After The Rain (1/?)
A 7th Heaven Fan Fic by CeruleanOctober (formerly Lucky Star)
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowed. Don't sue, just read.
Warnings: Abusive Kevin. Homosexual overtones. Do not read this story if you are offended by Abusive Kevin and/or homosexuality. You have been warned, so don't waste your time or mine with flames.
A/N: I hate that I have to start with an apology, but to all my readers, I must say I am sorry for leaving my fics hanging several months ago. Hopefully you'll give me another chance, and I won't disappoint…
This one is a rewrite because I just feel like it needs a fresh start…
After The Rain
Chapter 1/?
*~Lucy~*
I turn off the light and just sit there in the dark for a long time. I don't want to move. I want to sit here until morning, and maybe I won't move even then. Maybe I'll just sit here until I die.
"Lucy!" Ruthie's fist raps the door. "I gotta go!"
I sigh. And I take a deep breath, force myself up. "Just a minute."
"What are you doing in there? In the dark?" Ruthie demands.
"Nothing," I answer. I flush, for effect because there's no other reason. I close my eyes and hold on to the knob for a second or two before opening the door.
I don't even look at Ruthie, I just walk past her and straight to my bed. I climb under the covers and turn my back to the room.
"Luce?"
"I'm tired, Ruthie. I don't feel so good. I don't want to talk, okay?"
"Okay." I listen to Ruthie changing her clothes, slipping into her night gown and into her bed. She sighs deeply, probably hoping I'll turn over and talk to her after all. But I have nothing to say.
It's raining and the rain beats a steady rhythm on the roof, on the window. I can see the shadow of it, illuminated by the street light out front, and for a moment before my eyes close I imagine the wall is crying because that's what it looks like.
My hands rest on the curve of my stomach, and I wish I could cry. I might feel better if I could release all the pain I've got bottled up inside me. But then Ruthie would ask questions, and I wouldn't be able to lie to her. I've never been good at lying to anyone about anything.
Especially Ruthie. Nobody lies to Ruthie. Nobody gets away with lying to Ruthie. Ruthie has a way about her of always knowing exactly what's going on. She seems to know what I'm doing or what I'm going to do even before I know it.
I don't even know why I'm thinking about Ruthie like this. Yes, I do. I want to think about Ruthie so I don't have to think about me. Or Kevin. God knows I don't want to think about Kevin. He's probably asleep, naked in his bed, sweating in the heat. I don't want to picture the little droplets of moisture on his bare chest.
Maybe the rain helped cool him off.
Maybe the rain could help me cry. I slip out of bed, quiet as a mouse, trying not to disturb Ruthie. As if on cue, a snore from her assures me she is asleep. I grit my teeth and sit in the window seat, resting my forehead against the glass.
I've seen movies that use rain to show crying when a character can't cry. Of course that's just an actor, not someone who really needs to cry and can't. I'm not a character in a book to be enhanced with fancy words, or a character in a movie who needs special effects to make a scene work. I'm flesh and blood and I'm in pain, so why can't I cry? I've tried, but the tears won't come. I can feel them back there, just behind my eyes, but it's like they're blocked somehow.
I feel the emotion, I just can't express it.
It's making me sick. I feel the bile rising, and I know I'm going to throw up. I don't want to throw up any more. My throat still hurts from earlier. My stomach muscles ache from the stress of it.
I try to swallow it, but it burns all the way down and I feel it gurgling to come right back up. I make a mad dash to the bathroom, kicking a pile of Ruthie's school books on the way, and a sharp pain ricochets from my big toe all the way up to my knee. I stumble the rest of the way, and barely make it to the toilet in time.
*~Simon~*
I hate rain.
I hate how it sounds thumping against the windows.
I wish the rain would stop.
Rain makes me think of Morris.
I don't like to think of Morris. Thinking about Morris makes my heart ache. I miss him. I wish to God he had never moved away.
But that's really quite typical of my life. Nothing good ever lasts. Like Robert Frost's brilliant poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay". That should be my anthem, that poem:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Eight short lines, one big statement about life and living. Or not living, as the case may be. I feel like I haven't lived since Morris left. I don't want to live since Morris left.
I reach down to pat Happy between the ears. "You're probably the only one who would really miss me if I left." I whisper to her, and she sighs I response. Would she wonder where I went? Would she mope for me? Would she wonder what she did to make me go away? Would she really even know I was gone?
I turn the covers back and sit up. Happy sighs again, and I know she must think I'm crazy. I should be asleep. But I can't sleep. I stand and walk to the window. Rain streaks the glass, and I tap my finger against it because the impulse to do it is too great to resist. The sky is dark, unforgiving. I imagine myself walking toward it, toward the black oblivion of nothingness that awaits out there.
I can almost see Morris running through the promenade in the rain that day, the last day I saw him. We danced around like fools, earning curious looks from the few people who were out, tucked into rain coats or hovering under umbrellas.
Instead of tapping the window again with my finger, I hit my head against it. I feel like crying, but only girls and sissies cry. Morris wouldn't want me to cry. I guess the rain is crying for me, like in the movies.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
End rewritten chapter 1. Please read and review, it means so much.
A/N: The rain on the window and the wall is a strong image for me, beautifully illustrated in the movie That Was Then, This Is Now starring Emilio Esteves and Craig Sheffer.
A 7th Heaven Fan Fic by CeruleanOctober (formerly Lucky Star)
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowed. Don't sue, just read.
Warnings: Abusive Kevin. Homosexual overtones. Do not read this story if you are offended by Abusive Kevin and/or homosexuality. You have been warned, so don't waste your time or mine with flames.
A/N: I hate that I have to start with an apology, but to all my readers, I must say I am sorry for leaving my fics hanging several months ago. Hopefully you'll give me another chance, and I won't disappoint…
This one is a rewrite because I just feel like it needs a fresh start…
After The Rain
Chapter 1/?
*~Lucy~*
I turn off the light and just sit there in the dark for a long time. I don't want to move. I want to sit here until morning, and maybe I won't move even then. Maybe I'll just sit here until I die.
"Lucy!" Ruthie's fist raps the door. "I gotta go!"
I sigh. And I take a deep breath, force myself up. "Just a minute."
"What are you doing in there? In the dark?" Ruthie demands.
"Nothing," I answer. I flush, for effect because there's no other reason. I close my eyes and hold on to the knob for a second or two before opening the door.
I don't even look at Ruthie, I just walk past her and straight to my bed. I climb under the covers and turn my back to the room.
"Luce?"
"I'm tired, Ruthie. I don't feel so good. I don't want to talk, okay?"
"Okay." I listen to Ruthie changing her clothes, slipping into her night gown and into her bed. She sighs deeply, probably hoping I'll turn over and talk to her after all. But I have nothing to say.
It's raining and the rain beats a steady rhythm on the roof, on the window. I can see the shadow of it, illuminated by the street light out front, and for a moment before my eyes close I imagine the wall is crying because that's what it looks like.
My hands rest on the curve of my stomach, and I wish I could cry. I might feel better if I could release all the pain I've got bottled up inside me. But then Ruthie would ask questions, and I wouldn't be able to lie to her. I've never been good at lying to anyone about anything.
Especially Ruthie. Nobody lies to Ruthie. Nobody gets away with lying to Ruthie. Ruthie has a way about her of always knowing exactly what's going on. She seems to know what I'm doing or what I'm going to do even before I know it.
I don't even know why I'm thinking about Ruthie like this. Yes, I do. I want to think about Ruthie so I don't have to think about me. Or Kevin. God knows I don't want to think about Kevin. He's probably asleep, naked in his bed, sweating in the heat. I don't want to picture the little droplets of moisture on his bare chest.
Maybe the rain helped cool him off.
Maybe the rain could help me cry. I slip out of bed, quiet as a mouse, trying not to disturb Ruthie. As if on cue, a snore from her assures me she is asleep. I grit my teeth and sit in the window seat, resting my forehead against the glass.
I've seen movies that use rain to show crying when a character can't cry. Of course that's just an actor, not someone who really needs to cry and can't. I'm not a character in a book to be enhanced with fancy words, or a character in a movie who needs special effects to make a scene work. I'm flesh and blood and I'm in pain, so why can't I cry? I've tried, but the tears won't come. I can feel them back there, just behind my eyes, but it's like they're blocked somehow.
I feel the emotion, I just can't express it.
It's making me sick. I feel the bile rising, and I know I'm going to throw up. I don't want to throw up any more. My throat still hurts from earlier. My stomach muscles ache from the stress of it.
I try to swallow it, but it burns all the way down and I feel it gurgling to come right back up. I make a mad dash to the bathroom, kicking a pile of Ruthie's school books on the way, and a sharp pain ricochets from my big toe all the way up to my knee. I stumble the rest of the way, and barely make it to the toilet in time.
*~Simon~*
I hate rain.
I hate how it sounds thumping against the windows.
I wish the rain would stop.
Rain makes me think of Morris.
I don't like to think of Morris. Thinking about Morris makes my heart ache. I miss him. I wish to God he had never moved away.
But that's really quite typical of my life. Nothing good ever lasts. Like Robert Frost's brilliant poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay". That should be my anthem, that poem:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Eight short lines, one big statement about life and living. Or not living, as the case may be. I feel like I haven't lived since Morris left. I don't want to live since Morris left.
I reach down to pat Happy between the ears. "You're probably the only one who would really miss me if I left." I whisper to her, and she sighs I response. Would she wonder where I went? Would she mope for me? Would she wonder what she did to make me go away? Would she really even know I was gone?
I turn the covers back and sit up. Happy sighs again, and I know she must think I'm crazy. I should be asleep. But I can't sleep. I stand and walk to the window. Rain streaks the glass, and I tap my finger against it because the impulse to do it is too great to resist. The sky is dark, unforgiving. I imagine myself walking toward it, toward the black oblivion of nothingness that awaits out there.
I can almost see Morris running through the promenade in the rain that day, the last day I saw him. We danced around like fools, earning curious looks from the few people who were out, tucked into rain coats or hovering under umbrellas.
Instead of tapping the window again with my finger, I hit my head against it. I feel like crying, but only girls and sissies cry. Morris wouldn't want me to cry. I guess the rain is crying for me, like in the movies.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
End rewritten chapter 1. Please read and review, it means so much.
A/N: The rain on the window and the wall is a strong image for me, beautifully illustrated in the movie That Was Then, This Is Now starring Emilio Esteves and Craig Sheffer.