| Subject: Chapter 247 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, July 17, 11:23:43pm
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
Extra warning: This part is rated 16 and Above for some foul language.
Dreams in the Dark (247/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
They were together in each other's arms for sometime after that, barely noticed that they were still in the car. Even if the thought that they might be seen, their intimacy objected to by some neighbor, crossed Michael's mind, he didn't much care. He was holding his Nikita, their unity reforged. Hedda could just do whatever she wanted with any public obscenity charges which might follow.
This outcome didn't happen, fortunately, the couple breaking apart awhile later, finally making their way into their home. Michael only stopped long enough to check the mail, as they made their way inside. But that was where the next roadblock hit them full-on.
His wife was smiling, when he closed the door, locking them safely into the home they alone would ever define--her earlier fears, and dreadful memories, dissipated once more. Still, as she watched him sorting the letters, she saw that he was caught by one in particular, the other envelopes forgotten in his hand. As she watched, he opened it, looking at what appeared to be a photo, before flipping it over to read what seemed to be words on its back; his face changed with his perusal--moving from reminiscent to sorrowful to speculative to resolved, so quickly that it was hard to keep up. "Who's it from?" she wondered--but she didn't receive any answer she might have wanted.
There was a pause, before he gave her one at all, and the overly-casual mask he wore, once he glanced up to her, made her shiver just slightly. It was too much the look he used at work, the one which covered many a sin in his characters or in his public persona; it was the first time she had ever seen it in their home. Still, he only shook his head at her obvious concerns. "Just an old friend," he smiled--but he didn't show it to her. When she was about to inquire further, he held out another envelope. "There's one for you." And that seemed to be the end of the conversation.
She was extremely confused about this exchange, even more so by his next few actions. While most of the letters were abandoned on a side table, his gaze seemed to penetrate the one in his hand for one more second. Soon, he placed its contents back firmly into the envelope and put them in the side table's drawer, closing it for good. He was then gone in the direction of their bedroom, before she could even hope to ask what it was all about.
She was caught at that moment, wasn't certain what to do. Her husband--the man she trusted implicitly, the one she had been so close to a minute before, the one who never hid any of his past from her, however shocking or unpleasant--had just acted as though he had been scripted to make her suspicious. She sighed heavily, staring at the drawer. Still, he had left it right there, where she could easily read it. If it had been something he hadn't wanted her to see . . .
She couldn't stop herself, the theories suddenly spinning into life like something out of a very bad melodrama--like something out of the last film they had made together. In it, she had played a woman who couldn't conceive, her husband starting an affair soon after--the thousand telltale hints left behind for her to find; her heart started thumping, despite herself. If she were suddenly caught in the same sort of situation herself . . .
Her logic tried to take over a moment later, doing its best to impose itself on her panic--and, she had to admit, her worries didn't make a lot of sense. Admittedly, she wasn't the world's authority on faithlessness--her only examples, at least that she could study, usually far too closely for comfort, some of the sleazy men who had infested her mother's house--but she couldn't see any reason why a mistress would send a letter or a photo through the mail to her married lover; his wife might read it, for one thing--all of it too obvious. Her head shook. It really didn't make a lot of sense, if you were trying to keep things quiet.
Her mind turned further, as some rationality restored itself--seeing how silly it all was; her earlier thoughts were only the beginning. When would he even have found the time? It wasn't like they were ever separated, pretty much every second spent within the other's sight. He would have to be carrying on 20-second affairs; she nearly guffawed, murmuring to herself. "Definitely not." Even if you were naming the worst of his sins, Michael could *never* be classified as a hasty lover.
She tried to stop herself right there, then, knowing she was acting crazily. Besides, if it were something he needed to hide, he wouldn't have put the letter so close to her, wouldn't have let her see so clearly, leaving the temptation behind; her thoughts turned again, staring at the drawer. Still, maybe he just trusted her, knew he could get away with it, was flaunting that . . .
"Shut up, Nikita," she whispered to herself a moment later, shaking her head, as she sat on the couch. Thoughts like that were calculated to drive her nuts--were completely idiotic, to boot. Michael never had and never would cheat on her; she started, distractedly, to open the letter he had handed to her. She was definitely letting her surroundings get to her, if she started to think anything else.
She was smiling at last, as she finished tearing open the letter, pulling out its contents. The distraction of her husband's odd behavior had kept her from even questioning who this could be from--the actress having no real correspondents. And her lack of preparation would definitely prove to be a mistake.
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