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fourteenaway · 3 years

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A Tragic Prologue | The Story of Cary / Part I

tw: abuse, rape, domestic violence, infidelity, pregnancy.

Exactly five years and three months had passed since Caren had married Leeland, and it’d taken that long for them to finally have something that resembled a real vacation. Five years and three months and still she often felt as if Leeland was a stranger to her.

Madame Ephron had been the one to suggest that they take a break, go to Barcelona, they deserved it. Or rather she thought perhaps that Leeland needed it to get back in true form.

It was here that Daniel’s graduation invitation from med-school finally found her in a little villa they’d taken up in for the weeks they’d be here. She knew it instantly when she spotted the thick envelope, her heart jumping at the announcement of Daniel’s achievement of his medical degree. How proud she felt knowing he’d done it, completed college and then medical school in seven years what took most at least eight.

When she opened it she found not only a formal announcement but a note from Daniel, written in his handwriting that was far better than any other doctors unreadable scrawl:

Dear Caren,

I am embarrassed to tell you this, but I am the top graduate in a class of two hundred. So don't you dare try and find an excuse to keep away. You have to be there to bask in the glow of my excitement, as I bask in the radiance of your admiration. I cannot possibly accept my M.D. if you aren't there to see. And you can tell Leeland this when he tries to prevent your coming.

Your dearest,

Daniel

Caren smiled glowing from cheek to cheek at his excitement and good humor. The only bothersome thing about this was that she and Leeland had signed a contract some time ago to tape a TV production of Giselle. It was set for June, but now in May, they wanted them both. Both of them were sure the television exposure would make them the stars they'd strived so long to be.

It had seemed a perfect time to approach Leeland with the news. They’d returned to their villa after touring old castles. So as soon as their evening meal was over and the pair had sat out on the terrace sipping glasses of a red wine, she knew he was nuts about, but gave her a headache. Only then did she dare to timidly approach going back to the States in time fo Daniel’s May graduation.

“Really, we do have the time to fly there and be back in plenty of time to go into rehearsal for Giselle," she tried.

"Oh, come off it, Caren!” Leeland said impatiently. “It's a difficult role for you, and you'll be tired, and you'll need to rest up."

“Two weeks was plenty of time ... and a TV taping doesn’t take too long. Please, darling, let's go. I'd be sick not to see Daniel become a doctor, just as you'd be if your friend was reaching the goal he'd strived for year after year,” Caren tried again.

"Hell, no!" Leeland flared, narrowing his dark eyes and shooting sparks her way. “I get so damned sick and tired of hearing Daniel this, and Daniel that, and if it isn't his name you drum in my ears, then it's his brother, William this and that! You are not going!"

Caren pleaded with him to be reasonable, “He's only like a brother to me,” she lied slightly, “it just means his graduation day is nearly as important to me as it is to him. You can't understand how much this means not only to him, but to me as well! You think he and I lived lives of luxury compared to yours, just because we were adopted by the Derricks, but you can rest assured, it was no picnic!"

"Your past is something you don't talk about to me," he snapped back. “It's exactly as if you were born the day you found your precious Dr. William! Caren, you are my wife now, and your place is with me. Your William has Cassidy, and they'll be there, so Daniel won't lack applause when he gets that damned M.D.!"

"You can't tell me what I can do and what I can't do! I'm your wife, not your slave!"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said, standing and seizing hold of my arm. "C'mon, let's hit the sack. I'm tired.”

Without speaking Caren allowed him to tug her into the bedroom where she began to undress. But he came over to help, and in this way she was informed it was to be a night of love, or rather sex.

But she shoved his hands away.

Scowling, he put them back on her shoulders and leaned to nibble on her neck; he fondled her breasts before he reached to unhook her bra. Caren hissed and slapped his hands away, before screaming, “No!”

But he persisted in taking off her bra, finding it as easy as a mask to take off, he threw away his anger and put on his dreamy-eyed romantic look.

Caren supposed there had been a time when Leeland had appeared to her the epitome of everything sophisticated, worldly, elegant, but compared to the way he was now, since his father's death, he'd been only a country-bumpkin.

There were times she actually detested him. This was such a time.

"I am going, Leeland You may come with me, or you may meet me in New York after I fly back from the graduation ceremony. Or you can stay on here and sulk. Whatever, I am going. I want you to come with me and share in the family celebration, for you never share in anything-you hold me back, so I don't share either-but this time you can't stop me! It's too important!" Caren told him sternly.

Quietly he listened and he smiled in a way that sent chills down her spine. Oh, how wicked he could look.

“Hear this, beloved wife, when you married me, I became your ruler, and by my side you will stay until I kick you out. And I'm not yet ready to do that. You are not leaving me alone in Spain when I don't speak Spanish. Maybe you can learn from records, but I can't,” he spoke coldly.

"Don't threaten me, Leeland,” Caren said coolly, though she backed off and felt a terrible pounding of panic. “Without me you don't have anyone who cares, except your mother, and since you don't care for her, who have you got left?"

Lightly he reached out to slap both her cheeks. She closed her eyes, resigned to accept anything he did, as long as she could go to Daniel. She allowed him to undress her and do what he would, even though he clutched her buttocks so hard they hurt. For she could, when she chose, withdraw until she was outside of herself, looking on, and what he did to me So that what was appalling didn't really matter-for she wasn't truthfully there-unless the pain was great-as sometimes it was.

“Don't try and sneak away," he warned, his words muffled because he was kissing everywhere, teasing her like a cat who plays with a mouse when it's not hungry. "Swear on your word of honor that you will stay and miss your dearly beloved Daniel’s graduation and stay with husband who needs you, who adores you, who can't live without you," he demanded.

She knew he was mocking her, though his need for her was that of a child needing his mother. For that was what she had become. His mother, in everything but sex. She had to choose his suits, his socks and shirts, his costumes, his practice outfits, though he consistently refused to let her handle the household accounts.

"I will not swear to anything so unfair. Daniel has come to see you perform and you have gloried in showing off to him. Now let him have his turn. He's worked hard for it," she insisted.

Caren pulled free from him then, and strolled to pick up a black lace nightgown he liked her to wear even though she hated black nightgowns and underwear. They reminded her of whores and call girls but also her mother who'd had a fancy for black lingerie.

"Get up off your knees, Leeland. You look ludicrous. You can't do anything to me if I choose to go. A bruise would show, and besides, you've grown so accustomed to my weight and balance you can't even lift another dancer properly,” she spoke chillingly though she thought, truthfully.

He came at her angrily then, shouting, "You're mad because we haven't made it to the top, aren't you? You're blaming me because our booking was canceled. And now Madame Ephron has given us a leave so I can sober up and come back refreshed, made wholesome by playing games with my wife. Caren, I don't know how to entertain myself except by dancing; I'm not interested in books or museums like you are, and there are ways of hurting and humiliating you that won't leave any bruises-except on your ego-and you should know that by now."

Foolishly she smiled, when she should have known better than to challenge him when he was feeling less than confident. “What's the matter, Lee? Didn't your sex break satisfy your lust for perversion? Why don't you go out and find a schoolgirl, for I'm not going to cooperate."

She'd never before thrown in his face that I knew about his debaucheries with younger women.

It had hurt at first when she found out, but now she knew he used those girls like he used paper napkins, to casually toss away when soiled, and back he'd come to her, to say he loved her, needed her, and she was the only one.

Slowly he advanced, using his pantherlike stalk that told her he would be ruthless, but still she held her head high, knowing she could escape by shutting off her mind, and he couldn't afford to hit her.

He paused one foot away as she heard the clock on the nightstand ticking in the silence.

"Caren, you will do as I say if you know what's good for you," he warned.

He was cruel that night, evil and spiteful; forcing upon her what should only be given in love. He dared her to bite. And this time she wouldn't have just one black eye, but two, and maybe worse.

“And I'll tell everybody you are sick. That your period has you so badly cramped you can't dance, so you won't skip out on me, or make any phone calls, for I'll bind you to the bed and hide your passport,” he told her as he took.

He grinned and slapped her face lightly when he finished before whispering, "Now, honey-chile, whatcha gonna do this time?” He asked reverting into the southern drawl he’d grown up on.

The next morning, smiling and himself again, Leeland sauntered naked to the breakfast table, and flung himself down, sprawled out his long, beautifully shaped legs and asked casually, "What's for breakfast?"

He held out his arms so Caren could come and kiss his lips, which she did. She faked a smile and brushed a lock of dangling hair from his forehead, and poured his coffee, and then said, "Good morning, darling. Same old breakfast for you. Fried eggs and fried ham. I'm having a cheese omelet."

Assured by her tone that all was past he sighed, “"I'm sorry, Caren," he murmured. “Why do you try to bring out the worst in me? I only use those girls to spare you."

"If they don't mind, then I don't mind... but don't ever force me to do what I did last night. I'm very good at hating, Leeland. Just as good as you are at forcing. And at harboring revenge I'm an expert!" She warned him.

She slid onto his plate two fried eggs and two slices of ham. No toast and no butter. Both of them ate in silence. He sat across the checkered red and white tablecloth, closely shaven, clean and smelling of soap and shaving lotion. In his own dark and light exotic way he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

"Caren ... you haven't said you love me today," he said eventually.

"I love you, Leeland," she replied.

An hour after breakfast,and she was now madly searching every room to find her passport, while Leeland slept on the bed, where she'd dragged him from the kitchen after he fell asleep from all the sedatives she'd dumped in his coffee.

He wasn't nearly as good at hiding as she was at finding. Under the bed, and under the blue rug, she found her passport. Quickly she threw clothes into her suitcases. When she was packed, dressed and ready to go, she leaned above him and kissed him good-bye.

He was breathing deep and regularly, and smiling slightly; perhaps the drugs were giving him pleasant dreams. Though she'd drugged him, she hesitated, wondering if she'd done the right thing.

Shrugging off her indecision, she headed toward the garage. Yes, she did what she had to do. If he were awake now, he'd have buried himself into her side all through the day, with her passport in his pocket. Besides she'd left a note telling him where she was going.

When she arrived at the airport William was waiting for her and after hugging him briefly she asked, “Did Daniel get my message? He does know I'm coming right?"

"Oh, indeed. He was fretting through every moment, afraid Leeland would refuse to let you leave him, and knowing Leeland wouldn't come. Honestly, Caren, if you hadn't shown up, I don't think Daniel would accept his degree," he said with an appraising look in his eyes.

To sit beside William and Cassidy, and watch her Daniel stride down the aisle and up the steps to accept his diploma, and then stand behind the podium and make the valedictory speech, put tears in her eyes and a swelling happiness in her heart.

He did it so beautifully she cried. William and Cassidy also had tears to shed. Even Caren’s success on stage couldn't compare to the pride she felt now. And Leeland, he should be here too, making himself a part of her family and not stubbornly resisting all the time.

When she looked back at the stage though, and saw Daniel up there, ready to step behind the podium though, it all slipped away.

She didn't know how he managed to find her in the crowd, but somehow he did. Their gazes met and locked, and across all the heads of those who sat between them, they met in silent communication they always had and shared an overwhelming jubilation! For they'd done it! Both of them. Reached their goals; become what they'd set out to be when they were children. The dreams they’d shared to each other when they were both young and feeling unwanted and undeserving of the love the Derrick’s had both given them. And watching Daniel, Caren believed she could see his whole life.

She saw him swinging a bat when he was ten to smash a ball over the fence, only for him to run like mad to touch all bases in the quickest possible time, when he could have walked and made his home run. But that wasn't his way, to make it look too easy.

She saw him that first day when she’d showed up on the Derrick’s doorstep only a few years after he had, scared and untrusting of everyone as she clutched her younger sister to her chest. She saw that encouraging smile on his face that gave her hope when there was none.

She saw him racing on his bike yards ahead of her, then slowing down deliberately so she could catch up and they'd both reach William’s office at the same time and then locking up the bike for her.

The ceremony ended with a huge luncheon planned by the university in celebration. At the table Cassidy babbled away, but Caren and Daniel could only stare at each other, each of them trying to find the right words to say.

Suddenly Daniel frowned and asked why Leeland hadn’t come.

"He wanted to come, Daniel, really he did," Caren lied, “But he has obligations that keep him so busy he couldn't spare the time. He asked me to give you his congratulations. We do have very tight schedules. Actually, I can only stay two days. We're going to do a TV production of Giselle next month," she reasoned to him.

When everyone had gone and they were back at William’s house, alone on the veranda Daniel sighed and said, “Caren, he didn't want you to come to my graduation, did he?”

Caren remained silent in her answer and Daniel shook his head and said, “He’s going to ruin your careers. I warned you not to let him be your manager. Madame Ephron would have treated you more fairly. She loves you."

Caren began to pace the porch. Her original contract with Madame Ephron. had expired two years ago, and all she owed her now was twelve performances a year. The rest of the time, Leeland and her were freelance, and could dance with whichever company they liked.

Now everything was falling apart.

Everything was made worse by the fact that she had made a secret trip to the gynecologist the day before. Two missed periods didn't really mean anything for a woman like her, who was so irregular. She might not be pregnant, she thought. It might be just another false alarm ... but something about this time felt different.

If it wasn't a false alarm, she prayed she'd have the strength to go through with an abortion. She didn't need a baby in her life. For she knew once she had a child, he or she would become the center of her world, and love would again spoil a ballerina who could have been the best.

Ballet music was in her head when she drove Daniel's car to visit Leeland’s mother, Madame Milena one hot spring day when all the world seemed sleepy and lazy except for those poor children being instructed by a shrill little bat wearing black, as always.

Caren sat in the shadows near the far wall of a huge auditorium and watched the large class of boys and girls dance. It was scary to think of how soon those girls would grow up to replace the stars of the present. Then she too would become another Madame Ephron and the years would flow like seconds, until she was Madame Milena, and all her beauty would be preserved only in old, faded photographs.

“Caren," called Madame Milena joyfully when she spied her. She came striding swiftly, gracefully her way. "Why do you sit in the shadows?" she asked. “How nice to see your lovely face again. And don't think I don't know why you look so sad! You're one big fool to leave Leeland! He's a big baby; you know he can't be left alone or he does things to hurt himself, and when he hurts himself, he hurts you too! Why did you let him get control of your management? Why did you let him burn up your money as fast as it hits your pockets? I tell you this, in your place, I would never, never have let him put another in my role of Giselle!"

‘God, what a blabbermouth he was!’ Caren thought.

"Don't worry about me, Madame," Caren said coolly, "if my husband doesn't want me for his partner anymore, I'm sure there will be others who will."

She scowled and advanced on her. She put those bony hands on her and shook Caren as if to wake her up. Up close, Caren could see she'd aged terribly since Leeland’s father had died. Her ebony hair was almost white now, and streaked with charcoal.

“You gonna let my son make a fool of you? You let him put another dancer in your place? I gave you credit for having more backbone! Now you hightail it back to New York and push that other girl out of his life! Marriage is sacred, and wedding vows are meant to be kept!" She insisted.

Then she softened and said, “Come now, Caren," and led her into her small cluttered office, “Now you tell me about this foolishness going on between you and your husband!"

"It is really none of your business!" Caren insisted.

She swung another straight chair to where she could straddle it. Leaning forward upon her arms, she stabbed Caren with her hard penetrating glare, “Anything, and everything concerning my son is my business!" She snapped. “Now you just sit there and keep quiet, and let me tell you what you don't know about your husband."

Her voice turned a little kinder, "I was older than his father when we were married, and even so I dared putting off having a child until I believed the best of my career was behind me, and then I became pregnant. Leeland’s father never wanted a child to hold him down, and back, and so, from the beginning Leeland had two strikes against him,” she tells Caren.

She looks down then and whispers, “I tell myself we didn't force the dance upon our son, but we did keep him with us, so the ballet became part of his world, the most important part.”

She sighed heavily and wiped a bony hand over her troubled brow. "We were strict with him, I admit that. We did everything we could to make him what was perfect in our eyes, but the more we tried, the more determined he became to be everything we didn't want him to be. We tried to teach him perfect diction, so he ended up mocking us with all kinds of vulgar street language-gutter talk, his father called it. You know," she went on with a wistful expression, "only after my husband was dead and buried did I realize that he never spoke to our son unless it was an order not to do something, or an order to improve his dancing technique. I never realized that my husband could have been jealous of his own son, seeing that he was a better dancer and would achieve more fame. It wasn't easy for me to become only a ballet mistress, and for Georges to be only an instructor. Many a night we lay on our bed and held to each other, craving the applause, the adulation. ... It was a hunger that would not be satisfied until we heard the applause for our son."

Again she paused, and birdlike craned her neck to peer at Caren and see if she was paying full attention.

Oh, yes, she had her attention. She was telling her so much she needed to know.

"Leeland tried to hurt his father, and my husband got hurt because Leeland made light of his father's reputation. One day he called him only a second-class performer. My husband didn't speak to his own son for a whole month! They never got back together after that. Farther and farther they drifted apart ... until one fine Christmas Day when another prodigy drifted into our lives, and offered herself. You! Leeland had flown back to visit us, only because I had pleaded with him to try and make it up with his father ...and Leeland saw you,” she took a pause and sighed, “It is our responsibility to pass along our skills of technique to the younger generation, and still I felt some apprehension in taking you on, mostly because I thought you would hurt my son. I don't know why I thought that, but it seemed obvious from the very start, it was that older doctor you loved and if not him then his younger brother. Then I thought you had something very rare, a passion for the dance that is seldom seen. You were, in your own way, equal to what Leeland was, and the two of you together were so sensational I couldn't believe my eyes. My son felt it too, the rapport between you two. You turned those big, soft, admiring blue eyes on him, so later he came and told me you were a sex kitten who would fall easily under his spell and into his arms. He and I always had a close relationship, and he confessed to me what other boys would have kept secret.”

She paused, flicked her stony eyes over Caren and went on breathlessly, "You came, you admired him, you loved him when you were dancing with him, and when you weren't, you were indifferent. The harder you were to win, the more determined he was to have you. I thought you were clever, playing a skillful woman's game when you were only a child! And now you, you ... you go and leave him when he was in a foreign country, when he couldn't speak the language, when you should have learned he has weaknesses, many of them, and that he cannot bear to be alone!"

She jumped up like a black, scrawny alleycat and stood above Caren.

“Without Leeland to give you inspiration and enhance your talent with his own, where would you be? Without him would you be in New York, dancing with what is fast becoming one of the leading ballet companies? No! You'd be here, raising babies for that doctor. God knows why you said yes to Leeland, and how you can keep from loving him. For he tells me you don't, and never have! So you drug him. You leave him. You take off to see that younger brother, not even the one you were with before, become a doctor, when you know damn well your place is at your husband's side, making him happy and taking care of his wants! Yes! Yes!" she shrilled, "he called me long distance and told me everything! Now he thinks he hates you! Now he wants to cut you off. And when he does, he won't have a heart left to keep him alive! For he gave you his heart years and years ago!" She shouts.

Caren began to shake, slowly she rose to her feet; her legs felt weak and trembly as she brushed a hand over her aching forehead, and held back tired tears.

All of a sudden it hit her hard, she did love Leeland. For now she saw how very much they were alike, him with his hate for his father who had denied him as a son. And her with her hatred for her mother, making me do crazy things, like sending off hateful letters and Christmas cards to sadden her life and never, never let her find peace. And Leeland in competition with his father, never knowing he'd won, and was better...and her in competition with her mother-but feeling that she had yet to prove herself better.

"Madame, I am going to tell you something Leeland might not know, and I didn't really know until today; I do love your son. Perhaps I always loved him, and just couldn't accept it."

She shook her head, then fired her words like bullets, "If you love him, why did you leave him? Answer me that! You left him because you found out he has a liking for young women? Fool! All men have yearnings for young women but still they go on loving their wives! If you let his desire for young flesh drive you away, you are crazy! Slap his face; kick his behind-tell him to leave those girls alone or you will divorce him! Say all of that, and he will be what you want. But when you say nothing, and act like you don't care, you tell him plainly you don't love him, or want him, or need him!”

“I'm not his mother, or a priest, or God," Caren said wearily, sick of all the passion she used. Backing toward the door, Caren tried to leave before saying, “I don't know if I can keep Leeland from younger women, but I'm willing to go back and try. I promise to do better. I'll be more understanding, and I'll let him know I love him so much, I can't abide the thought of him making love to anyone but me."

Madame came then to take Caren in her arms. She soothed, “Poor baby, if I have been hard on you, it was for your own good. You have to keep my son from destroying himself. When you save him, you save yourself, for I lied when I said you would be nothing without Leeland. He is the one who would be nothing without you! He has a death wish, always I've known it. He thinks he's not good enough to live on because his father could never convince him he was, and that was my fault too, as well as his father’s. Leeland waited for years and years for his father to see him as a son, worthy of being loved for himself. He waited equally as long for his father to say yes, you will be even a better dancer than I was, and I'm proud of what and who you are. But his father kept his silence. But you go back and tell Leeland his father did love him. To me he said it many times. Tell him too that his father was proud of him. Tell him, Caren. Go back and convince him of how much you need and love him. Tell him how sorry you are to have left him alone. Go quickly before he does something terrible to himself!" She begged before Caren left.

So it was time for her to say good-bye to Cassidy and William. Only this time she didn't have to bid adieu to Daniel.

He put his foot down, “No! I'm coming with you! I'm not letting you go back to a crazy man. When you've made your peace with him, and I know everything is alright only then will I leave," Daniel declared.

The plane set down at La Guardia around three. A hot, sultry day. Both Carena and Daniel were both tired.

"At this hour Leeland will be in the theater rehearsing. They'll use the rehearsals as a promotion film. There have to be a lot of rehearsals; we've never danced in this theater before and it's important to get the feel of the space you have to move in,” Caren explained to Daniel.

Daniel was lugging along Caren’s two heavy suitcases, while she carried his much lighter bag. She laughed and smiled his way, glad he was with her, though she knew Leeland would be furious.

"Now you stay in the background ... and don't let him even see you if everything goes alright. Really, Daniel, I'm sure he'll be glad to see me. He's not dangerous,” Caren reasoned.

“Sure," he said glumly.

They sauntered on into the darkened theater. The stage up ahead was very brightly lit. The TV cameras were in position, ready to shoot the warm-ups. The director, producer and a few others were lined up in the front-row seats.

The heat of the day was chased by the chill of the huge space so Daniel opened up one of Caren’s bags and spread a sweater about her shoulders after they both sat down near the aisle, midway back in the center section.

Automatically Caren lifted both her legs to stretch them on top of the seat just ahead. Though she shivered, the corps de ballet were sweating from the hot light. Caren looked for Leeland but didn't see him.

Just to think of Leeland though, was to bring him out of the wings, onto the stage in a series of whirling jetés. Looking so handsome.

"Wow!" whispered Daniel in Caren’s ear. "Sometimes I forget how sensational he is on stage. No wonder every ballet critic thinks he will be the star of this decade when he learns some discipline. Let it be soon ...and I mean you too, Caren."

She smiled, for she too needed discipline, "Yes," she said, "I too, of course."

No sooner had Leeland finished his solo performance than the woman that had replaced Caren, Loretta Price pirouetted out from the wings, wearing red. She was more beautiful than ever and she danced so extraordinarily well for a girl so tall.

That was, she danced well until Leeland came to partner her, and then everything went wrong. He reached for her waist and got her buttocks, then he had to quickly shift his hold, so she slipped and nearly fell and again he adjusted to save her.

A male dancer who let a ballerina fall would soon never have a partner to lift. They tried again the same jump, lift, and fall back, and this time it went almost as awkward, making Loretta seem ungainly, and Leeland unskilled.

Even Caren, sitting halfway down the row of seats, could hear her loud curse. "Damn you!" she screeched. "You make me look gauche-if you let me fall, I'll see you never dance again!"

"Cut!" called the director, getting to his feet and looking impatiently from one to the other.

The corps de ballet milled about, grumbling, throwing angry looks at the pair center stage that was wasting so much time. Obviously, from the sweaty, hot looks of all of them, this had been going on for some time, and badly.

"Laurent!" called the director, well known for having little patience for those who required two, or even more takes. "What the hell is wrong with your timing? I thought you said you knew this ballet. I can't think of one thing you've done right in the past three days."

"Me?" Leeland railed back. "It's not me... it's her-she jumps too soon!"

"Okay," the director said sarcastically, "it's always her fault and never yours." He tried to control his impatience, knowing Leeland would walk out in a second if criticized too much. "When is your wife going to be well enough to dance again?"

Loretta screamed out, "Hey, wait a minute! I came all the way from Los Angeles and now you're sounding as if you're going to replace me with Caren! I won't have it! I'm written into that contract now! I'll sue!"

"Miss Price," said the director smoothly, "you are the cover only—but while you are, let's attempt it again. Laurent, listen for your cue. Prince, make ready and pray to God this time it will be fit to show an audience who might expect better from professionals."

Caren smiled to hear she was only the cover. She had thought she was really written out. She found she perversely enjoyed watching Leeland make a fool out of himself and Loretta as well.

Yet, when the dancers on stage groaned, she groaned along with them, feeling their exhaustion, and despite herself she began to feel pity for Leeland who was diligently trying to balance Loretta.

Any second the director could call "take ten" and that's when Caren would make her move.

Up ahead, first row, Madame Ephron suddenly turned her wizened giraffe neck to crane Caren’s way, and those sharp little beady eyes saw her sitting tensely, watching like an eagle.

"Hey, you, Caren," she called with great enthusiasm, “Come,” she gestured, “sit by my side.”

"Excuse me a minute, Daniel," Caren whispered. “I've got to go up there and save Leeland before he ruins both our careers. I'll be alright. There's not much he can do with an audience is there?"

Once Caren was seated beside Madame Ephron, she hissed, "Sooo, you’re not so sick after all! Thank God for small favors. Your husband up there is ruining my reputation along with his and yours. I should have known better than to always let him partner you, so now he can dance with no one as well."

"Madame," Caren asked, "who arranged for Loretta to be my stand-in?”

"Your husband, my love," she whispered cruelly, “You let him get control, you were a fool to do that. He is impossible! He is a tempest, a devil, so unreasonable! Soon he will go mad, if he doesn't see your face or we will go mad. Now run fast and put on dance clothes and save me from extinction!"

It was only a matter of seconds before Caren had on a practice outfit and, as soon as she had her hair bound up and securely fastened in place, she strapped on her pointes. At the dressing room barre she warmed up quickly. Doing her pliés, and the rond de jambes to pump blood into each limb. Soon enough she was ready. Not a day passed where Caren didn't do her exercises for several hours.

In the darkened wings Caren hesitated. She was prepared, she thought, for almost anything for when Leeland saw her, what would he do? While she watched him on stage, suddenly from behind she was brutally shoved aside!

"You've been replaced," hissed Loretta. “So, get out and stay out! You had your chance and loused it up. Now Leeland is mine! You hear that? He's mine! I have slept in your bed, and used your makeup and worn your jewelry. I have taken your place in everything."

Caren wanted to ignore her and not believe anything she said. When the cue came for Giselle to go on, Loretta tried to hold her that's when Caren turned savagely upon her and pushed her so hard she fell. She blanched with pain, while Caren went on pointe and glided onto the stage, making her perfect little string of pearls.

Each tiny step could have been measured and proven to be of an exact distance. For now was the shy, young village girl, sweetly, sincerely falling in love with Loys. Others on stage gasped to see her. Relief lit up Leeland's dark eyes for an instant.

"Hi," he said coolly as she neared him, and fluttered her dark lashes to enchant him more.

"Why'd you come back? Your doctors kick you out? Sick of you already?" He asked.

"You are a nasty, inconsiderate brute, Leeland, to replace me with Loretta! You know I despise her!"

His back was to the lookers as he sneered wickedly, all the while keeping time, "Yeah, I know you hate her. That's why I wanted her."

He curled his beautiful red lips so they looked ugly, “Listen to this, dancing doll. Nobody runs out on me, especially my wife, and comes back and thinks she can still fit in my life. My love, my dearest heart, I don't want you now, I don't need you now, and you can go and play bitch to any man you want! Get the hell out of my life!"

"You don't mean that," Caren said, as they both performed perfectly, and no one called cut. How could they when they did everything so exquisitely right?

"You don't love me," he said bitterly. "You've never loved me. No matter what I did, or what I said, and now I don't give a damn! I gave you the best I had to give, and it wasn't enough. So, dear Caren I give you this!"

And with those sudden words, he broke the routine, jumped high into the air, to come down forcefully and directly onto her feet. All his weight, brought down like a battering ram to crush her toes.

Caren uttered some small cry of pain, then Leeland was whirling back to chuck her under the chin.

“Now, love, see who will dance Giselle with me. Certainly it won't be you, will it?" He hisses.

“Take ten!" bellowed the director, too late to save her.

Leeland gripped her shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. Caren stared at him rattle-eyed, expecting anything. Then suddenly he whirled away leaving her center stage, alone, on two damaged feet that hurt so badly she could have screamed. Instead, she sank to the floor and sat there staring at her rapidly swelling feet.

From out of the darkened auditorium Daniel came running to her assistance.

“Damn him to hell for doing this!" He cried, falling on his knees to take off her pointe shoes and examine her feet. Tenderly he tried to move her toes, but she cried out from the awful pain.

Then he picked her up easily and held her tight against him, "You'll be alright, Caren. I'll see that your toes heal properly. I fear a few are broken on each foot. You'll need an orthopedist,” he told her.

"Take Caren to our orthopedist," ordered Madame Ephron who teetered forward and stared at Caren’s darkening, enlarging feet. She peered more closely at Daniel, having seen him only a few times before.

“You’re Caren’s doctor boy who caused all this trouble?" she asked, making Caren blush. “Take her quick to the doctor. We have insurance. But that fool husband, this is it. I fire him!” She declared.

At the doctor of Caren’s feet were X-rayed disclosing three broken toes on her left foot, and one broken small toe on her right.

Thank God both her big toes were spared, or else she might never dance again!

An hour later Daniel was carrying her out of the doctor's office with a plaster cast drying on one foot that reached to her knee, while the small toe was only taped and left to heal without such protection.

The doctor's last words rung in her ears though, “You may, or you may not dance again, it all depends."

On what it depended, he didn't say.

So she asked Daniel.

“Sure," he said confidently, of course you'll dance again. Sometimes a doctor likes to be overly pessimistic so you can think how great he was when everything works out fine due to his special skill."

Clumsily he tried to support her while he used her key to open the door of the apartment Leeland and her shared. Then he carefully lifted her up again, carried her inside and kicked the door closed behind him. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible on one of the soft couches.

Caren had her eyes squeezed tightly together, trying to suppress the pain she felt at every move.

Daniel tenderly supported both legs so he could stuff pillows under and keep them elevated to reduce the swelling. Another fat pillow was carefully eased under her back and head and he never said one word not one word.

Because he was so silent, she opened her eyes and studied his face that loomed above her. He tried to look professional, detached, but he failed. He showed shock each time his eyes moved from one object to another.

Fearful Caren looked around and her eyes bulged and her mouth opened.

This room! The mess! Oh, God, it was awful!

Their apartment was a wreck! Every painting Leeland and her had so carefully selected was torn down from the walls, smashed on the floor. Even the two watercolors Daniel had painted especially for her, portraits with her in costume.

All the expensive trinkets they’d bought lay broken on the hearth, lamps were on the floor, the shades slashed to ribbons and the wire frames bent. Needlepoint pillows she'd made during the long tedious flights from here to there while on tour were ripped, destroyed! Houseplants had been dumped from their pots and left with roots exposed to die.

Two cloisonné vases that William had given as a wedding gift, gone too. Everything fine and costly, and very cherished, things they had planned to keep all their lives and leave to their children, all beyond restoration.

"Vandals," said Daniel softly, "Just vandals."

He smiled and kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand as tears came to her eyes. “Stay calm," he said, then he went to check the other three rooms, while she sank back on the pillows and sniffed back her sobs.

Oh, how he must hate her to do this!

Shortly after, Daniel was back with his expression very composed, in that same eye-of-the-hurricane way she'd seen a few times on his face.

"Caren," he began, settling cautiously down on the edge of the sofa and reaching for her hand, “I don't know what to think. All your clothes and shoes have been ruined. Your jewelry is scattered all over the bedroom floor, the chains ripped apart, the rings stepped on, bracelets hammered out of shape. It looks as if somebody set out deliberately to ruin all of your things and left Leeland's in perfect condition."

He gave her a baffled, troubled look, and maybe the tears she tried to hold back jumped from her eyes to his. With glistening blue eyes he extended his palm to show her the setting of a once exquisite diamond engagement ring, given to her by his brother, William.

The platinum band was now a crooked oval. The prongs had released their clasp on the clear and perfect two-carat diamond.

Sedatives had been shot into her arm so she couldn't feel the pain of her broken toes. She felt fuzzy and disoriented, and rather detached. Someone inside her was screaming, screaming hatred was near again-the wind was blowing, and when she closed her eyes.

"Leeland," she said weakly, "he must have done this. He must have come back and vented his rage on all my belongings. See the things left whole, they are things he chose for himself."

"Damn him to hell!" cried Daniel. “How many times has he vented his rage on you? How many black eyes—I've seen one-but how many others?"

"Please don't," Caren said sleepily, "He never hit me, that he didn't cry afterward, and he'd say he was sorry. Yes, so sorry, my sweetheart, my only love. I don't know what makes me act as I do when I love you so much,” she muttered.

"Caren," began Daniel tentatively, tucking the platinum band in his pocket, "Are you alright? You look close to fainting. I'll go in and straighten up the bed, so you can rest in that. Soon you'll fall asleep and forget all of this, and when you wake up, I'm taking you away. Don't cry for the clothes and things he gave you, for I'll give you better and more. As for this ring William gave you, I'll search around the bedroom until I find the diamond."

He looked, but he didn't find the diamond, and when she drifted into sleep, he carried her to the bed he'd made up with clean sheets. She was under a sheet and a thin blanket when she opened her eyes, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her face.

Caren glanced toward the windows and saw it was getting dark. Any moment Leeland would come home, and find Daniel with her and there'd be hell to pay.

But she wanted him to stay. For always he gave her comfort when nothing else could. Always he was there when she needed him to do and say the right thing.

“You’ve made it Daniel. I haven’t yet. You should let me go,” Caren whispered and then added, “You've achieved your goal of being a doctor. But I'm still not a prima ballerina." she said this last part bitterly.

"Caren, don't belittle yourself. You will be a prima ballerina yet!” He said fervently. "You would have been a long time ago, if Leeland could control his fits of temper that makes every company manager afraid to sign the pair of you on. You get stuck in a minor company just because you won't leave him."

Caren sighed, wishing he hadn't said that. It was true enough Leeland’s fiery temper tantrums had scared off more than one offer that would have placed them in a more prestigious company.

“You've got to leave, Daniel. I don't want him to come home and find you here. He doesn't want you near me. And I can't leave him. In his own way he loves me and needs me. Without me to keep him steady he would be ten times more violent, and I do love him after all. If he struck out sometimes, he was just trying to make me see that. Now I do see,” Caren told him.

"See?" he cried. “You're not seeing! You’re letting pity for him rob you of good common sense! Look around you, Caren! Only a crazy man could have done this. I'm not leaving you alone to face a madman! I'm staying to protect you. Tell me what you could do if he decides to make you pay again for leaving him alone in Spain? Could you get up and run? No! I'm not leaving you here, unprotected, when he might come home drunk, or on drugs,” Daniel started.

“He doesn't use drugs!" Caren defended, protective of the good that was in Leeland, and for some reason, wanting to forget all that wasn't.

"He jumped on your toes, when you need those toes to dance on, so don't tell me you will have a sane man to deal with. You need to leave him,” Daniel insisted only to be rebuffed.

"Daniel, I'm going to have Leeland's baby. I went to a gynecologist while I was in town. It's the reason I stayed longer than I originally intended. Leeland and I are having a baby."

She could have slapped him from the way he moved backward. He sat up on the side of the bed and bowed his head into his hands. Then he sobbed, "Always you manage to defeat me, Caren! First William, my brother who I can’t even hate, then Leeland who I’ll never understand why you put up with, and now a baby."

There was a silence for a moment before he suddenly faced her, "Come away and let me be the father to that child! Leeland isn't fit!”

"Daniel I'm going to have the baby with Leeland,” Caren said with a firm resolution that surprised even herself, “I want Leeland's child for I do love him, Daniel, and I've failed him in so many ways. Failed him because you and William got in my eyes, and I didn't appreciate what I could have had in him. I should have been a better wife, and then he wouldn't have needed those girls. I…” Caren tried to continue before Daniel interrupted.

"You forgive him for breaking your toes?" he asked, astonished.

"He kept begging me to say I loved him, and I never would. I kept a deceptive parasol over my head, to keep dark doubts in my mind, and I refused to see anything that was noble and fine about him but his dancing. I didn't realize that to love me, even when I denied him, was noble and fine in itself. So, let me go, Daniel. Even if I never dance again, I'll have his child and he will go on to fame without me."

Daniel looked at her with deep sadness before standing up and leaving.

So Caren slept only to bolt awake at the sound of a telephone ringing.

Why did a telephone ringing in the dead of night always have such a threatening sound?

Caren sleepily reached for the receiver and muttered, "Hello?”

"Mrs. Leeland Laurent?"

Caren came awake a bit more, and rubbed at her eyes. "Yes, this is she."

She named a hospital on the other side of town, “Mrs.Laurent, would you please come as quickly as possible? If you can, have someone else drive you. Your husband was in an auto accident, and is even now in surgery. Bring with you his insurance papers, identification, and any medical history you have, Mrs. Laurent...are you there?"

But she wasn’t she was back to being a young child and hearing her father was dead in auto accident, and she instantly cried out, “Daniel!” Hoping her hadn’t left.

He was to her in a second coming from the other room, “I’m here,” he said, for he always was and would never truly leave her.

In that dim and lonely hour that comes before dawn, Daniel and Caren arrived at the hospital.

In one of those sterile waiting rooms they sat down to wait and find out if Leeland would survive the accident and the surgery.

Finally, around noon, after hours in the recovery room, they brought him down. They had him laid out on what they called a "fracture bed", a torturous looking device that strung up his right leg which wore a cast from his toes to his hip. His left arm was broken, and in a cast, and strung up in a peculiar way too. His pale face was lacerated and bruised. His lips, usually so full and red, were as pale as his skin. But all of that was nothing compared to his head.

Caren shivered to look. His head had been shaved and small holes drilled for metal calipers to be hooked in to pull his head up and backward. A leather collar lined with fleece was fastened about his neck. A broken neck! Plus a leg fracture, and a compound fracture of his forearm, was to say nothing of the internal injuries that had kept him on the operating table three hours.

Caren cried out, “Will he live?”

"He is on the critical list, Mrs. Laurent," they answered so calmly, "If he has other close relatives, we suggest you contact them."

Daniel made the call to Madame Milena, for Caren was deathly afraid he'd pass away any moment, and she might miss the only chance to tell him she loved him. And if that happened, she'd be cursed and haunted all through the rest of her life.

Days passed. Leeland flitted in and out of consciousness.

He stared at Caren with eyes lackluster, unfocused. He spoke but his voice came so thick, heavy and unintelligible she couldn't understand. She forgave him for all the little sins, and the big ones too, as you are apt to when death is around the corner.

She rented a room in the hospital next to his where she could catch naps, but she never had a full night's rest. She had to be there when he came to, where he could see and know, so she could plead with him to fight, to live, and, most of all, say all the words she'd so stingily kept from his ears.

"Leeland," she whispered, her voice hoarse from saying it so often, "Please don't die!"

Their dancing friends and musicians flocked to the hospital to offer what consolation they could. His room filled with flowers from hundreds of fans.

Madame Milena flew up from South Carolina and stalked into the room wearing a dreary black dress. She gazed down on the unconscious face of her only child without any expression of grief.

“Better he die now," she said flatly, “than to wake up and find himself a cripple for life.”

“How dare you say that?" Caren flared, ready to strike her, "He's alive-and he's not doomed. His spinal cord wasn't injured! He'll walk again, and dance again too!"

Then came the pity and disbelief to shimmer her jet eyes and then she was in tears. She who'd boasted she never cried, never showed grief, wept in Caren’s arms.

"Say it again, that he'll dance-oh, don't lie, he's got to dance again!"

Five horrible days came and went before Leeland could focus his eyes enough to really see. Unable to turn his head, he rolled his eyes Caren’s way.

"Hi."

"Hello, dreamer. I thought you were never going to wake up," Caren said.

He smiled, a thin ironic smile, "No such luck, Caren love."

His eyes flicked downward to his strung-up leg. "I'd rather be dead than like this."

Caren got up and went to his fracture bed that was made with two wide strips of rough canvas slipped over strong rods. It was a hard, unyielding bed to lie on, yet she stretched beside him very carefully, and curled her fingers into his tangle of remaining uncombed hair.

Her free hand stroked his chest, “Lee, you're not paralyzed. Your spinal cord was not severed, crushed, or even bruised. It's just in shock, so to speak."

He had an uninjured arm that could have reached to hold her, but it stayed straight at his side, "You're lying," he said bitterly, "I can't feel one damn thing from my waist down. Not your hand on my chest either. Now get the hell out of here! You don't love me! You wait until you think I'm ready to kick off, and then you come with your sweet words! I don't want or need your pity-so get the hell out, and stay out!"

Caren left his bed and reached for her purse, crying, even as he cried and stared at the ceiling.

“Damn you for wrecking our apartment!" Caren stormed when she could talk, "You tore up my clothes!" Caren rampaged, angry now, and wanting to slap his face that was already bruised and swollen, “Damn you for breaking all our beautiful things! You knew how painstakingly we chose all those lamps, the accessories that cost a fortune. You know we wanted to leave them as heirlooms for our children. Now we've got nothing left to leave anyone!”

He grinned, satisfied. “Yeah, nothing left for nobody,” he yawned, as if dismissing her, but she was unwilling to be dismissed, "Got no kids, thank God. Never gonna have any. You can get a divorce. Marry some son of a bitch and make his life miserable too."

"Leeland," Caren said with such heavy sadness, "Have I made your life miserable?"

He blinked, as if not wanting to answer that, but she asked him again, and again, until she forced him to say, "Not altogether miserable-we had a few moments."

"Only a few?"

"Well... maybe more than a few. But you don't have to stay on and take care of an invalid. Get the hell out while you can. I'm no good, you know that. I've been unfaithful to you time and again."

"If you are again, I'll cut your heart out!"

"Go 'way, Caren. I'm tired."

He sounded sleepy from the many sedatives they fed into him and shot into him, “Kids are not good for people like us anyway."

“People like us...?"

"Yeah, people like us."

"How are we different?”

He mockingly, sleepily laughed, bitterly too, "We're not real. We don't belong to the human race."

"What are we then?"

“Dancing dolls, that's all. Dancing fools, afraid to be real people and live in the real world. That's why we prefer fantasy. Didn't you know?" He asked.

"No, I didn't know. I always thought we were real,” Caren whispered.

"It wasn't me who ruined your things, it was Loretta. I watched, though."

Caren felt sick, scared he was telling the truth. Was she only a dancing doll? Couldn't she make her way in the real world, outside the theater? Wasn't she better at coping than her mother?

"Leeland ... I do love you, honest I do. I used to think I loved someone else, because it seemed so unnatural to go from one love to another. When I was a little girl, I used to believe love came only once in a lifetime, and that was the best kind. I thought once you loved one person, you never could love another. But I was wrong,” Caren tried.

"Get out and leave me alone. I don't want to hear what you've got to say, not now. Now I don't give a damn," Leeland told her.

Tears coursed down Caren’s face and dropped down on him. He closed his eyes and refused to see, or listen. She leaned to kiss his lips, and they stayed tight, hard, unresponding.

Next he spat, "Stop! You sicken me!"

"I love you, Leeland," she sobbed, “and I'm sorry if I realized it too late, and said it too late but don't let it be too late. I'm expecting your baby, the fourteenth in a long line of dancers, and that baby is a lot to live for, even if you don't love me anymore. Don't close your eyes and pretend not to hear, because you are going to be a father, whether or not you want to be."

He rolled his dark, shining eyes her way, and she saw why they shone, for they were full of tears.

Tears of self-pity, or tears of frustration, she didn't know.

But he spoke more kindly, and there was a tone of love in his voice, "I advise you to get rid of it, Caren. Fourteen is no luckier a number than thirteen."

She left his room to sleep on Daniel’s shoulder for a few hours. When she got up she walked to Leeland’s room to see he was asleep, deeply asleep. The intravenous tube that led to his arm ran under the sheet and into his vein.

But for some reason she fixed her eyes upon that bottle with the pale yellow liquid that seemed more water than anything else, so quickly it was being depleted.

She ran back to shake Daniel awake, "Daniel," she said, as he tried to pull himself together, “isn't that IV supposed to just trickle into his arm? It's running out very quickly,too quickly, I think."

Hardly were the words out of her mouth when Daniel was up and running toward Leeland's room.

Daniel only had to throw back the sheet to see the problem, the tube had been cut!

"Oh, God," sighed Daniel, "an air bubble must have reached his heart."

Caren stared at the shiny scissors held so loosely in Leeland’s slack right hand.

"He cut the tube himself," she whispered, "he cut the tube himself, and now he's dead, dead, dead.”

Daniel turned on the nurse, but Caren stopped him even in her grief, “It's all right," she said dully, "If he hadn't done it this way, it would have been another. I should have known and warned you. There was no life for him if he could never dance again. No life at all.”

Leeland was buried next to his father. On the headstone, Caren made sure Madame Milena agreed to the name she added:

Leeland Laurent Romanov, beloved husband of Caren, and thirteenth in a long line of Russian male ballet stars.

Maybe it was ostentatious and gave away her own failure to love him enough while he lived, but she had to let him have it the way he wanted or as she thought he wanted.

Daniel, William, Cassidy and her paused at the foot of his father’s grave too, and she bowed her head to show respect to Leelands father. Respect she should have given him too.

“Caren," said William when they were all seated in the long black limousine, "your room is still as it was, all yours. Come home and live with Cassidy and me until your baby is born. Daniel will be there too, doing his internship at the local Hospital."

Caren stared over at Daniel who was seated on the jumpseat, knowing he'd won a much better position in a very important hospital—and he was interning in a small, unimportant one.

“Duke is so far away, Caren," he said with his eyes avoiding hers. “It was bad enough traveling when I was in college and med school so if you don't mind, let me be somewhere near so I can be here the day your son or daughter arrives in the world."

Madame Milena jolted so her head almost struck the ceiling of the car, "You carry Leeland's child?" She cried. "Why didn't you tell me before? How wonderful!" She glowed, so the sadness dropped from her like a gloomy cloak. “Now Leeland's not dead at all, for he will father a son, who will be exactly like him!”

"It may be a girl, Madame," William said softly, while he reached for Caren’s hand causing Daniel to turn away slightly, “I know you long for a boy like your son, but I long for a little girl like Caren and Cassidy ...but if it's a boy, I won't object."

"Object?" cried Madame. "God in his infinite wisdom and mercy will send to Caren the exact duplicate of Leeland! And he will dance, and he will reach the fame that was waiting just around the corner for the son of my husband!"

That night as Caren sat on the porch, the door behind her opened and closed quietly. She didn't look to see who it was, for she knew. She was good at sensing people, even in the dark.

William sat in the chair next to hers, and rocked his chair in the same rhythm as she rocked.

"Caren," he said softly, "I hate to see you sitting there with that lost and drained expression. Don't think all the good things in your life have passed you by and nothing is left. You're still very young, very beautiful, and after your baby is born, you can quickly whip yourself back into shape, and dance until you feel you're ready to retire and teach."

She didn't turn her head. Dance again? How could she dance when Leeland lay in the ground? All she had was the baby. She would make the baby the center of her life. She would teach her child to dance, and he or she would reach the fame that should have been Leeland’s and hers. Everything that her mother failed to give her and her siblings she would bestow on her child.

Never would her child be neglected. When her child reached for her, she would be there. When her child cried out for Momma, he wouldn't have to make do with only an older sister. No, she’d be like her mother was when she was with her father. That was what hurt the most, that she could change from someone loving and kind into what she was, a monster. Never, never would she treat her child as her mother treated hers!

She had to be careful and not eat junk food; She had to drink plenty of milk, take vitamins, and think happy thoughts, not vengeful ones. Every day from now on she would play ballet music. Inside her, her baby would hear, and even before he or she was born a small living soul would be indoctrinated to the dance.

She smiled, thinking of all the pretty tutus she could buy for her little girl. She smiled even more to think of a boy like his father with dark blue eyes just like his.

Carailand Ryan Laurent would be his name. Carailand for both her and his father and Ryan for Daniel’s little brother who now filled her dreams, remembering the way Daniel described him.

Though she tried diligently to think only of the innocent child growing within her, still her thoughts would steal to her mother, filling her with hate, filling her with unwanted plans for revenge. For somehow she had caused Leeland’s death too.

Madame Milena came often to check on her condition,and filled her with authoritative advice.

“Now you keep up your practicing; play the ballet music to fill Leeland’s baby with love for beauty before he is born; inside you he'll know the dance is waiting for him."

She glanced down at Caren’s feet that had finally healed, “How do those toes feel now?"

"Fine," she answered dully, though they ached when it rained.

The long days of grief sped by more quickly because she had Leeland's baby, part of him to keep with her.

Soon Christmas was upon them, and she was so large she didn't feel she should show herself. Daniel insisted, along with William, that it would be good therapy to go shopping.

Caren bought an antique gold locket to send to Madame Ephron, and inside she put two small photos of Leeland and her, in their Romeo and Juliet costumes.

Shortly after Christmas her thank-you note arrived:

Dear Caren, my own love,

Yours is the best gift of all. I grieve for your beautiful dancing husband. I grieve for you most of all if you decide not to dance again just because you are to become a mother! Long ago you would have been a prima ballerina if your husband had shown less arrogance and more respect for those in authority. Keep in shape, do exercises and bring your baby with you. My poor son just had a baby himself, I pray he will be a dancer. Bring your darling child and they can run around together. We will all live together in my place until you find a new dancer to love. Life offers many chances, not just one. Come back.

Forever here for you,

Madame Ephron

Her note put a wistful smile on Caren’s face.

It was a cold February night when Caren felt her first contraction. She gasped from the sharp pain. She had known it would hurt, but not so much!

She glanced at the clock, two o’clock in the morning of Valentine's Day. Her baby would be born on what would have been her and Leeland’s sixth wedding anniversary!

"Leeland," she cried out, as if he could hear her, "you are about to become a father!"

She got up and dressed as speedily as she could before she crossed the hall to rap on William's door. He mumbled something in the way of a question.

“William," Caren called, "I think I just had my first contraction."

"Thank God!" he cried from the other side, instantly wide awake. "Are you all set to go?"

"Of course. I've been ready for a month."

"I'll call your doctor, then alert Daniel, you sit down and take it easy!"

"Would it be all right if I came in?" Caren asked.

He swung open the door, wearing only his trousers, "You're the calmest mother-to-be I've ever seen," he said as he helped her sit.

He raced next to swipe at his face with an electric razor, then he was running to put on a shirt and tie.

“Had any more contractions?" He asked.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, when another seized her. She doubled over, “Fifteen minutes since the last."

She gasped and he looked pale as he pulled on his jacket, then came to help her up,"Okay, I'll put you in the car first, then go for your suitcase. Keep calm, don't worry, this baby will have three doctors doing their very best..."

"To get in each other's way," Caren concluded.

"To see you have the best medical attention possible," he corrected.

He left a note for Cassidy for when she woke up, also telling her to call Madame Milena and put the tape they made for her.

It seemed forever before the hospital loomed up ahead. Under a protective canopy at the emergency entrance, a solitary intern paced restlessly back and forth. Daniel, who said "Thank God you're here! I was picturing all sorts of calamities," even as he assisted her out, while someone else rushed up with a wheelchair, and without any of the preliminaries other patients had to endure.

She was snug in bed in no time at all and gasping from another contraction.

Three hours later, her son was born, Daniel and William were there, both of them with tears in their eyes, but it was Daniel who picked up her son, still with the cord attached, messy and bloody. He put him upon her belly and held him there while another doctor did what he had to.

"Caren can you see him?" Daniel asked tears in his eyes.

“He's beautiful,” Caren breathed in awe, seeing all that light wavy hair, the perfect little red body. With a fierce anger so like his father's he waved his tiny fists and flailed his thin legs, screaming at all the indignities inflicted upon him and all the light that came so suddenly to shine in his eyes, and put him center stage, so to speak.

“His name is Carailand Ryan Laurent, but I'm going to call him Cary,” Caren whispered.

Both Daniel and William heard her thin whisper. She was so tired, so sleepy.

“Ryan?” William asked for the rest was understandable to him.

It wasn't Caren who had the strength to answer. It was Daniel who understood all of it.

“Carailand was for both of them, and she always did love Cary Grant movies. But he’s blonde and beautiful just like my brother Ryan was. I used to tell her about him all the time when she first came here,” he whispered with a small smile.

For a moment their eyes met and she smiled. How wonderful to be understood, and never have to explain.

#cary: musing #cary: story #caren: musing #danield: musing #harry: musing #anything in these story pieces is something cary knows happened #most of this writing comes from the book in which cary's character is largely based on with several details changed and parts rewritten #we worship cary's bad ass mother caren and amazing step father daniel in this house

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sirisuorionblack · 3 years

Text

An unsafe home

Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Requested - A Sirius X reader story where the reader is a Muggle born and a Slytherin. So when the tension of the war gets heavy in the castle she gets attacked by some fellow housemates. Maybe regulus is involved? I don't know. A protective and scared Sirius who just realises how violent things are starting to get even at a "safe place" as Hogwarts.

Warnings - Injuries.

A/N So I went a little overboard here and perhaps it may be rushed in the end. And Regulus has got quite a major role in here. Anyways, hope you enjoy @too-many-unhealthy-obsessions

“Another one,” Remus muttered, grimly as his eyes scanned rapidly over the newspaper, ignoring the minimal amount of food he had on his plate.

Sirius sighed, “Who?”

“A muggle-born,” James read over Remus’ shoulder, discreetly placing two more toasts on his place, “In a muggle town. It's not the worst case, she’s been there to meet her parents, and...all of them,”

Sirius winced, “Enough, Remus,” he gently pried the newspaper off his best friend’s fingers.

“It's growing rapidly,” James whispered, “Dunno what's gonna happen next,”

Peter, who sat next to Sirius, shivered. Noticing that Sirius looked at James, subtly shaking his head, asking him to drop the topic.

“Sirius!” A voice called him, happily. He knew the voice way too well for he has heard them rant for hours in the end and he had listened without a hint of annoyance.

Sirius whipped around to look at you, walking towards him with a wide grin, your green robes contrasting amidst the red and yellow on either side. You were different, you were unique and above all you were his. Sirius loved you, loved you more than anything in this world, after all, he had thousands of reasons why.

“Hello,” You greeted him with a big smile, almost startling him to think of how lucky he is.

Sirius pulled you into his arms, kissing you softly, as though you would break if a speck of dust fell on you, but both you and Sirius knew that wasn't true but completely opposite. Pulling away, he placed his forehead to yours.

“You guys are so cute,” Lily cooed.

Sirius laughed as you buried your head into his shoulder, “I know, Evans,”

“But not as cute as us though,” James said, grinning at Lily, who shook her head with a subtle smile on her face.

“I still don't know how I ended up with you, Potter,” she said, kissing his cheek.

You glanced at Sirius and then at the two of them and back at him, “I know what you are thinking, darling,” He said, and then raised his voice, “You need to stand your point, Evans,”

“Oh, shut it, Black,” she rolled her eyes and then laughed.

“Alright, then, ladies and gentlemen,” You pulled away from Sirius and held the strap of your bag tightly over your shoulder, “Unlike you seventh years, we have some real studies to do,”

“Well, the sixteen year olds nowadays are real arses, arent they?” Remu commented, smirking at you.

You scoffed, “Trust me, Lupin, you haven't been with a thirteen year old for very long,”

Regulus joined you as you walked to your Potions class, “How are you?”

Remus chuckled, “She’s not wrong though,” he said to James.

“What the-?” you chuckled at the sudden choice of question.

“Did you complete the potions assignment Slughorn gave?” Regulus asked, skimming through the parchments in his hand.

“Did you?” you asked. Regulus gritted his teeth and shook his head.

You sighed having a vague idea of what might have taken his time. Smiling, you linked your arm with him, “Slughorn loves you, Reg, so, no worries,”

“Woah, look at that, will you?” a group of students blocked your path, the silver and green ties flashing as the malicious smirk on their faces made the two colours look dirty.

“What's wrong with you Black boys, one hanging out with the same mudblood his brother shags,” A girl in the front said, twisting a piece of hair between her fingers, a nasty smirk on her artificial pink lips.

Before you could react, Regulus had his wand out. “Regulus, no,” You warned, tugging his arm, “Let's leave,”

“Aw, to where?” The girl asked, “To that traitorous disappointing scumbag of a lover you have?”

She struck the nerve and she knew it for she let out a maniacal laughter, pulling out her wand from her robes.

“Stupefy!” “Petrificus totalus!” The two of you yelled simultaneously.

Slytherins behind the girl laughed and giggled watching curses fly off from two ends of two contrasting wands and motives.

A beam of red light flew from yours and the girl - Carie, you heard after one of the Slytherins cheered her - ducked it, hitting the buff boy behind her.

His nostrils flared as he held out his own wand, hurling curses towards you just as Carie did. Regulus raised his wand too, trying to fend them off but another Slytherin kid engaged him in a duel of his own.

You were getting exhausted, struggling to keep up with the hexes thrown towards you. Suddenly, there was a different burst of green light from the tip of someone’s wand, hurling right at you.

The next few minutes were spent in a blur - the green beam hit you right in the chest. You gasped, feeling as though the air was knocked out of your lungs as your head spun rapidly. Struggling with proper balance, you felt your body curve into a graceful arc and sensed the shirt of your school uniform get wet. The vicious dancing black spots took over.

On the opposite end of the castle, Sirius sat in his transfiguration class, doodling on the piece of parchment before him and often glancing over Remus’ shoulder at what he is writing.

Suddenly, a violent shiver ran down his body, a feeling of dread settling on his chest.

“What's wrong?” Remus asked, irritatedly, finally looking up from his parchment.

“I dunno,” Sirius mumbled, taking a deep breath and loosening his tie. Remus glanced at him, concerned one last time before returning to his notes.

Sirius glanced around the room for his friends, James was seated before him with Lily, raking a hand through his messy hair and staring at her while she listened intently to Professor McGonagall, Peter was to Sirius’ left, twisting the quill in his hand.

Sirius rubbed his neck, the restlessness rising within his figure as he shuffled in his seat.

The moment the bell rang, Sirius dashed out of the room, not even caring to take his bag as he rushed down the corridor in search of his brother and you.

He found Regulus first. Unfortunately, his little brother stood right before the hospital wing that did nothing to stop the dread rising in Sirius.

“Reggie,” Sirius gasped, “I mean, uhm, Regulus, have-are you alright?!” He spotted the red blotch on the front of his shirt.

“Yeah,” Regulus breathed.

“Then what's this!?” Sirius asked, panic raising to an unwanted amount.

Regulus took a deep breath and shuddered. He looked around the corridor as if expecting someone to be there, once he realised it was after all deserted, he threw himself into his elder brother’s arms, holding Sirius tightly.

Sirius drew a sharp breath as he uncertainly wrapped his arms around Regulus. He could feel his brother shaking, “Reggie, hey, it's OK, I am here,”

“She-they-(Y/N)-” Regulus stuttered into Sirius’ shoulder.

“What's wrong with her?” Sirius asked hurriedly, pulling away from Regulus, who took a shuddering breath and gulped. He raised his hand, pointing towards the hospital wing.

Sirius looked at the door and then back at little brother, the grip on his arm tightened, “Come with me?”

Regulus’ filled with tears as he slowly shook his head, pushing his brother away he ran.

“Reg-” Sirius watched as his brother disappeared into the corner and clenched his shirt tightly, looking down at it, he realised the red liquid - which resembled so much like blood - was now on his white shirt too.

Wiping his tears, Sirius warily walked to push the door of the infirmary open, afraid of what waited inside for him.

The smell of blood and potions filled his nostrils making him flinch. Sirius looked at the bed around except one crowded with nurses, he hoped his (Y/N) wouldn't be there, he hoped.

“Mr Bl- Sirius?” Madam Pomfrey looked at Sirius, her eyes widened. She rushed to him, “What are you doing here?”

“(Y/N),” Sirius said simply, looking behind her shoulder.

“Sirius,” she placed her hand on his arm, “She is not here,”

“Oh? But Regulus said-” he pointed behind him.

A young nurse rushed towards Madam Pomfrey and whispered to her. She sighed in relief and nodded, “Sirius, she is alright,”

“So she is here?” Sirius asked, hopelessly looking around, his eyes were drawn to the crowded bed however he distracted himself.

“Sirius,” Madam Pomfrey moved to stand before him, her hands on his arms, squeezing with motherly affection. She sighed and looked as though she was contemplating something, “She is here. I will let you see her only if you assure me that you would stay calm, am I clear?”

Sirius nodded rapidly and desperately. Madam Pomfrey took a deep breath and guided him to the farthest bed - the crowded one. He felt the air knocked out of his lungs as he realised that, after all, his hope was squashed into a pulp.

You laid on the bed wrapped in a new robe and the infirmary white sheet pulled up to your chest, nurses by you, checking your pulse and pouring measure potions into goblets. Sirius felt his world crumble as he saw your discarded white blouse, it was drenched with blood, the white colour almost invisible; if he hadn’t known better he would have thought you were simply asleep.

Sirius grabbed whatever was next to him, providing support to his shaking figure. His breath came out in struggled pants. The red stain on his shirt is the love of his life’s blood.

Madam Pomfrey watched as the boy shivered and his knees wobbled as though he would collapse any second. She watched as he blankly stared at the ground, his mind, perhaps, occupied beyond necessary that allowed tears to well in his eyes but not drop.

Sirius drew a deep breath as he stumbled towards you, alerting the nurse who glanced behind him at Madam Pomfrey who shook her head.

He crouched before you, one hand cupping your cheek the other resting on top of your hands that laid on your stomach. With Sirius’ wobbling lip he leaned up to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“What happened?” He asked to no one in particular, his eyes still scanning your face.

“We don't know,” Madam Pomfrey answered, honestly, “Regulus had barged in with her, she was unconscious,” and she hurriedly added, “She is alright now,”

“When will she wake up?” he asked.

“Within an hour or so,” Madam Pomfrey muttered.

So, Sirius waited, often heaving deep breaths to calm himself. This was supposed to be his home, where he could be safe and protected, where his loved ones could be safe yet here you were.

Every since “Voldemort” was rising, ever since he ran away from Grimmauld Place, ever since the tension between him and his little brother rose, Sirius just wanted to take you away, away to a place where he knew you would be safe and secure, not a thing can harm you. Just you and him, like a family that he always wanted - protected, protective, safe and loved beyond measure.

“Sirius,” You mumbled, squeezing his hand.

“Puppy,” Sirius whipped his head to look at you, “You alright? What happened?”

Gulping, you pulled Sirius closer, resting your forehead against his. Sirius moved so that he was sat on the edge of the bed, leaning towards you.

“I love you,” You gently whispered. Finally, the tears that were collected in Sirius’ eyes broke free and rolled down his cheeks rapidly.

Before you could react, Sirius smashed his lips to yours in a wet kiss. It was salty from the tears that still leaked from his eyes.

You pulled away first, hurriedly wiping away his tears although it was of no use, “Sirius-”

“I love you,” he took a ragged deep breath, “So much,”

“I love you too, Sirius,” you leaned to kiss his forehead. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you chuckled wetly, “It's OK, I am alright. Nothing is wrong. I am alright, Sirius, look at me”

“You couldn't have been,” a dry sob racked his body, drawing a gasp to tumble from your lips. You pulled him even closer, holding his hands that cupped your cheeks tightly and allowing him to rest his head on the crook of your neck.

“Please, please, it's OK,” you tried to console him.

Sirius pulled away and wiped his tears as you watched him intently. You tried to sit up and to help you, a young nurse was immediately at your side and that's when you realised there were people watching the interaction.

The nurses understanding the situation shuffled away from your bed to others’.

“What happened?” Sirius asked, shifting closer to you after nodding slightly as though asking for permission.

“Just-it was nothing, Sirius,” you mumbled, lying through your teeth and you knew Sirius found out.

“What happened, darling? Please, please, tell me,” Sirius said on the verge of begging.

You looked around using the time to contemplate your options - You could either tell him and refrain him from marching to the Slytherin common room (which would be definitely hard) or you could not tell him which is absolutely not possible.

You took a deep breath, taking Sirius’ hand in yours, holding it tightly, “I just -I-the Slytherins,” you sighed, “A duel, Sirius, and I missed it,”

“A duel!?” Sirius yelled, his forehead scrunched in confusion, “Who!?”

You were silent making Sirius repeat his question this time even insisting that before, “Carie, Carie Travers,”

The rage that painted on Sirius’ face was unlike anything you've seen before. His grey orbs were ablaze with fire and hatred as his body shook.

“Sirius,” you said, worriedly. He gritted his teeth, nose flaring as he stared at the goblet on the bedside table.

He let out a deep breath, composing himself and he nodded, “Travers, isn't it?”

“Sirius…”

“No, no, don't worry, I won't do anything,” he said, frightening calm.

“Sirius, please,” You said but he ignored it.

“How? How did the duel start?” He asked, looking into your eyes, intently.

“Not now, Sirius, please,” you pleaded, not wanting to deal with it now.

Sirius sighed and leaned in to kiss your forehead, “I'm sorry,”

“It's OK,” you uncomfortably wrapped your arms around his torso and Sirius held you for a few minutes before shifting so that he leaned against the headboard and you protectively within his arms.

It wouldn't be OK. Perhaps, worse but not alright, Sirius knew that, of course, he did but he vowed to himself that he would protect you at any cost even if that means he would have to give his life, “I love you, mon amour,”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x slytherin reader #sirius x reader #sirius x you #sirius x y/n #remus lupin #regulus black #regulus black x platonic!reader #marauders #harry potter

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lokilickedme · 3 years

Text

The Queen of Springtown

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a true story. There’s a bit of conjecture here and there to fill in empty spots, but not a lot. It’s a story about my grandmother - my paternal grandmother, not my maternal grandmother - I feel the need to specify who exactly it is because mom’s mom has a bit of a story too, but that’s for later.

This one’s about the one I’m going to call Elizabeth. Elizabeth was her middle name, it was a family name, it belonged to her mother and her grandmother I believe, though I didn’t know any of those people so I couldn’t swear by it. The family records are long gone if they ever existed.

Elizabeth’s last name was one of those romantically ridiculous names that still clung to old families at the turn of the century. It had a lot of extraneous letters at the end, a handful of unnecessary and partially silent sounds that looked beautiful in the flowery handwritten script of the time, a noble sounding -eaoux that did little more than tag a fancy sounding o onto the back end. A lot of fuss for such a little piece of sound. And when Elizabeth’s grandfather moved his family from France to Ireland and signed the manifests upon arrival in the new old land, he dropped the -eaoux and shortened the family’s name to four tiny letters and a single syllable. They were Irish now.

Elizabeth’s father carried the new name and the new heritage, and when he was of age he went and married an Irish beauty named - yep, Elizabeth. They say she was redheaded and blue eyed and fair skinned, though no pictures exist to prove it. All that exists is my grandmother, who supposedly looked just like her mama. She didn’t remember Ireland...she was too young when her daddy moved his family to a new land just like his own daddy had done, and she never really told anyone she was Irish. No one actually knew, once her parents were gone.

But you could tell. She looked it - flame red hair, china blue eyes, fair skin. She had the bones of whatever French nobility had been in her lineage from way back, but her colors were the Emerald Isle all the way. A beauty like you’d see in the movies, petite and ladylike and perfectly put together.

But my god that woman had a wild streak that dated right back to the Celts whose blood made up half of what she was.

(continued under the cut because long story)

So Elizabeth grew up in America, the daughter of an Irish mother and a French father. She had brothers and sisters, quite a few, though I never knew any of them. I believe I met two of them when I was too young to remember much about the encounter, but I’ve always found it hilarious that one of her sisters was named Bill. Bill, like the man’s name. I never found out why and I’m not entirely sure there was ever actually a reason. It was just one of those things.

The newly American family settled in Texas. And when Elizabeth was very young - probably not yet in her 20′s, though nobody knows for sure just how old she actually was because it’s likely she tended to fib a bit about her age to get into places she had no business being - she got herself involved with the Texas mafia.

Now let me tell you a thing or two about the Texas mafia. It wasn’t an official operation - not like the Italian Mafioso or the Eastern Syndicates or whatever the hell was going on between Florida and Cuba at the time. But it was every bit as dangerous and vicious and bloody and corrupt as any of those bigger organizations, and it was led for the most part by a man I’m going to call Big Joe.

This was the early 1940′s or thereabouts. Elizabeth was a party girl - up for anything, always out and about, girl-gang at the swing club, the works. And Big Joe saw her in the club one night, it may very well have been his club she was dancing at, and the proverbial first-sight thing kicked him hard in the gonads. This girl was a looker, and she was dancing with everyone in the place, whooping it up, living life like tomorrow it was all going to take a header into the sea. He had to have her.

And he did.

Big Joe was likely in his late 30′s, maybe early 40′s. There’s not a lot of information on him other than a handful of facts mentioned once and only once by my grandmother to my aunt - that Big Joe was a handsome man, big and tough and a snazzy dresser, and he always had enough money in his pocket to take Elizabeth anywhere she wanted to go and buy her anything she wanted to buy. And Elizabeth, party girl extraordinaire, was all up for that.

So Elizabeth and Big Joe become a thing. Everybody knows she’s his squeeze - and suddenly not a male soul in Dallas or the surrounding metropolitan areas will dare to lay an eye on her, not even a quick glance, because she’s Big Joe’s girl. And that means something. Elizabeth doesn’t know quite what it means because she’s likely not even 20 yet, but Big Joe is fun and romantic and he takes her on trips and buys her nice clothes. He buys her a ring, a blood red garnet, a ring that I inherit many decades later. He’s going to marry her, he says. She doesn’t care much one way or the other, she’s having too much fun dancing every night in his club, traveling with him, going shopping, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous of the Southwest. She’s all but a star, protected and adored. Big Joe’s men follow her everywhere she goes when she’s not with him. And Big Joe starts going out of town without her a lot, taking care of business that he never tells her the details of.

She’s cool with that. He’s a businessman, that’s what he’s always told her. Things to take care of out of town. The Boss. He has a lot of operations to oversee, operations that make all that money he spends on her.

She has no idea what he actually does.

All she knows - or cares to know - is that when he comes back to town he ushers her around town in his big fancy black car, buying her furs and expensive dinners, showing her off to society. When he isn’t slapping her around...but hey, that’s part of the deal isn’t it? It’s the 1940′s, and Big Joe is very much a man of the era. Women grew up knowing they’d have to take the back of a man’s hand from time to time, and Elizabeth knew which side her bread was buttered on. She kept Big Joe happy, put a smile on his face, did the old grin-and-bear-it on the rest of it.

And then one night Big Joe comes banging on her door. He’s frantic. He pushes a set of keys into her hand - keys to the fancy black car that takes her everywhere - and tells her to keep it there, at her house. Don’t drive it anywhere, just keep it there. He’ll contact her soon and tell her what to do.

He leaves in another car with one of his men, and that’s the last time Elizabeth ever sees him.

A few weeks later she gets a letter from Big Joe telling her to drive the car into Grapevine Lake, on the far side by the shoals. Don’t open the trunk, he says. Put a brick on the gas pedal and put it in drive. Do it at night and make sure nobody sees you.

That night Elizabeth picks up her best friend and they drive the car to Grapevine to do as Big Joe said, sinking it in the murky green water on the far side of the lake. The two girls - just girls, barely even women yet - stand on the shore watching it disappear into the deep dark.

A week later Big Joe is shot to death. A deal gone bad maybe, or a competitor moving into the territory. Nobody really knows - grandmother never said. Don’t think I haven’t done my research...I know what I know, and according to a nearly nonexistent little trove of newspaper articles microfiched in a tiny little library in Azle Texas that isn’t even there anymore, odds are very likely that Big Joe went down in a shootout with the Dallas Police Department.

Elizabeth never opened the trunk of that car. At least she said she didn’t...it’s one of the many things that nobody ever knew or will ever know, because once she shut the door on that part of her life and moved on, it might as well have never happened. Getting this much out of her was outrageously difficult. Thanks to my very tenacious and very persevering aunt, what I’ve just told you managed to survive. It’s very likely my aunt was the only person she ever told, and it’s very likely I in turn am the only person my aunt ever told. And now my aunt is in her 70′s and in poor health, and this little unknown family story has started poking around at the back of my skull. I don’t want it to be lost. I don’t like the idea of soon being the only person alive who knows it. It’s not a spectacular story, but it’s testament to the fact that extraordinary things happen to ordinary people, probably more often than you’d think - and that those ordinary people sometimes take it all to the grave with them.

Elizabeth - my dad’s mom, my grandmother, the one I look like and act like and laugh like, the one whose cheekbones and eyes and hair and size I was born with, passed away twenty-something years ago. She lived through some extraordinary things. After the demise of Big Joe she married an oil roughneck, one of the semi-transient oilfield workers that were prevalent in the Texas Panhandle at the time, and had two children with him - one of whom was my father. The roughneck was the epitome of the James Dean romantic brooding bad boy type, handsome and manly, but unfortunately also a scoundrel who had a second family in another city that he went to every other month when he traveled to another rig for work. She left him when she found out. It was almost unheard of at the time, a young mother taking her two little kids and leaving her husband to be on her own, but she did it. And when my father was 12 she met and married a very tall, very handsome, very Cary Grant-esque railroad worker who loved life every bit as much as she did.

They were together for the rest of her life. I’ve never to this day seen two people more in love than Elizabeth and Jesse. I spent many summers in Texas with them and not a night went by that I couldn’t hear them giggling in the next room after lights-out, talking and laughing quietly until granddad’s wallshaking snores echoed through the house. It just about killed him when her heart gave out. But she was old, and she’d lived a life worth living. There was nothing in her face in those final moments that could ever convince anyone she wasn’t ready and willing to go when the time came.

I’d been married for a couple of years when she died, and my husband and I traveled to Texas for the funeral. The first night there, as my aunt brought out grandmother’s jewelry box and told me to take whatever I wanted, the story was passed from her to me. And when it was all told I opened a little drawer in the bottom of the jewelry box and pulled out an old garnet ring that I’d seen before, when I was a small child snooping in grandma’s stuff. I’d always been fascinated with it...it just looked like it had a story to tell. That’s it, my aunt said. That’s the ring he gave her. That’s all she ended up with.

It was the only thing I took.

The church was so full the next morning you’d have thought it was the final sendoff for some local celebrity. Everybody loved my grandmother, everybody, but this was sort of astounding. Some of them I knew from my childhood, from many many summers spent in the Panhandle, but people came from all over to say goodbye and nobody in the family knew who a lot of them were. They just showed up, some of them cried, some just stood in the back of the church all stoic in black suits. Some were very old. And when it was over and I turned around to watch a group of distinctly important-looking old gentlemen quickly and quietly leave the building, I looked over at my aunt and pointed at them. She arched her eyebrows in that way she always did, that way, the way that said What did I tell you?? - and I wondered if maybe all those years ago some of Big Joe’s men hadn’t pulled that car out of Lake Grapevine and found the trunk empty.

I mean...this is Elizabeth we’re talking about.

#true story

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theblackbutterfly02 · 3 years

Text

I platinumed Tales of Arise and here are my thoughts on it

Aaaand, you guessed it, spoiler warning for the whole game, I will cry long and hard about this one

Where do I even begin? Well, at the very beginning I assume. Getting thrown into this game my partner and I immeadiately said: "It looks like a mix between Assassin's Creed, Monster Hunter World and Dark Souls - but definitely not like a Tales game" and playing it, that's exactly what it felt like as well.

The battlesystem is completely new, as is the perspective you see your character from on the open map - not that it was bad, it just wasnt't what I was expecting at all.

The story started out so damn dark! Honestly, didn't like that. It made me feel all kinds of things, none of them good - but I suppose that was the point.

It got better over the course of the game, once I started actually getting into it. The story generally had some interesting turns, but...

Jeez, that was some damn interwoven lore there, had to double check all the information the game threw at me to understand it at the end with all the reveals and stuff.

Overall I'm not sure if the story theme really was my piece of cake, but it was a decent story nontheless.

The characters!!

As always - okay I actually really liked the villains. As little screen time as they had, they were really interesting - as villains that is. That doesn't mean I support anything they did, don't hit me please.

My mom really latched onto Vholran and - who can blame her for it? Hot guy with a katana, hello??

The main group though! Okay yeah, these funky little people were awesome!

They're all carying their own kind of baggage, they are your usual group of misfits that we know and love in these games.

Dohalim really had me because I take self-loathing characters and project onto them xD

My mom totally loved Law and we laughed about the fact that he has the same English VA as Asbel from Graces - all while also having red/brown-ish hair, daddy issues and an inferiority complex. "Is that just the kind of character he mains?" - my mom. And honestly, his interactions with Rin were the cutest.

Speaking of which - yeah, I'm not really invested into her but I guess she's okay

The same goes for Kisara - idk, I just didn't like her... design wise, which made it a little hard to get accustomed to her. But she's a good group mom.

Shionne and Alphen just fit together tbh. And like, yeah, they were a good pair of main characters.

But like... ugh, I HATE how this game is so... heterosexual. Like, it just throws the hetero couples at you without any room for interpretation. I mean, Kisara and Dohalim are a sidequest and I guess I can just pretend it didn't happen, but still... ah well.

The playstyle of the game is something I was fairly used to before so I got into it rather easily - but while I perfectly dodged my group didn't which made it a little hard to fight enemies that were a few levels above us.

New way of unlocking ng+ bonuses? Okay I guess, interesting system.

The owls? Cute, had me going hoo-hoo whenever I heard one, as if it was some kind of conversation.

The fishing system was okay once I actually understood it lol

I was just kinda sad I managed to platinum the game in one go *shrugs*

Overall a good game I suppose, but not one of my favourites

#shadow rambles #tales of arise #toa #dohalim il qaras #alphen #shionne imeris #rinwell #law #alphen x shionne #vholran igniseri #This post is long overdue lol

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bloopferheart · 4 years

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Sk8ti theories!!

Spoilers for all the current episode of sk8 (up to episode 6)

- also sorry if this all over the place lmao

so i have many theories but i wanna talk about the one that im most leaning towards! so personally what i think is going to happen is that reki and langa are going to fall in love, they both fall in love with each other and i think there is going to be hinted canon romance??? i dunno they will DEFINITELY have a deeper bond than they currently are at. we can see that each episode they are getting closer and closer, langa is smiling more and they are starting to become more "touchy-feely" with each other (*coughs* the latest blessing of an episode we had, ep6, the beach episode <3). we can also see that they love each in the translation of the end credits the lines. "i like what ive always liked", "lets keep feelings", "lets keep your heart" , "let's go together" ,"you are always in my heart" - (fuckin sobs kakjdsh). i see the end credits as a convo between langa and reki so these are things that *both* of them are saying. so, yes, i think it will be requited love....at first. (fuck here comes the angst)

time to talk about fucking ad*m,,,,so what i think is that adam is going to draw langa away from reki and sort of influence him into the world of reckless skating. langa is so drawn to adam that he starts to skate more dangerously and adapt the same ways of skating that adam does. becuase of his, he starts to drift away from reki. reki usually skates by the rules and doesnt cheat, or at least he doesnt go as far as adam does. reki is always ready to try new things but he defientley isnt as reckless as langa will end up being. reki will start to feel as though he is falling more and more behind langa until langai so caught up in reckless skating that he is just gone. reki realizes its too late and that langa is too far ahead he cant keep up (just like in the intro when reki falls and when langa doesnt turn around to look back at him and how langa dissapears).

so, besides reki falling behind langa, how will this *directly* affect reki? well i defientley think that reki has some trauma surrounding adam considering how he fucking screamed langas name and had a nightmare about adam,,,like,,,,idk :( but continuing on, i think that langa is going to make a very dangerous bet, like a life threatning bet that impacts reki. and i think that langa *finally* realizes his mistakes when its too late. so, this is where my theory starts to go 2 ways.

1) reki will,,,*takes a deep breath* dies. what if langa makes such a dangerous bet and adams influence is too much that he accidnetly kills reki? BUT tbh this is one of my theories that i dont actually lean a lot towards. the next one is what i actually think is more likely to happen based on the ending credits,

2) reki *will* get hurt, but emotionally not physically (or maybe physically but i dont think so). he will see that langa is never coming back to him (or at least he thinks that) and decides to just leave him. its at this time that langa realizes "fuck ive gone too far" but its too late too chase after reki because reki already tried chasing after him and langa just ignored him. reki and langa will then drift apart although as they spend time apart they realize how much they need and miss each. what gives me this impression is when the end credits say:

"we are grown up now, can be honest i will remember tightly tied shoe laces, lets make it , my favourite colour, its infinte, i like what ive always liked" this whole phrase reminds me of how anga talks about how he still thinks of the times when he and reki would skate *for fun* together, and not for the thrill/adrenaline rush.

"i like what ive always liked' implied hes always liked reki and despite drifting apart, he still does love him. his love for reki is infinite.(and rekis love for him is infinite)

"lets talk silly stories be with you forever i want to smile by your side" implied that langa (who i assume this verse is in the pov of) still wants to be with reki and regrets the choices hes made. "lets go together, go with you" he still wants to go with reki, he still wants to skate with him.

"even if tomorrow this world ends, i dont need anything special at the same pace as usual lets just be who we are. yes, "now" is so beautiful" so lets disect the first part of that, i think that by this langa or reki (i dont quite know who, i think langa tho) is thinking that all he wants is just go back to all the days (at the same pace as usual) and just go at the nice easy-going pace they were at.

a very big indictor of langa realizing he sitll loves reki is the line "lets go togehter, go with you *not only in happy times*" i think that langa is saying that despite reki being upset and feeling behind, langa does in fact wish he had been by his side and he wants to be there for reki.

"at any time, be by your side", "lets go together", "as long as we have that feeling", "i am here by your side", "you are always in my heart" literally is so gay like guys cmon, langa deifnetley still loves him

so what happens next? langa now realizes he *does* love reki and that adam is a big piece of shit but reki is gone (reki still loves him and thinks about him tho: as seen in line “youre always in my heart” i believe this is said by both of them)

so, in conclusion my favourite theory is that at the very end of sk8 reiki and langa will sort of have individual shots and then they will run into each other in the street, both carying skateboards. langa will reach out to reki to "catch him" or something idk SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN WITH HANDS AND WE WONT SEE FACES AT FIRST and then the shot is their faces and they look at each other and just smile! I THINK IT WOULD BE SUCH A GOOD ENDING AND I THINK IT WOULD FIT THE END SO WELL YA KNOW??? SO yeah!!!! thats my fav theory!!

i do have one more i just wanted to touch up on tho :eyes:

HANDS!!! OMG HANDS R SO IMPORTNAT IN THIS SHOW MY GOSH. and as each episode goes on we can see they are getting closer and closer with their hands. it starts off ith taking off the water bottle, and bandaging each other hands, then the hand shake, the hand shake TO THE CHEST, and then as seen in episode 6, the hug, and finally langa reaching out to save reki and pulling him close. i have a feeling as the episodes go on they are gonna get more "touchy-feeling" and what if langa or reki like touches the others face or brushes hair out their face? like what if,,,,reki forgot his headband or cant find it and he leands over to fix his skateboard or something and langa just brushes the hair out of his eyes? or what if one of them puts their hand on each others cheeks and kisses them? IDK GUYS I HAVE A STRONG FEELING WE ARE GONNA GET A BIT OF ROMANCE- But uh yeah

I have a tone of angsty theories involving adam but i deinfetley think we are going to get a bittersweet ending,,,,

I'll probaby upload more theories later on but these are them so akjdhsa yeah! my dms are open for sk8ti discussion and if u want my discord (which is easier to commuicate on for me) then just dm me!)

#renga #reki #langa #reki sk8 #langa sk8 #sk8 #sk8ti #sk8 the infinity #sobs #*sobs uncontrollably*#MY POOR BABIES I DONT WANT ANYTHING TO HAPPEN TO THEM BUT THE DIRECTOR IS THE SAME AS BANANA FISH SO WE R IN DANGER-

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hazard-queen · 4 years

Note

Hi!! I'm not sure if your requests are open, but I just wanted to say that I love your most recent hc's with a nervous MC!! And I wanted to ask if you maybe can kind of continue it with Lilia, Trey, Silver and Rook? It's ok if you don't do it ofc!! Thank you for such amazing works!!

Hello ~♡

Request are always open dear till i announce it's not but as i mentioned before my college started so i took long time sorry for my late, i hope you apptreciate ♡

Thank you for saying tho, it actually made my day~♡

Have a good day and take care ~♡

Silver

• You were busy on your on focusing on cooking and creating some delicious meals for your friends, everything was quite around you so you give 100% of your attention in what you're doing

• He wasn't sure what to in this situation, he was just watching you cooking things he would really want to try but instead he gets lilia's food!

• "Ehem....can i have some of those?"

• You were carying plates on your hand but the sudden voice behind you when it was supposed to be no one there made you shocked and dropped all plates to the floor smashing them!

• "Oh no!"

• You said to yourself as you didn't even turn to face the person who was speaking as you bent down to collect broken pieces

• " i I'm sorry...did i disturb you?"

• You shook your head still not looking at him busy collecting broken plates until he heard a small "aw" and you stopped

• His eyes widened as he saw blood dripping from your finger, he quickly pulled you away from broken shards and took you to the sink to wash the cut, he looked everywhere for something to warp your finger with but he didn't find anything close so he decided to warp it with his handkerchief

• "N no! It will be stained like that!"

• You blushed as he warped your finer and held your shaking hand tight then he gave is a sigh

• "If i knew that i will cause all of this i wouldn't have came"

• You looked at silver as he felt guilty for what happened to you, he cracked an apology before excusing to leave

• "W wait!....why did you come here from the first place?"

• He turned to you and blushed abit before telling you the reason

• "I wanted to have some of the meals you're making for others but you know lilia wouldn't let me eat from a stranger human "

• Silver moved his hand to the back of his neck as he blushed harder as you looked at him

• "How about i cook you something you like as an exchange for the handkerchief i stained?"

• You gave him a big smile and you could see how the guy became happy

• "Y you mean you can cook me risotto?"

• The guy's eyes were sparkling with as you accepted his request and began to make it to him

• "Whenever you want to eat anything tell me and i will cook it for you and Don't worry, i won't tell lilia!"

Trey clover

• He was making his special delicious strawberry tarts for one of their unbirthday parties...yes, you're not in the same dorm you just watch him in silence in kitchen

• Those tarts made your mouth run and there you are drooling as you watched him adding more and more of these delicious fresh strawberries and give them a wipe of gello that gave the tart a glossy sparkle, you want one don't you?

• The male was working in silence and you thought he didn't know you're there but you're totally wrong cause he knew you're there watching him explained by the smirk on his face and the Mischievous expression written on his face as he looks at you at the corner of his eyes and you always hide but still he could see you.

• "Oh well then seems i made an additional tart hmmmm i will leave it here then!"

• He spok loudly as he took the rest and left the kitchen, you directly ran to the counter and took the tart in your hand then you took a full bite

• "Awww it's really delious!~"

• In a more like singing you spoke as you shove more of the tart in your mouth that was dancing from happiness! And of course trey stood there just behind you!

• "If you really like it you could have asked me for some!"

• As trey bent to speak in your ears your eyes widened as you went pale and unfortunately you miss swallowed the tart and it made choke you and now you're coughing!

• "Eh! Are you ok?!"

• You couldn't breathe and held your neck, he strongly patted your back and hurried to hand you a cup of water

• As you took some sips you began to swallow it and now you can breath, trey sigh and gave you an apologetic expression.

• "T The tarts you make are r really delious "

• You weakly spoke as he could see tears in the corner of your eyes but still give him a smile.

• " glad to hear but why didn't you ask me for some from the start...i wouldn't have refused"

• He gave you a wary smile as he spoke which made you blush...he's cute isn't he?

• "I i just thought you wouldn't agree cause we're not from the same dorm..."

• Just on hearing this he let out a soft chuckle then he gave a heart full laugh (you know trey's laugh don't you?)

• "I would have never do something like that! Listen...as long as you want any sweet delicacies tell me"

Rook hunt

• He was doing his favourite job...Hunting!

• Eyes are fixed on the aim as he takes a deep breathe, closing his left eye to be focused on one thing....his prey!

• Realising the arrow it just hit the target! A big smirk was from ear to ear as he grow proud and proud of himself each time he just don't miss it

• And there you are hiding behind a bush watching rook as he hunt! Since when you're watching him? Has it been an hour or so? Do you know you're in the forest now and it's not safe?

• You were ready to leave when your feet stepped on a brunch breaking it getting the male's best attention

• "Who's there?"

• The next thing you saw was his arrow directed to your direction and rook being ready to realse it at any second

• "If you don't come out i will shoot you! You have 3 seconds to reveal yourself!"

• You were shaking what shoud you do?

• "One!"

• Going back isn't an option cause he can shoot in your way and this would be dangerous!

• "Two!"

• This time he took more close steps towards you, he's not joking!

• "Three!"

• "NO NO NO NO PLEASE DON'T SHOT ME!"

• You came out from your hide begging him to stop and you nearly got the male a shock as he blinked twice

• "(Y/n)! What are you doing here? I was going to shot you!"

• Lowering the bow and arrow from your face he pouted and gave you a questioning expression

• " i i i....i w was....watching you"

• You looked away from rook as you spoke trying to hide your blushing face from the guy whom you could see the smirk on his face grew wider

• "O mon dieu! HAHAHA "

• You pouted as he laughed at you

• "W what makes you laugh that much?"

• He stopped as he noticed that you're embarrassed and have you a smile

• "Nothing it's just the first time i know the real meaning of curiosity kills the cat! Look, if you want yo accompany me in hunting just tell me and i will be glad to!"

Lilia vanrouge

(Song is "lili" for Allan walker)

• Every day he walkes by your room and watch you from the window as you sing! And let's say you also were trying to play guitar, but it seems you're really trying to keep it up with it but you always mess it up at the end

• "Ugh i can't make it!"

• He chuckled at how you look cute when you always miss it, but let's admit that actually you're not bad at all

• (Everything you wantin gonna be the magic story you've been told and you will be save under my control just let me in ooooooh )

• You were in a harmony with yourself, you're really good in your own and that's what actually made lilia interested...should he just join you?

• Lilia is well known for giving students heart attack by appearing out nowhere scare the hell out if others, he just decided to bring his guitar and just join you!

• (Then she ran , faster than start screaming is there's someone out there.....)

• You stopped singing as you began to hear music that wasn't yours, you turned to see lilia sitting on the window holding his guitar playing on it!

• "Please don't scream!"

• Lilia waved to you trying to laugh it off but he was actually late

• "EEEEEEEEEEKKKKK"

• "I said don't scream! I just wanted to join you here!"

• You took some time to calm yourself down it's not normal to see someone sitting in your window out nowhere in the middle of night is it?....well....at least better than him standing upsides down above your head on the ceiling!

• " i i I'm sorry b but since when you're here?"

• "Since you started! I always pass by here to listen to your singing, You're really doing great!"

• Lilia spoke with a wide smile on his face innocently not like if he was going to the life out of you!

• " y you think?"

• You blushed on hearing lilia complementing you that was acutely out of sudden!

• "Yeah! Can i join you?"

• "Sure thing!"

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst wonderland #twst silver #silver #trey clover #twst trey #twst rook #rook hunt #twst lilia #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia vanrouge

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alj4890 · 4 years

Text

And Then I Left You

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) in a what if to the And Then I Met You

A/N The Hollywood group throw a farewell party for Amanda. She and Thomas continue to struggle with remaining silent about their feelings for one another.

@krsnlove @my-heart-beats-for-ya @aworldoffandoms @flyawayboo @trappedinfanfiction @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @sophxwithers @kate-mckenzie @twinkleallnight

Song they dance to: I'm in the Mood for Love

Masterlist

Chapter 3 In the Mood

12 weeks in Hollywood...

Thomas straightened his bowtie and studied his reflection. Smoothing his hair on the sides, he allowed his typical frown to disappear, replacing it with one of sadness.

This is it. She's really leaving.

After tonight, he would only have one more week to spend with Amanda. Seven more days of quiet mornings spent together over coffee and tea. Six evenings spent discussing whatever topic came to mind. Six more nights being tempted to tell her what was in his heart.

As he walked downstairs, he wondered if Addison's insistence that Amanda get ready for the party at Ryan's was not meant to teach him some type of lesson. It certainly was not farfetched that she would try and show him how life would be without his duchess around.

His footsteps paused in the living room.

The silence in his house was oppressive.

There was no muffled sounds of typing. No familiar sounds of laughter. No smile being flashed his way. No footsteps hurrying to join him. No suggestions for how they should spend the evening together.

This would be his chance to return to how his life was before she arrived.

Thomas already despised it.

When he got into the waiting town car, he glanced at the empty spot next to him.

She truly has done a number on me.

**************

Ryan's Mansion in Malibu...

"You went to too much trouble." Amanda looked about at all her new friends had done.

Each room opened for the party was decorated for a specific decade. Addison had insisted they do so and dress as they did in the movies for that time period. Holly had been in charge of assigning each guest a particular decade.

Ryan had supplied the residence and made certain for this to be the party to top all Hollywood parties.

Addison was beyond thrilled that everything had gone as planned. Her excitement at seeing Amanda happy caused her bouncing to make her bow fall off her head.

With her blonde hair in a ponytail and dressed in a poodle skirt, she looked like she had just stepped out of the movie, Grease.

Holly joined them, pushing her colored lens glasses up. Her short, psychedelic dress and white go-go boots matched the sixties era room perfectly.

"This wasn't any trouble." She replied.

"Ready to see what I made?" Addison gripped Amanda's hand and pulled her up the stairs. "I designed a dress specifically for one of your favorite decades!"

While the two disappeared down the upstairs hall, Ryan stepped out of his room.

He smiled at them while flipping his brown leather jacket's collar up. "Well?" He spun around. What do you think?"

"You look like you are one of the fighter pilots from Top Gun." Amanda replied.

"Holly must have known I like to take the ladies' breaths away." He winked at them.

"I can't believe you used that movie's love song for your own sex appeal." Addison rolled her eyes with a giggle.

"It was too good to let pass." Ryan quipped. "Sorry ladies, but I feel the need, the need to host a party." He slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses and told them he would see them downstairs.

The two laughed and hurried into one of the guest bedrooms. Amanda stopped when she saw a strange man in there.

"This is Craig." Addison quickly did the introductions. "He's the most talented stylist I've ever met."

He grinned bashfully.

"I told him your hair needed to resemble the fashion of the late thirties, early forties to match your costume." Addison explained.

Amanda touched her long hair, while a smile slowly formed. "Craig, how do you feel about cutting some of this?"

Addison's eyes widened. "You don't have to. We can find a way to put it in an appropriate style without any cutting. Can't we Craig?"

"I want to." Amanda decided before the stylist could answer. "I've been thinking of changing how I look for a while now."

Craig opened up his case and showed her all the hairstyling tools he had brought, choosing a pair of scissors.

"I can't watch." Addison covered her eyes when the first lock was cut above her shoulders. "Don't cut too much!"

"Keep going, Craig." Amanda encouraged.

Within minutes, her long wavy hair was now a bunch of curls, brushing her neck and jaw line.

Addison lowered her hands and gasped.

"Your eyes are even bigger than before!"

Amanda critically studied her reflection.

"I love it!" She thanked Craig, then sat back and let him part it, and fluff it out to match some of the photographs of classic film stars.

Addison retrieved a shimmering evening gown she had designed after watching a few of Amanda's favorite classic movies.

"It's like a mixture of Judy Garland's and Myrna Loy's hairstyle." Addison added once she saw the end result. "And this dress is perfect for it."

Once Craig left, Addison helped Amanda into her costume.

"What decade did Holly give Thomas?" Amanda asked.

"The same as yours." Addison grinned at the blush on the duchess' cheeks. "Don't worry, there are other guests given that era too."

"Oh." Amanda turned from side to side to see how the dress hung. "I can't believe my figure allowed me to wear something so elegant!" She hugged Addison. "Thank you."

Addison hugged her tight then ordered her to hurry downstairs when she was ready.

**************

Thomas nodded and spoke a few greetings as he walked inside. He scanned the rooms filling up with people. Just when he was about to check outside to see if Amanda was mingling there, Ryan clapped him on the back.

"About time you arrived." Ryan stepped back and studied him. "I'm getting a definite Cary Grant vibe from you."

Thomas merely grunted. "And you are trying to be Tom Cruise."

Ryan laughed while gesturing to his back patio. "In case you were wondering, your duchess was last seen going outside."

With his signature, charming smile firmly in place, he left to mingle with a group over by the bar.

Thomas squared his shoulders and made his way outside.

****************

"Want me to freshen your drink?" Chris asked.

Amanda shook her head. "No, thank you." She had no intention of a repeat performance of her girls' night out.

She still wasn't clear on what happened the night she came home drunk. Waking up wearing Thomas's shirt had caused her to panic. She didn't know how she could ask him, let alone face him.

But she had to know.

When he knocked on her bedroom door, her immediate reaction was to jerk the covers up to her chin. Taking a deep breath, she called out for him to enter.

Thomas walked in with a breakfast tray.

"What's all this?" She asked, sitting up in surprise, thus forgetting to hide she had his shirt on.

"Something to hopefully help get you through your hangover." He replied.

She bit her lip as he prepared her a cup of tea. "That's very thoughtful of you."

Taking a sip and closing her eyes in appreciation, she forced herself to ask how badly she had behaved. She knew from the couple of times she had experienced tipsiness that her friends said she was a little more daring than usual. She didn't have her usual doubt and fear keeping her from experiences.

She eyed him closely as a slight smile formed on his lips.

"You were," Thomas lifted his eyes to meet her steady gaze, "not too much trouble. You were tired and I helped you upstairs."

Her brow furrowed. "How did I get in your t-shirt?"

Her worry grew when she noticed a slight flush to his skin.

"You went swimming to cool off." He coughed and lifted a lid off some toast he had made. "When it came time to change your clothes, you asked for one of my shirts to sleep in."

Amanda leaned forward. "That's it? I didn't do anything else, did I? Anything I should apologize over?" She closed her eyes in embarrassment. "I mean, I do apologize. I can't imagine having your houseguest come in drunk and demanding clothing."

He reached over and took her hand, gently squeezing it to get her to look at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. You," he swallowed as he glanced at the spot he had slept with her in his arms, "You went right to sleep once your head hit the pillow."

She gave him a grateful smile while turning her attention to buttering a piece of toast. "Thank you for putting up with me."

A thought that there was more to the story kept coming to mind, but she decided she didn't want to know. She already had enough to deal with over secretly loving him.

What if I let it slip?!

"I, Thomas," she rambled nervously, "I didn't, I mean I hope there was nothing," she paused, "Did I say anything that I should know about?"

Thomas stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Um," she picked at the toast on her plate, "You know, anything like something I would have said to you that might have caught you off guard?"

He refilled her teacup while debating on what all he should reveal. "You said I smelled nice."

A burst of surprised laughter escaped her lips. "Well, that is something I can say is true while sober."

He chuckled at that. "Thank you."

Her smile slowly fell. "Was there anything else I might have said?"

"You told me you danced." He stood up and motioned toward the food he had prepared. "Eat what you think you can stomach, then join me downstairs." He slipped his hands in his pockets. "We'll take it easy today."

"Didn't you want to go out to dinner tonight?" Amanda's question had him stopping in her doorway.

"Only if you feel well enough." His frown eased as he looked back at her. "Eat, while it is still warm."

"Earth to Amanda." Holly waved her hand in front of her face.

"Sorry." Amanda set her barely touched drink on a table. "Lost in thought."

"I'm always lost in thought." Shannon confessed. "Or sleep deprivation. I don't think our daughter will ever let us sleep again."

While the couple shared stories of being new parents, Amanda searched the patio and beach area for Thomas.

Shannon gripped her arm, taking her once more from her thoughts that she was always hoping to see him.

"Look who's coming over!" She whispered.

Amanda felt her lips part at an extremely popular, and extremely handsome, actor dressed in a WWII uniform.

"Chris." He shook the actor's hand before kissing Shannon's cheek. "Shannon. I haven't seen you two in ages."

He smiled at Amanda and Holly.

"Patrick, I don't think you've had a chance to meet Amanda before." Shannon made the introductions.

"Cordonia." His eyes narrowed in thought. "I don't think I've ever heard of that country."

"Few have." Amanda replied.

His smile reminded her of Ryan's along with that twinkle in his eye. He seemed of a similar height. His voice was not too deep so he would be perfect for the role she had in mind.

"Mr. Fields? Have you heard of The Earl's Undoing?" Amanda asked.

"That's all anyone has talked about since I got home." He replied. "And please call me, Patrick."

"I think you would be perfect to play Lord Carlisle, Lord Arthur's younger brother." She explained.

Chris stepped back and critically studied Patrick. He noticed Ryan walk outside and called for him to come over. "Stand by Patrick." He ordered.

Ryan and Patrick stood side by side.

"I don't believe it!" Shannon breathed. "How come we never noticed this before?"

Holly removed her glasses and stepped closer to them. "It's incredible."

Ryan and Patrick both quirked the same eyebrow while a similar smirk settled on their lips.

"I knew we were both handsome," Patrick teased.

"But not this jaw droppingly handsome." Ryan finished with a wink.

Thomas quietly joined them and looked curiously around at the group.

"We've found Carlisle!" Holly exclaimed, gesturing toward Patrick.

He narrowed his eyes in study.

Amanda slipped over beside him. "They even finish each other's thoughts."

He slowly nodded as he glanced at her. Then he did a double take. He reached up and gently tugged on a lock of her hair.

"What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to laugh at his strange reaction to her hair.

"Is this a wig?" He asked.

"No." She laughed then shook her head to prove that it was her own. "What do you think?"

"You cut your hair?" He muttered, his expression of one of complete disbelief.

Her smile disappeared. "Yes, I did." Her eyes searched his. "Do I look that horrible?"

"No." He cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on Patrick.

"Would you like to read a few lines with Ryan?" Thomas asked. "He has a copy of the script, if you are interested in joining the production."

"Are you kidding?" Patrick couldn’t believe he was being given a chance. "Just give me a second to read over it and I will audition whenever you want."

Ryan led him away, telling Thomas to come upstairs to the game room when he was ready to see the audition.

"Now all we need is Marija cast." Holly announced. "Keep an eye out."

She and Shannon excused themselves when they noticed some of their former classmates they hadn’t talked to in a while.

Amanda kept her gaze averted from Thomas. She was determined not to let him see how much his actions toward her haircut stung.

Thomas tried not to stare at her. He slipped his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to brush the windblown curls back. He couldn't help but notice the change it wrought. Her eyes that he already found difficult to not get lost in, were even more vivid. His gaze dropped to the curls that had been styled to draw the eye to her lips.

He swallowed and looked around for a distraction.

A song from the 1940's began.

"May I have this dance?" Thomas asked.

"Of course." She mumbled, placing her hand in his. "We are dressed for it."

He led her to the dance floor that Ryan had constructed on his private beach. He took Amanda in his arms and began to do a slow box step.

The romantic lyrics drifted through the night air, causing each to think how appropriate the words were when they were near each other.

I'm in the mood for love

Simply because you're near me.

Funny, but when you're near me

I'm in the mood for love.

Thomas raised his hand he had placed on the small of her back to brush her hair out of her eyes. His lips curved when she looked up at him curiously.

"This hairstyle is lovely on you." He let the back of his fingers brush down her cheek as he tucked some of the wayward locks behind her ear.

She smiled at him. "Truly?" At his nod, she relaxed in his arms. "Thank you."

Heaven is in your eyes

Bright as the stars we're under

Oh is it any wonder

That I'm in the mood for love?

Their eyes remained fixated upon one another as the song continued.

Amanda felt the overwhelming urge to tell Thomas why she had to return to Cordonia. The words were on the tip of her tongue, more than ready to tell him that though she had to participate in Liam's social season that she only wanted to be with him...that Thomas was the only man who held her heart.

She had never been so tempted to do so. The thought that when he discovered the reason for her leaving, he would simply assume she preferred Liam and the crown to anyone else. It was eating her up inside. She hoped when she confessed that he would state that he too felt something for her that wasn't mere friendship.

Why stop to think of whether

This little dream might fade?

We've put our hearts together

Now we are one, I'm not afraid!

What did she have to lose? The words were nearly bursting from her lips. The way he was looking at her as they danced...the moonlight...the romantic song...all seemed designed for such a heartfelt confession.

If there's a cloud up above

If it should rain we'll let it

But for tonight, forget it!

'Cause I'm in the mood for love.

I'm in the mood for love

"Thomas, I have to tell you that--"

He twitched then reached in his coat pocket.

His cell was vibrating.

"It's Ryan." He explained while answering. "We'll be right up." He ended the call and took her hand. "Patrick is ready for us."

She couldn't quite keep her disappointment hidden. "Then we shouldn't keep him waiting."

He tucked her hand into the bend of his arm. "What were you about to say when we were interrupted?"

"Nothing." She replied. "Nothing at all."

*****************

Patrick's audition was a success. Thomas was impressed by not only his performance with so little time with the script but also the playful almost brotherly affection already between him and Ryan.

Amanda barely paid attention to any of it. She couldn't believe that she had been so willing to not only break her promise to Liam but to also forget her pride and admit to feelings that might not be returned. She believed she wasn't brave enough to take such a risk.

I'm taking too many chances, she thought to herself. Thomas is becoming far too tempting to remain here. I have to do what I don't want to. I can't risk losing him nor ruining what we have. I can't tell Thomas that I'm in love. How could I possibly face him again once he tells me he can't return my affection?

Excusing herself from them, she went to one of Ryan's bathrooms on the second floor. She locked the door and sent a quick text to one man she knew she could count on to help her.

Barely a minute went by before her phone rang.

"Hey, Drake." She kept her voice low. "I need you to call me in five minutes and ignore how I respond."

"Okay." She could hear the curiosity in his tone. "What am I supposed to be calling about?"

Eyeing the closed door when she heard footsteps go by, she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper.

"That I have to come home immediately." She bit down on her lip over her decision. "It's time to leave Hollywood."

#thomas hunt x oc #the royal romance #choices thomas hunt #choices red carpet diaries #thomas hunt x amanda #thomas hunt #thomas hunt rcd #and then i left you #and then i met you #trr drake #drake walker #choices the stories you play #choices fanfic

15 notes · View notes

noona-clock · 5 years

Text

I Never Knew - Part 4

Genre: WWII!AU

Pairing: Brian (Day6) x You (Female!Reader)

Warning: Mentions of war

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue | Words: 3,296

*gif courtesy of @cramelot

As soon as you swung your legs over the side of your bed the next morning, you knew without one single doubt that your father would ask you about your date last night. And he would want details.

I mean, he was a general in the military, first of all. Of course, he wanted all the information he could get. And he was your father, second of all. You were his only daughter -- his only child!

He had always been a bit overprotective, and it had only intensified once your mother passed away. Now that you made up his entire family world, he felt it was his duty to be there for you as much as he possibly could.

...Well. That’s how he put it. In reality, ‘be there for you’ really meant ‘pry into your life.’

He meant well, though, and you loved him dearly.

But, still. It’s not like you were looking forward to telling him about your date with Brian. Telling him you felt like you’d found your soulmate less than two days after meeting him. There’s no way he would take that even remotely well.

You knew he was downstairs at the kitchen table eating breakfast right now, and if you didn’t join him soon... The only times you didn’t come down to join him for breakfast were when you were sick, and when that happened, he always came to check up on you.

So, either way, you would have to talk to him. And you’d never been able to lie to your father. He was a general, for goodness sake. Not only would he be able to tell you were lying, but he would certainly know how to get the truth out of you eventually.

With a soft but anxious sigh, you stood up and shuffled over to retrieve your robe and slippers.

The second you set foot downstairs you heard your father clear his throat.

That was not a coincidence.

“Good morning, Daddy,” you called out as you made your way down the hallway.

When you appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, your father rose his eyebrows and shot you a grin. “Cupcake!” He sounded like he was surprised to see you -- as if he hadn’t been waiting for you to come downstairs. “Good morning.”

He lifted his mug and took a sip of his coffee as you headed to the fridge for your morning apple. You wondered to yourself how long he could hold out before asking about your date.

And when you slid into the chair across from him just a minute later, you got your answer.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked casually, though you knew he was holding himself back from asking about every single detail.

“I did,” you answered with a smile. “A very good time.”

“And this... Brian, is it? He’s --”

“A perfect gentleman,” you interrupted. And you figured you might as well answer his unasked questions, too. “I know I just met him, but I really like him, Daddy. He’s not like any other guy I’ve ever met, and... I don’t know. It just feels... different.”

For some reason, you expected your father to dismiss your feelings and tell you to be careful. He was a more pragmatic sort of man, so you just imagined he wouldn’t believe in something like “love at first sight.”

But, to your surprise, he set down his coffee cup and gazed across the table at you with a very wistful look in his eyes.

“You sound like me when I met your mother,” he said softly. “I knew from the second I laid eyes on her that she was the woman I would fall in love with. From then on, I never thought about anyone else.”

You slowly set your apple down on the placemat in front of you, your brow furrowing gently as you listened to his words.

“...Really?” you whispered.

He nodded, one corner of his lips tugging into a nostalgic half-smile. “I asked her to marry me after a month, and you came along a year later.”

You’d known your parents hadn’t been married long before your mother got pregnant with you, but you hadn’t known they’d gotten engaged after only a month. Neither of them had ever told you that. Or maybe you had just never asked.

But now you were curious. More than curious.

“How did it feel when you met her?” you asked, resting an elbow on the table and leaning forward slightly in your chair.

“Well,” he sighed. “It felt... like I knew my life had just changed. That’s the easiest way to describe it. I just... knew.”

Your heart skipped a beat inside your chest, and you inhaled shakily before saying, “That’s how I feel. Like I just know I’m going to fall in love with him.”

It felt strange saying that to your father, but his smile actually grew after you told him.

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that,” he said, reaching across and holding out his hand to you. You slid your fingers into his palm, and he grasped them tightly. “The last thing I want is for you to get hurt, but I trust you. I love you. You’re the last piece of your mother I have left, and the only thing I want is for you to be happy.”

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, the lump of emotion forming in your throat making it difficult to say anything.

And then your father’s gaze quickly transformed into one of stern gravity. “But I’m still going to need to meet this young man to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

A breathless chuckle escaped through your nose, and you murmured, “Yes, of course, Daddy.”

He squeezed your hand once more before letting it go and continuing eating his breakfast. You did the same, picking up your apple and crunching into it. And, as you chewed, you couldn’t stop a smile from pulling at your lips. You’d thought your father would think you were crazy or that he wouldn’t believe you and would forbid you from seeing Brian again. You’d been fairly certain he wouldn’t take your news well... but it had been quite the opposite.

You didn’t normally like to be proven wrong, but in this situation, you were more than delighted.

Once your father headed off to work, you went back upstairs to get ready for another day of volunteering at the hospital. You intended to stay much longer today, even if you did see Brian visiting his injured chum. Cat, the head nurse, seemed like someone you wanted to become friends with, and you weren’t going to make a good impression on her if you only volunteered for an hour or so at a time.

So, as you approached the hospital doors about twenty minutes later, you resolved to work hard, long, and distraction-free.

The first person you saw upon opening the door, however, was Cat, who was leaning against the reception desk with a sly smirk on her red lips. And the first thing she said was, “How was your date last night?”

You paused, your head jerking back slightly in surprise. “Uh -- what -- how --”

“I was at the movie theatre,” she told you with a casual half-shrug. “I saw you two, and you looked mighty cozy during that movie.”

Almost instantly, your cheeks began to burn, and they were obviously turning pink because Cat’s smirk became even more sly.

She leaned closer to you, nudging you gently with her elbow and waggling her eyebrows. “How was it, huh? Everything you wanted it to be?”

You let out a breathless chuckle before answering her. “...Everything... and more,” you muttered bashfully.

Cat squealed, much to your embarrassment, and clapped her hands together gleefully. “Oh, I told you I’m a sucker for a good love story!”

And that gave you the perfect segue to change the subject. “Speaking of, didn’t you like the movie?”

Cat let her hands fall to her side, the joy slowly leaving her expression as she shrugged. “It was all right. Cary Grant’s not really my type.”

Unsurprisingly, your brow furrowed deeply and your eyes widened. “Excuse me? He’s not -- what is your type then?!”

Because how could Cary Grant not be someone’s type?!

“He’s too... I don’t want to say masculine, but I don’t know how else to describe it,” she responded. “I like a man I can take care of, not one who wants to take care of me. I’m plenty able to do that myself.”

...Okay, when she put it that way, it made a whole lot more sense. “I’m guessing that’s why you became a nurse,” you pointed out. “So you could take care of people and not the other way around.”

“Precisely,” Cat nodded, her lips curving into a proud grin. “Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ve got some more laundry to fold.”

She turned on her heel, and you began to follow her down the hallway. All this talk of men and types had you curious, though. You weren’t normally one to pry, but... I mean, Cat knew far more about your dating life than anyone else, so you figured it wouldn’t be totally out of line to ask.

“Do you have a boyfriend, then?” you asked. “One whom you can take care of?”

Cat replied with a single, emotionless laugh.

“Let’s just say I’m in-between relationships,” she replied. “Although...”

But then she cut herself off and chuckled out a soft never mind.

“No, what?” you pressed, hoping you weren’t being too rude. “Although...?”

Cat suddenly stopped walking, and you almost ran into her. But before you could apologize, she grasped your wrist and scurried down to the laundry room. She quickly closed the door behind you, her brow furrowed with guilt.

“What?” you asked breathlessly. “What’s going on?”

“It’s... the guy with the broken leg,” she whispered. “I know I shouldn’t be falling for patients, but he’s just really handsome, and he reminds me of a little kitten, and the way he smiles at me gets my heart all in a knot.”

You stared at her for a few moments, absolutely speechless. Cat seemed like the strong, independent, unflappable type of girl who can expertly flirt with a guy and he won’t even know she’s flirting with him. And here she was, wringing her hands nervously and talking about kittens and knotted hearts.

“I --”

“I think he likes me, too,” she continued. “I just -- I don’t know what to do.”

You blinked before you finally found words. “I mean -- I think you should tell him. You said it was the guy with the broken leg?”

Cat nodded.

“Brian’s friend?”

She nodded again.

A smile pulled at your lips, and you took Cat’s hands, holding them reassuringly. “He told me yesterday -- Brian told me that his friend likes you. His exact words were ‘he’s carryin’ a real big torch.’ That you’ve got gumption, and that’s exactly what he likes in a woman. You need to tell him how you feel!”

Cat’s brow furrowed even more, and a hesitant frown curved her red lips. “I don’t know...”

“He just broke his leg, right?” you urged. “He won’t be staying here long. If you really don’t want to confess to him now, just give him hints.”

“But I have!” she replied. “I’ve smiled and let my touches linger and given him chocolate pudding with every meal!”

“Okay... Then... Maybe just tell him you want to go out once he’s no longer a patient?”

Cat pursed her lips at you, releasing her hands from your hold and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the same as confessing.”

You were about to make another suggestion, but Cat’s gasp cut you off.

“I know!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “You -- you can bring him his lunch and talk about me and make it obvious that I’m interested. And then once he’s discharged, he can ask me out.”

You had jumped back a little when she’d said ‘you’ -- her voice had been very insistent, and she’d pointed right at you.

But... it really wasn’t a bad idea.

“I can do that,” you nodded. “Bringing a patient’s meal is definitely something I’ve done as a volunteer. Many times.”

Cat broke out into a smile, and before you knew it, she’d stepped up to you and enveloped you in a hug. “Oh, thank you,” she squealed softly. “This means we’re friends now, and I promise I will return the favor.”

“No sweat,” you chuckled, lifting your arms and squeezing her back. “What’s a favor between friends?”

“All right,” Cat said, pulling back and grinning at you. “Let’s get this laundry done. We should be done just before lunchtime.”

“I’ll make sure we are,” you replied, taking a page from Cat’s book and shooting her a sly wink.

“Lunchtime,” you announced as you approached the hospital bed, carrying a tray of food and hoping your nerves weren’t too obvious.

The patient, whose name you had learned was Wonpil, pushed himself into a seated position, and you couldn’t help but notice he had a very disappointed frown on his lips.

“Where’s Cat?” he asked as you carefully set the tray down on his lap.

“She’s... she’s a little busy right now,” you explained, not meeting his eye so he wouldn’t know you were lying. “I’m a volunteer, so I offered to deliver lunch today.”

Wonpil’s frown immediately disappeared, his brows lifting in surprise. “Oh -- you’re -- Brian’s --”

You felt your cheeks begin to warm, and you continued to avoid Wonpil’s gaze. “Y--yes,” you chuckled. “I guess he told you when he came to visit you yesterday?”

Wonpil nodded quickly, his lips now curved into the sweetest smile. Now you knew why Cat had called him a kitten; he was probably the most adorable guy you’d ever seen.

“I’m Wonpil,” he greeted, holding his hand out toward you.

You took it delicately, shaking it and introducing yourself in turn.

“Thank you for my lunch,” Wonpil grinned. “Even though Cat didn’t bring it, I’m glad I got to meet you.”

“Me too,” you replied with a shy smile. And then you inhaled deeply because this was your chance. You sat on the edge of his bed, smoothing your dress over your lap. “Speaking of Cat, though... Brian told me you... have a thing for her?”

Wonpil had been looking at the food on his tray, but upon hearing your question, his gaze snapped up to meet yours. His lips were now curved down, his forehead wrinkled.

“He told you that?”

“Well... yeah,” you said, laughing softly. “But it’s kind of obvious. You’ve mentioned her twice already.”

“...Oh, yeah.” Wonpil chuckled guiltily and shrugged.

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but... I think you should go for it,” you told him, hoping you sounded as casual as you were trying to. “I think you’re going to be discharged any day now, and in my humble opinion, the first thing you should do once you are is... ask her out.”

“I... should?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded, shooting him an encouraging grin. “She told me she likes --”

You were about to tell him what she’d really told you: she likes guys she can take care of. But the only thing you really knew about Wonpil right now was that he was in the hospital. He didn’t know Cat had told you about him, so you probably shouldn’t mention any of that.

“She told me she likes guys with really adorable smiles,” you finished. “And I think you have a pretty adorable smile.”

That adorable smile of his instantly appeared, his eyes lighting up with hope. “Really? You think I’d really have a chance if I asked her out?”

“I really think so,” you assured him.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

You jumped a little at the sudden interruption, standing up and turning to see Brian -- a smirking Brian -- walking toward Wonpil’s bed. Your heart immediately skipped about five beats, and you pressed your lips together to stop an incredibly giddy smile from forming on your lips.

“Y/N brought me my lunch,” Wonpil answered. “And she told me to ask out the nurse I’ve been falling for.”

Brian’s eyebrows rose, and he shot you a questioning glance. “Oh, did she?”

Wonpil nodded vigorously. “I think I’m going to once I’m discharged.”

Brian held out one hand then, flashing a piece of paper he was holding. “Speaking of, the receptionist gave me these.”

“What are those?” Wonpil inquired curiously.

“Your discharge papers! You can leave once you finish your lunch,” Brian grinned.

Wonpil’s eyes widened, and he froze for a moment... but then he quickly picked up the sandwich on his tray and stuffed it into his mouth.

Brian chuckled, shaking his head a little before taking a step closer to you.

Your heart began to beat double-time, and the corners of your lips tugged up into a soft smile.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly.

“Hi,” you replied. “How are you?”

“I’m great, though I’m doing even better now.”

Your heart jumped a little, and you let out an almost silent giggle.

Brian’s expression then turned a bit more serious, and he knit his eyebrows together before he asked, “Hey, while he’s stuffin’ his face over there... can I talk to you?”

His urgent tone was pretty obvious, and it made your stomach drop down to your feet. He had just told you he was doing even better now that he was in your presence, so it couldn’t be anything bad... right? But why did he sound so grave?

You simply nodded, and Brian reached out to gently grasp your elbow. He led you to the next bed over, tugging at the curtain so you could have a bit of privacy.

“Listen,” he started, making your stomach even more fluttery. “There’re rumors goin’ around that... we’ll be shipping out sometime soon. I don’t know if it’s true, and if it is, I don’t know when... I just... “

His gaze pierced into yours, and you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath -- but you most definitely were.

“I want to spend as much time as I can with you before that happens.”

You let out that breath, exhaling with relief. Although, you weren’t really relieved that he was probably going to be leaving soon... but you weren’t going to think too much about that right now.

“Okay,” you whispered, tipping your head into a tiny nod. “Yes. Me too.”

Brian broke out into a smile, and he leaned in to press his lips to your cheek. He lingered there, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin. You felt his eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone, and it sent a delicious chill down your spine.

“I gotta help Wonpil get back to base, and then I have some work to do... but how about dinner again tonight?”

You nodded again, but then a thought popped into your head. “I -- I’m sure my dad won’t mind.”

Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind.

Brian froze for just a moment, a flash of panic darting through his gaze. “...Oh. I... didn’t really think about that.”

Another thought popped into your head. It might have been a crazy one, but you voiced it, anyway.

“Why don’t you come over to my house instead?” you asked, your eyebrows lifting with expectation and curiosity.

Brian froze yet again.

“...Go... to your house? And... have dinner. With you. And your father. The... new general?”

He gulped anxiously.

Part 5

168 notes · View notes

shaynawrites23 · 4 years

Text

Safe

Pairing: Cary Agos x reader

Word count: 2335 (wow, my longest fic so far)

Warnings: The Good Wife season 6 spoilers, maybe a little angst if you squint, mentions of prison

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clock chimed eleven, the tolling the only sound permeating your apartment. It echoed softly through the rooms, giving the place an almost abandoned, ghostly feel. It wasn't abandoned, though; you sat in the large double bed, head leaning against the wall as you waited.

You checked your phone again with a sigh, hoping for a message, a missed call, anything. But your lock screen just stared back at you, empty.

It wasn't unlike Cary to work late nights. However, what was unlike him was not telling you. Maybe he forgot? No, he wouldn't...

You found yourself dialing his number before you could stop yourself. There was no way he'd be too busy to talk. No one would take depositions or anything at this hour.

"Cary Agos. If you're hearing this, I'm probably in court. Leave a message and I will call you back."

Voicemail.

Cary was a grown man, he could take care of himself, but... you had the sneaking suspicion something was wrong. You debated with yourself for a couple minutes before deciding to try and figure it out. So, you called Alicia.

"No, his car's still here," she said. "That's unusual. He said he was heading home and we haven't seen him. I can ask Robyn to help if you want."

Against your better judgement, you agreed. "Yeah. Thanks, Alicia."

"Anytime." She hung up and seconds later, Robyn called.

You agreed to meet at your apartment to try and figure it out, so you quickly got dressed again while she made her way over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon finding no trace of your boyfriend besides his car, the two of you headed to the local police station as a last resort. You were getting increasingly worried about him. You knew about his clients, especially Lemond Bishop. Hard not to, being a Lockhart-Gardner partner. But you couldn't help but fear for his life, as the drug dealer had a dangerous reputation.

Robyn tried to reassure you. Despite it not working, you appreciated her efforts and you told her so.

The young investigator went in ahead of you as you opted to wait outside so you could calm your nerves. She came back shortly afterwards.

"He's been arrested," she told you.

"What?" You could not be more incredulous. Cary was a good person, he had never had any brushes with the law and as a lawyer, he knew how to keep himself out of trouble.

"Cary got arrested. They say he helped Bishop transport drugs."

"Oh my god. Where is he? Is he here?" You wanted to see him, to hear his side of the whole affair. She nodded.

"Do you wanna see him?"

"Yeah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robyn, the loyal friend she was, stuck by your side as you argued with the officer for the right to see your boyfriend. You were becoming increasingly impatient with him.

You finally threatened to call Alicia or sue him and he relented, leading you over to a bench where Cary sat, slumped against the wall while handcuffed to another man. The disheveled-looking man you didn't recognize, probably some troublemaker, noticed you walking over to them. He raised his finger to his lips in a shushing motion as he pointed with his free hand to a sleeping Cary.

"I'm his girlfriend." You gave him a tight-lipped smile but otherwise ignored him, crouching in front of Cary and shaking him gently. "Cary, hey, Cary."

He stirred awake, blinking a few times before remembering where he was. "(Y/N)?" he groaned, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah, it's me. What happened?"

He glanced at the officer, who rolled his eyes but gave you some privacy anyway.

"I have no idea, but they think I told Bishop how to avoid getting caught transporting heroin. 1.3 million in heroin."

"Oh my god. But you're innocent, right?"

"Yes, of course!" His eyes twinkled but you knew it was a serious matter. "I wanted to tell you, but they wouldn't let me call you."

"Don't worry about it, Cary. Robyn says they're gonna take you away anytime now, so is there anything I can do for you?"

He reflected on your question for a moment. "Call Alicia. I'm gonna need a lawyer and she needs to know what happened."

"Okay." You mentally took note of that. "Anything else?"

"A kiss would help." He grinned at you and despite your heart fluttering in your chest, you rolled your eyes playfully. At least he was okay. Always like Cary to make the best of any situation.

Robyn and the other arrestee averted their eyes as you pressed your lips to Cary's, his hand caressing your face as yours wrapped around his neck.

"Feel better?" You whispered when you pulled away. His eyes were still closed, as if trying to memorize the way your touch felt against his skin.

"Much," he murmured. "Thank you, (Y/N)."

"Don't thank me, Cary. I'm your girlfriend, and I'd do anything for you."

"So would I." He leaned in for another kiss, but Robyn cleared her throat.

"Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I think the officer's getting impatient."

True enough, the officer stood a few feet away tapping his foot, and so you let go of your boyfriend.

"We'll figure a way out of this, Cary."

He nodded. "Will you visit me?" God, he sounded so vulnerable, your heart nearly broke. He was usually so confident and sure of himself, you were surprised to hear him speak like this.

"Of course I will."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alicia was as shocked as you were to hear about Cary's recent 'adventures,' and she immediately attempted to schedule a bond hearing. You told Diane as well, as she was not only your partner, but also your friend and confidante.

The day you'd hear how much his bail would be soon came, and naturally Alicia volunteered to represent him, being his partner and all. You wanted to stand by her to help defend Cary, but you didn't, in order to avoid any 'conflict of interest' protests.

You did sit in to watch the court proceedings, though, and you arrived together with Alicia. Then the ASA turned slightly and you caught a glimpse of his face. That was the shock of your life.

The prosecutor was none other than Finn Polmar.

"Oh dear lord," Alicia muttered under her breath and you knew she was thinking the same thing you were.

"Good luck," you called and she smiled.

"We'll take him down."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1.3 million. 1.3 million. That was how much Cary's bail was. Why? No matter what Polmar might insist upon, he was not a flight risk.

The whole injustice made you bristle angrily and you wanted more than anything to give the ASA a piece of your mind. However, you knew that would be unwise and so you decided against it.

"We'll pay it," Alicia announced. "We can put together that much. Cary would do the same for us."

"Alicia, you have two kids. You can't afford-"

"I can take out a second mortgage on my apartment." She looked so decisive, and for a moment, you pitied her. She wanted to help so badly, she was capable of destroying her life.

"No. Keep your money, Alicia, you're helping us so much already in court. My parents are well off, my family can spare that money. I'll handle the bail, you can focus on court."

"Okay." She smiled before turning on her heel and entering her office.

You took a deep breath and headed to your car. Time to convince your parents to spend 1.3 million dollars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"1.3 million dollars? Why on earth would you possibly need that much?" Wow, to say your mother was surprised would be the understatement of the year.

"Long story, mom."

"Well your dad and I have time to hear it." You heard a confirming noise in the background, indicating you were on speaker, and your dad could hear your explanation as well. At least it would save you time.

"Okay. Do you remember Cary Agos?"

"The lawyer who just got arrested? First time I've heard of him," your dad replied.

"Yeah, that lawyer. He's also my boyfriend. I brought him to dinner once, remember?"

"Oh! That's your Cary?" Your mom exclaimed and you resisted the urge to facepalm.

"Yes. He's innocent; they only arrested him because they're after one of his firm's clients. Alicia Florrick is handling his case, but they can't pay his bail without getting the firm in financial difficulties. Cary's bail is set at 1.3 million, that's why I asked for it."

"(Y/N), that's still a lot of money, you know. Are you sure he's innocent?"

"Yes, dad," you groaned. "First of all, I know Cary. He would never do this. Secondly, I trust him with my life. If he says he's innocent, I believe him. I have no reason not to believe him unless someone gives me one."

"Okay. He's a nice kid, we'll help you guys out."

"Thanks, dad." You were certain they could hear your smile. "Thanks. It means a lot."

"No problem. Now go get your boy out of jail."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God, how you hated Finn Polmar's guts sometimes. Well, maybe that was a bit strongly worded. He was a nice guy, he was just annoying the hell out of you right now.

What did he do? Simple.

First he had Alicia removed from the case after painting a picture of a supposed 'conflict of interest' due to their representation of Lemond Bishop. Okay, no big deal. You were a lawyer, so you knew plenty of other attorneys who could take over. So you asked Diane Lockhart to step in.

You then had Diane hand the check to the judge, the check of 1.3 million. Polmar, clearly not prepared for that, then proceeded to ask for a source of funds hearing.

And on top of that, the judge granted his request.

At least it was to take place that afternoon, so Cary wouldn't have to wait much longer. Still, while you had seen him the past few weeks, the frustration of not being able to touch him, of not being able to run a hand through his hair or trail your fingers down his arm, was really getting to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Diane fought tooth and nail for the acceptance of the check, outlining your background and your parents' status in front of the court, repeatedly mentioning in between arguments that it wasn't your money, but your parents' money, and could therefore not come from illegal activities.

You held your breath, making eye contact with your boyfriend as you both waited in suspense for the judge's ruling.

"Okay. Given the source of this check, I will hereby accept it as payment for Mr. Agos's bail." He banged his gavel and you jumped up, embracing Diane over the short wall separating spectators from lawyers.

"Thank you, Diane."

"What are friends for?" She pulled away, smiling in that triumphant way she always did when she had a good day in court. "Now, go see him. I need to prepare for preliminary."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He looked good for a supposed felon. You found him leaning against the doorframe, waiting for you. He got his suit back, and was now wearing it without the tie. A light stubble graced his face, and if you hadn't known, you wouldn't have been able to guess he just came from three weeks in prison.

"God, I missed you," he breathed in your ear as you embraced him, holding him as tightly as you could.

"I missed you too. So much."

He pulled away slightly only to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, stealing your breath in the way only he knew how.

Your knees almost buckled when he deepened the kiss, but he supported you with one arm on your waist.

You separated for air a few moments later, a dazzling smile painted on Cary's face and you were sure you mirrored his expression.

"Come on, baby. Let's go home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That didn't mean the fight was over. You won one battle, not the war.

You helped Diane build her case by feeding her information about your and Cary's dealings with Bishop. You were now part of Lockhart, Florrick and Agos as well, which made it easier for you to work with Diane as it was a smaller and more closely-knit firm.

In the meantime, Cary was re-adjusting to office life, especially with so many extra lawyers. However, you were both optimistic about his chances.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You went to court with him the day of his preliminary hearing. Everything in you was hoping, wishing, praying for a dismissal. If Cary were sentenced to prison, you weren't sure if you could survive. You needed him; you loved him more than life itself.

You knew he was nervous too. Hard not to be, when facing fifteen years in prison. But Diane was a great lawyer, and you knew she'd do everything in her power to fight it.

You tuned out most of the hearing, focused only on Cary. You watched his expressions throughout the whole thing and you wished deeply that you were the one on trial, not him. He didn't deserve any of it. Quite on the contrary, in your eyes the boy deserved the world.

Only when the judge was about to rule did you force yourself to pay attention again. He seemed to be deep in thought, and you prayed to whatever deity might be listening that he'd dismiss any charges against him.

"In light of the circumstances and insufficient evidence to prosecute, I hereby dismiss any and all charges against Mr. Agos."

Everyone at the defense table cheered, and so did you. Cary embraced Diane before turning to you and doing the same to you.

Everyone filed out of the courtroom after that, and you waited until you were out in the hallway before kissing him, your body pressed tightly against his. He was free, a free man and now, you could fully relax. He was safe.

I wrote this as a way to emotionally cope with what happened to Cary end of season 5 and beginning of season 6. I know there’s not a lot of activity in the fandom and that there’s not really any fanfiction written about the show, but hey, there’s gotta be a first for everything, right?

I’m still trying to get the hang of Cary’s character, so I hope it sounds like him. I’ll probably write a few more Cary pieces over the next few weeks.

#cary agos x reader #cary x reader #cary agos #the good wife #tgw #cary fluff #reader insert

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adamwatchesmovies · 3 years

Text

Comic Book Villains (2002)

Comic Book Villains is a decent dark comedy. It’s consistently amusing without being gut-bustingly hilarious, the premise is good, and - for a change - it even makes enjoyed DJ Qualls enjoyable.

When old Mrs. Cresswell (Eileen Brennan) suddenly inherits an extensive and priceless comic book collection due to her son’s untimely death, news travels to two rival comic book owners. Raymond (Donal Logue) is in the business for the love of the characters and books, while Norman and Judy Link (Michael Rapaport and Natasha Lyonne) are in it only for the money. When a shady character named Carter (Cary Elwes) gets thrown in the mix, all Archie (DJ Qualls) can do is try to prevent it all from blowing up.

The two comic book stores constantly attempting to one-up each other in order to gain the favor of an old lady who doesn’t realize she is in the possession of a priceless collection is a premise that will instantly appeal to anyone who collects anything. We've all dreamed of stumbling upon the legendary motherlode. It's what you hope for every time you visit a flea market or garage sale. What if you actually found that treasure whose owner had no idea what they had? How far would you go to get it? What happens when someone else tries to snatch it from under your nose? Helping make this fun is writer/director James Robinson, who clearly knows his comic books. There are numerous, accurate references not everyone will catch.

You get a fair amount of laughs and the ending offers tension as the rivalry starts to get really out of hand. My only issue here is that the plot misses an opportunity to talk about comic books as something you enjoy for reasons other than money. The collection is a gold mine, not a rare piece of art. There’s nothing about the artwork or the emotional connection you might have to the stories.

Although Comic Book Villains can get to a point that's a bit excessively dark, I recommend it. This is not the kind of movie that you will easily find, or that will earn itself a fancy release anytime soon, but if you happen upon it, then yeah, go ahead. There are enough enjoyable moments in its 92 minute running time to make it worth your while. (On DVD, October 9, 2015)

#ComicBookVillains #movies #films #MovieReviews #FilmReviews #JamesRobinson #DonalLogue #CaryElwes #MichaelRapaport #NatashaLyonne #2002movies #2002films

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rosalinesmind · 4 years

Audio

MY THEORY ABOUT PRINCE HUMPERDINCK, WESTLEY, AND THE DREAD PIRATE CUMMERBUND. Okay. Bear with me. This is gonna go down like a really weird hole and some of it may be a stretch, but I just started thinking about it in the shower. And I wanted to tell you guys about it. Um, I have a theory that in the “Princess Bride” Humperdinck is actually gay and this has been all over “Archive Of Our Own” and, you know, he flirts with, um, Tyrone (6 fingered man, i.e. Count Rugen) and it would just explain so much about his character, just why he hates Westley, why he seems so disinterested in Buttercup. And, um, so I started thinking more and more about it, and I love how pieces in his story kind of connect together. So I thought about when Humperdinck is torturing Westley and he says, um, “You truly love one another. So you might've been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the story books say” And it got me thinking, why would he say that? Why, why would someone who you would think would be incapable of love, kind of have that pessimism and kind of have that, um, just dark outlook on life. And I, my theory is that, um, Humperdinck knew he was gay from a very young age and, um, it's not like it was, you know, unknown in the kingdom and it wasn't, um, kind of ostracized or anything. It was just kind of accepted. So when he was growing up, my theory is that he, um, as teen or as a, as a young adult, like a new adult had, um, someone he fell in love with, and this somehow created this great sense of betrayal where this true love feeling that they emphasize all throughout the movie was just ripped from him. So how would that happen? Why, why would true love be ripped from him? And I had a couple of theories about that. Um, and, but I'll get to that. So Humperdinck has someone he is really, really madly in love with, and he is all set to be happy. Um, his parents know that he's gay, um, and he's gonna tell them like, he's going to have to abdicate his position so he can be with this person that he really loves. And then his person decides to go, has to go somewhere, to Florin, has to cross the sea somewhere on a ship. And his ship is attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. News of this somehow reaches Humperdinck and he knows that the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners. So he always assumes that his true love is, is dead. And it just, he feels so, so crushed. And so bitter that he had this love that kind of was ripped away from him, similar to how Buttercup reacts when she believes that Westley is dead. And it just sends Humperdinck into a, uh, just a spiral, a spiral of depression, and then his, his person that he loves, um, isn't actually killed of course, by the Dread Pirate Roberts.

Since I had a couple of theories, either this person became part of the crew on the new ship, or this person is the Dread Pirate Cummerbund because when Westley is explaining to Buttercup how he became the Dread Pirate Roberts, he says, um, “I'm not really Roberts. My name is Ryan. I inherited the ship from another Dread Pirate Roberts. His name was Cummerbund and he inherited it beforehand and so on and so forth.” So either Humperdinck’s true love because c'mon, “Humperdinck...Cummerbund” is just too fucking perfect. He, um, either became the Dread Pirate Roberts and, um, uh, Humperdinck never heard from him again, or Humperdinck somehow, you know, got wind that Cummerbund still alive and then just decided to become a pirate instead, and just Humperdinck kind of exposed a part of himself that was so new to him. And so, so vulnerable. And he thought it was, you know, true love because you're young. And when he either found out it wasn't reciprocated or when Cummerbund kind of betrayed him or just kind of went off and did his own thing, that's when, um, one of two things happened.

First thing is Humperdinck tried to go it on his own for awhile, but his, all these emotions that were inside him just became so mixed up and he kind of fed on the rage and the torture that you kind of see in him now as an adult. And so he kind of resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to find anyone else and that he was going to have to fulfill his duties as a Prince and so he kind of just resigned himself over to that part. And so he's like, well, fuck it. You know, true love doesn't exist. Um, but I think he had a moment of weakness. And so he went to Miracle Max and he said to Miracle Max, you know, either I need to, to, to kill this feeling inside of me, I need that. Or he said, I want to be able to feel the way I felt again, I need you to create the magic pill that I can give to someone else. Um, either someone he was really in love with who was kind of ambivalent towards him and just say, I need you to make this person fall in love with me basically. And Miracle Max being a man of principle refused because he says, you know, it's not, I can't make someone feel this way. Humperdinck was so enraged that he fired Miracle Max. You never find out why he fired him in the movie. That's why he was fired. And Humperdinck kind of spun a tale and of course, made it be about something else, but he made it sound like in such a way that Miracle Max was ostracized in the entire kingdom and Humperdinck’s such a man of great persona and charisma. He was able to convince the whole kingdom that Miracle Max had done something, you know, erroneous and awful and he had done something incredibly terrible. So he was kind of banished from the community. And that's why Miracle Max is so bitter. Um, and, and so he kind of went on about his princely duties and when he met Buttercup, he was just like, Oh great. You know, this is someone that I can use and manipulate who seems very sweet. And he finds out that not only is she in love and true love with Westley, but that Westley is, is the Dread Pirate Roberts. And this reminds him so much of just the ultimate betrayal that he felt with Cummerbund, that when he meets Westley and tortures him.

Oh, by the way. So one of his hobbies after he fires Miracle Max is, um, I pretty sure they have an illicit relationship, but Count Rugen is very much into Humperdinck and Humperdinck is not, but he likes the idea of having power or someone and Rugen seems, you know, sweet enough. And so Rugen is the one that introduces Humperdinck to this whole idea of like BDSM, all that stuff you see on “Archive Of Our Own” torture, just pain and Humperdinck knows what it was like to feel pain from the way Cummerbund made him feel. And he never wants to feel that way again. So he allows Rugen to kind of experiment and kind of push his boundaries to see, um, how to inflict pain on someone else. And it fills him with the sense of just power and control that he will not relinquish. So that's why you kind of see of Rugen and Humperdinck going down into this secret dungeon basically because Humperdinck still kind of lives a closeted existence. I mean, I would have mentioned his parents know that he's gay and they're very accepting, but it's just like, you know, they see Humperdinck is kind of like, you know, their son who is very whimsical, very fancy and they kind of just let him get away with stuff, which is why they're so passive when it comes to Buttercup, they're wholly innocent. So, so now Humperdinck is into torture. And so when he kind of gets Westley at the bottom, he's like, here's this guy who not only is going to fuck up my plans that I made to start a war. He has something that I can never have.

And the third prong in this theory, my dear children is that he (Westley) represents the barb or the sting that has been in Humperdinck’s side his entire life. Here's the Dread Pirate Roberts here is basically Cummerbund reincarnated. It only works if the time between Dread Pirate Roberts’ is maybe like five to 10 years. Um, cause I don't know how old, um, Cary Elwes is in that movie, but I know Westley's supposed to be very young, like 23 or something. And then Humperdinck kind of looks like he's in his late thirties, early forties. So the timeline only kind of works if there is about five years or so between each Dread Pirate Roberts so by the time Humperdinck is a teenager like 19 and Cummerbund goes, fucks off, and becomes Dread Pirate Roberts, um, in between Cummerbund and Westley let's say like 15 years passed. So Humperdinck is like, I would say between 19 and 25. And if you add that up, he'll be like 34 or closer to 40. So that's the only way that the timeline could work. Um, in that sense.

So my whole point with this is that when Humperdinck has Westley on the wheel, he says, “You truly love one another. So you might've been truly happy, but not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the story books say. And I think that no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will”. Because Westley in this, in this position or in this situation represents Cummerbund because Cummerbund is no longer around and Humperdinck can put all his anger and his frustration and his betrayal and pent up feelings on Westley. And at the end, when he's confronting him in the bedroom, he says, “I killed you too quickly last time, a mistake I don't mean to duplicate.” And I think in some way, Humperdinck loves Westley or at least is attracted to him or something because he, that would explain a lot about why he just, the way he looks at him and the way he just tortures him is like, it's very personal. It's like he hasn't been vendetta against Westley. It's not only to destroy the true love that Westley and Buttercup have because Humperdinck is super jealous and he wishes that he could have that. But it's also because Westley kind of represents, you know, the gay pirate that got away and Humperdinck, you know, instead of growing up or being mature and just basically finding someone else to love, just does everything wrong with the rest of his life. He tries to control people. He tries to manipulate them. He tries to do all these things that he's kind of forgotten since he was a teenager when he fell in love with, Cummerbund. So that is the a story of Humperdinck and Wesley and Cummerbund and how all of this is interconnected. And that is my theory. Let me know what you guys think. I didn't want to write it down. Maybe I will. Um, okay. Bye.

#princess bride #Prince Humperdinck #conspiracy theory #Dread Pirate Cummerbund

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evengayerpanic · 4 years

Text

Beyond the Hollows [Week 5]

Read Another Part: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five]

_________________

It isn’t quite a surprise that Rica acts first, flying out of the room at the scream with Sae close behind her. Sae is so overwhelmed at this point that she can’t handle being the first one into action. Not again.

They move nearly as one though, the raven-haired woman just a few steps in front of Sae as they take the staircase, the handrail practically being used as a vault to jump around the last few steps as they touch down on the landing and step into chaos.

Sae isn’t sure what she expected least.

The zombie; an older man, dragging the bottom half of his body along the ground towards Cari, his hand wrapped tightly around the little girl’s ankle as she screams and frantically tries to kick him off of her.

Or... Rica freezing in place the moment she sees who it is, unable to move any further, Sae running into her as she becomes the barrier between Sae and Cari.

With the adrenaline of the days events, Sae propels herself forward, passing the stunned Rica as the blonde flings herself towards Cari, grabbing a hold of her arms and trying to haul her backwards away from the monster who’s using her leg to pull forward.

It doesn’t work.

The man has too solid of a grip on her, and as Sae hauls Cari backwards, he comes with them, his mouth opening to try and take a bite out of Cari.

Cari screams once more, Sae panics and her own foot comes out to swing at him, kicking him in the jaw as hard as she can before he can take his intended bite.

“Help!” Sae shrieks at Rica, her plea falling on deaf ears as the woman seems like she’s in shock. “Cari, keep kicking!” She turns instead to the child who despite being in a frenzy, is able to follow directions.

The little girl uses her foot to keep trying to kick the man off of her, but he’s relentless and won’t let go. Even with the force of Sae’s own kick having knocked a few of his teeth out, his grip stands tight on her.

Sae goes to kick him again, aiming for the arm that’s holding onto Cari, but as she hits him, Cari lets out a scream of pain as he rips her leg closer to him, the impact of the kick making him recoil but not let go.

“Hold on!” Sae yells again, getting back to her feet and running for the kitchen. She can hear Cari scream for her not to leave, but she knows she’s got to do something, and fast if Cari is going to stand a chance.

She spots a knife block, the first knife she goes for happens to be a large chef’s knife. It’s perfect.

Wielding it like the weapon it absolutely is, she rushes back into the hall, where Cari is still kicking the man off of her, he’s closer to her than before, and Sae knows she has to act quickly or risk it all.

With a primal and animalistic scream of rage, Sae races at the man, knife outstretched at the ready.

It’s over so quickly that Sae’s heart is racing ten miles an hour, blood pumping so hard she can hear it.

She reaches the man, grabbing him by the back of the neck and lifting his head up and away from Cari.

With her other hand she plunges the chef knife into the top of his head, straight down the middle. He gurgles, then goes limp. The upper half of his body hits the floor and his hand drops it’s hold on Cari’s leg.

It isn’t quite over yet, Sae immediately turns to Cari and barks at her, voice unintentionally loud and harsh. “Are you hurt? Did you get bit?!” She demands, pushing away from the man and immediately checking Cari’s legs for bites or scratches as the child shakes her head wildly. “Are you bit?!” She yells.

“N-no!” The little girl cries out, bursting into tears.

Sae takes a shaky breath of relief, before she turns from Cari and violently upends the contents of her stomach, horror overtaking her as she takes in the reality of what just happened to them.

She heaves, choking on her own spit and shudders in the realization. “I just... killed someone.” She shakes.

Sae curls up into a ball, scooting backwards away from the body and her own bile until she’s in the living room, and then she breaks down.

The events of the day finally hit her, and Sae begins to sob. Only pausing as Cari piles into her arms, and she wraps herself around the little girl, and starts sobbing again. The adrenaline leaves her and exhaust takes over, as the events swarm her mind.

Kate. Luka. Curtis. Martin... Taking a life.

It’s all real. This new horrifying life isn’t a nightmare. It’s all real, and Sae... Sae wants out of it now.

She stills, body wrapped tightly around the little girl. Sae holds the trembling child close to her, trying to reassure both herself and Cari that the latter is fine, she’s okay, she’s not been hurt. She won’t change.

Glancing at the body on the floor, blood pooling from his wound, Sae looks at Rica still frozen. “Was that...?” She asks, but she already knows the answer.

“Harold.” Rica confirms softly, breaking her stupor.

As the older woman looks to the girls and finally seems to recognize what has happened, she rushes into the living room, snatching a blanket off of the couch and turns back to drape it over the dead man.

“I don’t understand.” Rica’s words fall on deaf ears, Sae instead focused at the pictures adorning the walls.

Harold and his wife on a vacation.

Harold and his wife in their backyard.

Harold holding what looks to be a grandchild.

Sae killed a man; a father, a husband, a grandfather... She killed someone. Instead of just running away like before, finding other ways around. Sae killed a man.

Sure he was a zombie... But, he wasn’t always.

“I should have looked harder for him, I shouldn’t have left... He had to have been still alive, otherwise how would he have found his way home...” Rica is rambling, but Sae honestly only catches parts of it, instead her mind wanders to the what if’s.

What if she had been too late?

What if she hadn’t been able to kill him?

What if Cari had been bitten?

“I’ll check the storm cellar, that has to be where he got in.” That’s the part Sae picks up on and she nods her head silently as Rica rushes down the basement steps that the man had emerged from.

She continues to hold Cari, to comfort the both of them that the worst didn’t just happen, that the little girl is okay and safe. It’s weird to Sae that in just a few short hours, her priorities have changed so wildly.

_________________

Rica secures the storm cellar, locking the doors to the outside and throwing some furniture in front of them just to be extra cautious of their situation.

She locks the door between the basement and the main level as well, locking away the storm cellar on the off chance that anything can break through. It provides little comfort considering what they’ve already gone through in just a few hours.

The three girls decide to hunker down for the night.

By the time all the dramatics are over with, it isn’t late into the day, maybe two or three in the afternoon. Though it has felt so much longer than that... They could leave, there is still hours of daylight left, but at the risk of not finding somewhere else safe before night fall, it’s just easier, and safer, to stay put.

Sae and Rica go around securing the doors and windows. Being snuck up on is not a mistake they are willing to make twice, especially not with how disastrous the last time could have been. With that in mind, they barricade the weak spots and choose emergency exits where they keep the bulk of their supplies should they leave at a moments notice.

(They add a fanny pack of first aid supplies to their stockpile, beside Cari’s small backpack of snacks, and even manage to find a dusty set of golf clubs as Rica secured the basement. It’s not much, but it’s a weapon a lot heavier than a chair leg and more versatile than a kitchen knife.)

The two older women work as a team, trading off jobs until the house is as secure as it could possibly be. Cari doesn’t leave their side often, straying only a few feet to grab something should they ask, or to move out of the way as they’re lifting the heavier pieces of furniture to place in front of doors and first-floor windows that can be reached from the ground.

It’s silent for the longest time. The three girls are so focused on their task to even think let alone speak.

Eventually though, the oldest of the three breaks the silence. “I’m sorry that I froze back there.” She whispers, just loud enough for Sae to hear as they’re sliding an oak cabinet in front of the back door.

“It’s okay.” Sae lies to the both of them, like she didn’t only just stop trembling barely half an hour ago.

“No, it’s not.” Rica corrects her, knowing a little too much. “You both could have died back there... I just, I never expected I would see Harold like that... I’ve been his PSW for the past four years and... and-”

“I get it.” Sae interrupts, looking at Rica, this time not lying. “When I saw Kate like that? I froze too.”

The girls go silent again, reality settling in for both of them and keeping them alarmingly quiet until a soft grumble breaks through the quiet.

“You guys haven’t eaten today, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but still Sae feels the need to answer it regardless.

“We had some snacks on the road...” She realizes how ridiculous that sounds and clarifies. “While we were walking here from the resort, we had some kids school snacks out of Cari’s bag.”

“Well, we should probably eat.” Rica shrugs.

And so they do, Rica making something out of the food in the cupboards of Harold and Margaret’s kitchen. It’s only a basic meal, but it fills Sae and Cari, and loosens their tongue a little after the incident.

_________________

It isn’t until much later though, that Sae feels comfortable enough to speak freely once more.

The rest of the night is awkward and uncomfortable, they can’t risk putting the television on (flashing lights are an indication someone is home), and the radio seems to be nothing but static. There are books, but nothing meant for a child, and so they spend their evening trying to tell Cari stories or jokes, anything to distract her from what’s going on.

When it’s just past nine they decide that tomorrow is a new day, and they can retire for the night to try and shake off some of the horror of the day’s events.

They lock themselves in an upstairs bedroom, not the master suite but instead they settle in the guest one (where Rica had slept the night prior).

They have their bags packed at the window just to be on the safe side, their makeshift weapons leaning on the wall just beside. Cari has just been put down, the child passing out the moment her head hit the pillow.

Sae is sat on the bed as well, just beside Cari, stroking the young girl’s hair as she looks at Rica with a solemn look. They’ve decided to take the night in shifts, one person always up to ensure they won’t be snuck up on, even with plenty of noisy traps downstairs.

Sae isn’t tired though, not yet, and so she chooses instead to stare at Rica, and be stared back at.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Sae breaks the silence first, looking down at the sleeping child and then back at Rica. “I didn’t think this could happen.”

Rica laughs bitterly. “None of us did.”

The blonde closes her eyes, blinking back tears for what seems like the millionth time that day. “I just wanted a nice vacation to come out to my sister... The worst thing I thought would happen is that she’d be upset.... But this? This is much worse.”

Rica shakes her head. “I don’t know.” She can’t hide the smallest smirk. “The way my Mother reacted when I told her *I* liked girls was pretty apocalyptic.”

Sae glances back at her, cracking an eye open and narrowing it at the older woman. “That isn’t funny.”

A beat passes.

“Okay.” Sae can’t hold back her own small smirk. “You’ve got to tell me now, how did she react?”

Rica lets out a quiet laugh, not wanting to wake Cari up. “Fire and brimstone.” She explains, the memory nothing more than a footnote in her history as an adult. “You would have thought I was taking candy from orphans and kicking puppies.”

Sae smiles to herself at the ridiculousness that she’s picturing. “Just how long ago was this?”

“Ten years.”

“And she’s good with it now?”

Rica stills, then shakes her head. “Haven’t spoke to her since. She kicked me out of the house, and I had to live with my girlfriend at the time’s parents until I was done highschool.”

Sae goes quiet again, smile gone. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, she made her choice and so did I. It’s done.”

“Maybe we deserved this? Maybe it’s god’s way of telling humanity that we’re really the monsters?”

Sae wants to take the words back immediately.

Kate was not a monster - she was good and kindhearted and sweet. Cari’s father didn’t appear to be a monster either, just a man full of love for his only child. Neither one of them deserved what had happened to them. She can’t imagine that Harold or his wife, who seemingly treated Rica like one of their own family, had deserved this either.

She can’t find the words to explain what she meant though, and Rica seems to understand that, so the dark-haired girl just gives her a look, shakes her head and says softly. “You should sleep for now, your shift is in only a couple of hours.”

And that’s what Sae does. Shifting a little so that she’s cradling Cari in her arms, the young blonde lays her head against the pillow and tries to fall into an uneasy sleep.

_________________

It’s ten to two when Sae jolts awake, the room is dark and she’s about to call out for Rica when a whisper in her ear stops her before she can open her mouth.

“Shhh, be quiet.” She wants to be scared, but she recognizes the voice, it is Rica.

“What’s going on?” She asks, before the sound reaches her ears. It’s a siren, shrill and blaring, just outside of the window of the room they are in.

It rings for about thirty seconds, then stops for another thirty, only to continue ringing in that on and off pattern. Sae immediately knows what woke her.

“Where is that coming from?” Sae hisses, looking down at Cari who’s stirring just slightly over the noise.

“One of the neighbours, come.” Rica helps Sae out of bed, making sure that they don’t disturb Cari and the two make their way to the window.

Sae sees it, a car from the house across the street, she knows its that car because of the way that the lights will flash as it blares, only to turn off in the thirty seconds that it stalls, and then it flashes again.

“How did that turn on?” Sae asks, concern filling her.

“I have no idea.” Rica looks around the dark street below, heart racing as she tries to make out what the situation is. “Something must have bumped it, that’s not important though...”

Sae looks at her quizzically.

“What’s important is that we get it to stop.”

This time the confusion turns into bewilderment at the older woman. “Just how are we going to do that?”

Rica weighs the options in her head for a moment, seemingly working something out before opening her mouth for a plan that Sae immediately gets a gut feeling is nowhere near a good one.

“I’m going to go across the street and turn it off.”

#Beyond the Hollows #original content #original story #zombie saga #zombies #lesbian #lesbians #queer women #queer zombie saga #an Even Gayer Panic original #original series #tw: zombies #tw: gore #tw: death #original zombie story #zombie story

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lailannajacobs · 4 years

Text

Empire of Angels | Part One

Pairing: Bucky x ofc!Amelie Novak

Summary: Amelie Novak moved from New York to Boston to escape a shitty ex and to get a killer story. She just didn’t realize she’d meant that literally.

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Technically this part has already been published under a different name, but it’s been seriously editied and changed with parts added so it’s quite different? Anyways, I’d love to know what you think! <3

Empire of Angels | Part One

“I need someone to go after ex-sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. You ever heard of him, Novak?”

Amelie nodded, but her boss Cary, kept going as if she hadn’t. Typical. It wasn’t like he took her any more seriously than an intern.

“He’s ex-military. Defected five years ago and has been working as a hitman ever since. I’m sure you must have heard of him. If the cops are right, then he’s to blame for over a dozen high profile kills since. I got a source telling me he’s in Boston, ‘bout to hit his next target. I want you to find him and get me killer story before anyone else even thinks about it. And before you say a thing, I know you’re a reporter, not a cop. But this could be huge for the Globe and I need someone on this.”

Like hell she would say anything. Cary was finally giving her a real story. When Amelie had moved - more precisely, run away - to Boston looking for a change, she hadn’t expected to get sidelined. She was a damned good reporter and everyone at the Times knew she was good at her job. So like hell she’d say a thing and ruin her chance at proving to her new employer that she was the best he had.

“Do you know who the intended target is?” She kept her voice clipped, professional like his favourite boys did.

Cary shook his head, “My source wouldn’t say. But I need to know you’re okay with this, Novak. He’s dangerous and cunning, practically a ghost. I don’t want you walking into this expecting peaches and roses like the rest of the stories you cover.”

Amelie almost mentioned that the reason all her other stories had been peaches and roses was because he wouldn’t let her cover anything hard hitting, but nodded instead, afraid to look anything other than absolutely capable.

“It’s no problem. This will be my number one priority. I won’t let you down,” She promised with conviction.

With a curt nod, he waved her out of the office, apparently satisfied. Amelie could barely contain her excitement, and purposefully slowed her walk toward the conference room door. Her curiosity got the best of her before she could walk out.

Glancing over her shoulder as nonchalantly as possible, she asked, “Why me?”

He kept his gaze on the papers he was now leafing through, “They told me when I hired you, that your biggest asset as a reporter is that you’re constantly being underestimated. I figured the best way to get to him was to send someone like you,” He paused and looked up at her, “Am I wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Didn’t think so. Now get to it, Novak. Somehow I doubt he’ll be here for long.”

Amelie left the conference room, unable to wipe the smile from her lips, ignoring the curious looks from her coworkers.

Staring at the computer screen, Amelie finally understood why Cary had sent her after such an important and dangerous story. The dozens of articles she had found on Barnes made it clear that this story Cary wanted her to cover wasn’t something he expected her to succeed at. He didn’t expect anyone to find Barnes at all and hadn’t been about to waste one of his better employees on a fruitless task. She didn’t care. Cary had finally given her a story worth covering and she was sure as hell going to get it done, even if her first thought had been that the police, FBI or even a PI would have been better suited for the job. There was no way she’d turn the job down now. Not when there was no way she could lose. If she got the story, she’d be bringing in one of the biggest stories the Globe had seen in years. If she failed, well, no one expected her to succeed anyways.

Her research on Barnes - otherwise known as the Winter Soldier - had led her to two conclusions. He was extremely dangerous, and he was extremely talented at what he did. And what he did, was take out criminals before anyone even knew that’s what they were. The hit would lead to an investigation, which would then lead to the exposure of skeletons no one knew were hiding in the deceased’s closet. His MO didn’t make any of his vigilante kills any less of a crime, it only meant that getting the story before anyone else would be huge for her and probably save a life in the process. All Amelie had to do was find the scumbag Barnes was targeting before her little hitman found him first.

Get a story, save a life, put an asshat in jail, get promoted. All in that order. That simple.

The problem - the biggest one at the moment - was that no one was able to figure out who Barnes’ next target would be before the body dropped. The deaths appeared random, but she knew it couldn’t be. Anyone who worked as meticulously as the Winter Soldier did had to have a process. Figuring it out would be the key to her success.

Amelie had reached out to other reporters across the country, including an old friend from the Times who had covered the deaths accredited to Barnes, but all anyone could say was that he was ghost.

So, the other major problem was finding him.

But that’s where she came in.

Finding people was something she had always been good at. Although she had never figured out how exactly, Amelie had an uncanny ability to be at the right place at the right time. Trusting that gut feeling had never steered her wrong in the past, and she wasn’t about to doubt it now. Any reporter could follow up on a lead and dig up dirt. But not every reporter had her instincts. Amelie had to believe that it was what was going to put her ahead of the dozen or so journalists who had gone up against the Winter Soldier in the past.

Her printer spat out a photo of the sergeant’s military ID, the most recent photograph she could find of him. She didn’t doubt he looked nothing like the picture. The cropped dark hair and clean-shaven face were probably long gone, and she had to assume that, like the security cameras unable to get a clear image of him, she wouldn’t recognize the man from the picture. The only saving grace was that she had never seen ocean coloured eyes so striking, even on a low quality, home printed scrap piece of paper. She figured she’d recognize them if - when - she met his gaze.

The military uniform and crooked grin seemed at odds with the infamous hitman she was hunting, but Amelie knew that dangerous men came in all shapes and sizes. The facts were that this man had killed almost a dozen high profile businessmen and politicians in the past five years and that each hit was in a largely public area, creating mass chaos, which was, if she had to guess, his escape route.

Scoping out Boston’s most popular public areas was where she would start. Tomorrow. She wouldn’t be able to find him running on half a muffin she’d had for supper and little to no sleep. Resting and getting her things in order was her priority. Tomorrow it would be the Winter Soldier.

* * * * *

Amelie wandered through Quincy Market among families decked out in Celtic’s green, ready for the night’s big game against the Raptors. The town square was alive with laughter and shouting, one of the last warm, autumn days brightening everyone’s mood. She let herself get stopped by tourists asking for directions, wandered into a coffee shop and popped into gift shops, looking to send her New York friends and family a little sign that she was adapting to just fine. No one had really understood her move from the New York Times to the Boston Globe, but then again, none of them had dated Brian for as long as she had. The only exception had wished her well and sent her off with an understanding smile. One of these trinkets was for them.

Every ball cap in sight caught her attention, though none hid incredible blue eyes under the lid. It was a gamble on her part to assume that he’d be wearing one, but the best way to get through a crowd, antsy for tonight’s game, was to blend in. And judging by the amount of ball caps in her five-foot radius alone, the odds were in her favour that she’d find him under one. Her instincts had gotten her this far. She wasn’t about to start doubting them during what was probably the most important story of her career.

Before she could decide where to wander to next, she was thrown to the ground, pain searing through her wrists. Where the hell that basketball had come from was beyond her, and she pushed herself back up, wincing as the assailant rolled away.

“I’m so sorry miss, are you all right?”

Amelie took in a deep breath and forced a cheery laugh, “I’m fine. Happens to the best of us. Let’s just hope none of that happens to our team tonight, right?”

The washed-out looking man in a stretched thin jersey picked up the ball and handed it back to his son. The man smiled, most likely pleased by her kind smile, cheery attitude and the fact that she wasn’t chewing his son out for his pathetic aim. They always were. Nice was usually seen as a weakness. Nice was never looked at twice. But underestimated and forgotten were some of the reason Amelie was able to do her job so well.

He finished with another apology and a slightly creepy wink before whisking his son away. She wanted to roll her eyes but kept her well practice act in place, keeping her gaze trained on them as they wandered through the crowd. That was when she spotted someone far more important behind them. The cap, which was what had immediately caught her attention, was a dumb choice on his part. The navy colour only brought out his eyes, which had made him that much easier to spot.

Amelie grinned.

It was time to pay her little hitman a visit.

She wove through the crowd with purpose, keeping an eye on her target. Stalking him wouldn’t do any good. She could do that later if need be. Right now, he was probably hyper aware of people trying to tail him, and less wary of people actually trying to talk to him. The latter was exactly what she planned on doing.

Amelie knew she shouldn’t have been feeling anything other than fear, but this was what she had come to Boston for. A fresh start and a killer story. All she could feel was the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her senses coming alive. It didn’t matter that she was tailing an accomplished hitman. She was damn good at her job. She could do this.

When she got close enough, she tapped on his shoulder, “Hi! I’m a reporter from the Globe’s sports section and we’re conducting a survey to see who’s watching the game tonight and where. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

He turned around, brows furrowed, and eyes narrowed as if surprised to have been spotted in the first place.

“No,” He answered gruffly, striding off.

Amelie hurried after him, “Technically no means you don’t mind!”

He kept walking.

“Please,” She begged, “I’m never going to be taken seriously if I can’t even get this silly task done. I, like, really, really, really want to be promoted to fashion. I’m sooo done with sports. Please, can you just answer this one tiny little question for me?”

He sighed, but thankfully stopped, “If you want to be taken seriously then lose the ditsy attitude.”

Rude.

“I’m asking you a question, not asking you to act like an as-” She cut herself off, cursing the slip in her act. She was better than that.

“That’s better,” He smirked, “You get one question.”

Amelie couldn’t roll her eyes at him, no matter how much she wanted to. The last thing she needed was an attitude that drew attention to herself or flagged her as threatening or even suspicious. He had asked her to drop the ditsy attitude, but that was the last thing she intended on doing. A cheery woman, somehow stuck doing an article for the sports section was exactly who she would be because that was the woman her hitman wouldn’t have a second thought about after they parted ways.

“If you’re watching the game tonight, are you watching at the Garden, at a bar, or at home?”

His face was the perfect image of boredom. Amelie couldn’t help but wonder if he practiced it in the mirror every morning.

“I see why you don’t want to keep asking these questions.”

“I’m glad you agree,” She answered dryly, unable to help herself.

He kept his blue eyes solely on her, which meant he wasn’t looking out for someone else. He obviously didn’t want to be here answering questions - the way he kept all his weight on his toes made Amelie think he was going to take off at any second - but he didn’t appear to be in a rush to get somewhere else either. Whoever his target was, he or she wasn’t here. Either that meant that her hitman had been fed false information or he was scouting a location rather than looking for a person in particular. Amelie had to bet on the former. It wasn’t much of a clue, but it was something.

“Let me guess,” She returned to the perky act, hoping she could get a solid answer out of him this time, “You seem like the kind of guy who would go to a bar to watch the game.”

He narrowed his eyes and her stomached knotted. This wasn’t how she wanted him to be looking at her. Amelie leaned even further into the act, widening her smile. She couldn’t slip up when she was so close to an answer.

He sighed. If he had been suspicious, he had quickly dismissed her as a threat, “Is that your way of trying to prove your journalistic instincts?”

“Is that your way of evading the question?” She countered.

“Maybe,” He smirked, a dangerous quirk of his mouth that sent her pulse racing, “How about you?”

“Maybe.”

Amelie held that piercing blue gaze, refusing to be the one to back down first. Arching a brow in a silent challenge, she waited with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Yes,” He conceded, “I’ll be watching in a bar tonight.”

She let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you! See, was that so hard?”

He snorted and walked off without another word.

“Have a nice day!” He called after him with fake chipper, muttering asshole beneath her breath.

Barnes didn’t turn around - not that she expected him to - and she watched him go until he was out of sigh. Hopefully, she was already out of his mind.

The game didn’t start for another couple hours, which gave her time to figure out which bars were playing the game tonight. Amelie had been disappointed when he hadn’t said he’d be watching the game at the Garden. A stadium was a hell of a lot easier to canvas than all the bars in Boston. She couldn’t even be certain that he was telling the truth - odds were that he wasn’t. Fortunately, Amelie’s gut feeling told her the opposite. Rude hitman didn’t necessarily mean liar.

Another sigh escaped her lips, the adrenaline wearing off. It had been risky giving herself away, but she banked on the fact that not many people, especially someone to small compared to him, would knowingly approach a wanted hitman. She had incorporated as much truth into her lie to make it as credible as possible and just had to hope that he wouldn’t check up on her.

The thought should have scared her, but it didn’t. Barnes was nothing like the articles described him as, and quite frankly, the only adjectives she would have used to described him were grumpy and rude. The man she’d just met was nothing like the terror described in the other articles. She didn’t know if her reaction made her stupid or brave. Maybe it was neither considering that no-one else had actually gotten close to him.

Not wanting to tail him all afternoon and most likely alert him to her presence, she decided to go home and get some more research done. It wasn’t going to be easy trying to find him tonight, but Amelie had always considered herself as someone who was lucky. She could get Barnes, but she was also going to need a little luck on her side tonight.

* * * * *

Amelie had tried five different bars before finally finding him in a pub known for its connection with the Irish Mob. Her feet were sore, someone had spilt a drink on her lap at bar number two when the Celtics had scored, and it had taken an extra fifty just to convince the bouncer to let her in, but it was worth it.

She’d found him.

Finally.

The whole process of trying to find him had taken up so much of her energy that she’d forgotten to actually plan what she wanted to do when he found him. Not wanting to do something stupid, she did nothing. She’d somehow found a seat at the bar, despite the packed Friday night crowd, close enough so that she could see him but far enough away not to attract any unwanted attention. The pub was just as noisy as every other place she’d been at, drunken cheers and insults being shouted at the televisions sporadically. Amelie ordered another beer, still not sure what to do. Without a gut feeling to tell her what to do, she sipped away, keeping tabs on him from time to time. That was, until he wasn’t there anymore.

Cursing herself for being so sloppy, she downed the beer and pushed off the seat, only to run into a broad chest in a red henley and a dark leather jacket. She didn’t have to tilt her head back to know she was face to face - face to chest? - with the exact mad she was looking for. His narrowed eyes probably meant that their running into each other wasn’t accidental or a good thing.

She smiled.

He dipped his head, breath hot on her ear when he growled, “Sit down.”

Her eyes widened in the nonexistent fear she should have felt and followed his order while he slid into the free seat on her right. Barnes ordered a drink, not saying anything as they waited for the barman to come back with his beer. He probably hoped to ramp up her supposed fear by letting her stew, but it only succeeded in giving her time to think of a way out without killing her chance at getting this story. She had to give him credit though. She figured most people would have been afraid. But he had no idea that she wasn’t most people.

“Who are you?” He demanded after the bartender had moved on.

“Oh! Right! You didn’t get my name earlier. I promise I’m not stalking you or anything, it’s purely personal,” Amelie could tell the sweetness in her voice had thrown him off guard, so she continued, laying it on even thicker, “It’s not every day I get to interview someone so… handsome, you know. I just thought that if I can into you tonight then-”

“Who are you?” He repeated, cutting her off with a cold look.

Obviously, manners weren’t his thing.

She forced a giggle even if it was getting harder to keep up the charade. What she wanted to do was shake him and tell him that manners were for everyone, including international hitmen, but she looked away for a second as if embarrassed.

She extended her hand, “Amelie Novak.”

He looked at it as though it might bite him, but he summoned all of his dangerous, brooding bravery and took it, “I wasn’t expecting such a firm grip.”

She shot him a pointed look, filling in the unspoken words, “From someone so ditzy?”

Amelie couldn’t help it. His condescending attitude made it impossible not to want to answer in the same tone. She needed to get her act together. Now. In the last five years, she had never broken character on the job, and now, she had twice in the same day. She reminded herself what was on the line if she slipped up and shot him another smile.

He let out something that might have been a laugh, if hitmen did indeed laugh. Judging by the looks of him, it wasn’t something he did all that often. At least no in from of other people. Or ever.

He stood, “I’m flattered by your…interest, but I have to go. If you’re lucky, some overgrown frat boy will come in a take my place. Seems more your type anyway, sweetheart.”

Amelie smiled through gritted teeth, holding it in place until he was no longer looking at her.

“I tried that,” She muttered when he was too far to hear, thinking of Brian, “Didn’t work out.”

Ordering another drink, she followed him out with her eyes, waiting to see what he would do next. After having seen her twice in the same day, she couldn’t tail him. There was nothing left for her to do. Or at least, that’s what she thought before realizing that he was following someone else out of the bar; someone Amelie very much recognized. And if that man was her hitman’s target, then all she had to do was find that man’s dirty little secrets. Fast.

She pulled out her phone. There was only one person she could count on to get the kind of information she needed and who could get it to her before the night was over.

* * * * *

“What do you got for me?” Amelie perched on the corner of Detective Sam Wilson’s desk and flicked the Paul Pierce bobble head.

He barely spared her a glance, focused on the document on his computer screen, “Nice to see you too, Novak.”

She sighed, “Come on, Wilson, you know I’m not one for pleasantries.”

“You were when we first met,” He pointed out, typing away.

“That was when I thought I could get something from you that way,” She grinned, “Turns out you were a lot less gullible than I thought.”

He pushed back from his desk, chair rolling far enough that he could extend his legs, “I should’ve encouraged manners. A simple how are you would have been nice.”

“Fine, fine,” She rolled her eyes, “How are you, Wilson? How was your day?”

“I’m fine, Novak,” He smirked, “How are you?”

“Hoping to be better once I hear what you’ve got.”

He crossed his arms, “What made you start looking into this guy anyways?”

There was no need to tell him that she’d just gone toe to toe with an international hitman, so she simply said, “I got a hunch.”

He raised a brow, “A hunch, huh?”

“Yeah,” She nodded, knowing he was too good a cop for her to risk lying even more to him, “A hunch.”

“You should have been a detective, Novak,” He chuckled, “I think you missed your calling.”

She laughed, “I never could have passed those physical tests. But I’m assuming that you found something if you’re telling me this?”

He nodded, eyes bright.

She leaned forward, “What is it?”

“Oh, you know, police business.”

She nodded, “Of course, police business.”

“I’m going to the bathroom. My computer’s been having trouble lately and won’t seem to shut off,” He winked, standing, “You’ll be gone when I’m back.”

“Yup.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Novak.”

“No problem, Wilson, I understand,” She grinned and whispered, “Thank you. I owe you. Next time I’ll come bearing coffee.”

He pulled back, “It better be one of those fancy coffees.”

“Obviously,” She hopped off his desk, watching him leave.

“With cinnamon,” He called over his shoulder.

Amelie bounced onto Sam’s chair and stared at the document he’d left open. Her excitement built as the words for her article began to string themselves together in her mind.

* * * * *

The article had gone viral. Hers. Amelie Novak’s. Cary, after having cursed her out for banging on his home door at midnight, actually smiled after reading it. It had managed to get enough press that even her friends in New York had heard about it. Thinking about it still made her giddy, even days later. God, she loved her job.

The man, a corrupt CEO working with the Irish Mob, had been placed in protective custody, despite his white-collar crimes. Putting him in jail was too dangerous, a prison too flimsy for a good hitman.

Amelie probably should have felt better about having saved a life, but it was hard to feel proud when the made she’d save was a grade A scumbag. Among other crimes, he’d stolen from hundreds of families in the area and hurt so many other people through his connections with the Mob and those were only the crimes Wilson had been able to dig up overnight. Since then, other crimes had surfaced and all her articles since then had been recaps of the cops’ investigation.

Fumbling with her keys, her grip slipped on her grocery bags and she scrambled to get into her apartment without dropping anything. The place was dark, the late evening light gone long before she had left the office and the city lights barely poking thought the cracks between the adjacent buildings.

The light switch was too high to reach with the weight of the five-pound sack of potatoes in one hand and the jug of milk in the other, so she wandered blindly into the kitchen of her new studio apartment.

“I’d have to say, I’m impressed.”

Amelie shrieked, almost dropping the bags again. Her heart pounding her chest as if it was begging her to leave, but she didn’t move or turn on the lights. She didn’t need to. Amelie recognized the voice.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, professional hitman, the Winter Soldier himself, was in her kitchen, and he was most definitely trespassing.

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc

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arcticdementor · 4 years

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But police violence, and Trump’s daily assaults on the presidential competence standard, are only part of the disaster. On the other side of the political aisle, among self-described liberals, we’re watching an intellectual revolution. It feels liberating to say after years of tiptoeing around the fact, but the American left has lost its mind. It’s become a cowardly mob of upper-class social media addicts, Twitter Robespierres who move from discipline to discipline torching reputations and jobs with breathtaking casualness.

The leaders of this new movement are replacing traditional liberal beliefs about tolerance, free inquiry, and even racial harmony with ideas so toxic and unattractive that they eschew debate, moving straight to shaming, threats, and intimidation. They are counting on the guilt-ridden, self-flagellating nature of traditional American progressives, who will not stand up for themselves, and will walk to the Razor voluntarily.

They’ve conned organization after organization into empowering panels to search out thoughtcrime, and it’s established now that anything can be an offense, from a UCLA professor placed under investigation for reading Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” out loud to a data scientist fired* from a research firm for — get this — retweeting an academic study suggesting nonviolent protests may be more politically effective than violent ones!

Now, this madness is coming for journalism. Beginning on Friday, June 5th, a series of controversies rocked the media. By my count, at least eight news organizations dealt with internal uprisings (it was likely more). Most involved groups of reporters and staffers demanding the firing or reprimand of colleagues who’d made politically “problematic” editorial or social media decisions.

…

In the most discussed incident, Times editorial page editor James Bennet was ousted for green-lighting an anti-protest editorial by Arkansas Republican Senator Tom Cotton entitled, “Send in the troops.”

I’m no fan of Cotton, but as was the case with Michael Moore’s documentary and many other controversial speech episodes, it’s not clear that many of the people angriest about the piece in question even read it. In classic Times fashion, the paper has already scrubbed a mistake they made misreporting what their own editorial said, in an article about Bennet’s ouster.

…

As Cotton points out in the piece, he was advancing a view arguably held by a majority of the country. A Morning Consult poll showed 58% of Americans either strongly or somewhat supported the idea of “calling in the U.S. military to supplement city police forces.” That survey included 40% of self-described “liberals” and 37% of African-Americans. To declare a point of view held by that many people not only not worthy of discussion, but so toxic that publication of it without even necessarily agreeing requires dismissal, is a dramatic reversal for a newspaper that long cast itself as the national paper of record.

Incidentally, that same poll cited by Cotton showed that 73% of Americans described protecting property as “very important,” while an additional 16% considered it “somewhat important.” This means the Philadelphia Inquirer editor was fired for running a headline – “Buildings matter, too” – that the poll said expressed a view held by 89% of the population, including 64% of African-Americans.

…

The main thing accomplished by removing those types of editorials from newspapers — apart from scaring the hell out of editors — is to shield readers from knowledge of what a major segment of American society is thinking.

It also guarantees that opinion writers and editors alike will shape views to avoid upsetting colleagues, which means that instead of hearing what our differences are and how we might address those issues, newspaper readers will instead be presented with page after page of people professing to agree with one another. That’s not agitation, that’s misinformation.

The instinct to shield audiences from views or facts deemed politically uncomfortable has been in evidence since Trump became a national phenomenon. We saw it when reporters told audiences Hillary Clinton’s small crowds were a “wholly intentional” campaign decision. I listened to colleagues that summer of 2016 talk about ignoring poll results, or anecdotes about Hillary’s troubled campaign, on the grounds that doing otherwise might “help Trump” (or, worse, be perceived that way).

…

All these episodes sent a signal to everyone in a business already shedding jobs at an extraordinary rate that failure to toe certain editorial lines can and will result in the loss of your job. Perhaps additionally, you could face a public shaming campaign in which you will be denounced as a racist and rendered unemployable.

…

Even people who try to keep up with protest goals find themselves denounced the moment they fail to submit to some new tenet of ever-evolving doctrine, via a surprisingly consistent stream of retorts: fuck you, shut up, send money, do better, check yourself, I’m tired and racist.

…

Each passing day sees more scenes that recall something closer to cult religion than politics. White protesters in Floyd’s Houston hometown kneeling and praying to black residents for “forgiveness… for years and years of racism” are one thing, but what are we to make of white police in Cary, North Carolina, kneeling and washing the feet of Black pastors? What about Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer kneeling while dressed in “African kente cloth scarves”?

There is symbolism here that goes beyond frustration with police or even with racism: these are orgiastic, quasi-religious, and most of all, deeply weird scenes, and the press is too paralyzed to wonder at it. In a business where the first job requirement was once the willingness to ask tough questions, we’ve become afraid to ask obvious ones.

On CNN, Minneapolis City Council President Lisa Bender was asked a hypothetical question about a future without police: “What if in the middle of the night, my home is broken into? Who do I call?” When Bender, who is white, answered, “I know that comes from a place of privilege,” questions popped to mind. Does privilege mean one should let someone break into one’s home, or that one shouldn’t ask that hypothetical question? (I was genuinely confused). In any other situation, a media person pounces on a provocative response to dig out its meaning, but an increasingly long list of words and topics are deemed too dangerous to discuss.

The media in the last four years has devolved into a succession of moral manias. We are told the Most Important Thing Ever is happening for days or weeks at a time, until subjects are abruptly dropped and forgotten, but the tone of warlike emergency remains: from James Comey’s firing, to the deification of Robert Mueller, to the Brett Kavanaugh nomination, to the democracy-imperiling threat to intelligence “whistleblowers,” all those interminable months of Ukrainegate hearings (while Covid-19 advanced), to fury at the death wish of lockdown violators, to the sudden reversal on that same issue, etc.

It’s been learned in these episodes we may freely misreport reality, so long as the political goal is righteous. It was okay to publish the now-discredited Steele dossier, because Trump is scum. MSNBC could put Michael Avenatti on live TV to air a gang rape allegation without vetting, because who cared about Brett Kavanaugh – except press airing of that wild story ended up being a crucial factor in convincing key swing voter Maine Senator Susan Collins the anti-Kavanaugh campaign was a political hit job (the allegation illustrated, “why the presumption of innocence is so important,” she said). Reporters who were anxious to prevent Kavanaugh’s appointment, in other words, ended up helping it happen through overzealousness.

…

The traditional view of the press was never based on some contrived, mathematical notion of “balance,” i.e. five paragraphs of Republicans for every five paragraphs of Democrats. The ideal instead was that we showed you everything we could see, good and bad, ugly and not, trusting that a better-informed public would make better decisions. This vision of media stressed accuracy, truth, and trust in the reader’s judgment as the routes to positive social change.

For all our infamous failings, journalists once had some toughness to them. We were supposed to be willing to go to jail for sources we might not even like, and fly off to war zones or disaster areas without question when editors asked. It was also once considered a virtue to flout the disapproval of colleagues to fight for stories we believed in (Watergate, for instance).

Today no one with a salary will stand up for colleagues like Lee Fang. Our brave truth-tellers make great shows of shaking fists at our parody president, but not one of them will talk honestly about the fear running through their own newsrooms. People depend on us to tell them what we see, not what we think. What good are we if we’re afraid to do it?

#matt taibbi #journalism in action #new progressive orthodoxy #unofficial official religion #great awokening #purging the heretics and unbelievers #freeze peach is not just an ice cream flavor

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

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XVI.

"You will manage to keep a woman in love with you, only for as long as you can keep her in love with the person she becomes when she is with you." C. JoyBell

Rockin' around the Christmas tree, let the Christmas spirit ring. Later we'll have some pumpkin pie, and we'll do some caroling…

Naturally, my own vocals lightly meshed in with those of Brenda Lee while my head bopped back and forth to the infectious Christmas tune as it blared from the Beats Pill, I gifted to my mother a couple of months ago. To take advantage of the majority of my weight being pressed against the kitchen island, I slowly flexed my toes and extended my aches in an effort to minimize the throbbing in my feet. Short hisses turned into a deep sigh of bliss but unfortunately it was short lived once I grasped a knife in my hand again.

“Pass me two stalks of celery out of that bag, please.” My precise instructions were pointless. With her eyes intently focused on the phone in front of her, Celeste aloofly tossed the plastic bag in my direction as if I were a nuisance interrupting the ridiculous number of hours she spends interacting on Facebook. If anything, I avoid it, because once you reach a certain age, Facebook is nothing more than a scroll fest filled with engagement and pregnancy announcements, weddings and post-birth pictures, garbage hot takes from people about the most trivial of topics, and finally older relatives who have nothing better to do other than to be in everyone’s business, including yours.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” If she’s not going to be in the kitchen either helping me or doing something of her own, then the better choice would be for her to exit. She hasn’t been much company because we’re barely spoken since she arrived and I’d rather not be distracted by her sitting there in a trance with a phone in her hand like a mindless teen.

“Not really. You always do Christmas Eve, I do Christmas breakfast, and mommy does Christmas dinner. Don’t act brand new now.”

“I’m not acting brand new. I just see no point in you being in here.” Celeste does Christmas breakfast because it’s the easiest task to handle and I don’t have much of a problem pushing her dry ass pancakes around on a plate in anticipation for dinner later on the evening.

“For someone who claims to be so demure in the manner that you carry yourself, I’m super confused about why you have streams of diamonds glistening and circling around your neck.”

“What?” Thoughtlessly, I stretched my unoccupied hand up to the exposed skin and lightly brushed my fingers over nearly sixty carats of brilliant round cut diamonds that do not belong to me.

The manner in which O layers his many necklaces always grabs my attention and it’s something about the showiness in the midst of the simplicity of them that I continue to compliment whenever I see him donning them. This morning, for whatever reason, he randomly placed two of them around my neck as I stood in the mirror attempting to figure out just how festive my attire would be for today. Once I’d gotten past three unwarranted outfit changes, I found myself admiring the jewelry as it glimmered in the natural lighting cascading into his master bedroom beyond the curtains. I’d forgotten to remove them.

“They’re not real. It’s just costume jewelry.”

“They look pretty damn real to me.”

“Well, they’re not. There’s this new spot that opened up over on West 47th Street. I grabbed them in there. I just thought they looked cute and they reminded me of something Lil’ Kim wore one time. You know Kimberly Denise Jones is one of my spirit animals. They’re not something you wear everyday but it’s the holidays and I’m on vacation until after the New Year, so why not? I’m glad they look real though. That just means they were well made.”

“You seem to have a million alter egos. One minute you’re Florence Joyner, the next minute you’re Lil’ Kim, on another day you’re Angela Bassett, and then you’re Michelle Obama. We can’t forget you being the Oprah of sports journalism, oh and there’s Rihanna and Beyonce, who else?”

“Phylicia Rashard, Eartha Kitt, Regina King, Janet Jackson, Cari Champion, Lisa Salters, Pam Oliver, Jemele Hill. And I’ve never considered any of those women to be my alter egos. They’re women that I admire due to their drive, success, and character. I’ve taken bits and pieces from all of their careers and used them as lessons for my own. What you’ve mistaken is me saying that Lil Kim, Rihanna, and Tracee Ellis Ross are my style icons. Oh, and Mary J. Blige is my boot icon.” I think all women have a mood board of aspirations and inspirations. It doesn’t always have to be specific people. A portion of mine just so happens to contains who I believe are some of the greatest black women of the past and current generation. They’re not alter egos who I attempt to mimic but rather stories of triumph that keep me driven.

“What’s up with you and Kyle? Why are you interested?” I nearly cut into the flesh of my finger while dicing the stalks of celery. Briefly, I paused to gather myself, and immediately moved on to the three cloves of garlic.

“Nothing at all. I’m not interested so please stop pressing me about that. I’m not going to date your husband’s brother. I don’t do that all in the family stuff.”

“He’s really into you.”

“Or maybe you’re just exaggerating things. We’re just cool. We always have great conversations whenever we’re around one another and that’s good enough for me. I’ve already spoken to you multiple times about my disdain for your matchmaking bullshit. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a fan of it?”

“You continue to hold Shamel against me. Things didn’t work out. Okay. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean that every guy that I attempt to introduce you to won’t be compatible with you.”

“Compatibility? It’s deeper than that.” Parsley and cilantro were next for the wrath of the knife in my hand. I’m going to have to med onions next. I should have just bought all of this stuff chopped already.

“What’s deeper?”

“Celeste, you don’t know shit about what I went through with Shamel. You know the shortened version of years’ worth of bullshit. You think we just had a couple of typical couple disagreements to the point of us coming to terms with the reality that we could no longer be together? I wish it were that fucking simple, so don’t sit in here on your high horse with that matchmaker shit. Focus on your man and your marriage. I’m fine.”

I internalized so much of what I went through with the man. I was never the one to take my household troubles and spread all of it in places that it didn’t need to be. Anyone with the vision could see the tension between the two of us whenever we were out and about together and if you couldn’t see it, then it was thick enough to be felt. As my career began to take off, I chose to move as a single woman, often leaving him behind whenever I was out and about at industry events whether they were sports related or not. Shamel had a tendency to spend way too much time at the open bar, tossing back shots of tequila while slyly entertaining any woman that fawned over his deep mocha presence. He’d then cause a scene if he caught any men paying even the slightest attention to mine.

Beyond the decision to mask our toxicity as best as I could, I yearned to make my mother proud by being the quintessential woman; brains, beauty, a reputable career, and a good man standing alongside me. The pride she wore on her face at Celeste’s wedding stood out beyond any and everything that went on that summer night in Brooklyn. Since my father’s death, that wedding and all of the events leading up to it sparked a liveliness in her that I hadn’t experienced in quite some time although it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m not sure if she was vicariously living through my sister or she was simply just thrilled to see her began her own family, but in observing her response to it all, I wanted to give that to her.

After a short lived around of sex that left tears of mental exhaustion pouring down the sides of my face as I lie under him, he whispered in my ear that he intended to make me his wife. I’ll never forget the wave of nausea that rushed over my body and sent me dashing into the bathroom to empty out of the contents within my stomach. I thought of marriage as something beautiful until then. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life in misery with him left my mind in an emotional frenzy as I attempt to figure out when and how I’d end our relationship. Less than three weeks later, I finally mustered up the courage to get it done.

“You want to be alone forever?”

“Whether I do or I don’t, it’s my decision. You may be older, but we’re not kids anymore. We’re no longer in Brooklyn, under mommy’s roof, trying to figure out what we’re going to do with ourselves. You have your life and I have mine. I have time to figure that relationship shit out. I’m not stressed about it. Being single doesn’t bother me at all. For whatever reason, it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re single. I just think you deserve happiness.”

“And you think that I don’t have it without a man? You give them way too much credit.”

And she always has. Celeste has been a serial monogamist for as long as I can remember her dating history. As soon as one relationship of hers would end, she’d be in another one within a week or two. I can recall a couple of overlaps, but that’s none of my business.

“Don’t put the whole bonnet pepper in there.”

“I know that. I’m only doing half.” The last thing I want is to give our mother heartburn on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of me pouring olive oil into the deep red pot I already had on the stove, I reached into my back pocket for my vibrating phone.

Mrs. Claus, I’m missing you. When are you coming home?

Home? To mask my budding smile, I slowly pulled my lip in-between my teeth.

Home?

This man knows how to put a smile on my face by saying the simplest things.

Anywhere I lay my head is just as much yours as it is mine.

I should have known that when he gave me keys and the security codes last night. I’m still in disbelief about that.

I should be finished here really soon and I’ll be right back at the North Pole to keep your lap warm, Santa.

It’ll be the first time I’m spending Christmas Eve anywhere other than here and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Usually around this time of the year, O would be in the midst of the season so his family would make the effort to come to New Jersey to be with him. Even though he’s currently not playing, they still decided to come up and enjoy the chilled weather. For the past couple of days, he’s convinced me to rid myself of my reluctance and to be with him and a few people I’ve yet to meet like his grandmother Mille, his uncle Mike, his aunt Pat, and his step-father Derek.

Naked right?

And don’t even get me started on the lie that I had to tell everyone in this house so that I’d be able to get out of our Christmas Eve tradition of my cooking and us sitting around watching our favorite Christmas classics while bundled up under quilts that we’ve had since Celeste and I were toddlers. That lie involved Taylor, who’s actually in Atlanta right now, and Scott who actually did invite me to his Christmas Eve game night over at his place.

I can make that happen. Not while the elves are awake though. That’s a bit inappropriate, Santa.

My snicker wasn’t soundless. It was loud enough to alert Celeste and her eyes slowly panned in my direction and raised in curiosity at what tickled me.

“It’s Taylor.” I said it before she could ask.

Baby, don’t be mad at me but I already cut the red velvet cake. It was just sitting there and I couldn’t help myself.

I knew he’d do it. The fume enticed him by itself, so his response to the finished product was of no surprise. I didn’t even make him promise me that he wouldn’t touch it because I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself just as he said. It’s why I made two of them.

I knew you would. Enjoy it. That’s why I made it.

I spent the morning baking as a part of his Christmas request. Renee’s handling everything else, but all of the sweets are my task. When I return, I’m going to make my mini eggnog cheesecakes and cookies.

Try and make it back before the snow starts. I don’t want you driving in that.

It’s not supposed to be enough snow to keep the east coast hiding inside of their homes, but it will be enough to leave traffic dragging and the roads hazardous. I’ve never been much of a fan of driving in the snow, so I do want to be out of here before those flurries began to fall.

Will do. I’ll see you in a bit love.

“I can’t believe you’re about to go and spend Christmas Eve hanging out with your co-workers. Don’t you get enough of seeing them at work?” This is her second time making commentary about this since I’ve been here and I’m not even sure why. Celeste and I barely say much of anything to one another whenever I’m around, unless she’s scolding me about some area of my life that she assumes that I need to improve. It’ll be no different tonight as they’re all curled up in the living room watching classic holiday films while enjoying the dinner that I’m preparing and a shit ton of junk food we bought at Walmart the other day. Besides, her husband is here and when he’s with her, nearly all of her attention is on him.

“What’s the big deal? We’re not kids waiting around on Santa anymore. There are no babies here in the house that we need to be extra festive for. I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast and then we’ll all open up the presents together like we usually do. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.” Maybe my mother will, but she certainly won’t. Whenever her husband’s around, her attention remains solely focused on him. She parades herself on being a so-called traditionalist as a wife; whatever that means. Either way, her head is up his ass and luckily for her, his is just as far up hers.

“What time are you getting here in the morning? I figure I’ll at least be considerate enough to start making breakfast around them so by the time you’re here, you won’t have to eat cold food.”

“Most likely around nine or a half hour after it. It won’t be much later than that.”

“That’s if you’re not hungover, huh?”

“I won’t be. I have no plans to drink, unless it’s like a half glass of some spiked egg nog. Can’t go to a Christmas function and not have some egg nog. I’m driving, so it won’t be much.” I’m not irresponsible with my life and in addition to that, if O smells the alcohol on my breath, he’ll be scolding me all night long for having the audacity to drink and drive.

“Okay.” I never thought she’d leave the kitchen. She’s been in here since my arrival and comfortably settled at a spot in front of the island, while watching my every move. Initially, I thought she was doing it simply to be a critic of whatever I intended to prepare in the kitchen, but now I know she sat there as a mean to try and find her way into my business as she always seems to do. I’ve never been interested in what she has going on with Preston since she met the man. Even when we all went out to dinner a few years back and she first introduced him to both my mother and I, I didn’t have much of anything to say. All I could make of their connection was that she was obsessed with everything about him and luckily for her, he was smitten enough to feel the same way about her. She needed a man who could and world be a bit of a pushover for her and he is exactly that.

My father’s beloved stewed chicken or as he called it, poulet creole, was a breeze to prepare because I’m the only one in our home who learned every single aspect of that recipe directly from him. On a random summer day, while my mom and Celeste were out at the hair salon getting curls put into their hair for Sunday service, he interrupted me from watching ESPN, and called me into the kitchen for yet another one of his many lessons. The manner in which he taught me wasn’t by me looking on at his every task but instead me doing all of the work while he closely directed so I’d my hands would familiarize themselves with the process as he claimed. It was the same method that his grandmother taught him to cook with.

I preferred learning to cook under his guidance far more than my mother’s because she’s like a drill sergeant in the kitchen; barking down on her subject for any mistake or mishap with her directions. He and I laughed, danced to whatever he chose to play in the radio, and compared and contrasted our opinions on any topic we could think of. I will always hold him in the highest regard for allowing my self-expression to flourish. As a West Indian father of two girls, he could have easily chosen the overprotective and absurdly sexist route in raising us, but he didn’t. Rather than doing his best attempt to blind me from life beyond the doors of our home, he chose to listen to my perspective and then teach me about what life has to offer whether good or bad; easy, moderate, or difficult.

I miss him. Actually, that’s an understatement. During the holiday season, that pain that lies dormant within my soul flares up into an intensity that I have to stoically mask for the sake of getting through. As much as he emphasized the need to prepare both Celeste and I for the day that he was no longer with us, none of us ever expected it to be as soon as it was. I want to be the strong and independent woman that he raised me to be, but in some ways, I still need him. My mother needs him because she hasn’t been quite right ever since. Celeste needs him just as much, because there’s a part of her that has always sought him out in the men that she chose to allow into her life since his death.

“Celeste, I’m heading out.”

“Nice coat and hat.”

The caramel wool cashmere single-breasted silhouette was an unexpected gift from Kobe before we went on break for the holiday. Everything about the hand-embroidered embellishments and the manner in which it loosely accentuated my frame instantly made me fall in love with it with the Burberry piece. He encouraged me to open it up while we were standing there in my dressing room so I’d be able to see if I liked it, but I voiced that it wouldn’t be right to open it before Christmas. My curiosity nipped at me all morning long until I fed into its urge by opening it up and like a kid whenever they’re given anything new, I had to wear it immediately. The matching beanie hat is the cherry on top. Before I’m off to bed tonight, I intend to thank him again.

“Thanks. It’s my Christmas gift from Bean.”

“Who?”

“Kobe.”

“So, you’re going to be here around nine, right? You better not be late because I’m not defending you when mommy snaps.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. When she gets in from church, tell her to call me if she needs me.” I still can’t believe she went to Christmas Eve service. Actually, I’m quite surprised that she didn’t pressure Celeste and I into attending.

“Will do. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas Eve.” Unexpectedly for her, I leaned in and planted a soft peck on her cheek. We’ve never been the type of sisters who shower one another with a lot of love whether it be physical or verbal, but on there are those random occasions when I do show or tell her how much I love her. I’d like to think in all the ways I help her or come running when she needs me, it’s a reflection of what I feel just as much.

“Merry Christmas Eve. Have fun.”

“Will do. You too. Since mom isn’t here, maybe you and Preston can get a little practice in on that baby that you want.” With a slight scoff, her eyebrows raised.

“Since when are you on the wild side?”

“I’m reserved, not virginal. See you in the morning.”

A gust a wind slithered through the open space as soon as I opened the door to step outside and very faint sprinkles of snow filled the air as they lightly cascaded down to meet my frame. I thought I would have been out of here before it all started but the beauty of it ceased any complaints that I usually would have if it weren’t Christmas Eve. If anything, the snow makes the spirit of tonight even more fulfilling. I don’t have to dream of a white Christmas because it seems like the city is being gifted with one this year. “Happy Holidays stranger.” I didn’t see his car parked across the street nor had I noticed him jogging across the street after locking the doors behind himself and yet here he is, stepping up onto the sidewalk and inching closer to the steps of my mother’s porch to trigger a slight downward spiral of my mood with his presence alone. I don’t know what it is with Quinton and his purposeful choice to remain all in the family despite my resistance towards whatever he and my mother thought they had planned for my love life. Initially, I believed he genuinely viewed us as an extension of his own family and supporters in the neighborhood who he knew he could count on, but now, I’m not sure what the fuck this is or where he’s going with it. “Happy Holidays.” “How have you been?” “Well. You?” I was better just a minute ago. “I’m well enough.” “What brings you around? The holiday? You seem to always show up around here whenever there’s one.” In his hand, he held a gift bag that I’m going to assume is for my mother. It’s not that I mind that he buys her gifts, because deep down, I don’t. I’m mostly concerned with what they mean. “I don’t just show up here on holidays. I come over and check on your mom from time to time. You know I love Mrs. Nazaire.” My scoff was loud and clear. Any time we speak now, he sounds like nothing more than a fame hungry politician, who uses manipulation tactics to garner allies and supporters. I’m sure his antics are no different with my mother. It’s why she holds him in such high regard no matter how much I don’t give a fuck. “Yeah? It’s starting to feel like you’re screwing my mother. I’m not looking for any step-dads within our age range. Sniff around women your own age Quinton.” The sarcasm flowed from my mouth and into his ears; leaving a flustered expression on his face that quickly transitioned into one of annoyance. “I’m not. I’ve only been to bed with one Nazaire woman.” “I’m glad you used the past tense. I barely remember that one and done situation; but I’m glad that you do. She’s not here, but Celeste and her husband are. You’re more than welcome to wait for her and I’m sure that you will.” “I don’t know what it is that Shamel did to you, but you’re so bitter now. Not all men are hood gym owners who fucked you over repeatedly while dipping into women who bought memberships to be trained in doggystyle position rather than on treadmills. All I wanted to do was be a good man to you, but you’re coming at my head as if I’m your enemy.” He said all of that and yet I’m the bitter one? If anyone asked me anything about this man’s personal life, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything aside from what I know from the days when we’d actually hangout with one another. I haven’t kept up with much about his life story since then and I’d prefer not to know now. That’s the difference between he and I; he remains invested in what doesn’t concern him while I can’t seem to find a reason or the time to concern myself with what he wishes I would concern myself with. “I’m growing a bit confused about who has the pussy between the two of us. Only bored and lonely women concern themselves with what was or wasn’t going on in another woman’s relationship. Damn, you were more invested in what Shamel was doing with his time than I was. I’m bitter because I don’t want to play your political trophy wife or are you bitter because despite my firm no, you’re still sniffing around here and chasing me? Find your dignity Quinton. Don’t go out like a wack bitch, aight?” “I hope you don’t go out like one either. Make sure you keep it classy by not fucking with all of those athletes that you’re constantly around. How many have you been with thus far?” “All of them.” I’m usually not the type to laugh at my own jokes but I couldn’t help but to chuckle at his facial expression. I’ve been slut shammed more times than I can count. It happens every day when random people hiding behind social media accounts on apps decide to accuse me of using my body in order to keep my job, so Quinton doing it isn’t offending me any more than it does when strangers are doing it. Initially, I used to be extremely irritated by it but I’ve come to terms with the reality that people are going to say and assume whatever they want no matter what I do or feel about it. No matter who I do or don’t have in my bed, my bills are paid. “Excuse me. I have some place to be.”

Stepping around him wasn’t the problem; it was the oddness of him standing there and watching me slip into my car. Like a lost puppy, he trudged up the stairs to the house door and continued to burn a hole into my foggy windows with a scowl on his face that I couldn’t see but I’m sure is there. Maybe one day he’ll get it or maybe he won’t, either way, I’m not responsible for what he feels. I’ve been clear with all intentions and lack their off.

No matter how much snowfall happens in the northeast year after year, as soon as flakes of any size begins to fall out of the sky, the snail-paced traffic is an immediate effect and it drives me insane. It’s one of the primary reasons why I was in no rush to get a new car and am currently wishing I had a driver taking me to my destination. Not even the holiday tunes that I love so much are distracting me from wanting to roll my window down and shout at the drivers in front of me who are missing green lights and evoking slight amounts of fear within me with their skidding. What would usually be a forty-five-minute commute turned into nearly an hour and a half.

The relief that washed over me at the sight of the double entry driveway was well received as I slowly inched my way in and focused in on the three bodies standing in the driveway. I reached out to him just a few minutes ago to notify him that I’d need help getting bags out of the backseat of the car, so we wouldn’t have to make multiple trips in the brisk weather. Unlike the other males standing alongside him, the handsome one who belongs to me was hilariously covered in an oversized Santa coat with a black hood covering his blonde mane.

“The traffic was so stupid as I was on my way to the Lincoln Tunnel. I will never understand how people who have been living on the East Coast since forever still fear the damn snow. It’s not even snowing that hard.” My right hand latched onto his and he carefully pulled me out of the driver’s seat and into his awaiting arms. My complaint went into one ear and right out of the other as he endearingly snuggled my frame as close to his as possible while nuzzling his chilled face into the nape of my neck. Admittedly, I needed to feel him in this exact manner for the restoration of the joy that this night is supposed to be and bring.

“And don’t even get me started on this ass wipe in this big ass Navigator who kept slightly skidding. I was caught in between being worried for my damn life and wanting to kick his ass for driving so stupidly. Oh and…” His peck was sweet; subtle and yet enough to leave me yearning for so much more.

“Give me your keys.” To oblige his request, I dropped them into his hand and turned to both Kordell and Derek who were looking on and most likely extremely bored with my rant.

“Hi guys.”

“You finally made it. This guy was about five minutes away from hopping into his Rolls Royce and driving all the way to Brooklyn for you.” I’ve only met his step-father Derek once and in my quick assessment of him I understood that he was more of a reserve man who somehow had a humorous side to him that couldn’t be ignored. He can crack a joke and it usually comes at the right time.

“I told him I was coming. I would have been here if it weren’t for the traffic.”

“And he wanted me to get in the car and go with his lame ass.” After a shared hug with Derek, I threw my arms around Kordell and pecked his forehead despite his maneuvers to avoid it. He’s not exactly the most physically affectionate person so I purposefully shower him with some of my own to worsen whatever annoyance his oldest brother sent his way.

“You weren’t going to come looking for me with your brother? I thought you and I are good friends now?”

“We’re family or whatever, but you and bro are old. I have a lot more life to live. I wasn’t about to catch hypothermia messing with the two of you.”

“It’s not even that bad out here. You haven’t seen a real blizzard yet Louisiana boy.” His dramatics earned a light mush to his head. I’d love to see how he reacts to a couple of feet of snow covering the ground and maybe even a power outage to go with it. Now that’s hell.

“Sarai, what is all of this?” The bewildered expression on his face and him using my first name evoked me to widen my eyes in a confusion about what I could possibly be in trouble about. I don’t believe there’s anything incriminating in my trunk and if there is, I didn’t place it there.

“Gifts.”

“All of this?” Like a nagging elderly man who borders between obnoxiously cheap and being frugal with his money, he extended his arm towards the overflowing trunk and placed his idly hand on his hip to await an explanation that he’s not going to receive.

“What? I told you that I was coming with gifts. Don’t be ridiculous. Just grab them. Oh, and don’t forget the ones in the backseat. I’m going inside. It’s cold.”

“This is crazy. You went overboard.”

“I know you’re not talking about overboard. There’s a Rolls Royce parked right over there. I can start there and keep on going for hours. You really want to do this right now?” If there’s anything I’m ever ready for; it’s to prove somebody wrong. Debating is an essential part of my profession as an analyst and I haven’t lost a debate yet if you let me tell it, so I can and will give him an extensive five minutes of dialog about his spending habits and how he is by far one of the biggest spenders that I know. This man doesn’t even use his washer and dryer. He dry cleans every damn thing and never wears the same underwear, socks, or t-shirts twice.

“Nah, baby, you got it.” Without any further questions or concerns, he extended his arms into the trunk and began to retrieve a few of the many bags that they all needed to bring inside.

“Wow. You know how things go in arguments. Good job, man.”

While on my way to the warmth, my laughter at Derek’s commentary was loud enough for me to hear it but low enough so that the man of my affection couldn’t make it out. Sometimes it’s just best to keep quiet about the reality that your man is willing to put himself aside to please you and, in this case, it was his mouth.

“Sarai!”

Sometimes I’m stunned by my sincere acceptance into his family dynamic. We’re anything but traditional and we’re navigating in a manner that I’m sure they don’t understand because we certainly don’t. Aside from my overwhelming emotional affection towards the man who belongs to them more than he does to me, they’ve been unknowingly responsible for making me feel like I deserve the joy that I feel when I’m with him and around them. In my transition from hugs with Heather, Jazzy, and those who I’ve been led around the first level of the house to meet, I haven’t been able to ease away the smile gracing my face.

“Your outfit and pajamas are upstairs in the room.” I know pasta when I smell it. The fumes coming from the kitchen appealed to my senses quickly and left my stomach turning in knots for nourishment.

“Outfit?”

“Wait until you see what your guy bought for you.” Her amusement was my fear. I tend to like to make him the butt of a couple of my jokes, but I don’t want to be the one on the other end of his tonight.

“Is it a onesie?”

“No.” Suddenly I wish this glass of egg nog were spiked.

“I’m going to head up and see it. If it’s a disaster I’m pulling the feminist card and blaming the both of you because we’re supposed to be united against these men.” I waggled my finger back and forth to point out the mother and daughter duo who found my apprehension to be amusing and began slowly inch my way up the spiraling staircase that leads to the upper level of the house. Though I could hear his voice loud and clear from the foyer, O hadn’t brought my personal belongings upstairs and I’m already up here so that’s out. With that in mind, it seems even more logical to take him up on his offer of my own closet space so that I no longer need to keep trekking overnight backs to and from here.

A blend of the Italian bergamot and clay sage from his beloved cologne meshed in blissfully with the gingerbread scent that I know he purposefully misted into the room just for me. Since December came in, he frequently made note of how my home smelled like cookies whenever he came over and accused me of trying to toy with his already slightly ridiculous appetite for junk food, especially candy. Despite my love for Bath and Body Works and Yankee Candle’s holiday scents, he deemed them to be exceedingly sweet and overdone. Now look at him.

Flutters filled my core at the sight of his master suite’s fireplace being utilized for the first time ever. Unlike my obsession with them, it’s a feature within the house that he hasn’t concerned himself with since moving in. There’s something about the way the flames are curling and oscillating, flickering like gleaming lights, and cascading hues of scarlet onto the wall that naturally warms the space.

“Your stuff is on the bed.” I knew he was in the doorway. The chills trickling onto the back of my neck spoke before he did.

“You put the fireplace on.”

“I figured you’d like it. Thank God it’s electric. I’m no fireplace expert.” As his feet trudged against the wooden flooring, he dropped my monogram Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière duffle bag near the entry way of his closet.

“It’s beautiful.” If it were just us, I’d curl up on the floor in front of it with a good playlist going.

As soon as my Ugg boots were kicked aside, I inched closer to the bed and alongside three bags, was a Snoopy and Woodstock perfectly wrapped present that I certainly wasn’t expecting to see. My curiously instantly peaked but in a swift second, I checked myself for discarding the waiting rule I’ve grown up with. Celeste and I weren’t even able to open one gift at midnight on Christmas Eve.

“You forgot to put that under the tree?” Instead, I reached for the crimson red gift bag and snickered as soon as my hand silky velvet material that is identical to the kind covering his frame. My Mrs. Claus coat was that of something I’d be waiting for Santa in the bedroom in rather than keeping an eye on the elves. It’s lace-up front called for a good cleavage while the pure white faux fur trimming and flared skirted bottom were more along the lines of tradition until anyone notices the split open front. What exactly is supposed to go under this?

“No, that’s for you to open now. You probably thought I was playing when I mentioned it before but I really am impatient on Christmas Eve. I like to open presents the night before and just sleep on Christmas morning. Since it’s our first one together, I figured I’d be fair to your traditions and my own. So, we can open some tonight and then open the first in the morning. Fair?” Like an eager child hoping to get his way, his narrowed eyes slightly widened with hopes that I’d agree to what he calls fair. I don’t see what the big deal is. It all has to be opened either way.

“Fair.”

“So open that.”

Lazily, my body flopped down onto the plushness of the bed and I grabbed the box with a bit of shaking to increase his growing anticipation. The contents inside only slighting moved, throwing off just about all of my potential guesses for what it may be. My first donned a smirk as I commenced with tearing through the wrapping paper to uncover the infamous Christian Louboutin box under it. Shoes? Infinite brownie points already. Much like himself, I adore footwear. I stand by the law that a shoe can make or break a look more than any other article of clothing.

“You didn’t.” Instantaneously, thoughts of a random conversation I was having with Taylor came to mind. Christian Louboutin collaborated with Indian Couture Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee on an extremely limited-edition collection featuring hand-embroidered sari fabrics and jaw dropping embellishments that left me in awe upon the sight of it online. Every piece of material used to craft the shoes were taken from Sabyasachi’s private archive, leaving only a few pairs of each design to be created.

“Didn’t what?” His confusion was intentional. The grin called his bluff. The lid to the box went flying behind me in an instant and in dramatic fashion, I dropped back onto the bed in astonishment and bliss at the sight of the exquisite thigh high boots that I fell in love with. Their golden delicate leather straps were specially designed harness and highlight the leg. On top of it, they’re made to measure.

“Is this real life?”

“I feel pretty alive, what about you?”

“How the hell did you get these? I called everywhere. No, literally. I e-mailed fucking Hong Kong for them. Supposedly only like six pairs were made.” “Those have been in my closet since October.” The nonchalance in his tone evoked a moisture lightly seep into the seat of the lace under my jeans. I don’t know whether to jump on the bed in joy or discard everything covering my frame allow him to twist and flip me into any position of his liking. Maybe both? Both can certainly be done.

“Come and give me a hug please.” With the box now resting alongside me, I opened my arms and awaited his presence. Like a weighted blanket, a wave of tranquility washed over me at the mass of his body now being closely hard-pressed against mine. My fingers found their way into the platinum blonde curls and few loose dreads dangling from his scalp and our lips met for a kiss that I’d been yearning for since I opened my eyes this morning. The sweetness of his supple lips intoxicated me far more than anything alcoholic ever could and the way his length fingers dug into the skin of my hips nearly blurred the actuality that we’re not home alone.

“I love them so much. Thank you, handsome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Get up so that I can get one of yours from downstairs.”

“I can wait until after you’re dressed.”

“No, I insist. Let me get it.”

“Another kiss first?”

Without hesitation, I once again pressed my lips into his own for a deep peck and moved in a fluidity with his body as we eased off of the bed. I made it downstairs and back up, with a promise that I’d hurry up and change so the festivities could really begin. I need a quick shower first before I do anything else.

“I hope that you like it. I saw it and you instantly came to mind.”

“Can I just warn you that I didn’t wrap all of your gifts. The only reason why your boots were wrapped is because the boutique did it for me.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care about all of that.” The last thing I expected him to do is be frustrating himself with wrapping paper. His patience would never be able to handle it. For some odd reason, I enjoy doing it. I’ve been the designated gift wrapper in my family for years.

Though it may seem childish to some, I wrapped everything I bought him in Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” wrapping paper that I randomly spotted and happily picked up from a Hallmark store in Rutherford, New Jersey. Since he deemed it to be his favorite holiday classic, I imagined it would be festive to bring an element of it into the fun.

With my phone in hand, I snapped a photo of him as he tore through it to reveal the Louis Vuitton box, I knew it to be. Within seconds, its lid was on the floor and he drew away the protective paper to reveal the tan cowhide and calf leather “Christopher Backpack” backpack I bought for him. Unlike his ridiculously vibrant Supreme bags, I fell in love with the timeless style of the backpack and the classic solidness of its color. It’s a perfect choice for those game days when he’s more dressed up than down and needs something that’s subtle while still somehow being a statement piece.

“Damn, this is clean. This is perfect for when we’re traveling because they usually want us a little more dressed up.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I love this baby. I don’t know about waiting until next season to wear it though. I’ll have this on within a couple of days. Watch.”

Knowing him, he will. If it’s new, he’s in it shortly after receiving it. I don’t know him to be that person who saves things for later. Why should he when he’s constantly either buying or receiving things?

“I’m going to take a short shower. It’ll be quick.”

“You already smell good. What you need a shower for?”

“I was cooking. I can smell it on me. It’ll be quick. Ten minutes.”

“Your showers are never ten minutes.”

“This one will be. I assure you.”

The fib didn’t go without being grumbled about when that ten-minute duration I assured him up turned into an additional ten simply because of the feel of the warm water cascading over my skin left me in damn near a state of slumber as I stood there. My lotion lathering came with assistance and so did pulling up the opaque plaid patterned tights over my thighs. By the way of their fit, they were clearly sewn together to cater to an extremely slender woman’s shape but by the grace of God and my man’s hands they were up and over my ass without a snag or hole in sight.

“I really can’t believe you bought all of this.” We look like we work in the middle of a mall. Instead of having crying babies sitting up on his lap for photographs, he’d have lusty women beating one another to a bloody pulp for daring to cut the line to ruin their chances of sitting upon his lap and asking for his genitalia while I’d be called Santa’s Slore.

“Let’s go outside.”

Intricate patterns of the weightless ice floated downward from the darkened sky. Each flake whirled and twirled as a faint wind blustered them in our direction. Much like the silly man alongside myself randomly dancing for his personal media guy’s camera, I joyfully tracked footsteps into the barely there bed of snow covering the grounds of his driveway and took satisfaction in the sound of it squishing under my boots. I’m no longer camera shy, but being on one with him has awoken what used to be a part of me. I already knew that George would be documenting all of this just as he does for a lot of milestones and random moments of his life, but what happens if I’m no longer what he wants and he randomly comes across this Christmas video and the pictures to go with it one day? How awkward would that be?

“Hey, look.”

“Huh?” Though he only spoke two words, the thick cloud of breath still lingered as I faced him. In following his eyes as they slowly panned up, mine met the mistletoe idly hanging on the door with the red bows that were already there.

“That was not there when I got here.” I saw the bows, but the mistletoe? No. Laughter spilled from our lips at what I knew to be true. I’m slightly fatigued, but I can remember what I did and did not see.

“It was.”

“It was not.”

“Come and kiss me so that we can go inside, open up more stuff, and play cards with grandma.”

“That tone. I like it.” I’m alright with a man taking charge every now and then.

“Come here.”

The frost of the winter air was of no match to the warmth radiating from our bodies and serving as a shield around our affection. I’d often fantasize about moments like this; having a companion to comfortably, and most of all safely, bare my all to without any guards or painful baggage weighing me down. I believed the advice of allowing it to come to me was standard and cliché, but I undoubtedly understand it now. It’s when you least expect it that the unexpected happens in the best way possible. I ruled him out of my life as soon as we had that initial conversation and yet the universe continued to cross our paths, naturally coercing me to allow him in. In the midst of all of my fears from the past and present, I want only him.

“Okay, let’s go. I want to see everything that you got me.”

“You can’t open everything tonight. That’s breaking our deal.”

“Huh?” I trailed behind him as he dashed back into the house and towards the living room.

“You heard me!”

I chose the kitchen counter top as my designated seat for what turned into the most chaotic gift giving presentation. Like a hood Santa Claus, all I could pay attention to was my man and his slightly sagging plaid pants zipping through his home pulling out gifts from seemingly everywhere. They jokingly talked about how much of a grinch he was last Christmas but he’s certainly redeeming himself this year.

I can’t remember the last time I thoughtlessly splurged on luxury designer goods but I don’t need to do so any time soon because he covered that and then some. Being overwhelmed was an understatement. Chanel, Versace, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, Saint Laurent, Fendi. I lost track of the rest and the process of just how I’m going to be able to organize all of it in my closet.

In watching him, it’s so easy to understand human purpose. In the midst of being here to seek fulfillment within our own purpose, we’re just as much here to look after our loved ones and even those who aren’t. Fortunately, he’s been blessed to have more and because of it, he spreads not only his love but also the benefits of his wealth among them. There’s a pride within it that has been radiating from him for over an hour now. I too, can relate. I’ve been given just as many hugs and kisses of thanks that he’s been given and I expect that it’ll continue when I am with my own family in the morning.

“Draw 4, blondie.” What he thought was going to be a swift Uno out moment turned into him having fifteen cards in his hand and a scowl on his face that is hysterical. He’d beaten me to the point of embarrassment at Spades because I’ve never been that great at it despite the many times my dad taught me how to play, so I had to somehow coerce him into playing something that I could play by pretending that I didn’t know how to.

“You know what, I’m going downstairs to whoop Kordell in some hoops because you’re cheating.” A snicker slipped past my lips at the playfully aggravated scowl on his face as he used his body’s strength to push his chair away from the round table. In a manner to taunt him, I held out my hands before me and wiggled my fingers to signify my lack of cards and the reality that I’d just won yet another game of UNO. My man being a sore loser isn’t something that he’s modest about. I and many others have known that about him for quite some time.

“Don’t be mad.”

“You’re cheating. You keep making up imaginary rules that don’t exist.”

“Seriously? The directions are in the box. Look at them or look them up on Google. It’s not my fault that you don’t know them all. You just suck.”

“I suck?” The amused expression on Mille’s face tickled all of us as she glanced back and forth, to take in every shit talking word as they left the both of our mouths. She’d been quietly observing the two of us since we joined both she and Jasmyne at the table for a round of card games.

Initially, I thought I’d been intruding on her time with her grandchildren, but the sly smirks and eventual huge smiles gracing her angelic face swarmed me with a warmness that I needed to further soothe me into a comfort zone around those who I do not know well just yet. Every couple of minutes or so, she’d give me either a gracious caress to the hand as a sign of her welcoming or a pat of encouragement to continue beating her oldest grandchild at Uno. I’m going to accredit that to the feminism within her.

“If the shoe fits, babe.”

“I’m going to remember that baby. The mental note is made.” He used his index finger to tap his forehead as I wordlessly ogled over his exterior.

If anyone looked at his attire, it wouldn’t be deemed as anything impressive; a black Supreme sweatshirt and a pair of black loose shorts to keep him much cooler than all of that velvet he had on. Simple. Why my eyes are continuing to embarrassingly bulge out of their sockets every time they land on him is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never seen anyone’s facial structure be as chiseled to perfection as his is. The silhouette of his jawbone is completely shielded by the blackness of his thick beard and yet just the hint of it sends unwavering shivers down my spine.

The glimmer in his faintly slanted and ever so narrowed eyes illuminates any room when that priceless smile arises on his face and every aspect of myself begins to figuratively melt into liquid form; between my thighs is the worst of it. In the midst of his sleep, I love to plant soft pecks down the finely lined bridge of his nose until my lips are gently pressed into the suppleness of his own. I’m addicted. I lose all sense of who I am whenever his warm tongue meets mine.

Handsome is an understatement; it isn’t enough to compare. He is beauty personified. I don’t believe there is another man in sports entertainment who has left me gasping for just a slight breath of air upon my every sight of him. It never gets old. I don’t believe it ever will.

Sometimes I have to wonder if he’s truly mine or if the universe is playing some type of sick joke on me.

“I don’t mind you remembering that.” Whatever payback he has for that may come with pleasure that I am more than willing to accept.

“Alright.” The sly smirk tugging on his lips was enough to leave me on the borderline of tickled and embarrassed as soon as he leaned over to plant a knowing and warning kiss on my lips. Despite the presence of his younger siblings and the elders within his family, he didn’t harbor not even an ounce of regard or bashfulness when it came to his need to have his hands touching some part of my body or any other display of affection, he bestowed upon me at random moments. His actions remained consistent with all that he does when we’re alone; barely any discretion involved.

“I’m not sure if my stomach is churning because of you two or because I want some cake, but I’m going to get some cake anyway. Y’all want anything?”

“You just mad.” And just like that, her brother’s large palms were lightly meshing into the side of her head for a playful mush and she instantly pushed him out of her way.

“I’m just fine with my egg nog.” Mille opted to keep hers virgin along with the other underage beings around. The rest of us had just a teaser of rum to give it a subtle kick.

“Me too. I’m fine.” I stepped on the scale a couple of days ago and I’ve gained five pounds. Between the man in my life constantly feeding me and the holidays, I’ve been overindulging on just about everything that’s offered to me. I need to get my life together.

With yet another shove to her brother’s side, Jasmyne darted away from the table with him hot on her trail with jokes about the size of her head which is no different from his own, but I’ll leave him be. They left the matriarch of their family and I at the table with decks of cards and a “Snow Place Like Home” five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle that she’s beginning to open so that we can attempt to put it all together before we’re off to bed. The peacefulness on her face evoked a solace within me that I’ve been seeking since this day began. My internal mourning subsided for the meantime as I observed her joy in being surrounded by family and most of all, because they’re all doing quite well in all aspects.

“My daughter went from telling me that you have my grandson’s nose wide open to telling me that he’s completely lost into your world and I couldn’t believe it. Odell would always laugh me off when I asked him about girls or women and he’d tell me that myself, Heather, and Jasmyne are the only ladies of value and importance in his life. From the way he’s been floating around here since your arrival and the way he looks at you, there’s officially a fourth.” My mouth moved to speak but the words remained stuck in the pit of my throat as her ash white eyebrows arose in a satisfaction at the believed accuracy of her all too knowing spirit.

“You don’t have to be modest. He’s not sitting next to you anymore.” Immediately, giggles spilled from her rosy lips prompting my shoulders to sink in a relief that I’m not sure why I needed.

“I’m not being modest. I just don’t know what to say. It feels like a lot of this is unfamiliar territory for me but at the same time, it evokes the shy and bashful side of me.” She’s been making little comments since we were introduced. I guess they were all leading up to this moment.

“That’s a good thing dear; a great thing. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since his momma showed me a video of him working out with his physical therapists and trainers. You’ve built him back up. She gives you most of the credit for that.”

“I wouldn’t give myself any credit. His determination did it. You can’t keep someone with his determination down and he certainly wasn’t going to do it to himself.”

“Determination goes a long way, but often time, there has to be something or someone to ignite the fire behind that determination and that has been you. You cared for him, physically and most of all mentally, during what he calls one of the most disappointing and darkest times of his life thus far. So, don’t sell yourself cheaply because he talks about you like you’re priceless.”

“I believe in everyone having a person; that person that they can go to for laughter and good times or to lean on for a cry session. Whether it’s a close relative or a friend, you just need that person. I wanted to be that person for him because I know what it’s like to not have that person. He didn’t need pity. He needed encouragement that the injury is just a small part of his journey and most of all, he just needed someone to simply be there. That’s what you do for someone you lo-“

My tongue pressed against the backs of my top front teeth as I halted an admission that I’ve been withholding for a short while and coming to grips with on my own. I’ve been overly analyzing what that means for myself and how to navigate it going forward because it’s never felt quite like this before. As with all that I’ve been sharing with him, it’s new and I’ve jumped off of a cliff and into a pit of fear that I’m doing my best not to drown in.

Acceptance needed to come first and now that it has, I’ve been in a wonderment of whether or not those feelings are reciprocated on his end and how I’m going to handle my ever-going emotions if they are not. I cannot berate him for what he may not feel nor can I resent him for not sparing my feelings with lies if he does admit that I am in this alone.

I want to do nothing more than protect him. It’s almost odd because I’ve felt compelled to do that prior to even knowing him. Every attack and biased commentary that came his way felt like a personal attack on the character of a man who the world refused to understand. Now that I’ve experienced him in ways that are far beyond what were in my imagination at that time, I stand firm in what I knew all along. He’s not perfect and yet his imperfections are too what I love about him. He’s the embodiment of a security in his personhood and masculinity that I am irrevocably attached to.

“You could have finished that. Words are powerful but so are body language and actions. Yours have said it all. You know, I used to call you the young lady on TV that he likes so much, but now I call you the young lady on TV that he loves so much.”

Faint tingling nipped at the nape of my neck and the lined crevice of my back as certain aspects of her statement entered my ear like a vibrating echo; hypothetically repeating themselves for an emphasis to my thoughts. The last man I remember genuinely loving me laid down with my mom to create me. Shamel did not love me; I was something to do.

He rarely ever used the word and when he did, it was to emphasize something that he loved for me to do for him. In poor judgement and a lack of character, I accepted that because I was too emotionally exhausted to be combative with him or myself about it. Eventually, I didn’t even want him to love me. There didn’t need to be anything that kept us attached beyond an ignorant familiarity that I clung to for far too long.

“You really think so?”

“I know so dear.”

In an effort to help her, I reached my arms out and used my hands to spread out the many pieces all over the table so that we could begin a strategy to get it done. It’s been quite some time since I’ve done one of these and I’m not even sure my tired body can concentrate enough but I’m willing to try.

“Merry Christmas.” Yet again, the scent of his Sean Jean cologne slithered up my nose as the heat radiating from his body left me leaning back against my seat, relishing in it. His long arms extended over and he placed a navy-blue box down on the table directly in front of me. Upon my eyes landing on it, the all too famous Harry Winston initials were engraved in a bold gold on its surface.

“What’s this?” Along with him, Mille, and myself being in the room, there was also George who was continuing to document every aspect of this holiday celebration.

“Just a little something for my Brooklyn girl to rock with her Timbs.”

“Shut up!” Our regional teasing never ends. He tends edge me out with the Brooklyn jokes because I don’t know how many other ways, I can talk about how country he is. Technically speaking, he’s not even as country as some of the other athletes that I’ve spoken with over the last couple of years. Even his accent, that nearly melted me out of my heels the night we first conversed with one another, isn’t heavily ingrained with that Louisiana flare.

“Open it.” Without any bickering or hesitation, I slowly pulled up the lid on the box to reveal a pair of hoop earrings that instantly left me in a state of breathlessness. The emerald and round cut stones circled their platinum setting with a glimmer that one could not ignore. Every aspect of their make oozed a meticulousness to his taste and Mr. Winston’s talent. Any figure of price that came to mind could not match up with what sat before me and I know better than to ask him for specifics. I can admit to being a gold hoop wearing girl while I was back in high school, but I never imagined myself having a pair quite like this.

“Oh my God.” Circling my fingers over their surfaces solidified the reality of them now being within my possession and his supple lips pressing against my forehead widened the smile I was already donning.

“You like them? They seemed like they were very you when I saw them. Hoops for when you rock those buns in your hair.” Whether it’s a well done or sloppy bun, he always compliments how “cute” it is on me and he takes it a step further by enjoying the open access to my neck while my hair is out of the way.

“I love them. Thank you, babe. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” Just as I’ve done with every gift he’s given me thus far, I leapt out of the chair and threw my arms around his body in a physical showering of the love that I have for him. It’s beyond the gifts but rather the reality of him thinking of me and being so intuitive with what I desire and need that has taken his endless gift giving over the edge tonight.

“George did you get that? Now that’s a picture-perfect moment.” Mille’s face glowed in pleasure at the sight of us. I wonder if we’re reminiscent of those old black and white films that I secretly love so much. I hope so, but just in color. Everything about us is vibrant.

“I have it all Mama Millz.”

“I’ll be back.” I couldn’t take another moment of being in that unbearably warm coat or the tights.

I did change. The crimson red fair isle long john was a perfect touch for tonight. Much like earlier, the fireplace distracted me and I found myself sliding down onto the floor to marvel in its heat and beauty. If there were a pillow down here with me, I’d be asleep within minutes. Though he moved into this house not that long ago, for some reason it feels more lived in than my own. Maybe it’s because it’s filled with family right now or it may be the dogs, but I enjoy the way I feel here. There’s an eerie loneliness in my home that can be difficult to ignore sometimes.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the fireplace.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t have one?” Once inside, he closed the door enough just to leave a crack in it.

“I don’t have one in my bedroom.”

“We can fix that.” Yet again, the nonchalance tone and now shrug awoken parts of me that I’ve been mentally taming since my arrival. He talks like he’s more than willing to give me the world in a silver platter if I were to request it.

“I have something for you.”

“I want something for you too.”

“Me first.” Rather than hanging it to him, I nudged the velvet gift bag towards his feet and he flopped down onto the floor to meet it. He dropped his gift for me, Cartier from what I observed, into his lap.

“Patek Philippe? Oh wow.” With no response, I allowed him to have the moment to himself as he pulled the chocolate toned leather box out of the bag. Our eye contact was brief as he pulled open the lid and his silence intrigued me instead of rattling my already racing nerves. Just as I’d done to the hoop earrings, his fingers ran over its surface while his lips parted to leave his mouth agape. It may not be on his arm now, but I’ve envisioned just how incredible it’s going to look on him over and over again.

“The blue isn’t only representative of the team but it also takes me back to the night we both spoke for the first time. You were wearing blue and black. In New Orleans, when we made things official, you were wearing blue. Blue makes me think of you. I know most associate that color with sorrow, but you give it life and joy. You give it character.”

Only the sound of the fire crackling against the wood served as a tune dancing in the air of stillness between the two of us. His reaction to so many of the other things I gifted to him were boisterous and comedic, but this stole his words and left him to wallow in speechlessness.

“Sarai, I love you.”

The wholeness of his words filled voids that I neglected and accepted as everlasting destruction. His patience has sealed my gaping wounds and rid me of the leftover scarring. The acceptor of my deficiencies and the protector of my delicate soul, in his eyes, for the first time in such a long time, I recognize myself. The duality of being able to love myself and him is as synchronized as my breathing.

“I love you too, Odell.”

Undoubtedly. Irrevocably.

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