CathrynJ
28th September 2004, 01:37
In the Dark
Author: CathrynJ
Rating: PG-13 for subject matter (just to be on the safe side of things)
Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment purposes only. All recognizable characters and settings belong to the WB and various other companies whose names I don’t even know. All spelling mistakes are mine, though.
Author’s note: No summary, because that would give it all away. I’ve been lurking here for a while now, and figured it might be time to post something. Never written Chlex before, so do tell me if it’s horrible. Other feedback would be appreciated, too. *wink*
~~~
You’re in front of the door, trying to find the right key among the many that adorn the keychain she gave you for your last birthday. It’s silver and rather plain, but you still like it. Finally you’re successful and manage to both unlock the door and avoid spilling the coffee you’ve bought for her all over the floor. The apartment is dark, though, and you hit your knee on some expensive little side table bought by that interior decorator neither of you can stand. His taste is atrocious, and way too feng shui. You remember how the fool almost seemed to have a heart attack when you moved the new desk into the wrong corner. You should have hired someone else. Actually, she could have done it, but then again, you knew she wouldn’t.
The lights won’t come on, even as you repeatedly flip the switch. Yet another power outage, it seems. There should be some way to keep these things from affecting affluent neighbourhoods, you think. You’ll have to talk it over with that butler in the morning. For now, you’ll have to stumble through the hall. At least, there’s carpet everywhere now. There’s a faint noise, possibly some type of music. The heavy mahogany doors dampen the sound. At the door to the master bedroom, you stop. Violins, a piano, some other instruments. No vocals. You have no idea which piece it is exactly. The stereo seems to have batteries, you think absently. Maybe she’s not sleeping yet.
You push open the door, and once again fumble for the light switch. While you almost manage to dislodge one of the five small abstract paintings on the wall, the light still doesn’t come on. You realign the painting, making a mental note to yourself to find out just what that Asian calligraphy means. Even without the lights, you can see clothes strewn around the room. Lingerie, mostly. Maybe she didn’t expect you back this soon, or she would’ve cleaned up. She wouldn’t have wanted you to see the evidence of her difficulty to pick something. Soft light is emanating from the crack between the bathroom door and the wall. Candle light. You move slowly through the twilight, not wanting to disturb her in case she’s enjoying a bath. The music behind you is moving to its crescendo, but the volume is too low for it to be truly loud. You peek through into the bathroom, and the sight you’re presented with makes you cover the distance to the tub with three quick strides.
The water resembles your once favourite colour. She looks up at you, wide-eyed, a smile on her face. A smile of anticipation, you think. It gives you a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. Her bra is white lace, with some vivid red pattern. You try to walk further towards her, but your legs won’t cooperate. It’s always like this. At last, you regain the ability to move.
Another two strides, and you are by her side, taking the sharp razor blade from her hand, and pressing a towel to the wrist where she’s cut herself too many times too count. Hopefully, she hasn’t lost too much blood. The music has stopped, and there’s only the faint hum of the stereo in standby mode. She is immobile in your arms, heavy, but neither helping nor resisting you as you drag her onto the bed, whispering nonsense. It was just the same, when you found her with that half-consumed bottle of pain killers five weeks ago, and with the gun in her hand last Thursday. You call 911, and they’ll be here in a few minutes, they say. You hate the fact that this is becoming routine to you.
There are tears in here eyes now, and she hoarsely whispers, “Too early, you got back too early”. You know she means it.
Maybe you should try and move her into a different apartment, because no redecorating job in the world is going to truly clean Lex’ blood of the bedroom floor where she found him. Or maybe you should just come home late from work tomorrow, because even moving to the other end the world would not erase him from Chloe’s memory. For now, you just wait.
Author: CathrynJ
Rating: PG-13 for subject matter (just to be on the safe side of things)
Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment purposes only. All recognizable characters and settings belong to the WB and various other companies whose names I don’t even know. All spelling mistakes are mine, though.
Author’s note: No summary, because that would give it all away. I’ve been lurking here for a while now, and figured it might be time to post something. Never written Chlex before, so do tell me if it’s horrible. Other feedback would be appreciated, too. *wink*
~~~
You’re in front of the door, trying to find the right key among the many that adorn the keychain she gave you for your last birthday. It’s silver and rather plain, but you still like it. Finally you’re successful and manage to both unlock the door and avoid spilling the coffee you’ve bought for her all over the floor. The apartment is dark, though, and you hit your knee on some expensive little side table bought by that interior decorator neither of you can stand. His taste is atrocious, and way too feng shui. You remember how the fool almost seemed to have a heart attack when you moved the new desk into the wrong corner. You should have hired someone else. Actually, she could have done it, but then again, you knew she wouldn’t.
The lights won’t come on, even as you repeatedly flip the switch. Yet another power outage, it seems. There should be some way to keep these things from affecting affluent neighbourhoods, you think. You’ll have to talk it over with that butler in the morning. For now, you’ll have to stumble through the hall. At least, there’s carpet everywhere now. There’s a faint noise, possibly some type of music. The heavy mahogany doors dampen the sound. At the door to the master bedroom, you stop. Violins, a piano, some other instruments. No vocals. You have no idea which piece it is exactly. The stereo seems to have batteries, you think absently. Maybe she’s not sleeping yet.
You push open the door, and once again fumble for the light switch. While you almost manage to dislodge one of the five small abstract paintings on the wall, the light still doesn’t come on. You realign the painting, making a mental note to yourself to find out just what that Asian calligraphy means. Even without the lights, you can see clothes strewn around the room. Lingerie, mostly. Maybe she didn’t expect you back this soon, or she would’ve cleaned up. She wouldn’t have wanted you to see the evidence of her difficulty to pick something. Soft light is emanating from the crack between the bathroom door and the wall. Candle light. You move slowly through the twilight, not wanting to disturb her in case she’s enjoying a bath. The music behind you is moving to its crescendo, but the volume is too low for it to be truly loud. You peek through into the bathroom, and the sight you’re presented with makes you cover the distance to the tub with three quick strides.
The water resembles your once favourite colour. She looks up at you, wide-eyed, a smile on her face. A smile of anticipation, you think. It gives you a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. Her bra is white lace, with some vivid red pattern. You try to walk further towards her, but your legs won’t cooperate. It’s always like this. At last, you regain the ability to move.
Another two strides, and you are by her side, taking the sharp razor blade from her hand, and pressing a towel to the wrist where she’s cut herself too many times too count. Hopefully, she hasn’t lost too much blood. The music has stopped, and there’s only the faint hum of the stereo in standby mode. She is immobile in your arms, heavy, but neither helping nor resisting you as you drag her onto the bed, whispering nonsense. It was just the same, when you found her with that half-consumed bottle of pain killers five weeks ago, and with the gun in her hand last Thursday. You call 911, and they’ll be here in a few minutes, they say. You hate the fact that this is becoming routine to you.
There are tears in here eyes now, and she hoarsely whispers, “Too early, you got back too early”. You know she means it.
Maybe you should try and move her into a different apartment, because no redecorating job in the world is going to truly clean Lex’ blood of the bedroom floor where she found him. Or maybe you should just come home late from work tomorrow, because even moving to the other end the world would not erase him from Chloe’s memory. For now, you just wait.