cutthroatpixie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cutthroatpixie) wrote2008-01-03 03:43 am
cutthroatpixie) wrote2008-01-03 03:43 am
Entry tags:
Of Times to Come (Part 1/5)
Title: Of Times to Come (Part 1/5)
Author: McKenzie
Pairing: Selene/Ed
Prompt: #01- Hours
Rating: PG
Author: McKenzie
Pairing: Selene/Ed
Prompt: #01- Hours
Rating: PG
Ed slams the door with a final, 'Goodbye,' and Selene just shakes her head.
---
Hours from now, he'll be driving down the interstate, not sure where in the world he is going. He'll realise it is far past sundown, almost sunup, actually, and he'll pull over to the side of the road. Head in his arms, arms on the steering wheel, he'll realise what he's done. He'll realise there is no turning back now. He'll realise he's left her behind, left her for good, and there is nothing he can ever hope to do to change that.
Hours from now, he'll succumb to the worst sort of despair: the kind that comes with the knowledge that your life as you know it is over. He'll think back on all their times together. He'll miss the good and the bad just the same, because at least they were together. He'll miss her soft blonde hair, her golden brown eyes, her pale skin, her scent, her touch, her taste.
Hours from now he'll miss her more than he's missed anything else before. He'll tell himself he's never going to get over it, never going to love somebody as much as he loved her, never going to have anything to do with love ever again.
Hours from now he'll pick his drooping head up from his moist arms, pull his arms back from the steering wheel, and pull the car back onto the road. He'll find a place to stay the night (a seedy motel, he'll be tired and it'll be the closest place he can find before his drops dead from weariness.)
---
Hours from now she'll be sitting in her room, listening to some old CD of hers, surrounded by darkness and rainfall and the sounds of wet solitude. She'll be doing everything she can not to think of what took place hours before. She'll be telling herself it is for the best when she fails to not think about it. She'll be telling herself she didn't need him anyway.
Hours from now Jeremy will come home (where was he anyway?) and realise what has happened. He'll try to comfort her, but it will be useless. She'll tell him it is nothing, she'll tell him she's fine, he'll tell her she's a dirty, rotten liar and leave the room, expressing the anger she won't.
Hours from now she'll lay down in her bed, which is still heavy with his scent, and she'll inhale deeply that smell that was once so familiar, that smell that, with time, will fade into her memories, as will every other sign that he was ever in her life. She'll pull the blankets close, try to capture that scent in her skin. She'll stay like that for a bit, before realising how utterly silly she is being.
Hours from now she'll break down, for the briefest of moments, in that silent sort of way she does things sometimes. Tears will grace cheeks that have remained dry of such salty water for hell knows how long. Silent sobs will wrack a chest not used to this sort of heartbreak. Hands will cling to forearms in an entirely unsexual sort of way; knees will curl up to an abdomen which will no longer feel his soft touch.
Hours from now she'll tell herself to stop. She'll say it again, and again, and yet again, until she is screaming herself hoarse with that one blasted word.
Hours from now she'll realise what a huge mistake she's made.
Hours from now she'll realise that things will never be the same.
Hours from now she'll realise how much he actually meant to her.
---
Hours from now, they'll be miles apart. He'll be off in the middle of nowhere, she'll be locked away in her room. They'll be nowhere near one another at all.
Hours from now they'll be the closest they've ever been, ever will be, and they won't even know it.
---
Hours from now, he'll be driving down the interstate, not sure where in the world he is going. He'll realise it is far past sundown, almost sunup, actually, and he'll pull over to the side of the road. Head in his arms, arms on the steering wheel, he'll realise what he's done. He'll realise there is no turning back now. He'll realise he's left her behind, left her for good, and there is nothing he can ever hope to do to change that.
Hours from now, he'll succumb to the worst sort of despair: the kind that comes with the knowledge that your life as you know it is over. He'll think back on all their times together. He'll miss the good and the bad just the same, because at least they were together. He'll miss her soft blonde hair, her golden brown eyes, her pale skin, her scent, her touch, her taste.
Hours from now he'll miss her more than he's missed anything else before. He'll tell himself he's never going to get over it, never going to love somebody as much as he loved her, never going to have anything to do with love ever again.
Hours from now he'll pick his drooping head up from his moist arms, pull his arms back from the steering wheel, and pull the car back onto the road. He'll find a place to stay the night (a seedy motel, he'll be tired and it'll be the closest place he can find before his drops dead from weariness.)
---
Hours from now she'll be sitting in her room, listening to some old CD of hers, surrounded by darkness and rainfall and the sounds of wet solitude. She'll be doing everything she can not to think of what took place hours before. She'll be telling herself it is for the best when she fails to not think about it. She'll be telling herself she didn't need him anyway.
Hours from now Jeremy will come home (where was he anyway?) and realise what has happened. He'll try to comfort her, but it will be useless. She'll tell him it is nothing, she'll tell him she's fine, he'll tell her she's a dirty, rotten liar and leave the room, expressing the anger she won't.
Hours from now she'll lay down in her bed, which is still heavy with his scent, and she'll inhale deeply that smell that was once so familiar, that smell that, with time, will fade into her memories, as will every other sign that he was ever in her life. She'll pull the blankets close, try to capture that scent in her skin. She'll stay like that for a bit, before realising how utterly silly she is being.
Hours from now she'll break down, for the briefest of moments, in that silent sort of way she does things sometimes. Tears will grace cheeks that have remained dry of such salty water for hell knows how long. Silent sobs will wrack a chest not used to this sort of heartbreak. Hands will cling to forearms in an entirely unsexual sort of way; knees will curl up to an abdomen which will no longer feel his soft touch.
Hours from now she'll tell herself to stop. She'll say it again, and again, and yet again, until she is screaming herself hoarse with that one blasted word.
Hours from now she'll realise what a huge mistake she's made.
Hours from now she'll realise that things will never be the same.
Hours from now she'll realise how much he actually meant to her.
---
Hours from now, they'll be miles apart. He'll be off in the middle of nowhere, she'll be locked away in her room. They'll be nowhere near one another at all.
Hours from now they'll be the closest they've ever been, ever will be, and they won't even know it.