Hourglass

by omens

I fell into us and never wanted to come up for air. GlenKyla

Name: Chris

Title: Hourglass

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Ifell into us and never wanted to come up for air. [GlenKyla

A/N: This switches POV's; I apologize in advance if anyone gets confused.

…0...

(had the notion that you'd make me forget the world)

Fingers on my collar, my belt buckle, lips on my neck, skin on mine. How'd it all get so perfect?

It all, me and her, came into focus so easily. Maybe too easy. Is it bad that it was so simple? One moment we're dancing, just being silly for the crowd that couldn't keep their eyes off her, and the next we're kissing and touching and breathing each other in.

And it all went from there.

She tastes like candy; her lips licorice and skin saltwater taffy. She smells like roses, feels like satin.

She's addictive. And I'm hooked.

I know the feeling of hands in my hair, still a little sweaty from dancing all night. I've felt the way my muscles twitch under her touch, having grown accustomed to the way her fingers tighten in mine with every movement. Her little gasps and sighs and giggles replay over and over in my head long after we're both quiet.

I'm still amazed she even looked twice at me to begin with.

Girls like her; beautiful, famous, wanted girls-they don't fall for guys like me. They date musicians and rock stars and heirs to oil fortunes. When has a rock heiress ever gone for the average guy? I'm that guy who worked at the sporting goods store, who lucked into a dream job watching two hot girls while they party. How does it make sense that she's here, asleep beside me?

Why am I questioning it? It's pretty damn close to perfect.

(slow dancing on the boulevard, in the quiet moments while the city is still dark)

Dawn in LA is slow. It has to climb over the buildings downtown in the business district, sweep over the Hollywood Hills and the mansions nestled inside. By the time it creeps through the gauzy curtains on my windows, he's already waking up. It's only ever a quick nap after we've exhausted ourselves dancing and then indulging in each other. A night with him is the best cardio in the world. I don't think I'll have to worry about all the rich food from exclusive restaurants catching up to me any time soon.

I stay asleep until I feel fingers on the back of my neck, skimming down my spine, tangling in my hair, lips on my shoulders. He's the perfect alarm clock.

I love the way he looks at me when I roll over and he's there, grinning down at me with that secret smile he reserves just for me. That smile reaches all the way to his eyes and it makes me feel…safe. Loved. He'll kiss me, fingers splaying over my stomach, and then gets up to leave. It would be so much more convenient if he had clothes here. Not having to go home before his parents leave to shower and change (to keep up professional appearances) would save us so much time. But we're not ready to be that…official just yet.

"I'll be back soon," he whispers. A quick kiss dropped onto my forehead and I fall back asleep, the smell of him still all over me.

(oh, it's what you do to me)

I think I'm in love with her.

I can't tell her-not yet. Neither one of has ever brought up the rules. We don't know what we're doing, besides having fun. Are we a couple? Are we exclusive? I know I am-other girls don't even register for me anymore. I think she is too. We're together about twenty hours a day now. That could account for it. We don't have time to meet anyone else. Not that I would want to any way.

This is weird. Really weird; being in love. And not at all what I expected it to be like. I thought that, when it happened, it would be obvious. You know, music blaring, lights, fireworks-the whole shebang. I expected it to be obvious.

So not.

We were driving through downtown. She wanted new shoes to go with a comped couture dress for some launch thing. Part of my job is to take her wherever she wants to go. Technically, I think I'm supposed to do the same for her sister, but it's not like she would ever let me chauffer her around.

The windows are down for once. Taking my mom's car from our house was a good way to lose the press. Photo ops are not always a good thing after all. With no need to look picture ready, her hair is blowing around with the late afternoon sun streaking through the mahogany strands. Glimpses seep through from the corner of my eye and I don't think it would be humanly possible for me to keep the grin off my face. Watching her bob her head up and down while singing along to one of her dad's old songs on the radio…she's so adorable. And that's it. My heart stops.

Night after night of sexy dresses, high heels, and just the right makeup and it's now, with no makeup but Chapstick and enormous sunglasses that I can't keep my eyes off her.

And I just…know. It's real. It's…deep. And I don't think it's going to go away any time soon.

(I am so far away from gone, I just wanna be here)

He loves me.

Why it's such a shock, I'll never know. Four months of fun and sex and laughs, and I never saw it coming. You could ask me what I was expecting to happen, but I can't answer. I didn't really see an end…but a future? Are we ready for that? Aren't we a little too young to make any decisions that carry those sort of consequences?

But I see that smile, feel his arm around my waist, and I know that I'll never feel as safe-as loved-as I do right here, right now.

He scared me tonight. We were coming out of this charity gala for the homeless or hunger relief…or something. We've gotten very good at not giving our relationship away. No one knows yet. At least, they're not supposed to. I have found the odd note around the apartment telling me to keep the noise levels down but nothing has actually been said. Anyway, it was late. Really late. So late it was early. I'd had one too many martinis so he was holding me up for the most part while we walked to the car. I had to prop myself up on the door while he dug through his pockets for the keys. Of course some photographer popped up from behind the next car. It was all so fuzzy between the drinks and the time and the lights. The guy was up against the car before I even knew what was going on, his camera lying in pieces around my feet.

I don't think I'll ever forget that look in those blue eyes I know better than my own. They were hard. Cold. Steel. They were something to be afraid of; showing a level of barely suppressed rage.

He's shaking. The photographer's gone, having scurried away like he was on fire and yet he's trembling, looking at the ground, and won't come near me.

"Are you okay?"

A bitter smile is my answer, a shake of his head. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"You're shaking."

"I don't know why I reacted that way. I just snapped." His eyes finally meet mine, scared, unsure. "If anything happened to you…"

And I know. He loves me. He was trying to keep me safe, at any cost. I mean that much to him.

He's scared and I'm scared. We can be scared together I guess. Keeping each other safe is what people in love do, right?

(the outline that I trace around the one that I call mine)

You develop your own language when you become close to somebody. I never knew that before. I mean yeah, I've seen people do that whole conversations with looks thing and I've heard girls say they can tell how their boyfriend is feeling just by how he's standing. But I never really bought any of it. It sounds like Cosmo spewed psycho babble if you ask me. But it's true. I know the flannel pj's mean 'I'm not in the mood.' Found that out the hard way. A hand on my knee is in actuality code for 'Turn off the video game. I wanna have some fun.' Learned that one the fun way.

Being all hush-hush entails one important thing; finding a way to be together without being so obvious about it. The press would love nothing more than to find out the newest It Girl is carrying on in secret with her bodyguard. The bodyguard who is the brother of her sister's girlfriend. The bodyguard who was arrested for buying drugs.

So we keep it quiet.

We'll be out, surrounded by people itching for gossip, and find a way to say what we mean without ever having to really say it.

She says "I'm tired of dancing," when she really means "There are too many clothes in the way," and "Let's get out of here" in place of "I want you." We've gotten good at our code. It's not like we can really say what we mean with reporters and gossip mongers following every move.

Trust me-that gets old after a while. You try finding a new euphemism for 'I love you,' three times a day cause there are cameras everywhere you go. We can't even hold hands in public. But we manage.

Now if only I could find some way of saying 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you.' that wasn't completely terrifying.

(cause I don't know who I am, who I am, without you)

The moments that change your life, the really huge ones and the not big at all ones, you're supposed to see them coming, right? I always thought so. I mean, I've heard that those things that really make up a life are the things you never see coming, but I never believed that. If something could alter your entire life, it should be obvious. That makes the most sense.

Guess I was wrong.

I feel the marker sliding over my skin, jerking when I laugh and he protests. But it tickles. I can't help it!

A heart. A tiny, slightly crooked, heart-right there on my hip. Why? Got me. There was a marker lying on my nightstand and I guess he's feeling creative. Whatever. It was cute. He looks all serious, telling me to hold still, drawing so intently. I had to laugh. And he laughed. And then there was tickling and trying to escape and kissing and he said it. Just out of the blue. No notice.

"Marry me."

Silence.

It's a shock, more than a shock. I don't think there was anything else he could have said that would have stopped me like that.

The deer in the headlights look may seem comical until you see it directed back at you after a sort of proposal. That's how he looks right now, I probably do too, but it just came out of nowhere. No way are we ready to get married. And I always envisioned being proposed to in this totally romantic, unforgettable way I'd tell my grandkids about someday-once we, I, knew it was right. And this is so not like that. It's…too soon. We're too young.

But I love him. That's what really matters.

Right?

"Okay."

(I ran to you like water, I threw my body in)

She looks gorgeous in her dress. Its low cut and sparkly, a little on the sexy side, but still white. My mom keeps shooting me dirty looks because I can't seem to keep my hands off her, but hey-it's my wedding. And she is my wife now.

Whoa. Wife. I have a wife. That's just…cool.

We moved into our own place three months ago. A huge loft downtown, a few blocks away from her old one. This one has doors though. When you have friends and parents that like to just drop by with no notice doors are a lifesaver.

The press has been all over us since one of them noticed her ring. She was trying to hide her face; she was battling the flu and we were coming out of the doctor's office. Being in the spotlight after you've been up puking all night isn't fun. I tried to keep in front of her, to shield her from the lenses, but those guys were pros and they managed to get around me. I saw them stop, saw her see them stop. Saw one aim his camera directly at her hand.

That was two months ago. After that, we moved into our own place, in my name, to keep some semblance of privacy. We don't go to overly hip places anymore. The more exclusive venues thrive on keeping their clients happy; which means keeping the cameras out. The party girl is winding down, and the real girl in the middle of all the glitz is coming back out.

This girl thought moving the wedding date up would make the furor over the engagement die down. This girl got really into all the dress and cake and flower stuff. This girl agreed with my mom about a church wedding.

I missed this girl; the real her. Even though I never really knew her before.

One of her dad's songs plays while she lets me lead her around the floor for the first dance. My idea and it felt right. We don't really have a song. She smiles up at me, the kind that reaches all the way to her eyes and her arms twine around my neck. Feeling her there, in my arms, pressed close enough to feel her heart beating against mine-this must be what magic feels like.

(cause maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me)

She's perfect. Absolutely perfect. So tiny and pink, with a shock of dark curls and my eyes. Amazing.

"I love you so much already." That's what he used to whisper against my stomach, even from the very beginning. And every time, it would elicit a sharp kick. A daddy's girl from the start. I always thought he secretly wanted a boy, to name after his brother, but seeing her for the first time-he looked so content. So happy. Maybe it had something to do with the baby that was lost, his niece, and I knew he would love her more than anything. He needed her.

"God," he says, handing her to his father for the first time, "is she the most beautiful baby ever or what?"

The room chuckled, though no one disagreed with him. There's so much love in this room right now. Everyone's here, patiently waiting their turn to hold her. For all the surprise we generated with our relationship-the doubt that came with our quick wedding-the way our little girl is healing that is such a beautiful thing to see.

She' so alert already. I didn't think babies this little were so active. Newborns are supposed to sleep a lot, right? Yet, there she is, holding on tightly to my finger, staring straight into my eyes like she knows me already.

I have my baby in front of me, my husband curled around us-how did life get so perfect?

(so bogged down with this flesh and bone, I'm not supposed to feel quite this alone)

It's all slipping away.

Five years. Our baby's not a baby anymore, and we're not us anymore. I've become the guy with the up and coming security company here in LA with the formerly famous wife who's now trying to break into acting. Needless to say, she's not that happy with me these days.

I don't think it's too out of line to expect that I shouldn't have to apologize for being successful. And she still has status in this town. Only now, instead of coming from a famous father, it comes from a famous sister and a well connected husband. I get why she's pissed about it. She wants her own fame-she had it at one point, but keeps being eclipsed now that her 'new' shine has worn off.

I can't imagine how frustrated she must be by the whole thing.

There was some good buzz about a year and a half ago after a trio of indie flicks that had some decent critical acclaim. Then the offers stopped and now the habits of marathon shopping sprees and all night partying have returned. When she became a Davies girl again.

I fell in love with a Davies girl. But I married the girl who was ready to leave all of that; nights so late they were early and recreational drugs and more booze than air behind her. She didn't want to want the fame anymore. Only now that it's not being forced upon her, she wants it back. Who knows-perhaps she feels like it validates her. I remember her telling me that once. That the onslaught of paparazzi flashes made her feel like more than the secret of one of rock's greatest icons. The usurper. The intruder.

She felt like she mattered.

I wanted to make her matter. And not because she had a famous father or because she looked good in short dresses, or even because she was beautiful. But because she lit up my life and made all the bitter moments lose the sour tang. I forgot about basketball and drugs and how empty I felt losing my brother.

She made me feel like I mattered.

(if I look away, it doesn't mean I don't see)

There was a time when I knew everything about the man behind the blue eyes that I haven't looked into in weeks. I mean, really looked into. One glimpse, when I could stand to look, and I knew exactly what was going on behind them. And there was no stormy gray I couldn't soothe, no playful silver I left unheeded. Now…just blue. Flat blue, with no sparkle.

I did that. I took away his sparkle. That light he used to have. Back before all the attention was on him and I couldn't handle it.

What is wrong with me? Am I really so selfish that I would begrudge someone I love the success he's earned because it shifts the spotlight off of me? When did I become that person?

Probably sometime after I went form being the famous one to being the wife.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a wife. I love being a mom. But what I don't love, is being just a wife and mom. I came here the daughter, the sister. I was the friend, the girlfriend. Being famous gave me a chance to be me, once the shadow of The Davies Sisters waned.

This is Hollywood though, and everyone has a shelf life here. I should just recognize the fact that I've had my fifteen minutes, and now they're over. I should accept it, move on, and live my life with my family.

I should. I want to want that. I need it. Need it to be enough.

And yet…it's not.

I can't go back into the shadows after knowing how it felt to be the sun.

(tighten up your grip cause it's a long way down)

I wait until my little girl is asleep before I leave the house. I couldn't bear to see her tears too. There's absolutely no way I can handle that. Not after seeing them in the eyes so much like hers.

"I can't handle not being able to be happy for you." That's what she said. Really, it was just a slightly classier version of "I'm jealous." You know, if there is a classy way to tell your husband something like that.

When she offered to leave, I had a brief vision of waking up to a phone call from some hotel downtown involving police or drugs or both, even though she hasn't touched anything stronger than coffee since before we were together. I just…can't help it. That's where my mind went and there is no way I'm willing to let something like that happen to her, to our daughter. To me. I may be leaving for now, but I couldn't stand to lose her.

We just need a little time. We need to readjust and figure out how to get back to where we were when everyone told us we were too young and it was too fast. I don't want that to be right. I don't want us to be a mistake. I want that fairy tale ending I always told my sister was for suckers. I want years and years of laughing and her smile and more babies down the line.

We'll get there. It's just going to take a little time.

(this could have been the best we ever had)

…0...

Fin.

Lyrics (in order):

All Hail the Heartbreaker by The Spill Canvas

The Difference by Matchbox Twenty

Hey There, Delilah by The Plain White T's

Feel it in your Heart by Cold

Echo by Trapt

Where I Stood by Missy Higgins

I Don't Know if I Should Stay by Alexz Johnson

Wonderwall by Ryan Adams. (His version is sexier.: ) )

Another American Folk Song by William Sroka, off the American Dreams Season 1 Soundtrack

How Strong do you Think I Am? By Alexz Johnson

Natural Disaster by Alexz Johnson

The Older I Get by Skillet