Title: "All Mine"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
'Ship: Courtney/Lorenzo (LoCo)
Spoiler: none
Length: very short, one shot
Summary: What's taken should be returned
Author's Note:
Thanks to Rebel for the title! This is not a pretty story so be prepared, but I think it's a good take on a possible Courtney/Lorenzo relationship. Please let me know what you think because I'm curious if you think I handled it well. Hope you enjoy!
"Sweet is revenge--especially to women." - John Bartlett
She doesn't love him and she doesn't care.
In fact she likes it better this way, hating him almost as much as he hates her. They don't speak when they're together, just blend into a mass of limbs and skin and cries in the dark. They come together at night, when the world is dark and shadowed and she can't see his features clearly--just the glow of his blue eyes in the moonlight. Somehow, it makes it easier this way, feeling his eyes on her, because it makes it easier to pretend.
In the darkness his hair becomes sun-kissed brown and his hard body sliding across hers is better off encased in leather and denim than fine wool…the long fingers inching down her belly are better suited to pulling triggers than signing corporate documents. His chest is smooth against hers and when she tangles her fingers in his hair she feels sharp spikes, not soft locks. In the moonlight he's the man she wants him to be, not the man he really is…and she knows he feels the same way.
She doesn't care that he's using her because she's using him. Doesn't care that it's brown hair he craves over blonde, dark eyes to sink into rather than blue. She doesn't mind that it's Carly's name on his lips because Jason's name is on hers. And when she arches against him, feels him deep inside her, it's not his blue eyes she's drowning in. He's only a means to an end, a necessary evil--because he stole something from her and she wants it back.
Afterwards he lies next to her, his scent clinging to her skin, and tells her she did good. He dresses silently, linen and fine wool scraping across silk covered steel, and he kisses her forehead once before closing the door behind him. She watches him leave as her insides roll and bile rises in her throat. She can't believe she let lay a hand on her, let him sink inside her and touch the places she only reserves for men she loves.
But then she remembers cold water closing over her head and icy fingers clutching at her clothes and a bright light swimming before her eyes. She remembers strong hands closing around her shoulders and hot tea slipping down her throat and darkness closing around her. She remembers a steamy South American night and white, white walls and her screams echoing through the halls. She remembers waking up with an empty belly and a hollow heart and a feeling that something was missing. Then he held her in his arms, so close she could feel his breath against her cheek, and told her the one thing she loved most was gone--the one pure, beautiful thing in her world of blood and tears.
And after that, she doesn't remember much.
It's all a blur of guilt and pain and self-hate, until the day he came to her in the park and made it all go away. And then it was another blur, this time through a haze of pills and lights and screeching tires.
But it didn't change anything, not really, because she still woke up every morning with that hollow feeling in her heart, the guilt clouding her vision. When she got home from the police station, after Jason held her hand and saved her life all over again, she took down all the mirrors. She couldn't look at herself, not anymore, not after what she did. She'd had the bad luck of always choosing wrong: marrying the wrong brother, falling in love with the wrong man, being born into the wrong kind of family--she'd gotten one chance to fix everything she did wrong, one opportunity to give back all she took--and she'd lost it all when she did everything she wasn't supposed to do. A million could've/should've/would'ves run through her mind--she could have called Sonny and Jason; she should have had Max run away for her; she would still have her daughter. But she didn't do it right, she didn't have her daughter, and it was no one's fault except her own…and his.
Sonny and Jason used to joke that they were inseparable, so close they could be sisters, exchange one for the other…now the joke's on her. She lets him blend Carly into her, lets him sink inside her, call out another woman's name. She lets him pretend she's her beautiful, funny, crazy sister-in-law. And for her part she drowns herself and her guilt in bottomless blue eyes the color of ice and ignores the reminder that it's not Jason making her scream. After all, he owes her--and she's not gonna stop until he pays in full.
She keeps it up for three months, until she throws up her breakfast every morning for a week and can't fit into her favorite jeans. She buys a test at the drugstore and laughs at the irony of the blue lines proclaiming her mission completed.
He knocks on her door that night and she refuses to answer…and she does the same the next night, and the night after that, until he realizes she no longer needs him--the used has trumped the user. Instead she lets him watch her across the length of the park or her office as his baby swells under expensive crepe of her suit jacket, knowing he can't touch her, because Carly would never forgive him for knocking up her best friend. She smiles as he cradles his hard-won brunette in his arms and they sway to the blues at Luke's and his baby kicks against her skin. Laughs to herself as his daughter makes her way into the world and its Jason's hand she bravely holds.
Later, when the dust settles, he shows up to claim what he thinks is his. He stares at her across the length of the room, eyes locking blue on blue. "Whose is she?" he asks, his gaze never leaving hers.
She refuses to flinch, even smiles, and holds her daughter closer, running a gentle hand through her dark curls. "Mine. All mine."
He takes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest. "Courtney, listen to me, if there's anything I can do--"
She hesitates a moment, shifting the baby's weight against her breast. Then she smiles. "Actually, there is something you can do. You can walk out that door and never look back, never call me or talk to or even indicate you ever knew me. You can grow old in this town and pant after Carly for the rest of your life and watch my daughter every day of your life, knowing you'll never know her. That's what you can do for me."
He hesitates for a second and breaks the gaze, focusing on the baby instead. "What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"
"Do you remember South America?" she asks quietly. "Remember that night?" He nods. She meets his gaze against their daughter's face. "You stole her from me once. You're not getting a second chance. I think you should go."
He pause a moment at the door, casting one last glance at the daughter he'll never know, the family he'll never have, and leaves, closing the door behind him. She kisses her daughter's forehead, smiling to herself. Her mission is completed; he's paid in full.
She still doesn't love him and she still doesn't care. But when she looks into her daughter's eyes, so much like his, she's thankful she met him, glad he gave back what's rightfully hers--the only pure, beautiful thing in her world.
What do you think?
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
'Ship: Courtney/Lorenzo (LoCo)
Spoiler: none
Length: very short, one shot
Summary: What's taken should be returned
Author's Note:
Thanks to Rebel for the title! This is not a pretty story so be prepared, but I think it's a good take on a possible Courtney/Lorenzo relationship. Please let me know what you think because I'm curious if you think I handled it well. Hope you enjoy!
"Sweet is revenge--especially to women." - John Bartlett
She doesn't love him and she doesn't care.
In fact she likes it better this way, hating him almost as much as he hates her. They don't speak when they're together, just blend into a mass of limbs and skin and cries in the dark. They come together at night, when the world is dark and shadowed and she can't see his features clearly--just the glow of his blue eyes in the moonlight. Somehow, it makes it easier this way, feeling his eyes on her, because it makes it easier to pretend.
In the darkness his hair becomes sun-kissed brown and his hard body sliding across hers is better off encased in leather and denim than fine wool…the long fingers inching down her belly are better suited to pulling triggers than signing corporate documents. His chest is smooth against hers and when she tangles her fingers in his hair she feels sharp spikes, not soft locks. In the moonlight he's the man she wants him to be, not the man he really is…and she knows he feels the same way.
She doesn't care that he's using her because she's using him. Doesn't care that it's brown hair he craves over blonde, dark eyes to sink into rather than blue. She doesn't mind that it's Carly's name on his lips because Jason's name is on hers. And when she arches against him, feels him deep inside her, it's not his blue eyes she's drowning in. He's only a means to an end, a necessary evil--because he stole something from her and she wants it back.
Afterwards he lies next to her, his scent clinging to her skin, and tells her she did good. He dresses silently, linen and fine wool scraping across silk covered steel, and he kisses her forehead once before closing the door behind him. She watches him leave as her insides roll and bile rises in her throat. She can't believe she let lay a hand on her, let him sink inside her and touch the places she only reserves for men she loves.
But then she remembers cold water closing over her head and icy fingers clutching at her clothes and a bright light swimming before her eyes. She remembers strong hands closing around her shoulders and hot tea slipping down her throat and darkness closing around her. She remembers a steamy South American night and white, white walls and her screams echoing through the halls. She remembers waking up with an empty belly and a hollow heart and a feeling that something was missing. Then he held her in his arms, so close she could feel his breath against her cheek, and told her the one thing she loved most was gone--the one pure, beautiful thing in her world of blood and tears.
And after that, she doesn't remember much.
It's all a blur of guilt and pain and self-hate, until the day he came to her in the park and made it all go away. And then it was another blur, this time through a haze of pills and lights and screeching tires.
But it didn't change anything, not really, because she still woke up every morning with that hollow feeling in her heart, the guilt clouding her vision. When she got home from the police station, after Jason held her hand and saved her life all over again, she took down all the mirrors. She couldn't look at herself, not anymore, not after what she did. She'd had the bad luck of always choosing wrong: marrying the wrong brother, falling in love with the wrong man, being born into the wrong kind of family--she'd gotten one chance to fix everything she did wrong, one opportunity to give back all she took--and she'd lost it all when she did everything she wasn't supposed to do. A million could've/should've/would'ves run through her mind--she could have called Sonny and Jason; she should have had Max run away for her; she would still have her daughter. But she didn't do it right, she didn't have her daughter, and it was no one's fault except her own…and his.
Sonny and Jason used to joke that they were inseparable, so close they could be sisters, exchange one for the other…now the joke's on her. She lets him blend Carly into her, lets him sink inside her, call out another woman's name. She lets him pretend she's her beautiful, funny, crazy sister-in-law. And for her part she drowns herself and her guilt in bottomless blue eyes the color of ice and ignores the reminder that it's not Jason making her scream. After all, he owes her--and she's not gonna stop until he pays in full.
She keeps it up for three months, until she throws up her breakfast every morning for a week and can't fit into her favorite jeans. She buys a test at the drugstore and laughs at the irony of the blue lines proclaiming her mission completed.
He knocks on her door that night and she refuses to answer…and she does the same the next night, and the night after that, until he realizes she no longer needs him--the used has trumped the user. Instead she lets him watch her across the length of the park or her office as his baby swells under expensive crepe of her suit jacket, knowing he can't touch her, because Carly would never forgive him for knocking up her best friend. She smiles as he cradles his hard-won brunette in his arms and they sway to the blues at Luke's and his baby kicks against her skin. Laughs to herself as his daughter makes her way into the world and its Jason's hand she bravely holds.
Later, when the dust settles, he shows up to claim what he thinks is his. He stares at her across the length of the room, eyes locking blue on blue. "Whose is she?" he asks, his gaze never leaving hers.
She refuses to flinch, even smiles, and holds her daughter closer, running a gentle hand through her dark curls. "Mine. All mine."
He takes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest. "Courtney, listen to me, if there's anything I can do--"
She hesitates a moment, shifting the baby's weight against her breast. Then she smiles. "Actually, there is something you can do. You can walk out that door and never look back, never call me or talk to or even indicate you ever knew me. You can grow old in this town and pant after Carly for the rest of your life and watch my daughter every day of your life, knowing you'll never know her. That's what you can do for me."
He hesitates for a second and breaks the gaze, focusing on the baby instead. "What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"
"Do you remember South America?" she asks quietly. "Remember that night?" He nods. She meets his gaze against their daughter's face. "You stole her from me once. You're not getting a second chance. I think you should go."
He pause a moment at the door, casting one last glance at the daughter he'll never know, the family he'll never have, and leaves, closing the door behind him. She kisses her daughter's forehead, smiling to herself. Her mission is completed; he's paid in full.
She still doesn't love him and she still doesn't care. But when she looks into her daughter's eyes, so much like his, she's thankful she met him, glad he gave back what's rightfully hers--the only pure, beautiful thing in her world.
What do you think?