"Katherine

It really is a tragedy that there are not more Painted Veil pieces out here -- but random side note, here is one /s/3749235/1/Walter that is very well written in my opinion! Anyway. This piece is SO incredibly random, but it's been bouncing around in my head for so long. I hope you enjoy it for what it is! Everything belongs to W. Somerset Maugham, except not Edward Norton because he is so clearly mine, please don't touch.

Review, s'il vous plait.

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"Katherine!"

I heard; from the sound of it, I noted he was slightly irritated. Perhaps Walter had been trying to gain my attention for several seconds. I lifted my head from my magazine, already flashing an innocent smile, tilting my head to the side.

"Yes?"

Walter sighed, any sort of irritation he may have had vanished from his face. "Would you like wine with dinner tonight?"

"Oh," I exclaimed softly, seeing that it was the Chinese who had first posed the question. "Yes, please. White."

I looked down at my magazine but before I could find the line I had left off on, a thought hit me. "You called me 'Katherine.'"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "do you not like to be called Katherine? You've never said anything before."

"No," I answered, "it's just that even in the most grave and serious situations, no one has ever called me anything but Kitty since I was a very little girl."

"Well," he said, giving me a smile that outsiders would have mistaken for roguish who did not know him, "it did finally get your attention."

We continued to eat in silence. Just as we did at every meal. Some nights more than others, it bothered me to the point where I could run out of the house like a raving mad woman. Other nights, I was grateful for it, though often the simple noises made insanity look tempting. The clang of a fork against the clean bottom of a plate, or the noise your throat makes when taking a quick sip of water, the occasional parting of Walter's lips as he chewed… together they formed an unbearable discord that reverberated in my head so much that I could not think straight.

Once upon a time, the noises of a dinner table were simply the background music of my life. The clanging of a jeweled hand against a glass meant that someone was very enthusiastic while telling a story. The parting of lips while chewing was an introduction to a response, perhaps a witty one to what you had just said. Even a silent meal in my former life was a fascinating one. Everyone playing off of looks and glances, perhaps some business under the table, the tapping of toes or someone accidentally, but more likely purposefully, bumping your knee. Had I become so desperate that even meals had before Walter seemed like the pinnacle of good times?

I heard the clock from the hall chime the hour; we had not exchanged a word in eight minutes.

"Why did you call me Katherine?"

"It's still bothering you then?" he asked.

"No," I answered, quickly. "You never had before," I thought for a moment, realizing there was no graceful way to phrase my thoughts so I just tried to end my sentence quickly, "but then you just did, so I was curious."

Articulate, Kitty.

"I always liked the name," he admitted quietly.

"Liked it?" it was cruel of me to press like that, but I wanted to know.

"I mean, I've always thought it was a beautiful name," he qualified.

"Thank you," I whispered, though only after I uttered it realized how bizarre it was for me to take credit of a name I did not give myself.

"But," he continued, "I won't call you that again, I can see you don't like it."

"It's not that I don't like it," I responded, quickly, "I was only asking because it was—"

"No, really, I should apologize. It sounded like I was scolding you," he interrupted, quietly. "I won't call you that again."

He never did.