Post by Luke on Nov 8, 2006 11:25:43 GMT
Some time after midnight, 8th November 2006
Well, well, well.
It seemed that it’d finally happened. Come to a head. Ended, for the time being.
Alfred sat on the side of his bed and sighed, turning one corner of the duvet over and back again with a hand. His eyes stared aimlessly, unfocused, being more open and unseeing than actually of any use. No matter what Kit had thought, it was his fault, after all.
Walking her home. How he’d cherished that… the short train journey with the shared little smiles across the carriage. Stepping out into the night, whatever the weather. Linking arms and taking the long and circuitous route beneath the raised roads, up steps and ramps, past darkened buildings and bright shop windows that were luminous yellow in the dark. Talking about nothing, carefree, laughing about one thing or another. All the criminals and other malcontents of Skyway City were sensible enough to give them a wide berth.
And the light above her apartment building’s door… the bench, neither really illuminated from the building nor from the orange of the street-lamps. So much in his life – and hers – had happened in that little null area. Soft embraces, to drink in her warmth and the scent of her hair. The nights when ‘goodbye’ would not become final, and she would not go inside, or he would not leave. Those were perhaps the closest.
Often, there would be a kiss on the cheek, a little goodnight that glowed with affection. And sometimes… only sometimes… there would be a light touch of lips upon lips. She was still there. They were still there. Words from the heart exchanged in some northerly city, the embrace in the park that looked out on some chilly Canadian lake. The old feeling, formed in equal measure from strife and comfort, was still there, under the surface, awaiting a chance.
And yet she was not his.
She had been, once… and all had been well. Even the pain and crises had always ended well, a joyous affirmation that life was life. After such pain and hardship, he could not lose her. Their wedding would have been closer and closer by the day. Unity. It had been too soon, but with love such as this... it had all fallen down.
His failure was painful. His fault. Even his attempts to compensate, to make good and care, ended in more pain, and not just for him. He had failed in that, too. And now yet another attempt at creating happiness had had the opposite effect.
“I hurt Kit. I hurt Kit.”
The words came out as a light whisper, barely audible, but they lashed at Alfred like a thousand whips. His eyes blurred. To the fictional outside observer, his eyes flared into blinding blue-white light.
A presence drew near, and his composure was regained. Just Callista heading for her guest room across the hall, coming up in the lift. Hope she doesn’t need anything tonight… in no condition to talk, let alone discuss the stabilising technology or get magical theory explained. Walks across the common area, down the corridor, and into the furthest room on the left. Good. No trouble.
His face remained stony and composed, his eyes blankly forward at some part of the carpet. They moved up. A bottle of sleeping pills was on the bedside table.
Waiting, waiting.
Well, well, well.
It seemed that it’d finally happened. Come to a head. Ended, for the time being.
Alfred sat on the side of his bed and sighed, turning one corner of the duvet over and back again with a hand. His eyes stared aimlessly, unfocused, being more open and unseeing than actually of any use. No matter what Kit had thought, it was his fault, after all.
Walking her home. How he’d cherished that… the short train journey with the shared little smiles across the carriage. Stepping out into the night, whatever the weather. Linking arms and taking the long and circuitous route beneath the raised roads, up steps and ramps, past darkened buildings and bright shop windows that were luminous yellow in the dark. Talking about nothing, carefree, laughing about one thing or another. All the criminals and other malcontents of Skyway City were sensible enough to give them a wide berth.
And the light above her apartment building’s door… the bench, neither really illuminated from the building nor from the orange of the street-lamps. So much in his life – and hers – had happened in that little null area. Soft embraces, to drink in her warmth and the scent of her hair. The nights when ‘goodbye’ would not become final, and she would not go inside, or he would not leave. Those were perhaps the closest.
Often, there would be a kiss on the cheek, a little goodnight that glowed with affection. And sometimes… only sometimes… there would be a light touch of lips upon lips. She was still there. They were still there. Words from the heart exchanged in some northerly city, the embrace in the park that looked out on some chilly Canadian lake. The old feeling, formed in equal measure from strife and comfort, was still there, under the surface, awaiting a chance.
And yet she was not his.
She had been, once… and all had been well. Even the pain and crises had always ended well, a joyous affirmation that life was life. After such pain and hardship, he could not lose her. Their wedding would have been closer and closer by the day. Unity. It had been too soon, but with love such as this... it had all fallen down.
His failure was painful. His fault. Even his attempts to compensate, to make good and care, ended in more pain, and not just for him. He had failed in that, too. And now yet another attempt at creating happiness had had the opposite effect.
“I hurt Kit. I hurt Kit.”
The words came out as a light whisper, barely audible, but they lashed at Alfred like a thousand whips. His eyes blurred. To the fictional outside observer, his eyes flared into blinding blue-white light.
A presence drew near, and his composure was regained. Just Callista heading for her guest room across the hall, coming up in the lift. Hope she doesn’t need anything tonight… in no condition to talk, let alone discuss the stabilising technology or get magical theory explained. Walks across the common area, down the corridor, and into the furthest room on the left. Good. No trouble.
His face remained stony and composed, his eyes blankly forward at some part of the carpet. They moved up. A bottle of sleeping pills was on the bedside table.
Waiting, waiting.
