| Subject: Chapter 211 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 31, 06:54:00am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: There are some bad words and adult conversations here. I'm rating it 16 and above.
Dreams in the Dark (211/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
There were times a job could drive you crazy; this was definitely one of those times. Standing there, repeating words someone else had written, saying them as someone who was not himself to someone who was also not whom she portrayed, while every ounce of his heart and soul focused solely on his beloved one across the room, was enough to make a man go mad; he just managed to keep the burning need to go to her out of his eyes, the truth searing him. There were undoubtedly times when the work you did had nothing at all to do with who you were.
Michael had always understood this fact, had never been foolish enough to lose himself too deeply in his screen roles, however well he might enact him, but this day only seemed to be rubbing in the point. Still, this wasn't the worst of his torments. No, that had been building for sometime--this confrontation, this need to face down their fears, having been put off, the actor focusing instead on his vigilance over the coming attack. But something now was changing, the feelings which washed over him from his distant partner eroding his sanity like the insistent tides. There was little more he could stand; the time had come. They had to face their shared terrors at last.
He was still playing his part, still seemed to be the man the script required, while his whole mind held unwaveringly to his truer focus. And he realized that he had already made this decision, had sometime that morning--his wife's mood making it impossible to ignore this path. He had had too many mornings after now--and he was damn well determined not to face any more.
Still, it wasn't that his Nikita ever seemed to regret their marriage, wasn't as though he were causing her any real sorrow himself. No--it was more that her displaced fears were making life unbearable for her, were tingeing his own pleasure in her presence with ever-increasing pain, every day worse. Although their nights together were incendiary and beautiful, each morning a stark awakening came. But he was no longer the one who was facing down such fears.
It was this latter fact which destroyed him the most--his will alone keeping him from shifting all blame onto himself, making the situation that much worse. In the early days of their union, he had certainly had his own fears and doubts, had faced moments of intense guilt over having taken her virginity from her--whatever her utter consent in the original act. They didn't always show up in her presence--his beautiful Nikita washing such concerns easily from his mind--but they tended to attack him when he was alone, most vulnerable to their charges. There had even been times when he had feared that Jones was right, that he had sullied her; his deep breath was fortunately camouflaged. But his beloved's happiness in his touch had always dismissed them once more.
There was no such comfort for him now, however, no way to forget all he had feared--the situation changed greatly. Indeed, it was probably only the fact that he had married this beloved woman which kept them from returning in full. Somehow, with the marriage license filed and publicly noted, the ring on her finger reminding him of the legality of his love, he could fight those particular terrors off. Without those advances . . .
He didn't follow this thought, knowing it would be unhealthy. Instead, he outwardly focused on getting this scene done, on moving closer to the opportunity he so desperately needed. Because, without that . . .
His will kept him in place, his mind's terrors ravishing him--his wife's fears haunting. But it was one of these last words which explained it all too well. While Nikita and he both needed, both reveled in, their intimate times together, she was missing their true point--seeing only the external. It was a new, and unpleasant, twist for a woman who had always understood their partnership so clearly before; his heart sighed. But now he would have to be the one to pull her back to that path.
It was difficult to focus on the scene before him, its content an irony he didn't need. Here he was, supposedly being drawn toward another woman, away from his wife, when the truth of the man he was was entirely different. He had never, at any time, met any woman who could compete with her--every previous assumption proven wrong; he was even quite glad that Simone had not still been with him, when he had met Nikita, knowing where his heart sided most. Even if he so wished for a far happier ending for the woman whom he had cared for so deeply, there had never been any other truth. His wife was the only woman who had ever had the whole of his heart.
It was this fact alone which galvanized him, forcing him to focus intensely to get the part he was enacting right--praying that Petrosian would have the sense to let them go for awhile after this. In truth, they had perfected the scene about three takes ago, were now only rehashing what had been done better before; he managed not to glare at the director, his character's smile aimed at his new co-star. But the man had never had the sense to understand such details.
He wouldn't let himself focus here, didn't need any more targets for his growing rage. Still, it was just as they were reaching the end of the scene that his heart paused. He could see Nikita move out of the corner of his eye, walking quietly away from the set; it took every ounce of concentration not to run after her. He could already feel her pulling away, knew that--once the shot was done--she would be gone; she hadn't been needed the whole morning, Petrosian simply enjoying having her under his control. He put everything into his character's next smile. If he didn't go after her soon . . .
To his relief, the director agreed to their break--after his usual, controlling pause. It was Michael's acting skills alone which made him walk so seemingly calmly across the floor, following without thought his wife's exact path--but nothing inside him was quite so serene, the fears building unbearably. The very fact that Nikita was alone, was outside of his vision, was enough to make him crazy. With every day of grace they were allowed, their fate drew closer. That she could forget this now . . .
She didn't, of course, was simply too focused on this inevitability to be able to watch such scenes as this last one quietly anymore--their symbolism too intense. She was surprised, then, when she felt her husband's fingers wrap around her elbow--his touch seemingly casual but actually rather rough, his voice no calmer. "Come with me." And then her heart could only speed up, as he led her briskly along to his dressing room.
She was already rather disconcerted by this treatment--as proper as it looked from the outside--Michael's boiling fury quite clear in his ragged breaths. It obviously took everything in him not to toss her into the room, when he shut the door firmly behind them, his look fiery. But all of that was before he came to her--and then there was no room left for thought.
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