This little story came to me one day, after a letter of a friend. This is life how it could be, if Horatio and Marisol would have lived together happily ever after. Well, I'm in my fourties and getting short of illusions. Hope you enjoy anyway.
I won't forget to give my thanks to Neteret, who did the corrections for this story and the previous story 'Kissed by the sun'. I forgot about to mention that. Sorry Net, it won't happen again. Heh! I'm so glad you found the stories worth to read and even to 'beta' them, therewith I could post them. Thanks a lot!
I don't own anything, it belongs to CBS and J.B. The idea and the phrases are mine.
Like a child
"Please, darling, can you iron my shirt? It's my best one and I want to wear it tonight, at dinner with the colleagues."
Sighing, she takes the dark-blue shirt. It's new, she bought it for him, because he looks great in it. The color compliments his eyes and she was hoping, he would wear it at their first wedding anniversary on Saturday.
"Oh, sweetheart, hurry up I'm late." Nervously he looks at his watch.
With a sad smile, she stands behind the ironing board which separates her from Horatio.
He is busy trying to get dressed, buttoning his sleeves and tucking his shirt in. Hastily zipping up his pants, he grabs his jacket and opens the door. Standing with one foot in the room, with the other on the doorstep, he turns back to her. "By the way, could you fetch my suit from the dry-cleaning? I'll need it on Saturday;, I have that appointment in the evening with the attorney from the 'Miller' case." With an apologetic smile, he disappears out the closing door. Bang!
Motionless, she stands in the kitchen, holding the iron in her hand. 'An appointment on Saturday?' she thinks. 'He didn't tell me about that. At what time? He can't do that, not on our wedding anniversary. Did he forget our little celebration at 'Fernando's? We reserved a table at six.' Her thoughts are racing now. 'I've planned a lot for Saturday. I wanted to have breakfast with him, a pleasure I haven't had the whole last week, because his new case was more important.' Bit by bit, her mind becomes darker, her fury rising.
Folding up the ironing board, she's lost in her musings. 'It's always the same, ever since our honeymoon. Horatio was married with his work, before he married me. Only, I didn't know that, and nobody told me about it.' Suddenly it seems like she can't stand it any longer.
Not only does he not have enough time for her, no, he always wants her to manage things for him, run errands and so on. Sometimes she feels like she is only his personal servant; a bitter thought, but it's her true feeling. His requests are always nice, using little lovely words, but they're really demands.
"Please darling, could you….
"Sweetheart, have you done the…..
"Honey, hurry up, I'm getting late…
"Darling, you know my duties, can't you understand….
Horatio cares so much for other people, he seems to forget, that he is married to her, has the duty to make her happy. When he isn't at the MDPD Lab, he's in court, or has appointments with colleagues, attorneys, judges. It's an endless list.
This was not how she expected her life to be with Horatio. 'I'm the bird in a golden birdcage', she muses unhappy. 'I have a beautiful life, I can buy gowns and other clothes, or jewellery when I want, but when Horatio doesn't give me orders, he's treating me like a little child.' Now she's in tears.. Always, when she asks him about work, how his day was, his face gets this closed-off expression, his eyes icy and clouded. He won't talk about his work with her, which she learns fast in the first weeks of her marriage.
'What role does he want me to have in his life', she thinks, suddenly very angry. 'What I'm supposed to be? Am I his 'little helper', his assistant at home? To help him with his daily routine? His toy and pleasure in bed, having sex once or twice a week, to get rid of the tension, the work causes?' She's aware of the fact, that her thoughts are getting bitter and a bit wrong, but she doesn't care. Bathing now in her self-pity, she's obsessed with her train of thought. 'He almost never has the time, to talk with me, to discuss things, to spend a whole day with me. Even on Sundays, the cell phone rings.' Searching for the right word to describe her life with Horatio, she finds at least a fitting one. 'Waiting, that's her task. Waiting with the meals, waiting for the time to have a date with him, lying in bed in the nights, waiting to have sex.' A stream of tears is running down her face. Angry, she rubs her eyes with her fists.
When she meets with her friends, they all talk about their lives , about their houses, the neighbors, shopping, the children, their husbands or lovers. But, what can she talk about? "You're a lucky one, you're married with a famous person, 'Miami's finest.' And he is so handsome. And so understanding of the victims. He adores you, everyone can see it." She feels their envy, but that doesn't make her happy any more. What does she know about Horatio that others don't know? That her hero has no private life, that there is nothing to know about. Suddenly, the realization hits her hard. That's what she is! She is his private life! She represents his everyday life, living it for him! She, at least, has nothing to do with his work, which is eating him, day after day! And therefore he married her, bringing her to live it for him, doing all the private things he isn't able to do on his own.
Loudly sobbing, with the tears running down her cheeks, her face is a mess, but she doesn't care. She's still standing in the little hallway of their flat, lost to the world, thinking of her cruel fate, feeling like a thing, a piece of furniture, ready to use when it's needed. 'I'm a bloody fixture', she cries. A year! On Saturday it's a whole year, I'm living like a utensil! She can't bear it any longer! She's lost in time, standing in the room with her arms crossed in front of her chest, blocking the cruel thoughts.
Suddenly, Horatio is standing in the open door, staring at her with a puzzled expression on his face. Finding exactly the wrong words, he asks innocently: "Did you get my suit, I'm in an awful hurry." Pulled out of her dark thoughts, she is surprised and embarrassed. Slowly her face turns to pink, her heart racing. Not able to give him a logical answer to his question, flustered, she looses the last bit of her manners. Stamping her foot, she yells, her face turning red, "I don' wanna.' She undresses her apron. 'I don' hafta' She grabs her coat from the checkroom. 'I ain't gonna!" The woman takes the door knob and closes the door with verve.
Bang! This time the door shuts behind her, and leaves Horatio in the middle of the hallway, staring in shock at the closed door, his blue eyes wide with horror.