Literally been sitting half-finished on my computer for months.
Short and sweet. No real angst here.
He finds her curled up in the armchair in his office, book sprawled across her chest. Her mouth is a little open, a little drooling on the fabric, and she's not a pretty sleeper. But he loves that about her. Loves that his beautiful girlfriend sleeps with her mouth wide open and snores like a freight train.
She's crunched into a ball, one foot stuck between the arm and the cushion, the other dangling limply, hovering just above the floor. Her arms are crossed over the book, as if it's full of secrets, for her eyes only.
After toeing his shoes off, he pads closer, soft and light on the balls of his feet. Not that she's a light sleeper, either. Good God.
He sweeps his thumb across her cheek and curls his fingers into her hair before sliding down to slip the book from her grasp.
Curiosity killed the cat, Castle.
Oh, but he wants to know her last thoughts before she fell into her late afternoon slumber. The book is plain and unforgiving on the outside. Is it Twain? Faulkner? Keuroac?
King, even?
He doesn't know.
But as his fingers scrape against the pages, back to front, he's as confused as ever. There's nothing. The pages are old and yellow with age, but there's nothing to the story. An empty writer's canvas.
Until he falls to page one. Black pen, faded in her handwriting. Though her striations are shakier than usual and the words are a little sloppy. Not like what he sees everyday on the white board or reads in the post-its she leaves stuck to the refrigerator and bedside table.
But it's her. He sees it everywhere. Can feel it in the weight of his hand.
So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.
The rest of the page is free of words, but painted with smudges of black, running into the binding, chasing the thread.
His fingers are light and purposeful against the ink as if he can feel it, touch her words that spill from the page. Insight into her mind. But there's nothing.
His feet are weightless under him so he lets himself float to the floor, resting his head against the arm where her head lays now.
I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.
He mumbles it to himself over and over, the chant falling easily from his lips as his eyes get heavy, the warm sun nudging him into a catnap, book wide and open in his lap.
He wakes to her lithe fingers carding through his hair, her nails gently scraping through his scalp. He nuzzles into her hand as he slides into consciousness, mumbling a greeting through a yawn.
He cranes his neck to shoot her a sleepy smile.
She rolls her eyes. "Hey, sleepyhead."
He frowns. "You fell asleep first."
She shrugs. "True." Her hand slides down to the nape of his neck, gently nudging his mouth to hers. He kisses her, warm and sated as he turns his body toward her, laying a palm on her thigh.
"How was dinner with Alexis?" she asks softly as they part, the tips of her fingers lingering at the shell of his ear.
He smiles. "Good. She says hi."
Kate smiles, pleased. "You told her about dinner on Thursday?"
He nods. "She has a study session in the afternoon, but she should be able to swing by after."
"Good." She lays her head down in the crook of her elbow, her hand coming up to rest at her head, playing with wisps of hair. "I don't want her to think this isn't her home anymore just because I've moved in."
"She doesn't think that."
She sighs, closing her eyes. "You don't know that for sure - "
"I do," he says firmly. "Alexis has never been shy about telling me how she feels about my relationships, Kate, and she's not about to start now."
She purses her lips. "Maybe."
"She loves you," he reassures her, brushing his mouth across her forehead. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment and when she opens them again, her gaze is trained on the book that he stole from her.
"Anything good in there?" she asks him, eyebrows lifting. Caught red-handed.
"Maybe." He shrugs. "Is there a story behind this?"
She's silent as she takes the book from him, running her fingers reverently over the cover. "Did I ever tell you that I saw a therapist for a month after my mom died?"
He frowns. "You did?"
"Yeah." She smiles a little, rolling her eyes at herself. "Didn't really work out. I was pretty reluctant at the time."
"No. You?"
She narrows her eyes at him. "Do you want me to finish my story or not?"
"Sorry. I love you." His hand is on his chin now, captivated by her like always.
"Anyway," she nudges him, "She gave me this to write in." She taps the book with her fingernails. "Wanted me to write what I was feeling. I held onto it for a few weeks, kept it with me in case something sparked, but it never did. And then I just stopped showing up for the sessions and that was it."
"So when did you write - "
"I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be," she recites. "A few months later. I think - " she pauses, tugging at her lip, trying to find the words. "I think part of the reason that I couldn't find the words was because I was so confused, you know? Before she passed - Things were almost magical, Castle." She smiles, a little starry-eyed. "I was learning so much at Stanford, throwing myself into my classes. I met so many incredible people that year and there was this guy - " She stops again, leaning over to caress his eyebrow with her thumb.
"Everything was just falling into place, how I always imagined they would." She lets her hand drop from his face with a soft sigh. "And then she died and I couldn't figure out how everything had gone from almost perfect to a black hole of despair. I couldn't reconcile the two."
"So you gave one up," he observes.
She nods. "Yeah. Felt like I owed it to her, which I guess doesn't make much sense now - "
"But it did then."
She lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah," she says quietly. "It did then."
"So - " He hesitates, a little confused. "But you didn't write this, right?"
She laughs. "No, Castle. I didn't write that. It's from Perks." She nudges her nose against his shoulder. "Your faith in my ability to write something meaningful really inspires confidence, you know that?"
He chuckles, easing her wounds with a gentle kiss. "It sounds familiar, that's all," he promises. "You've always had a way with words, Kate," he says softly. And dammit if her tender smile doesn't melt his insides right then. He leans his forehead against hers, breathing her in.
"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite," he stage-whispers.
She rolls her eyes. "And then you had to go and ruin it."
As always, love to hear from you.
Liv