So, a ton of you favorited (I hate that that's not even a word because the Grammar Nazi in me wants to get rid of it) my last story The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows, but only one comment. ): Anyway, I figured I better see if you guys like this story first before I continue on with it. I know the beginning may seem a bit cliched, but I promise you it's heading in a completely different direction. If you have any suggestions or advice or just anything at all, feel free to PM me. (: Reviews are welcomed and so is constructive criticism, "I'm a big kid now!"
Pairings-Maura Isles/Jane Rizzoli
Rating-Mature for language and mention of brief sexual content...for now.
Disclaimer-Not even the title of this story belongs to me, I stole it from Edmund White. The song mentioned below was written and performed by the ingenious Mumford & Sons (that was just seriously calling out to be put in a Rizzles story) and the two ladies of this fiction are (not) mine.
Oh, I AM looking for a beta or an omega, but never an alpha. Because I'm the dominant one. (; Okay, enough with the corniness, anyway, beta...yeah, I kinda maybe sorta need one.
The Beautiful Empty Room
Tremble Little Lion
"Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart? As well as your body, and can you lie next to her and confess your love, your love? ….But tell me now where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?" –White Blank Page (Mumford & Sons)
I stare at the clock, the same stare you call my "Criminal Intimidation" stare.
"Not so much a glare, Jane, but kind of a blank, patient look with a smile on your face. Like you already know they're going to confess and you're just humoring them."
You would say, or so you used to say, before everything between us spiraled out of control. Before I started working later and you started heading "home" earlier. Before I began consuming beer like you do water. Before you stopped coming home earlier than I did, with dinner already made and the kettle boiling for tea. Before Jo barked at your foreign "perfume".
You never used to slum, but I'll tell you, that skank's perfume stinks like a skunk that's been run over by a garbage truck. And I'm not just saying that because you happen to stick your fingers inside of her on a daily basis. Tell me Maura, does she taste as good as she smells? If so, you might want to consider investing in some Listerine or Altoid's, because every time we kiss, not like that's too often anymore, I have to hold back the urge to gag. She must be beautiful Maur, so beautiful if you haven't kicked her to the curb yet for that stench. You hate receding gums, but you can put up with that? You never cease to amaze me…
5:20 the blue light flashes at me, kind of like it were mocking it me. Or at least I feel that way, "It's 5:20 Jane Rizzoli, do you know where your wife is?" I laugh at my pathetic joke. But that soon turns into a grimace as I try to stop my stomach from rolling in disgust. No, I don't know where she's at, but I could probably tell you who she's in. I haven't eaten today, I was hoping, praying to the big man above, that maybe. Just maybe, you'd remember what today was. And maybe we could play "House" and pretend everything was normal again; go out to eat. You would complain about how greasy and how many carbs my cheeseburger has. I would tell you that if you kept eating as many carrots as you do you'd turn orange and then you'd begin to tell me about how that is possible but the chances of it happening are so-and-so many numbers out of a million. I'd give you a blank stare and you'd say, "It's just highly unlikely Jane."
You say you can't lie, but coming back to me every day (well almost every day, if we exclude your "charity events") is one huge lie all strung together like those knots you were telling me about. The one's that used to mark time back when stupid clocks, like the one staring me down, weren't around. I remember saying that tally marks were just way simpler. The only thing that my brain connects to tally marks now is how many are probably on that bitch's headboard.
"Jane, language."
I bark out a sarcastic laugh, I can almost hear your voice in my head. Like the way it used to sound; all admonish-y but teasing, like it used to be when you still bothered to scold me. When we still talked. Now all I hear coming from that beautiful mouth is:
"Jane, I'm tired. Can we talk tomorrow?"
I bet you are tired; "intercourse" is very tiring. Unless you're not having any like me.
"Jane, I've already eaten. I picked something up on the way home because it was late and you're not one to cook so late."
Tell me, what exactly did you eat Maura? Or whom, should I say?
And my favorite of all, because this one truly does make me happy:
"My head hurts Jane, I'm going to bed. I'm just sleep deprived."
That's whenever you two argue. It makes me glad knowing that if I can't scream at you; at least she can…
The door opens. I swiftly check the clock; 5:32. I stay lying in bed figuring I'd get the number one excuse of the month. Or number one and number two combined, seeing as how I also want to eat. Well, not so much anymore now that I think about it.
"Jane?"
You overuse my name. Is it to remind yourself that you're home now and not with her, whoever the hell she is? I used to like the way your tongue fluently moved from hugging the roof of your mouth to pressing against your teeth. But now I just feel like you've tainted my name. It's something else entirely now. You could probably recite to me the etymology of my name. But for the life of me, you wouldn't be able to explain to me why it sounds so different. No, you'd shake your head and say, "Don't be silly."
I bury my head into the pillow, groaning in a dramatic way to make it seem like I was sleeping and not anxiously waiting. I've got to give you props Maur; you're home four hours and twenty-eight minutes ahead of schedule. Yay, happy birthday to me, my girlfriend has decided not to fuck Stinky Skunk Skank on my day of birth. I sit up when I hear the clicking of your expensive heels on my amber floorboards drawing closer. I just roll my eyes, something's never change. You took your black Gucci sling-backs today. I sigh and look up when I feel your presence looming over me.
A thin caramel eyebrow arches, "I called for you."
I roll my chocolate eyes and drawl out, "I was sleeping."
I move my shoulders into a careless shrug and disappear into the restroom to take care of my business. Jo comes running from off of her bed into the bathroom before I can fully close the door. Even my poor mutt is sick of you. I hear a breath rush out of the woman in the room, and laugh because the next words out of my mouth are going to make you wish she held that sigh of accomplishment and strain in a little longer. It'll be so much sweeter when you hurtle your way out of this, but we won't make it out together.
You see the little "review" button down there? Yeah, that one that's hangin' down under like Australia (if you're in the Northern hemisphere) click on it and make my day/night. Si'l vous plait? (: Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
