beautiful N' Bruised
24th November 2003, 02:14
Could be considered to be set after 'Magnetic' but only minor spoliers, (to Season 1+2)
Disclaimer: I might be evil, and the queen of darkness, mwahhhhhaaa! *ahem,* but even *I'm* not sick-minded enough to do that to my poor Lexy. In other words, not mine.
AN: Old-ish fic that friends convinced me to post. It's supposedly one of my more 'difficult' fics... If you wanna pm me with questions, I'll answer them, but I won't give it away here and leave everyone to work it out themselves... And please don't spoil the plot in the reviews. Thanks! You can read now. :blush:
Cobweb
You’ve loved her longer than you’ve realised, but you’ve kept it inside for reasons better known as ‘the love triangle.’
It’s the same old heartbreak story, you love her, but she loves him, but he loves somebody else.
You could have accepted them together, her, the girl of your dreams, him, your best friend with the pure as the driven snow, heart. It would have hurt, but it would have made her happy, and so it would have been okay. But now you know his secret, you understand what keeps him distant, why he pushes her away.
Now you and he both have lost her.
You have a dream. You’re running home with her, in the pouring rain, holding hands, guided only by moonlight. It’s past your curfews but you’re both too giddy to care. Then standing by her doorstep, willing to do anything not to have to leave her there. She’s wearing a white dress soaked see-through by the rain, but she just looks at you and pretends not to notice.
It’s one of those rare dreams that feels disjointed from anything else you’ve ever dreamt, even anything you’ve ever experienced. It feels like it doesn’t belong to you, and yet it feels hauntingly right.
And haunt you it does, for weeks, until you find yourself unable to be yourself around her, gone like mist is the ‘smooth-boy’ attitude you prefer to hide behind around women. Ever astute, she begins asking you if you are okay, if anything is wrong, but you don’t realise that had she not been otherwise occupied she would have kept at you until you confessed.
Eventually, you lose patience with yourself. Afraid you’re going to end up as stalemated as your best friend, you buy her a dozen roses.
Even then you dawdle, leaving it one, two, three days and more, until the roses begin to wilt. Strangely it’s your mother, finding the roses hidden in your bedroom, that gives you the final push to go for it. She’s always liked her and you suspect she dislikes your ‘woman of the week’ method of dating.
Armed with the roses and your heart on a plate (ready for sacrifice), you knock on her door.
Her new roommate, your best friend’s crush and your mutual friend opens the door. In your rush to verify that the roses you hold before you aren’t for her, you give the game away.
She looks surprised and trying to hide it, but there’s something else. Looking behind her, she whispers to you that your crush is on a date. Swallowing bitter disappointment you nod, so you worked yourself up for nothing, but you tell yourself it’ll be okay, it’ll work out. With her dating track record you should be bringing her a new bunch of flowers the same time next week.
You turn to leave, giving the roses to the girl at the door, ask her to promise not to tell. She nods, "But don’t you want to know who he is?"
Don’t you want to know who he is?
Don’t you want to know who he is?
Her tone is one of cryptic fascination and sets the sentence echoing in your head, sets flames of fear to lick at your stomach.
The town is aptly named, and it doesn’t take you long to find them. They’re leaning against his car, as though they meant to leave but couldn’t tear themselves away.
And the triangle becomes a cobweb.
The intensity of emotions that hits you as you look at them actually feels like a physical force in your chest.
As always when you see her, beautiful and perfect and so alive, there’s a bittersweet pang.
Sweet, because I love you.
Bitter, because when will you love me too?
And him, there’s nothing contradictory about how you feel when you see him.
Like an obsessive stalker you move closer, crouching in a nearby alleyway to watch them.
She’s talking animatedly, punctuating her words with her hands, smiling *that* smile. It’s the one she saves for special occasions, the one that makes you love her. You’ve never had it turned on you, only seen it elsewhere, but never has the recipient been as undeserving as him.
Much as you want to deny it, her adoration for him is written on her face, in her body language, there for the world to see.
You couldn’t make yourself like him for your best friend, but for her you might love the devil. If only the open admiration in her eyes was mirrored even half as intensely in his. But his gaze is hungry in a way that conjures up images of a gun. You’re holding it and he’s looking down it at you terrified, it’s so vivid you could swear it’s a past life, or memories forgotten.
But if the panther-predator look makes you want to kill him, the cool indifference, a satisfied cat watching a mouse at play, makes you want to wait.
Plot and wait, watching from the sidelines, because if and when he steps out of line you’ll be there.
He who hurts her better fear your wrath.
Disclaimer: I might be evil, and the queen of darkness, mwahhhhhaaa! *ahem,* but even *I'm* not sick-minded enough to do that to my poor Lexy. In other words, not mine.
AN: Old-ish fic that friends convinced me to post. It's supposedly one of my more 'difficult' fics... If you wanna pm me with questions, I'll answer them, but I won't give it away here and leave everyone to work it out themselves... And please don't spoil the plot in the reviews. Thanks! You can read now. :blush:
Cobweb
You’ve loved her longer than you’ve realised, but you’ve kept it inside for reasons better known as ‘the love triangle.’
It’s the same old heartbreak story, you love her, but she loves him, but he loves somebody else.
You could have accepted them together, her, the girl of your dreams, him, your best friend with the pure as the driven snow, heart. It would have hurt, but it would have made her happy, and so it would have been okay. But now you know his secret, you understand what keeps him distant, why he pushes her away.
Now you and he both have lost her.
You have a dream. You’re running home with her, in the pouring rain, holding hands, guided only by moonlight. It’s past your curfews but you’re both too giddy to care. Then standing by her doorstep, willing to do anything not to have to leave her there. She’s wearing a white dress soaked see-through by the rain, but she just looks at you and pretends not to notice.
It’s one of those rare dreams that feels disjointed from anything else you’ve ever dreamt, even anything you’ve ever experienced. It feels like it doesn’t belong to you, and yet it feels hauntingly right.
And haunt you it does, for weeks, until you find yourself unable to be yourself around her, gone like mist is the ‘smooth-boy’ attitude you prefer to hide behind around women. Ever astute, she begins asking you if you are okay, if anything is wrong, but you don’t realise that had she not been otherwise occupied she would have kept at you until you confessed.
Eventually, you lose patience with yourself. Afraid you’re going to end up as stalemated as your best friend, you buy her a dozen roses.
Even then you dawdle, leaving it one, two, three days and more, until the roses begin to wilt. Strangely it’s your mother, finding the roses hidden in your bedroom, that gives you the final push to go for it. She’s always liked her and you suspect she dislikes your ‘woman of the week’ method of dating.
Armed with the roses and your heart on a plate (ready for sacrifice), you knock on her door.
Her new roommate, your best friend’s crush and your mutual friend opens the door. In your rush to verify that the roses you hold before you aren’t for her, you give the game away.
She looks surprised and trying to hide it, but there’s something else. Looking behind her, she whispers to you that your crush is on a date. Swallowing bitter disappointment you nod, so you worked yourself up for nothing, but you tell yourself it’ll be okay, it’ll work out. With her dating track record you should be bringing her a new bunch of flowers the same time next week.
You turn to leave, giving the roses to the girl at the door, ask her to promise not to tell. She nods, "But don’t you want to know who he is?"
Don’t you want to know who he is?
Don’t you want to know who he is?
Her tone is one of cryptic fascination and sets the sentence echoing in your head, sets flames of fear to lick at your stomach.
The town is aptly named, and it doesn’t take you long to find them. They’re leaning against his car, as though they meant to leave but couldn’t tear themselves away.
And the triangle becomes a cobweb.
The intensity of emotions that hits you as you look at them actually feels like a physical force in your chest.
As always when you see her, beautiful and perfect and so alive, there’s a bittersweet pang.
Sweet, because I love you.
Bitter, because when will you love me too?
And him, there’s nothing contradictory about how you feel when you see him.
Like an obsessive stalker you move closer, crouching in a nearby alleyway to watch them.
She’s talking animatedly, punctuating her words with her hands, smiling *that* smile. It’s the one she saves for special occasions, the one that makes you love her. You’ve never had it turned on you, only seen it elsewhere, but never has the recipient been as undeserving as him.
Much as you want to deny it, her adoration for him is written on her face, in her body language, there for the world to see.
You couldn’t make yourself like him for your best friend, but for her you might love the devil. If only the open admiration in her eyes was mirrored even half as intensely in his. But his gaze is hungry in a way that conjures up images of a gun. You’re holding it and he’s looking down it at you terrified, it’s so vivid you could swear it’s a past life, or memories forgotten.
But if the panther-predator look makes you want to kill him, the cool indifference, a satisfied cat watching a mouse at play, makes you want to wait.
Plot and wait, watching from the sidelines, because if and when he steps out of line you’ll be there.
He who hurts her better fear your wrath.