modern sectional

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VIII)

Part VIII – “Please teach me gently how to breathe”

You can find every previous part here.

Twenty-eight

“Open yer mouth.” I ordered with what I thought might be a commanding voice, holding a spoon in front of her stubbornly closed lips. “This jelly actually looks delicious. Ye need yer strength.”

“Yuck.” Claire showed me her tongue in distaste. “Why don’t you eat it, then? I’ve been eating that yellow blob for the last three weeks!”

“Sometimes it’s red.” I pointed patiently. “I ken ye’re tired of being here, mo nighean donn – I have spent enough time in hospitals to last me a lifetime, I assure ye – but ye’re scrawny as a bird fallen from its nest. They won’t let ye leave unless ye put on some weight.”

“Fine.” She replied in a mordant tone, clutching the spoon away from me. “But I can feed myself – I’ve been shot, not taken back in time to when I was two years old.”

“Then stop acting like a wicked bairn.” I offered her a playful nose scrunch. “How is yer pain?”

“About as good as it was two minutes ago, the last time you asked.” Claire swallowed a spoonful of the hospital’s dessert, grimacing. “Are you sure you haven’t been a nurse in a past life? You seem to like prodding and ordering way too much.”

“I’m sure whatever I was, ye were always the one in charge, lass.” I kissed her forehead – marvelling with the freshness of her skin, after so many days of burning fever. On top of her surgery, from which she was slowly recovering, Claire had developed an infection of her suture – which finally had started to heal properly, after days of intravenous antibiotics. Her usually calm and centred temper had suffered with prolonged seclusion and constant fear of a relapse – and undoubtedly she found my constant attentions profoundly tiresome, if amusing and heartening.

“How is my favourite patient?” Denzel asked, entering the room and greeting us with a warm smile. He looked tired, wearing his crumpled scrubs, his surgical cap slightly hanging from a pocket. “I hear half of the nurses in the department are handing in their notices, unless I discharge you.”

“Hardly.” Claire smiled, neatly folding a corner of her sheet after pushing away the lunch tray. She still looked quite pale, with deep dark smudges under her eyes, but her orbs had regained their usual sharpness and liveliness. “But I’ll let you get away with it if you let me leave this damned place.”

“I’ll have to check your dressings.” Denny squeezed my shoulder in a companion manner, before stepping in to expose her abdomen, still covered with fluffy white bandages. “Your labs are back though – your infection parameters are finally down, so you might be in for some good news.”

After some clicking of his tongue – and a heated debate between the two doctors, from which I only understood about half the strange words – it was settled that Claire was allowed to leave the next day, as long as she accepted to come in every two days to check and redress the wound.

“And you have to build up some body again.” Denzel alerted, ignoring her disarming glances with a professional face. “The infection took almost all of your muscle. You need to eat a bit more if you want to heal nicely.”

“Fine!” She conceded, mocking exasperation. “Get me a cheeseburger, then!”

“Take care, Claire.” Denny winked and brushed her hair with a kind hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“Will ye go home, do ye think?” I asked slowly, as she adjusted her pillow to settle in for the afternoon, after Denzel’s departure.

“Where else would I go?” Claire gave me a questioning look, softly squeezing my hand.

“Well,” I started, caressing her knuckles with my thumb. “I was thinking ye could come to my place – just while ye heal.” I added hurriedly, trying not to sound desperate and possessive. “My mind wouldna be at ease if ye were alone in her house, almost empty as it is, with no one to look after ye.”

“If you’re sure.” She raised a brow and smiled. “I can be quite the handful.”

“I am.” I breathed out, trying to control the emotions that seemed to ran so close to the surface, exposed and rampant, after her injury. “Bad things seem to happen when we’re apart. I want ye close to me – I want to care for ye, mo ghraidh.”

“It’s settled, then.” Claire grabbed by hand and pulled me in for a rewarding kiss. “You’ll be my private nurse.”

****

She had protested, assuring me she was quite capable of climbing up the stairs to my apartment – but I saw the effort everything required of her, even standing or laughing too hard – and carried her in my arms, only letting go when I laid her down on my bed.

After helping her change into some comfortable pyjamas, I contentedly sat by the bedroom window, grading some tests from my students, while she took a nap. Once in a while I stopped, my eyes drifting to her, reassuring myself she dreamt within my reach.

I cooked us a simple dinner – roasted chicken with basil and tomatoes, aromatic and homely – and helped her to lay down again, determined to find a place in the sofa or on the floor, where I could sleep close to her without disturbing her.

“Will you sleep next to me?” She asked softly, her brown curls and hawk eyes almost the only visible thing inside the cocoon of quilts I had made around her. “I’d sleep better with you beside me.”

“Aye.” I replied in a husky voice, easing myself under the covers next to her with gentleness, trying not to disturb her with my movements – the idea of causing her any pain made my stomach churn.

I placed an arm around her, reassuring her of my presence – mindful not to put too much pressure over her or to touch her scar. For a time we laid silent, aware of each other’s presence, discovering the intimacy of a bed shared in darkness.

We had been so once before – but at that time she had been devastated, wrecked like a ship after an unforgiving storm, and I had offered her security, a presence of someone who loved her without any demands. I remembered how I had stayed awake, memorizing her until I could recreate her in my heart - believing I’d never see her again, much less hold her in my arms. I wondered if she too recalled that night, when I had offered her the knowledge of my feelings, in the hope that she could use them to heal – and she had.  

I knew she wasn’t sleeping – I’d spent every day and night for the last weeks watching her sleep, until I knew the cadence of her breathing, the comes and goings of her dreams, like a second nature of my own.

She trashed about a little, fidgeting with bedclothes and adjusting her body on the mattress – always laying on her left side, wishing to avoid the tenderness of her upper right quadrant – slowly searching for the contact of my body behind hers, sheltering her like a cloak, two halves finally falling into place.

I waited for her to speak, painfully aware of the desires of my body, feeling her soft arse wedged between my thighs – yet completely restrained by the will of the woman who ruled me.  

A hand came up in the darkness and she placed it gently on my hip.

“I want you.” Claire whispered, almost sobbing. “I need you, Jamie.”

“Are ye sure?” I asked in a husky voice, my fingertips brushing her face, tracing her lips to find truth in her words in the absence of sight. “I dinna want to hurt ye. I’d die if I hurt ye, mo nighean donn.”

“You could never hurt me.” She replied softly, caressing the length of my thigh. “I can’t breathe while we’re apart. I must have you – please, Jamie.”

I didn’t try to dissuade her again, even afraid as I was that it was too soon, too hazardous. I knew all too well the hunger that moved her towards me, starved for life when death had come so close, when it seemed that each moment could be the last. We had lost and found each other in the past, time and again – it seemed that while we were one flesh, one body, parting us would be impossible. While we were in each other, life – and death – was an afterthought, a remote threat, to which we were immune while moving as one.

I moved impossibly slowly, wishing to give her enough space to retrocede at any time, baring us of as many clothes as possible. I kissed the back of her neck, delighted in the small shivers of her skin next to mine, the testament of her arousal in her hardened nipples. I caressed her body with a worshiping hand, taking time at each new discovery that made her moan and hiss in pleasure.

When I thought her ready – desperately pressing herself against me while clawing at my hair – I held her thigh with a light hand and raised her, slightly folding my legs, so I could enter her. I rocked calmly with her body nestled against mine, letting her command the pace while I carried all the weight of her movements.

“I love you”. She whispered – moaned - tilting her head to kiss my lips. “Jamie.” I felt the moistness of her cheeks mixed with mine, tears of a joy long forsaken, exploding between us with enough force to leave us gasping, deeply moved.

It didn’t take long – I knew she was still weak, stubborn and lustful as she might have been. When I felt her tire in my arms, my hand came around her hips to delicately touch her in time with our movements, smiling as she cried out my name.

Afterwards, I held her against me, my hand brushing the dressing on her belly to make sure everything was in place – feeling the comforting thump of our hearts beating together, close enough to be inside the same chest.

“I was right.” She murmured on the verge of sleep, surrendering to my keeping once more. “Nothing hurts when you love me.”

The end

…for now - End of Section 1

anonymous asked:

Hi! You talk quite a bit about adaptations, could you give your thoughts on some adaptations of other classic novels, ones you particularly like or hate?

Well, let me think. I’ll give you the rundown on literary adaptations I like or love, as it’s getting late in the evening here and a bout of solid rage isn’t going to send me off to sleep so much as bring on a bout of indigestion. Also I went to review my DVD collection and for obvious reasons I don’t own many DVDs of things that I loathed. (I do recall nearly bursting into tears after a matinee viewing of I Capture the Castle because I felt the movie ended on such a bittersweet note that I was not prepared to walk out of a darkened cinema into a sunny day with birds singing while I was still Feeling a Lot of Unhappy Things, and so I felt like I hated that movie for a long time because of the sheer mood whiplash of it all. Also I wish I’d read the book first. The book is lovely, and I think I’d’ve stomached the film better, had I gone through the book first.)

Oh! I just remembered The Wings of the Dove (1997). I should have loved it, it had a lot going for it, buuuut fuck that movie and everyone involved in it, it just fell flat, for me. I don’t even care how critically-acclaimed it was, all the characters are The Worst and I never have a moment’s sympathy enough to care what happens to any of them. I hate even thinking about this movie and it is largely responsible for how much I despise Helena Bonham-Carter to this very day. Her and Jeremy Irons (who I admit I have many more personal issues with ‘cause he’s a silver-spoon gross-ass fuckshit.) A movie has got to be pretty damn brilliant on several other points for me to get past the knee-jerk rage I feel whenever either of them appear on-screen.

Also The Portrait of a Lady was terrible and riddled with pointless alterations and please just read The Making of a Marchioness, instead. Maybe I should add Linus Roache to my shitlist as he’s in this one, as well as The Wings of the Dove.

And now for adaptations I liked:

Wives and Daughters (1999) is quite good, in my view, and the ending they added to Gaskell’s unfinished work is quite satisfying, I think. (I don’t know about realistic, but it was sweet and simple and I dug it.)

Orlando (1992) Beautifully done. (Billy Zane! I love him in everything and I literally don’t even know why.)

Little Women (1994) is a classic, but I’m also very excited to see what Heidi Thomas and Vanessa Caswill do with the new miniseries from the BBC and PBS next year.

Daniel Deronda (2002) It’s prettyyyyyy. And so is Jodhi Maaaay. <3 (Also some powerful performances, like, damn.)

Washington Square (1997) has a beautiful soundtrack, solid direction, and a stellar cast.

Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) had some great cinematography and a good cast.

Dangerous Liasons (1988) I have such mixed feelings about Malkovich in this one but Glenn Close, holy shit she’s good.

Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) A TRUE CLASSIC LITERARY ADAPTATION I WILL FIGHT EVERYONE. THEN PAY FOR THE RUINED GREEK RESTAURANT.

The Remains of the Day
(1993) A somewhat underrated classic that I think perhaps unfairly sits in the shadow of Howard’s End a lot of the time, what with the comparisons of the Thompson-Hopkins casting in a Merchant-Ivory film. (I do like Howard’s End, but, again, Helena Bonham-Carter, and I just connect a lot more with The Remains of the Day, as a story.)

Wide Sargasso Sea (2006) I don’t recall unabashedly loving this one, but I own it, so I feel like I must’ve liked it well enough. Then again, I also just found a copy of Sweeney Todd still in its plastic-wrap that I don’t know how I came by, I don’t even like the concept enough to want to watch it in the first place. Also, Helena Bonham-Carter is in it. And Johnny Depp. Why the fuck do I even own Sweeney Todd? Anyway, Wide Sargasso Sea is alright, though I feel like I preferred Karina Lombard’s Antoinette to Rebecca Hall’s.

The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982) I’m pretty sure this is where Jane Seymour and Anthony Andrews made me bi and SIR IAN MCKELLEN HOW DO YOU DO?

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (2006) HOW DO YOU FILM SMELLS? LIKE THIS. MY GOD. (Also please read the book.)

Dracula (1992) I mean, the cast swings between pretty good and absolutely wooden, but from a literary standpoint this is one of the more faithful adaptations of Stoker’s novel out there–though this movie is by no means The Best Anyone Could Do. There’s a lot wrong with it. But then Coppola didn’t need to include the blue fire thing, but he did, and I appreciate that.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994) is worth it for Robert de Niro, alone; and maybe a handful of really, really good shots. Otherwise there’s too much Helena Bonham-Carter and also Ken Branagh just recently hauled himself onto my shitlist but GOOD NEWS the character of Victor Frankenstein was always an annoying fucko and that’s canon, so feel free to hate him throughout, anyhow.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1996) Does not get enough love. A good antidote to Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights for anyone who sat there thinking Rochester and Heathcliff were BIG PILES OF RED FLAGS. Wildfell is a cautionary tale, but actually ends reasonably happily (and more believably happily, IMO, than Jane Eyre.)

The Secret Garden (1993) Pure nostalgia for this one, excellent casting, and the same director as Washington Square.

Ivanhoe (1982) Sam Neill has no business making a villain that compelling. (I know, I know, Bois-Gilbert’s characterization is softened a lot in this adaptation.) And this time I’m bi for Neill and Olivia Hussey. Sorry, Anthony Andrews, you drop to second-slot in this love-fest. Also Rowena ruins everything but that’s canon, so what can you do?

Maurice (1987) Who doesn’t love a fluffy gay gamekeeper?

Cousin Bette (1998) Changes stuff from the book, and on the whole the story can be a bit rocky, especially in the second half or so, but it’s worth seeing for Jessica Lange, alone, I think, as well as some broadly comic notes from side-characters in Hugh Laurie and Bob Hoskins.

Possession (2002) Ignore Gwyneth Paltrow as best you can and otherwise enjoy the literary mystery unfolding in between some amazing flashbacks. Most of the good actors are crammed into the flashback bits, but at least there’s some snarky Tom Hollander and dastardly-but-personally-I-think-he’s-in-love-with-Roland Toby Stephens in the modern-day sections to give us some fun.

Twelfth Night (1996) Again, ignoring Helena Bonham-Carter, this one’s got a lot going for it. Trevor Nunn directing, Toby Stephens managing to be damn fine and somehow I don’t entirely mind that Orsino’s kind of a douchebag, Imogen Stubbs being cute as fuck, and stellar supporting actors.

The Inheritance (1997) Look, this is a little-known Louisa May Alcott thing, and I’ll be honest, it’s not Groundbreaking Television. As far as direction and score and acting and script goes, there is no danger of anyone ever losing sight of the fact that it’s a made-for-TV-movie from 1997 and Meredith Baxter was probably the biggest name they could get for it at the time. Anyway, there’s a reason I own it, and that reason is that watching it is the equivalent of a big mug of hot chocolate after a terrible day. It is pretty and sweet and funny and the villains and heroes are clearly marked from the moment they appear on-screen, and is it perhaps a bit too sweet? Yes. Embrace the sugar-shock.

Titus (1999) Goes on a little long, perhaps, but you can’t look away. Anthony Hopkins and Jessica Lange go toe to toe and it’s a thing of horrific beauty. Shhh don’t question the batshit bloodbath, just let Julie Taymor do her thing.

Enchanted April (1991) Run away to Italy with your girlfriends. Just do it.

The Princess Diaries (2001) A modern masterpiece. GET OFF THE GRASS.

Bleak House (2005) Oh my God, this cast??? Is so magnificent?

Persepolis (2007) One of those films that are so good you need to lie down afterwards. Again, please also read the graphic novels.

Any Agatha Christie adaptation, ever–I am HERE FOR IT.

I know I’m forgetting one I thought of earlier, but oh well.

anonymous asked:

Night at the museum au maybe?

At first I though this was weird but then I saw how cOOL THIS IS AND IM WRITING MORE OF THIS AU I PROMISE

——

Prompt: Night at the museum Au

——

Patton couldn’t wait for nighttime.

He just couldn’t wait.

As the museum’s doors closed and the night came, he jumped out of his exposition and rushed through the hallways as quickly as he could, grinning from ear to ear.

It was time, it was time!

He entered the main section of the museum and grinned as he saw the other three coming closer: Roman, from the medieval section, holding his sword and riding his horse; Logan, from the science department, wearing his lab coat and fixing his glasses; and Ann, from the fantasy section, with his magic book and dark clothes.

“Friends!” Patton said, happily, rushing to them as Roman got out of his horse and smiled at them.

“My lords” the royal said, bowing, and Logan moved his glasses as his salute while Ann just waved.

“What is the eagerness about, Pat?” Ann asked, raising his eyebrow, and Patton squealed happily.

“I overheard today that there will be a new night guard! His name is Thomas! Today is his first night and I think we should make a good impression!” The father said, eyes sparkling. “Let’s go to the door! I want to be the first to greet him!”

“I don’t have anything better to do” Logan said, and other two nodded, following Patton to the door, waiting for the guy to arrive. They didn’t have to wait for long, and the door opened slowly, and a small man walked inside, closing the door behind him and turning on the lights.

When he turned around, he gasped and jumped back, seeing the four men in front of him.

“Hello!” Patton said, happily, waving his hand. “I’m Patton, from the modern day section! It’s a pleasure to meet the new night guard! Thomas, right? Oh I’m so excited! What’s your favourite part of the museum? Do you like it? Or it’s just a job?”

“Patton, that is quite enough. You are scaring him” Logan said, firmly, looking at the man that was pressed against the door. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide, scared.

“You… You… You…” Thomas stuttered, and Roman rolled his eyes.

“Typical” the royal said, shaking his head. “Yes, we are reanimated at night” he explained, raising his eyebrow. “One would believe you, night guards, talked to each other”

“They… Said something… Like that” Thomas breathed out. “I didn’t believe them…”

“Yeah bro” Ann said, shrugging. “We are alive. Big deal. Patton wanted to say hello” he nodded to the father that was still grinning.

“Yes. Hello” Patton squealed, and Thomas chuckles quietly, a little breathless.

“So… Everything has life in here?” He asked, looking around at the empty main hall. The four nodded, Logan fixing his glasses.

“Indeed. All exhibitions gain life at night. They usually stay inside their section, but since we four are somewhat friends, we always meet to talk about our day” Logan explained, and Thomas smiled a little, calming down.

“Ah… That’s cute” he said, smiling softly. “So… Wanna show me around? I didn’t have the time to see the museum, I moved here last week” he said, and Patton quickly nodded, taking Thomas’ hand.

“Yes! Come with us! Oh we have so much to show you!” He said, tugging Thomas around as the other three followed, ready to explain everything around the museum.

Until morning, they talked and showed the museum around, presenting Thomas to some of the biggest characters of history or yay showing exotic species of animals.

It was a fun night overall, and they couldn’t wait to see Thomas again when the sun rose.

3

Organic Roots


Igor Vasilevsk

Druzhba sanitarium hotel, designed by  Igor Vasilevsk, 1984 Yalta, Ukraine.(Crimea province)

image1: Cross Section. Druzhba sanitarium hotel. Igor Vasilevsk. 1984. Yalta, Ukraine.

image2: Floor Plan. Druzhba sanitarium hotel. Igor Vasilevsk. 1984. Yalta, Ukraine.

image3: Druzhba sanitarium hotel. Igor Vasilevsk. 1984. Yalta, Ukraine.

Hold On - Ray Palmer

- Y/n = Your Name

- Y/L/N = Your Last Name

Prompt- Ray Palmer imagine where he and the reader are madly in love in the future, and he has to come back in time but don’t want to leave her, even knowing you will meet again in two years -anon  //  "Ray Palmer imagine. I don’t have a prompt exactly, but fluff. A lot of fluff because Ray is a little ball of cuteness. Please. Sorry if there is anything wrong with the request, i’m not a native speaker.-anon

Word count - 1,245

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Modern Au Part 3

GATHER ROUND CHILDREN!!! IT’S PART THREE!!!!!!

Pups and Boom Boxes

           What did you even call a guy who you were sort of dating but not really? Cause it sure as hell isn’t boyfriend. Boyfriend is reserved for the guy who you’re sleeping with, or the guy who you let hold your hand when you’re walking around with him. Cal wasn’t that, at least not yet. We had hung out more since New Year’s, but we definitely were past the friend’s stage. So what did you call the stage between those two? We hadn’t… slept together… which meant it wasn’t friend’s with benefits, so what the hell were we?!

           I climb up the stairs to his apartment complex and buzz his room. He picks up a few buzzes later, and breathlessly says, “Get up here as fast as you can, I need your help with something.”

           With a sigh, I yank open the door and then head inside, pulling off my hat and undoing my scarf. Whatever he had done now, I didn’t really want to know. I had come over to have coffee and a serious talk about our relationship.

           As I walk down the hallway toward his apartment, I hear something crash and then him letting out a string of curses. At that, I break into a sprint, thinking somethings happened and he’s hurt. I throw open the door and am greeted by a bunch of mud on the floor, and all over the walls near the baseboards. I raise my brow and then shut the door before calling, “Cal? What the hell-“

           Before I can finish a small object comes sprinting out of the living room and leaps at me. I let out a shriek of surprise and back against the door as a tiny puppy jumps at my feet, and tries to gnaw on my boots. It barks happily and then grabs one of my shoelace and yanks, completely undoing my boot.

           “HEY!” I shout at it, and it freezes for a moment, looking at me with wide surprised eyes. Then Cal comes around the corner, covered in mud. I glance at him in surprise and the pup barks happily and then takes off for him. He smiles wickedly and then says, “Now I’ve got you.”

           It sprints between his legs though and continues through the apartment barking its head off. I stay pressed against the door and whisper, “Why is there a dog in your apartment?”

           Cal pushes his hair out of his face and then sighing, he looks at the disaster that is his hallway and says, “It was sitting in a box in the middle of the park. It’s the runt of the litter or something, cause some asshole just left it there with a sign that said to take it.”

           “SO YOU TOOK IT? Cal, you can’t even manage your own life let own a dog!” I cry as it comes barreling in from the bathroom with one of his shoes in its mouth. Cal let out a groan and then takes off after it, completely ignoring my comment. I follow him more slowly and see him cornering the dog in the living room. It growls playfully, with its butt up in the air and its tail wagging dramatically. Cal crouches down then and grabs it. Immediately, it protested, yipping and howling.

           He shushes it and then carries it toward the bathroom. It’s only then that I notice that it’s covered in mud. Cal holds it out so that it doesn’t get mud on his shirt anymore, and then smiling at me, he says, “Do you want to help me give him a bath?”

           I purse my lips and then look the dog over. It twists its head to the side at that, and then opens its mouth so that its tongue hangs out. I shy away from it a little bit and then say, “Sure, I guess… but Cal-”

           “Great,” Cal says as he starts toward the bathroom again. I shrug off my jacket and shout at his back as he goes farther into the apartment, “But afterward we really need to talk.”

           He starts humming a song as he goes into the bathroom, and I sigh when I realize he’s ignoring that comment on purpose.

           The puppy was by far worse than a toddler in the bathtub. It cries for a solid ten minutes while Cal gets it wet, and then yips and barks while I help rub shampoo into its fur. After that, it tried to leap out of the tub, and once it succeeded, only to land in my lap soaking wet. Cal laughs the whole time though, like this is all some fun game. I grit my teeth and pretend like it doesn’t matter, he’ll get rid of it as soon as he can. Cal knew he didn’t have time to take care of a dog, besides, he really only stays in the apartment half the time anyway.

           As soon as the dog has been washed three times, Cal scoops it out of the tub and wraps it in a towel, talking to it like it’s a child. I sigh and then sit back on my heels while the tub drains. I’m soaking wet, and my hair is a mess, and honestly I was peeved that he was trying to ignore my comments about talking seriously about our relationship.

           He carries the dog out into living room and then sinks onto the couch with it, laughing as it tries to climb out of the towel to lick his face. I stand in the doorway to the living room then, at the end of my rope. I straighten my shoulders and then say, “Cal, we need to talk right now, so stop ignoring me like a two-year-old.”

           He glances at me then with a raised brow and then says, “Okay, start talking then.”

           I squeeze my hands into fists at his cavalier tone, and then inhaling slowly, I go to say what’s been on my mind but I freeze when I realize I have no idea how to talk about this. All of the speech starters I had planned seemed corny and stupid now that I thought about them. He continues to watch me though, his brow raised as he waits for me to speak. I throw my hands up then and shout, “Can you stop looking at me like that? Like you’re expecting something!”

           “You wanted to talk, I’m waiting to see what you want to talk about.” He says carefully as he continues to rub the dog dry. It lays in his lap panting and looking absolutely blissful. God dammit, even the dog was in a good mood.

           “I don’t think we should do this anymore.” I say suddenly. He stops rubbing the dog, and its ears quirk up in curiosity before its head rotates to look at Cal.

           I cross my arms defiantly, and then say, “We’re not dating, we’re not just friends, I have no idea what we are. We’ve dug ourselves a hole, and I don’t want to get stuck at the bottom of it.”

           He sits there, frozen it seems. The only thing that moves is his chest as he breaths slowly and carefully. Eventually he looks down at his lap and then says, “I didn’t realize we weren’t dating, I figured we were just taking it… slow and steady.”

           “Slow and steady? SLOW AND STEADY IS WHEN YOU’VE KNOWN SOMEONE FOR YEARS! We’ve known each other for mabye five months!”  I shout as his comment completely taking me over the edge, making the dog turn and bury its head in Cal’s stomach. He shifts the dog onto the couch and then stands up and says, “We’ve been talking and hanging out. I mean you kissed me on New Year’s and said you liked complicated!”

           “I was in the moment!” I shout back, and the dog whines at the volume of my voice. Cal looks taken aback and then stepping toward me says coolly, “And what about all those times I picked you up and we got food, or that time we sat on a park bench and talked for three hours? Was that just living in the moment?!”

           I glare at him and then say, “That was me trying to figure out what the hell you wanted!”

           “What I wanted? I wanted you to be happy! I wanted you to be give me a sign that you felt the same what that I do!”
           “Ugh!” I scream as I dig my hands into my hair and pull at it. This was a mistake; I should have just broken the connection slowly and taking myself out of his life little by little, instead of this abrupt argument. Now I would leave him on a sour note.

           “What do you want Mare? Just tell me and-“

           “I WANT YOU TO SHUT UP AND LET ME THINK!” I scream, and he freezes. In my distraction, I hadn’t seen him coming toward me slowly, his hand out stretched to touch my arm. We both look at each other for a few seconds, me with tears in my eyes, and him with a look of utter pain. I back away from him then and whisper, “I just need… I need space, and time… just… leave me alone for now.”

           He stands there dumbfound, like I just slapped him across the face. He swallows a heartbeat later though and says, “I don’t understand.”

           “I don’t know what I want, maybe I wanted the stupid eighties romance, where you pick me up the convertible after my sister’s shitty wedding, but you weren’t… I just… ugh! I honestly don’t know!” I cry as I turn and storm toward the door. He doesn’t even follow. He’s so shocked by my confession, or maybe he was trying to piece together whatever I had given him. I grab my coat and my shoes and pulling them on though. I grab my bag and then slam the door behind me for good measure when I leave.

           (///)

           No one in my family asks why I came how with red eyes, and they especially didn’t ask when I slammed my door shut and didn’t come down for dinner. I had made a huge mistake. I’d realized that on the subway ride home. I shouldn’t have said those things, I should have just kept my mouth shut and tried to piece together how this whole relationship with him would work. All he had done was just try to keep me happy, and I had thrown it back in his face. Burying my face in the pillow I try to hide the next round of sobs that rise up.

           The door to my room opens, and Gisa clears her throat before saying, “I think you should look out your window.”

           I lift my head and glare at her. She simply nods to my window and then closes the door. I sniff and wipe at my nose before glancing at the pouring rain outside. Sitting up, I push my hair out of my face and then look out at the street below. My eyes shoot wide open and I throw open the window before screaming, “What the hell are you doing?!?”

           Cal smiles up at me and then shifting the boom box to his shoulder he shouts back, “You wanted eighties romance, I had to catch up on my movies before I tried this!”

           He presses play on the machine and then sits there with a shit eating grin on his face as he shouts, “I meant to find a convertible, but the weather kind of screwed up my plans to take you for a drive over the Brooklyn bridge to see the city lights!”

           I sit there for a second, completely shocked, and then I blink and realize he’s soaking wet, and sitting at his feet is the little dog, happily wagging its tail. I slam the window shut and then grab my jacket off of my desk before sprinting out of my room and through our apartment. My mother barely avoids me in the hallway, and demands to know where I’m going, but I throw myself out the front door and down the hall to the stairs. I can feel all of my family’s eyes and then, I can hear them all shouting about following me or not.

           I can barely hide my own smile as I shove the front door to our apartment complex open, and sprint out into the rain. Cal sets down the boom box just in time to catch me as I throw myself into his arms. He presses his lips to mine, and spins me around slowly. The dog barks at his feet, trying to nip at my shoes. I wrap my legs around his waist though, and push his soaking wet hair out of his face before I choke, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking-“

           “You were right though,” he said with a smile as he wrapped his arms around my waist to keep me balanced, “Neither of us really knew what we were doing before we jumped in.”

           I wipe some of the water off his forehead, and then with a small smile, I shake my head and say, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

           He smirks again and then reaches up to press his lips against mine. I cup his face and let him, my heart rapidly pacing in my chest as we do this. Without a doubt my family was watching this, and trying to figure out what the hell I was going to tell them. I hadn’t really told them about Cal, or that I was even really seeing him.

           When we pull away from our kiss, he lets me slide down until I’m on my feet again. I keep my arms wrapped around his neck though. He smiles down at me and then pressing a kiss against my hairline he says, “If you want space, I understand. Just tell me.”

           I shake my head quickly and then say, “I was… I was just frustrated today, and I wasn’t really thinking about what I was saying. I don’t want to step away from you, or whatever the hell this mess is.”

           He laughs at that and then bending over he places his forehead against mine and whispers, “Then are you willing to place a label on this whole thing?”

           “I’m good with hot mess,” I say with a laugh. He laughs as well, and then pressing another kiss against my lips he says, “Hot mess it is then.”

PART THREE!!!!! YAAAASSSSS!!!! AAAAAANNNGGGSSSTTTT!!! I’m so sorry, but I’m also not sorry, cause I can never stay away from it. (: Anywho, part 4 will be a cute little valentine’s day thing, I’ll see when I can get that up. (:

What have I become..?!
  • A friend who wanted to dive into the depths of art history, asked me to go to a museum with them so we could stare at pretty pictures and talk about art together. Eventually, we found ourselves in the modern art section and although I normally just ran away from this section whilst audibly hissing at it, this time I thought, well, what the hell, and went in. We sat in front of a huge ass abstract art canvas and stared at it for a while.
  • Her: You know, I don't get this piece. Why is it in a museum? I could have made this!
  • (Suddenly, a spark ignited the art historian in me, full speed ahead...)
  • Me: Well, why didn't you? Why didn't you make this before this dude did?
  • Her: Um...
  • A few moments of intense staring at each other and awkward silence ensued.
  • Her: Well I wouldn't hang it in my living room!
  • Me: That's great, good thing it's already hanging on a museum wall.
  • Her: DAMN IT I KNOW THERE IS A LESSON COMING SO JUST EXPLAIN IT TO ME.
  • And then I proceeded to give her a 20-minute lecture on modern art and the importance of focusing on the materiality of the paint itself and even brought Greenberg into the conversation whom as a baby art historian I had sworn a sacred vow to never say his name out loud ever.
  • Not my proudest moment.

@hclywcrs

“No one has ever died of restlessness,” Catelyn said, though she knew her youngest daughter would likely argue otherwise, “But rashness is another matter”