Chain Reaction 3.77: Actions Are Louder

Michael

      We build me a basement apartment. Its entrance is outside the house, looking like a shed on the ground level. Underground, I have a kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom, and my enormous office. Mom and Dad both treat it like a separate house, only coming over when invited.

     It's awesome.

     And it's awesome that Darrin practically lives here. He won't officially move in (although I have asked) because his parents have gotten clingy--or as he says it, depressed. Of course, that means he wants to escape whenever possible.

     He came over today after work again.

      "I should go." He comes up to me where I'd been sitting on the bed reading. I put the book away.

      I pout. "Don't. Tomorrow I have to work late, so you can be with them tomorrow evening. Stay here tonight." I really don't like his parents.

     "You," he taps my nose, "are so adorable when you pout."

     I smile. "Well, you're just adorable." How could we have ever just stayed friends? This was bound to happen. We've become the kind of couple that used to make me want to puke.

     "When's the next evening you don't have to work?"

     "Next weekend. Like Saturday. So you should stay tonight." I sit up and kiss him, and he lets out a defeated groan.

     He lifts up. "Your boss is too demanding. Why can't you just work normal hours?"

     "I work the hours he doesn't want to work. That's what happens when you're the employee."

     "You should join the force and work with me."

     I smile. That's a new one. "Then your coworkers would definitely know because I wouldn't keep my hands off you." My smile grows. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea. We could sneak off into one of the cells for, you know, inspections and stuff."

     "Mike..." he says in warning. He still hasn't come out at work, and it's a touchy subject.

     I don't stop. "And you could be the one to train me. Lots of one-on-one time. You could be my mentor. Teach me everything you know. You're already so good at teaching me other stuff..."

     "Plum, you don't need to be turning me on right now."

     "Of course I do--because I want you to stay. I want you to stay forever. Move in with m-"

     I don't get to finish my request. "Dammit, Michael. You know I can't."

     "Meff oo can," I mumble against his hand.

     "I don't know what to do!" He moves his hand.

     "You're a grown man. You can move out. It doesn't mean they won't see you anymore. It's just you'll be here with me, sleeping with me every night. You can take a nap when you get home from work, and I'll come and wake you up." I grin.

     "Plum, I love your eyes."

     "Right. So imagine waking up to these eyes every morning. I might be a little grumpy with your early hours, but--"

     "But I know how to fix that," he finishes for me and starts kissing my chest, down to my stomach.

     I start shaking. What Darrin wants, Darrin gets... because I never deny him.

     "It's the perfect way to wake up," he whispers.

      How does he do this so well?!

      Eighty percent of the time, this is how Darrin likes it. He drives me out of my mind with his mouth...

      ...and then seeks his own satisfaction. Remember how I said he's a fantastic dancer? The man can move. Sometimes, I give out and he has to hold me up, but, well... yeah.

     After this, we go take a bubble bath. I have a gorgeous corner bathtub. I finally convince him to stay the night, and then we go back to bed.

     I wish he'd get over his hangups about leaving his parents. I know they keep hoping I'm just a phase, but I'm not. He's told me he loves me. I mean, it was right after I told him, but I believe him, that it wasn't just an automatic thing to keep from hurting my feelings. He shows it in his actions, like how right now he's holding me as tightly as a toddler holds his favorite blanket.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emily

       I get a call from the police department. For a few moments, I can't understand the officer because the thunder and rain outside are too loud. I have to ask the man to repeat himself.

     "We're very sorry, Mrs. Goth, but we have found your husband's body." The police have called me and told me they've found my husband. Dead. I can't believe it.

     "How can you be so sure?" I want to come and take a look at him, but they tell me not to, that the body is very decayed. They identified him by his prison uniform, the number on it, a sample of his hair, and his dental records. They say it would be too traumatic for me to see. "What if... um... his uniform was... on someone else?" No. This can't be happening. 

     "That would be very unlikely, especially considering the hair sample and dental records." Three things to prove it: uniform, hair, teeth. "Again, I'm very sorry for your loss." Loss. "If you'd like, I can give you some contact information for grief counseling."

     I swallow, but my throat feels thick. "No." My voice cracks. "That won't be necessary." I hang up.

     Dead. No. No, not after everything. It's a lie. 

     It can't be true! It just can't be true! Everything we went through to be together! I broke my father's heart to be with Alex. No one has, or will, ever loved me like Alex.

     He was always there. We loved each other before we even knew what was going on.

     He was the only one who's ever shown me what it is to be romantically loved. It was with the slightest thing, even just the way he would speak to me like it always mattered what I had to say.

     And when we finally did figure out what was going on, he looked so guilty! Love doesn't care about age. Not with us anyway.

     I knew we were destined to be together, like it had somehow already happened even before it happened.
     Oh, maker! I'm never going to see him smile like that at me again!

     I bawl on the floor until my throat and eyes run dry. Then I drag myself to the bathroom for some water.

     It isn't. It can't be. They killed him! I sob, and the glass shakes in my hand as I feebly bring it to my lips. In the corner of my eye, I spy the sleep aid I'd bought a few weeks ago...

     I can't live without him. I can't continue being Drake's whore. My beloved Alaric hates me--and for good reason. I can't live with the person I've let myself become. The several months' supply of pills feel warm on my hand as I empty the bottle.

     In a daze, I get dressed for bed, but the pills work fast on my empty stomach.