A/N: First, I'd like to thank you for your reviews, favs, follows, and PMs on my other stories, including the ones posted as guests who I cannot personally reply to. They're all immensely valuable to me so thanks! Some of you asked for a longer story, and because I'm crazy, here it is. I don't think it will be too long since this is my first multi-chapter story but let's see how it goes. I also thought about not writing it, but now this story is in my head, and it wants out. It takes on and after the events of 408 and 409, but here, Norma is very much alive. I hope you like it.
I was certain it would be difficult. I already had an idea the issue had to be threaded, to say the least, delicately. I knew I had to be patient. There was also the possibility she would never forgive me if I went behind her back. But none of this mattered when her safety was in jeopardy. None of it seemed important when all my instincts told me to shield her from harm. Nothing else counted when my training in law enforcement showed me all the clear signs of danger that were right in front of her but that she refused to see. None of it made the slightest difference when my love for her clouded my judgment, in the only way I would let them, by becoming fiercely protective of her. I would do anything to ensure her well-being, even if I had to shield her from her own son. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to her.
That's why I decided to talk to Dylan and, if necessary, get Norman back to Pineview even without her approval. I was not going to sit back and wait till the kid was angry enough with me to deathly struck me, or worse, hurt her in any way.
Just two weeks of living with Norma have made me an addict. I go to work and her soft perfume seems to follow me all day. When I finally see her at the end of the day I can't stop touching her. Probably is a way to reassure myself that she's real, that she is in fact, here with me and not a mental image conjured up to ease my loneliness. That was before. It's not like I didn't have sex before her. I had women, and not all of them were one night stands, but what I didn't have was connection. Before, sex was just a physical act to fulfill a physiological need. Sex with Norma is different. So much different. But even the smallest form of contact with her has so much more meaning than anything, or anyone, I've experienced before her.
I still remember her surprised face when I stole a kiss from her outside the court the day we got married. Her eyelashes fluttering rapidly and I swore I could see the wheels of her brain trying to form a sentence, and then came her quick "Yeah, I'm fine." If she only knew I felt exactly the way she did. My heart was doing somersaults at the prospect of moving in with her, and also at the terrifying thought. It was both things at the same time: exciting and scary. On the outside I was playing it cool; inside, I was anything but.
Now the kisses come easily. They're given and received with such effortlessness that anyone might think we've been kissing each other for years. But there's still newness to our mutual exploration. Discoveries are made each day.
I've learned some of her beauty rituals. How she puts on makeup every morning and takes it off every night. That she puts on some cream on her face, and also rubs lotion all over her legs every night before going to bed. The first time I witnessed all this I was enthralled by her movements, and then upon touch, by her delicate softness. I even learned to like the smell of jasmine and lilacs on her skin. I'm the first one surprised to realize now I know the names of flowers I didn't care much for before. I've seen by now all the bottles of different sizes and colors she has on her vanity. I've no idea what each of them holds precisely, except a vague notion that some are creams; others are perfume, and a few I recognize as makeup. "Women and their secrets," I think.
I was pleasantly surprised to learn she likes to sing. Sometimes, when she doesn't know I can hear her, I catch her humming some melody to herself while she's cooking or doing laundry. The fact she doesn't realize she's doing it makes me enjoy it even more. She also has a very beautiful voice.
She has learned that what I told her about being an easy roommate is mostly true. Knowing she likes things to be orderly I try my best not to be messy and not to leave my dirty laundry lying on the floor, like I used to do when I lived at the motel. Back then I did it mostly to annoy her. Now it wouldn't be so smart to do that, especially when she's nice enough to want to do all my laundry.
Small differences also show up at nighttime. It takes me longer to fall asleep; she gets drowsy as soon as her head hits the pillow. I'm a light sleeper; she's not. She sometimes murmurs unintelligible words in her sleep, sounding distressed, like something or someone is hurting her. I've learned, mostly by instinct, to calm her down by talking softly to her reassuringly, telling her that everything's fine. I can only imagine the many nightmares that plight her unconscious mind and wish I could take them all away forever.
She wakes up early, but most of the times I do before her, so I like to spend those precious moments simply looking at her. Today I wake up and see her still slumbering next to me, naked under the covers from our lovemaking last night. It makes me smile because the very first few times we had sex she insisted on getting re-dressed afterwards. She said something about not being able to sleep without clothes on just in case of an emergency.
"What if there's an earthquake? Or a fire in the house?" She said one of those nights when I questioned her about it, out of mere curiosity.
"Then you grab your robe and run."
"I'd rather have more clothes on than just a robe." She was not completely convinced.
"What if we want to have sex again in the morning?"
"Well, I guess we take off our clothes again." She said as a perfectly good plan.
"Seems like a waste of time to me." I told her.
But after a few nights I finally convinced her. Or maybe she got tired of my nagging. I found adorable how she would roll her eyes at me when she caught me smiling while I watched her putting her sleeping clothes back on. Whatever the reason, she doesn't bother with it anymore.
This morning I appreciate her naked state and roll over onto my side to nuzzle her ear. I start to run my hand along the length of her bare back, putting a little pressure on it, so she feels it. I keep touching her and kissing her ear and shoulder until she finally awakes and turns around, exposing her breasts with the change of position. I start kissing her and she kisses me back.
We've also learned that we can't get enough of each other. I wonder if this honeymoon phase will pass. I don't have any intention of stopping. We roll and twist around in bed, both of us semi-entangled in the white sheets. We're side by side, she hikes her leg high up on my hip, and I take the opportunity to run my hand up and down her thigh. My own legs intertwined with hers. She's holding my face with both her hands and kissing me. I take one of her hands and put it over her head and at the same time roll us over with me on top of her. She's making little sounds, tiny moans and sighs that are rapidly arousing me. I need her now.
Long minutes pass before we both reach our climax. I'm looking down at her and waiting for her to regain her normal breathing. She opens her eyes and looks at me. Her beaming smile reaching her eyes.
"Good morning." She says in a happy childlike tone.
"Very good morning." I answer her and we both laugh.
Moments later she asked for my help zipping up her dress. Then I found her at the basement, excitedly making plans for home improvements, and I told her my secret. I told her about Bob Paris' money. Told her she could use all of it because she deserved some good breaks. That's the least I could do for her. She thanked me although not entirely convinced, but she seemed moved by my gesture.
But that same morning her son called. I answered the phone. Then heard as she invented a half lie as to why I was at her house so early in the morning. I stood there listening to the tone of her voice changing dramatically. Norman wanted to come home.
There's a phrase that goes "the calm before the storm." It is used to describe the time when, even though the storm is on its way, there's stillness in the air. The skies are still blue and the sun is still shining. You still feel optimistic that maybe the storm won't come, or if it does, that it won't be so bad. You cling to that bit of hope. But over in the ocean the storm is brewing, and is getting bigger, and faster, and stronger. And it is coming your way. You should never underestimate the will of a hurricane. I should've known the storm was closing in on us.
"Alex, please. Please, please, please. Don't be mad at me. Please, you can't be mad. I can't stand it, please, don't be mad." She begged me while she came running into my arms that night.
I hugged her. Felt her desperation. I couldn't stay mad at her for long. I was mad at myself at my own weakness towards her. I couldn't say no to her.
Just two days ago we were living a simple, normal, happy life. Sure, she is always worrying about her son, and I try to empathize with her even though I'm not a parent, as I tell her. I've never been one. I tell her I'll try to be, at least, a father figure to Norman. I know he's a young man already, but I also know his own father was never decent enough to be for him the slightest bit of a role model. I'm willing to try to be there for him too.
Of course I'm not happy about the fact she went and told him he could come home. She didn't ask for my opinion before reaching her decision and it hurt. I'm trying to be there for her but sometimes she just goes and does her own thing without thinking about consequences, like now.
Her stubbornness is so frustrating sometimes.
The dinner didn't go as planned. What was supposed to be a welcome dinner for Norman, and a somewhat test drive for all of us, turned into a full on display of passive aggressiveness and later on, rage on Norman's part. Norma went from sweet and slightly nervous, to defensive at him and protective at me and us, to dismissive of my own worries by the end of the evening.
After my stepson swung an ax at me, I told her I'd stay at the house for the night. There is no way I'd go back to my old place like she has asked me to do after witnessing what I just did. She said I had to sleep on the couch so as not to unsettle Norman even more. I felt a slight headache forming at my temples but I acquiesced to her plea.
I didn't sleep at all that night. Stayed vigilant and ready to react to any movement or sound above me on the second floor. Walked halfway up the stairs a few times during the night, seeing the two doors to the bedrooms closed, only silence coming from both rooms. The long hours of the night too many and not enough for me to put my thoughts, and my suspicions and worries, in order.
When morning arrived she came downstairs and offered her own interpretation for what had happened. Tried to bargain with me how we should manage this. Told me this was hard for Norman, for all of us, but that now we were past the worst. But I was not seeing things the same way she did. I told her that. Before another fight started, this time between us, I decided to go to work. She kissed me goodbye and I left, not before noticing Norman was watching us from above the stairs.
By the afternoon, I arrived back at the station after having talked to Dylan, when my assistant announced that my wife was waiting for me at my office.
As soon as I see her, standing up in the middle of my office, her posture rigid and ready to attack, I knew this wasn't going to be a social visit.
"How dare you?" She says as a greeting.
"What?" Is the only way I can answer, I have no idea what she's talking about.
"How dare you go behind my back to my own son to try and get Norman taken away from me. Who the hell do you think you are?" Her tone rising.
"Someone that loves you and is worried about you. And Norman."
I try to reason with her; try to diffuse the bomb before it explodes.
"That's nice that that's how you frame it in your head but how it looks from here is that you're an incredible presumptuous and arrogant man who thinks he knows what's best for me and my son." She says becoming angrier by the second and I realize her words are starting to sting me.
"I'm sorry you see it that way." I hope she can hear the sincerity in my voice.
"No one who loves me could ever do this to me." She accuses.
I will not let her turn this into something about me. "No. That's where you're wrong. He's dangerous."
"He's my son! You don't think I would know if he was dangerous?"
"He had an ax in his hand and he wanted to kill me." I say as the anger in me also starts to rise, but I try to keep it locked in, deal with her as level headed as I possibly can.
"Yeah well, are you dead?"
I cannot believe she just said that. But also, I can. The thick veil of her denial is ever present.
She continues defending her son's actions. "The point is he didn't, he was angry. He took it out on the shed and on my door."
There's a pause. The air hanging dense between us.
"You know, we were happy when we were in a bubble. But life isn't a bubble. You know, the second that a little reality crept in, that was it for you. Bam, so much for the stupid bubble." Her voice sounds different now. Not accusatory but matter of fact. Like she is saying the truest truth of all. But I also catch a glimpse of sadness in her voice.
"You can spin it however you want, Norma. It doesn't make it the truth. You just… you can't see clearly here 'cause this is about Norman."
If she only knew how wrong she is about all this. If only I can make her understand.
"Yeah because he's my son! You're gonna plant yourself on a mountain like you're God and tell me how things work, with my son?" Her anger has reached peak levels. I can see her eyes glaring, her nostrils flaring, the fire barely contained within her. She's like a wild animal.
Then her next words are said calmly but they hurt like a hot knife is splitting my chest in half.
"Wrong. You crossed over a line, and you are never crossing back. I will never trust you again."
"You left me no choice." I tell her.
"You left me none." She says and leaves.
I look one last second at her disappearing form and then turn around and flip all the contents on my desk to the floor; rage and frustration and disbelief all taking a hold of me. But I'm at work, and after a few deep breaths, I take control of my emotions again.
Our first fight. It also feels like the last one. The finality of her words echoing in my brain like a damn broken record.
"I will never trust you again…"
I went to my old house after work, sat there nursing a glass of whiskey for the longest time. Thinking about her. About what will I do now with a very angry and hurt Norma in my hands. How could I possibly make her forgive me, and more importantly, believe me when I say Norman needs to be back in Pineview? That she is not safe with him.
I look at my watch and I'm surprised to see is 8 p.m. already. Not a phone call or a message from her yet. I haven't reached out either. But there's a sense of unease. Just last night I said I wouldn't leave her alone in the house with Norman, and now I feel like a hypocrite for doing that very same thing. I should go check on her. Maybe she will scream at me to leave, or maybe she will cry in my arms and beg me to forgive her. I doubt the latter will happen but nonetheless, I get up and head to her house. Our house.
I arrive and everything's too dark. It's too early for them to have gone to bed already. I knock on the door, no answer, so I use my key to let myself in. My senses are on high alert but there are no sounds, no lights, and no smells of food having being cooked. Something's not right.
I go up to her bedroom, skipping Norman's room altogether, and open the door.
There's no one here.
TBC...
