things like that, because eventually you have to learn that you're not really in control, and that's okay."

"I'm not there yet," Andy said.

"I'm not either," Nathan replied, "Not really."

There was silence for another few minutes. It was John who spoke next.

"Alright," he said, clearing his throat. "That's all for today. See you guys next week."

As the rest of the group filed out of the room, John pulled Nathan aside. He waited until everyone was gone before he spoke.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing, John. I'm just tired."

John raised his eyebrows. "Tired," he repeated, "Nathan, I know that look. There's something on your mind."

Nathan shrugged and looked around the room, anywhere but at John's face. How many times had he sat in this room and admitted his darkest secrets to people he barely knew? But this felt so different; it felt so much bigger.

"Noelle and I. . . we've been trying for five months now," he said softly, his face growing hot.

"And?"

"Nothing," Nathan said, swallowing hard. "Maybe it's me."

"You went to the doctor right?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I'm fine," he said softly. "Noelle is fine too. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe I'm just not ready. . ."

"Nathan," John said, "I've been working with you for almost five years now. I've seen you do a lot of hard work in here. If you're not ready now, you'll never be."

"Maybe it isn't right though. Maybe I'm just not meant to have kids," Nathan said.

"Do you want kids?"

Nathan looked down at the floor. His scuffed shoes were obvious and bright on the white linoleum. "Yeah. I do. I really do."

"Then relax. Sometimes it just takes time. Don't get stressed about it. That can't be helping."

Nathan managed a small smile. "It's horrible. Sex is like a chore we do every night. I hate that. . . I know she hates it too."

"Then stop making it a chore. Stop thinking about having a baby. Just live your lives together. If a baby comes along, great. If not, fine."

"I don't know if Noelle would think it's fine."

"Noelle loves you, and she'll love you regardless."

"I know," Nathan said, nodding.

It was still unbelievable that Noelle loved him, knowing everything about him, all of his past. Everyday he was in awe of it. Just after he'd lost Raina, he'd given up on most things, never imagining he would have a job he liked, or a beautiful wife he loved. He'd never imagined he'd have another chance to do things right, but Noelle had given him that.

John seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "This isn't a punishment for your past actions, Nathan."

Nathan swallowed. "Maybe this is a consequence then."

"A consequence is that you will never have a baby with Raina," John said, "A consequence is that you will more than likely never see her again. Those are consequences. But they're not punishments. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Nathan asked.

"You learned from your father that consequences and punishments are the same thing, but they're not. A consequence is an inevitable result of something. A punishment is inflicted on someone by someone else, and can have little or nothing to do with the action that preceded it. So explain why you think this is a punishment."

Nathan shook his head. He felt a pressure on his chest that meant John was pushing him too hard, but he didn't tell him to stop. He knew he needed to go here.

"Maybe I won't be able to have another baby until. . . until I make it right."

"You can't change the past. You should know that better than anyone," John smirked. He had gotten Nathan a job as a history teacher at the alternative high school across town.

"I'm not talking about changing the past. I'm talking about fixing the present," Nathan said.

"I've told you this before, and I'll say it again. It is not wise for you to contact Raina, now or ever."

Nathan nodded. "I know that. I know I can't see her. I don't want to freak her out or make her think it's happening again. But sometimes. . . sometimes it's like I have to see her. Not because I still want to be with her; I love Noelle now. . . but it's like a part of me is still there. Does that make any sense?"

"It makes a great deal of sense. She was your first love. You shared things with her that you'd never shared with anyone. Those things aren't easily forgotten, but it's still not wise to contact her. Nathan, we've talked a lot in here about your past. It's time to focus on the future, your future with Noelle."

"But you have to study the past to make the best future," Nathan said, "I believe that."

"Then study it, examine it, rip it apart if you have to. But don't go back to it, don't relive it. It's too dangerous."

Nathan sighed deeply and nodded. He knew that John was right, but he was tired of hearing the same thing. He was tired of feeling trapped. He was tired of waking up at night in a cold sweat after dreaming about Raina, and the things he'd done.

"Alright. I've gotta get home."

"Friday at noon?" John said.

"Friday at noon. Got it," Nathan replied, slapping the metal door frame on his way out.

He headed out to his car, the same red Eclipse he'd had for years, the parking lot completely empty by now. He pressed the unlock button and heard the familiar chirping reply. He got in and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, noticing he had a voice-mail.

"You have one unheard message," said the familiar computerized voice. "Tuesday, five-thirty-eight p.m. 'Hey baby, it's me. I'm working late tonight so start dinner without me. I'll see you when I get there. Love you.'"

Nathan sighed and hung up the phone. Most of the rush-hour traffic had cleared out on the drive home. It was six o'clock when Nathan pulled up into the driveway of the house where he lived with Noelle. They had bought the house two years ago. It was small and old, in need of repair, but they had made it a home. Noelle had liked the part of town, in the heart of Ashton, right next to old downtown, the neighborhood lined with towering oak trees.

Nathan walked inside and was greeted by the familiar click-click of claws on hard-wood floors.

"Hey Chief," Nathan said, reaching down to scratch the dog behind the ears. "You need to go out?"

The Golden Retriever barked in reply, and Nathan opened up the sliding door in the kitchen. It was a small kitchen, mostly empty, but very lived in. Potted plants draped over the windowsill and dangled their leaves in the sink. The walls were lined with a set of vintage plates Noelle's grandmother had given her. Her tea kettle was still on the stove, full of water from this morning. Try as he might, Nathan could never understand Noelle's obsession with tea. He was more of a coffee person, because it was the closest thing he could find to a cigarette, a habit he'd given up when he married Noelle.

Now he opened the refrigerator and got out a can of soda. As he shut it, he stared at the picture on the door, held in place by a Starry Night magnet. Noelle was in her wedding dress next to him, cake smeared on their faces, both grinning from ear to ear. Nathan leaned against the counter and took a sip of soda, smiling a little as he studied the picture.

He had been married to Noelle for two years now. He had met her at the school where he worked, when she came to pick up her little brother one November, just before Thanksgiving. Nathan didn't believe in love at first sight, but he knew there had been something about Noelle that had instantly made him want to know her, and at the very least want to love her. She had long, wavy dark hair and penetrating green eyes, and had a way of knowing what he was thinking just by looking at him. She made him feel transparent, and he felt safe enough with her to be exposed, a perfect balance. His relationship with Noelle was his first, and only, since Raina.

Nathan ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he remembered his conversation with John. Now that he was away from the group, it didn't seem so bad or dangerous to contact Raina. Really, it would be like getting back in touch with an old friend. All that stuff happened so long ago, anyway. “If it happened so long ago, why does it still kill you?” Nathan thought instantly, biting his lower lip. No, it wasn't fair to Raina. He didn't want to make her relive it. John was right; he should leave her alone.

Nathan's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone, which made him jump, a bit of soda splattering on his hand. He reached behind him for the receiver, finding it buried underneath a pile of unopened junk mail.

"Hello?"

"Hi honey."

"Hey Mom. How are you?"

Nathan's mother coughed weakly. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer six months before, and was still adjusting to her treatment. "Feeling a little nauseous today. Is Noelle home?"

"She's working late."

"That art museum has been keeping her overtime since she started working there."

"She likes it," Nathan sighed, gently touching the Starry Night magnet Noelle had bought in the gift store when she got the job in April. "She finally has a job she likes."

"That's wonderful. I just wish she didn't have to work so much."

Nathan said nothing, though he secretly agreed. He hadn't brought it up to Noelle, but he missed her, and sometimes he wasn't sure the money was worth it. She spent long hours repairing old and damaged works of art in the back room, occasionally giving tours and taking tickets. She was exhausted when she came home, but she was happy, and he wanted to see her happy.

"Anyway," Nathan's mother said, "I wanted to talk to her, but it's nothing important. Tell her I called?"

"Sure," Nathan said.

"Love you, honey."

"Love you too. Get some rest," Nathan said, "Bye, Mom."

After he hung up the phone, Nathan put his can of soda on the counter and walked into the studio. It had been the original house's dining room, but now it served as a small office with a big window that got the best light in the evenings. As soon as they had moved in, Noelle and him had made it their art studio. Noelle's clay pots and sculptures were lined on newspaper against one wall, and Nathan's easel stood in the middle, positioned to get the best light.

He didn't know quite what he was painting. It was the first time he'd ever started something without a vision, without a plan. For now, it was an experiment with color. He loved mixing the blues and the grays, the greens and the ivories, seeing what would come out. He picked up his paint-spotted headphones and turned on the iPod he kept in his pocket. It was his Christmas present from Noelle, and he used it almost constantly: in the car, at work grading papers, at home cleaning the kitchen. He hated silence.

Nathan worked for almost an hour, until the warm summer light started to fade behind him, and he felt someone's arms wrap around his middle. He lifted off one of his earphones.

"That better be you, gorgeous," he smiled.

"Well it's not Mr. McConnell from across the street if that's what you're afraid of," came Noelle's whispered reply as she gently kissed his back.

"I didn't lock the front door, so you could be anyone."

"Well I hope you wouldn't let a stranger do this," she chuckled, running her hand down his stomach and slipping it inside his jeans.

"Mm. . . depends on the stranger."

"Jerk," she laughed.

"How was your day?" Nathan asked, switching off the iPod.

"Good. But long," Noelle sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Did you eat?"

"Yeah, I picked up something."

"Hey I was thinking we could go to the movies tonight. I've been really wanting to see-"

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm ovulating," she said.

"Well that's romantic," Nathan smirked.

"Oh shut up," Noelle laughed.

"Listen," Nathan said seriously, turning around so he could look her in the eye. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, held in place by a museum pen. She wore one of the smart new skirts they'd bought when she got the job, her white blouse tucked into it. Still wearing her heels, she was shorter than Nathan by about a head; he loved that, folding her small frame in his arms, feeling like he was protecting her. "I've been thinking. . . maybe we should just relax for a couple weeks. I mean, maybe if we weren't so stressed about it, it would happen in its own timing."

"I thought you wanted a baby," she said softly.

"I do. I really do," Nathan nodded, "But. . . maybe it's not supposed to happen right now."

"Look, I know you don't want to be disappointed, but I've been tracking my cycle like a freaking detective. I'm the most fertile today-"

"Please don't say fertile. It reminds me of fertilizer or something," Nathan shuddered.

Noelle raised one eyebrow. "Whatever. I'm just saying, today is when we're going to have the best chance of the month."

"Don't you ever miss just. . ." Nathan sighed, "Making love? Just because we want to?"

"We do make love," Noelle said softly, "Every day."

"Does it feel like making love to you?"

"Yes, because it's with you."

"Well it's starting to feel like a chore."

"Jeez, sorry I can't make it more entertaining for you. We could go buy some edible panties or something."

"I didn't mean it like that," Nathan said, "I love making love to you. I just hate this."

"This?"

"This whole baby obsession thing. This whole charting your cycle thing. This whole breaking down every time you get your period thing. I don't like seeing you disappointed, over and over again."

"And what about you?" Noelle asked, looking into his eyes. "Are you disappointed?"

Nathan looked back at his painting. "A little. Mostly just scared."

"Of what?"

"Scared that it's me."

"The doctor told you-"

"I know. I know I'm fine. . . physically. I'm just scared that maybe-"

"It's in the past," Noelle said, as usual reading his mind. "That happened a long time ago."

"But maybe it's still happening," he whispered.

"Hey," Noelle said, gently touching his face and turning it toward her. "I love you, past and all. If a baby's not right for us now, it's not right for us now. That's all it means. It's not a punishment."

Nathan nodded, but he didn't dare look her in the eye. It would give away the fact that he didn't believe her, or John, or anyone else.

What had happened with Raina haunted him every day. For so long he had denied that he'd intentionally and knowingly killed their unborn child, making excuses for his actions, even convincing himself it had been an accident. But lately he just couldn't shake it. Secretly, he dreaded the day Noelle would announce that she was pregnant. How would he tell this child that they should have a brother or sister? How could he ever admit what he'd done?

"Baby," Nathan whispered, gently pulling Noelle's hands from around his neck and holding them in his own. "I just need tonight off, okay?"

"Off? Nathan, it's not a job. I'm your wife."

"Then try to understand," he said, looking right into her green eyes. "Please?"

"Okay," she said softly, looking down. Nathan gently tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear. "We'll go to the movies. Maybe it'll take your mind off whatever you've been stewing over the past few days. I know something's going on in that head of yours. . . I just can't tell what, and that kills me."

"You know," Nathan smirked, "You don't always have to read my mind."

"But I've always been able to. . . until now," she said sadly, looking beyond him, at the unfinished painting and the swirl of dark colors it had become.

"I'm fine," Nathan said, swallowing.

"Really?"

Noelle looked up at him, her green eyes soft and pleading.

"Really," Nathan repeated, convincing himself it was the truth.

A/N: No, I will never be done with Equinox or these characters. This is the result. lol. This is a sequel to Equinox and will be written from Nathan's point of view, though Raina will play a big part. :) I know I said I'd never do a sequel, but that was because I couldn't figure out how to continue Raina's story. I didn't think about continuing Nathan's until recently, when I got this idea. I am really excited to write it, because I love these characters so much! Let me know what you guys think!