A/N: This is just a pure nostalgia trip to celebrate. I'm sorry, but 100,000 words in a story is a big deal for me, let alone twenty chapters. See, I had to do it; this is like an early birthday present for me. I'm that happy. So, enjoy this tiny excursion into our (my) Romeo and Juliet's past, who deserve a little break from the anxiety and pain, bless their hearts. Poor, tormented souls. Anyway, again, pure nostalgic ficlet here, just because I'm so ridiculously happy, and there's no way on God's green earth that I'm going to finish the next chapter this week. We'll see, though.
Moving on...
Whitney sat cross-legged on her bed, scribbling down another love letter, of which would soon be entered into her growing collection, or the letter jar sitting beside her on the bed. If there was a word to describe the things she felt while he held her, she would write it down, in an instant.
But she couldn't.
Her love could never be written in secret or spoken out loud anyhow; no one could know about them being together, for they were a dark secret, hidden within an abandoned crevice, forever cursed to remain there. It would mean consequences if someone found out, or in a nutshell, her father's wrath. She feared it. She feared it so much, every night she was afraid to go home, to her own house, to her own father. Only, he wasn't a father, he was a prison guard, keeping her locked away in a cell that was her dreary bedroom, and forcing her to swallow back the raging emotions she felt. This was a dungeon, never a home, that title belonged to a family's abode - she didn't have a family. She only had a father, if she could call him that, who locked himself away in a room of which she knew was meant to be his own cell. Was he punishing himself as well as her? It was so cruel to think of these things, what a daughter she was! Her Daddy was concealed inside his suffering and who was she to blame him? Of all the people who knew of his sorry plight, only she could understand, she understood better than anyone how desperation and depression felt.
It strangled and choked a person, depriving him or her of all happiness. It was the everlasting night, which never relented to the day. Sadness reigned in the kingdom of depression, and there was nothing that truly helped - only temporary relievers of the pain. Perhaps that's how she got addicted to the practice of tending to her flowers; it was escape. A different world where no one called her a stupid blonde when she stuttered, or "Princess Klutz" when she tripped. Correction: when they tripped her. She was sick of all the names! No one stopped to help her if they all crowded in, driving her to fight back, but she was the one who got all the blame. Because no one cared about her, oh no, nobody cared about the stupid blonde and her anxiety issues. She was afraid of crowds, of people surrounding her, of those people teasing and hitting her like when she was younger. Was that wrong? Was it wrong to be afraid of groups? She stayed away, far away, yet they sought her out, merely to torment her because they could. No one would stop them, even if they gave her a black eye, all for fighting back.
Upon noticing a wet dot emerge on her paper, Whitney sniffed and wiped her eyes, returning to her pen. Maybe if she drowned herself in love, she wouldn't suffocate in tears. Her lips curved into a smile as she concentrated on the gentle calligraphy, wanting everything to be perfect for the day he read it. And he would, too. On their anniversary, their year anniversary, she'd give that jar full of paper to him. Unless, they weren't still together. The utensil lulled on the stationary; that wouldn't happen, they promised, swore, vowed, of course they would be together for a year. They could make it, couldn't they? Yes; a brighter smile graced her features, they could do it, together. She accomplished a number of things during the past few months, things she never imagined: She landed a leading role in the school play. He was watching her, from the back row, she saw him and the audition flew by seamlessly. Was it the same for every girl in love? Each thought that passed through her mind had some sort of connection to her love, maybe even a few replays of their conversations in the park. They were always filled with laughter. Perhaps her letters could do the same for him.
Whitney finished the letter, signing it as "Your Angel" in a sudden burst of romanticism. Unlike some of the letters, this one was special, one she poured her very soul into. Folding it up, at a rather slow pace, she carefully put the precious note inside her container, whispering, "I love you," as if he could hear her. Maybe he did.
Taking the jar within her grasp, she slid off the pink-sheeted bed, and trotted over to her dresser, carefully repositioning it with a light touch. Once she became satisfied, Whitney stepped back to admire the object, clasping her hands together. Her shoulders hunched with a breath just as a sharp knock came from the window. Her window? The knocking sound came again, and Whitney's heart raced with anticipation. She knew who it was. Racing towards the ordinary glass, she lifted it, and searched with her eyes down below. And she saw what she had been wishing for. Tony was at the bottom, in the alley along her house, waving at her with one hand and pebbles most likely collected from her flowerbed in another.
But he couldn't be here, not today, not now. It was just too dangerous.
"Are you insane? Get out of here!" she waved for him to go away, shooing him off before some pedestrian saw him.
He looked at her for a second before pulling out his phone; she could see him fiddling with it over something or another, and when he lowered it down to observe her again, she made out a crescendo ringing sound coming from her bedspread. Her own cell phone. Taking another peek at Tony, who was patiently waiting, she stepped over to her bed, gathering the black device into her palms. How delightfully sneaky! Well, not all that sneaky, since he chucked pebbles at her window, which made a very un-sneaky sound. Half sneaky, then.
Flipping through the screens, Whitney landed on his simple text, which read, "I miss you." It touched a part of her that had been empty for days.
The two of them had only been seeing each other for about five months, yet a connection formed between them both the instant their hands touched. It was a strange sensation to her, feeling like this, for the better part of a year, she felt more alive than she had been over the course of her sixteen years. Did every girl feel like this? Torn but together; happy yet sad; lost, though beautifully found. It was as if she was trapped between two worlds, adrift on a clear ocean, but Whitney couldn't have been happier.
A gleaming smile crossed her face, and she typed back, her fingers flying among the keys. Soon, he answered, and her grin grew wider until it became a giggled laugh, accompanied by a little twirl atop the carpeting. After tossing her phone rather carelessly atop her pillows, she nearly flew into her bathroom, snatching a brush to smooth out her hair, checking over her face to make certain she was presentable. She was, except for the study circles under her eyes. Those couldn't be helped. Sweeping back her shiny locks, Whitney gave herself one last look-over before retreating into her room to fetch her locket. The one he gave to her a few months ago.
Nearly skipping over to her night stand, she saw that beside the roseate lamp, sat a baby chest carved with mahogany wood. A treasure she cherished above all else. Inside it held her most beloved possessions: a few bracelets collected over the years, a pair of priceless earrings worn only once to a special gala, and finally, under a hidden compartment just to be safe, her adored locket, with its engravings marked in unfading black ink. After retrieving her precious items, Whitney lifted the lid to the small alcove, and claimed her necklace. She returned her other valuables to their proper sections, and clasped the pendant around her neck. Tony would appreciate her taking the time to wear it; her locket held a sort of sentimental value with both of them.
Resisting the urge to hum, Whitney opened her bedroom door, and stuck her head out, searching for any sign of movement. When she found none, the young girl daintily advanced across the balcony way, and descended down the stairs with a rapid but silent pace she earned from repeated flights like this. Unfortunately, she didn't keep an eye on the study, and when it unlocked, she leaped back into the shadows, praying her father didn't notice her shaking frame. Her heart pounded in her chest as he glanced around the darkened main room, his eyes landing where her figure rested against the wall. Sucking in a deep, noiseless breath, she held it inside her rib cage, eyeing her dad's actions with a fervency. When she thought she was on the verge of fainting, he shook his head, and withdrew into the study, its barrier shutting with a blessed click. Releasing the bubble of air, she pressed a palm close to her heart, breathing in fresh air. That man had ears like a bat! Whitney gave herself a shake, smoothed out her clothes, and started back out the front door.
Whitney kept her head down as she moved along the sparse population of people converging along the sidewalk. It was better if no one recognized her out so late at night; gossip spread faster than wildfire in Manhattan. At last, she entered the park, with only a few brave couples abiding in it. A wave of relief washed over her as she sneaked over to the rarely visited corner of trees, giving her surroundings one last glimpse before running behind the foliage, into the dark clearing she was familiar with.
Glancing around the space, she whispered, "Tony? Tony, you here?"
Her stomach clenched with a sinking feeling, but then she heard a rustling of leaves and branches, and Tony's head popped out from the back of their infamous oak tree. She let out a sigh, and swiftly rushed into his waiting arms, allowing herself to be swept up in a tight embrace.
"You missed me?" Whitney nestled into Tony's shoulder, grasping at the back of his collar.
Tony lifted his head, and their eyes met, "I don't see you that much anymore," he combed his fingers through her hair, "I couldn't help but miss you."
She jutted out her bottom lip in a mock pout. "I thought it was because you loved me."
He playfully tapped her nose, making her giggle. "I just wish I saw you more often."
Whitney gave him a weakened smile, and slipped out of his arms, turning around to think for a moment. She felt Tony's gentle hands on her shoulders, "What's wrong?" he asked, squeezing her lightly.
She placed her hand on his, still not facing him. "This isn't fair to you."
"Aw, don't worry about that," he wrapped his arms around her waist, and eased her back against his chest, "I started this whole thing. I just don't want you to be upset."
"No. No, this is what we have to do." she turned around in his arms, and cupped his cheek. "If you're okay, then it's fine with me."
He smiled, tilting his head into her touch. "You're not upset?"
Whitney smiled in return, "Never. I just don't know how long we can keep this up."
Removing her hand from his face, Tony held it, "How about I ask you to the dance Friday? All you have to do is say yes, and that's that."
"I don't know." she replied, shrugging her shoulders, a look of uncertainty in her eyes. "Maybe it's too...risky, for us, if we do that. I mean, the rumors, and everything. And what about my dad? I don't know, I'm just worried, that's all. Don't think that I don't care about you, 'cause I do, it's just the whole...mess."
"Okay. Think it over?"
"Sure."
He gave her a smile, and led her over to the base of the tree, still holding her hand as they sat down in unison. Encircling her in his arms, he held her close, and they silently alternated confessions of "I love you" like they did each of the nights they were able to get away. Unusually, at different intervals, Tony's eyes would dart to her lips, and back up again, a look of questioning on his face. A moment of wonder passed in her mind, but then, it struck her. They hadn't shared their first kiss yet. He was inquiring for her permission, in his own gentle way.
Suppressing a sly grin at her findings, since she was highly amused at that investigative sparkle in his eyes, Whitney inched a bit closer. "Is there something you wanna ask me?" she fluttered her eyelashes for the sole purpose of seeing him get nervous. He was so cute like that. Perhaps she was being a might cruel, but she was just playing, Tony would understand that...wouldn't he?
"Ye-yeah," he swallowed. "Can I, can I...kiss, you? Maybe?"
She smiled, her eyes squinting up for a second. "Of course you can! I mean, we've been 'dating' for like, five months now, right? So...I guess it's okay." Whitney gazed up at him, reveling in the elation lighting up her love's face.
His hands remained on her waist, and she placed hers on his shoulders. Whenever a barrage of butterflies invaded her belly, the brightness in Tony's expression soothed her nerves. This was her first kiss; what was she supposed to do? Swallowing back a bout of jitters, she let herself calm down as he brushed his trembling fingers over her cheek, obviously battling with his own set of fluttering insects. With a last glance at his eyes, she closed her own, moving her head forward on an invisible track only they both were aware of.
Until a phone rang.
Whitney's eyes snapped open to see Tony blushing mere inches from her face. It was his phone, and they were about to have their first kiss! What was with him? The fury in her eyes gave way to pain as their sweet moment was ruined. How many times did she try to kiss him? Four, maybe five? All ended in interruptions, and apologies; she didn't need nor want the same old "Please forgive me," line. Offerings of remorse never did anyone a stitch of good.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she lifted a hand to silence him. "I know what you're going to say," moisture welled up in her eyes, "Just go." she shakily raised herself from the grass-covered ground, and dusted off her skirt, the tears just now beginning to fall.
Tony got up as well, and touched her hand, "Whitney-"
"Don't bother!" she spun around to shake his touch away. "Go, Tony, you have more important things to do than spend time with your girlfriend." Whitney let the tears streak down her face; what was the use of hiding them? "Who, I might add, you haven't spent time with in days. Do you know she almost got caught? Do you know that she's scared, huh?" she confronted him head-on, the hurt on his face not affecting her searing words. "You don't! Because you never took the time to ask! Just go, okay? Since you obviously can't tell me why you're always leaving all the time." she waved him off, too emotionally exhausted with his
"I want to tell you so much, Whit...but I can't." This time, she let him hold her, squeezing her forearms with a calming touch. Why did she have to love him so intensely?
"What can't you tell me? We're supposed to be honest with each other, aren't we?" she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him for a comfort that never could seem to settle down. Much like a Richter scale during an earthquake.
"Believe me, if I could, I would," he snapped his fingers, "Like that. It's complicated, and I don't want you to get messed up in it."
She bowed her head, lifting it after a moment full of thought. "I love you." Whitney confessed with more emotion than had ever been expressed between them before.
With a fluctuating smile on his face, Tony pecked her cheek. "I love you." he whispered into her ear, and she held onto every syllable spoken, just in case he would never speak them again. After all, her mother said those words right before she left, for good. Would Tony leave with an "I love you" and never come back? It was too terrible a thought to be entertained.
Whitney squeezed her eyes shut, so she wouldn't have to see him leave. Soon, much too soon, his warm touch evaporated from her shoulders, and his gentle presence left the clearing. Everything would be alright, she tried to convince herself those words were true, but they didn't ring as such. There was another spirit that joined her in their spot, a omnious spirit, one she had felt for months. It seemed to whisper in her ear, just like Tony had done, the exact opposite of the phrase she kept repeating to herself.
It whispered, Soon you'll pay for what you've done...
A/N: I would really like to see who remembers that line...heck, I barely did! Isn't that awful? Okay, moving on. Yep, like I said before, a pure nostalgia trip to celebrate. Who wouldn't want to celebrate? Okay, okay, I'll leave you all alone, you don't have to shout now.