And with a sway of sliding fur, the lovely Mrs. Wild turned and…
Elka sighs and sets the book down on her lap before she can find out what happened to Mrs. Wild after she turned. It's been forty-five minutes since she grabbed this book off the shelf and sat down with it, and she's only just now managed to reach the end of chapter one. To say that she read the chapter feels like an overstatement; it's more like her eyes simply moved over the words without really absorbing any of them. She doesn't think it's because the book is bad- after all, how can she make a judgment on the quality of the story if she can't recall anything she's just read?
She looks down and tries again, but her head's just not in it, she supposes. Her attention keeps getting distraction, though by what, she cannot say. The small, dark-paneled den that she's sitting in and the soothing sound of the rain drumming on the window should have been the perfect setting for an afternoon in with her boyfriend. She should be relaxed enough to read, but every time she attempts to focus for more than three sentences she finds her gaze being lifted off of the page and drifting all over the room, one moment landing on the tall mahogany bookcase, the next on a spot on the wall that vaguely resembles a bunny, and then onto Maloof, who, as though physically feeling her eye on him, will look up and regard her with more love and adoration than she can possibly return at this moment, which forces her eyes back onto the book she is not really in the mood to read.
The cause of her inability to concentrate is not anything within the room. Physical discomfort must be ruled out as well, for the leather loveseat she and Maloof are seated on is soft and plush, and her body is sunk quite nicely into the deep-wine colored cushions. She cannot blame Maloof either, for he is sitting next to her quietly, paging though some car magazine (the same one she's seen at her previous lover's home), content, with no thought to tomorrow or what it might bring.
Elka closes her eyes and takes stock of herself physically and emotionally, trying to pinpoint what exactly her problem is. She breathes in, breathes out, counts to ten and clears her mind, (the way all of her therapists throughout the years taught her) and notices both a tingling at the back of her head and a nervous tension in the pit of her stomach. The problem, she concludes, is mental, and therefore much more difficult to resolve than an irritating noise or bad book.
Truthfully, this anxiety she's feeling did not suddenly crop up within the last hour- it's been simmering for the past few days. Up until now she's been able to ignore it, to put it on the back-burner while focusing on the errands and obligations that usually fill up the work week. But today, on this idle, rainy Sunday afternoon, she has nothing planned and no work to be done, and thus has no choice but to acknowledge it, for leisurely activities are not engaging enough to distract her from her own thoughts.
It's not something she particularly wants to do. She tosses her novel onto the coffee table with a sharp flick of her wrist, where it smacks against the edge and falls to the carpeted floor. The action immediately catches Maloof's attention and he glances up from his magazine. He looks first to the book on the floor, and then up to Elka, concern etched onto his features. He does not speak, nor does he try to probe her mind, merely waits for her to offer up an explanation, something like 'oh, that book was awful!' or 'oops, didn't mean to do that!' Elka stares back at him and keeps her lips pressed together, rebelling against his worry and giving him nothing. A moment passes, and then he asks "What's wrong, babe?"
The inquiry is gentle, not being spoken in a tone of huffy annoyance (the way a certain someone would speak). It makes her even more frustrated, and she snaps a terse 'nothing' out at him. The answer is, in its way, an honest one, for there is nothing wrong, there is no singular thing that she can point to and say 'here, this is my problem, this is what's making me sigh and throw my books around.' The thing that's bothering her hasn't even happened yet, hasn't even been seen.
He flinches at her sharp tone but keeps his eyes on her as she telekinetically picks the book up off the floor and places it back on the shelf. "Is it Nils?" he says, setting his magazine aside and scooting closer to her. "He giving you trouble?"
There's a note of hopefulness in the question, as though he wants her to say 'yes' so that he has an excuse to commit some injury upon her ex-boyfriend's person. It's not enough to make her smile, but it does lift her spirits up, just a little. "No," she replies, crossing her arms over her chest and pressing back against the cushions. "No, it's not him."
"Oh." The word is heavy with disappointment- really, Maloof's jealous hatred of Nils shouldn't make her feel as satisfied as it does- but he moves on, placing a hand on her upper arm. "Is it me? Did I do something?" The questions come out rapidly, as though his nerves have propelled them out of his mouth. He squeezes her arm, applying a light pressure, his soft hand warm on her skin.
Elka tries to stay silent, tries to hold onto the frustration that had been her shield not a few seconds ago. But it has dissipated with his touch, and the only thing keeping her from spewing her fears onto his lap is her inability to verbalize them. Because how can she explain it without confusing him? How can she tell him that he's worked so hard to make her happy that for every night this past week she's lied awake, anticipating the vision of this relationship's demise that's bound to come eventually, the vision that she can already feel waiting to spring upon her at the moment when it will hurt her the most. It would be easier, she thinks, chewing the inside of her lip, if he made me angry from time to time, if he wasn't so considerate. Then it wouldn't be so hard.
She can't tell him any of this, so she doesn't. "It's not you, honey," she replies, reaching out and letting her hand brush through his thick, auburn curls. She playfully tugs one and cups the side of his face. His cheek is soft and squishy, round from the baby fat that he never managed to lose. It gives him an air of innocence, even if she knows he really is not, a nice contrast the other men in her life. "You've been nothing but good to me."
His eyes brighten, pleased as he is to have all of his effort recognized. He's still searching her face, gaze travelling from her eyes to her cheekbones, down her nose and onto her down turned mouth, as though the source of her bad mood were written somewhere on her features without her knowledge. Desperate to know as he is, he still hasn't tried to read her mind- that sort of thing he reserves for his enemies and underlings, not for the love of his life, though she knows that he would love nothing more than to reach in and see all of the things that make her tick. "Is it…" He furrows his brows, reviewing all of the other instances of melancholy that he'd been witness to, and then going pale upon recalling the common theme that had thread them all together. "Did you have a vision?" he asks, dread seeping into his voice.
"No," she says, pulling her hand away and allowing it to fall back onto her lap. "Not yet."
There's an implication in that 'yet', one that he doesn't miss. "But you will soon," he states grimly, and the heavy shrug and slump of her shoulders is all the confirmation that he needs.
Elka nods anyway, looking down at her feet, concentrating all of her anxiety on the point of her slipper. "Tonight, I think," she says, for even now she can feel the familiar prickle that signals a coming vision at the back of her skull. "Tomorrow at the latest."
Maloof swallows, taking in the information. Her visions have never boded well for him (of course, when have they ever boded well for anyone?), even when they have nothing to do with his life or their relationship. She's never in a good mood after, though the extent of her moodiness varies depending what it is she's seen- mundane visions of everyday annoyances leave her touchy and irritable, while a particularly horrific sight will send her into a full-blown depression that lasts for days after. Both emotional states are difficult for him to deal with, but he tries his hardest by sending her the most thoughtful, expensive gifts he can obtain and by managing her business affairs on days when she can barely get out of bed, not uttering a single complaint all the while.
In any case, the news of an incoming vision is not good. "Maybe it won't be about us," he says, forcing a touch of optimism into his words. "Maybe it'll be about someone on your downline, or hell, maybe some schmuck we don't even know…"
It's a selfish sentiment, and perhaps years ago she would have made a show of being offended. A good girl wouldn't wish for the misfortune of a stranger, after all. But Elka is too old, too tired, and has seen far too much tragedy to pretend that she does not hope for the same thing. "Maybe," she says softly, sadly, trying to make herself believe that disaster is not waiting on the horizon for both of them.
The weak 'maybe' doesn't convince herself, let alone Maloof, who is clutching her arm tightly, like he thinks that she might disappear from his life at any second. "You think it's about us, then." His voice catches as he asks the question, his eyes already watery. He looks like a puppy that has done something bad and is hoping that his master will show mercy on him.
Elka cannot give him mercy, only a half-hearted shrug. She is able to predict future events, but she has never been able to predict what her predictions will be about with any consistency. All she can do is guess, and right now, she has a horrible, sinking feeling that this next vision will spell the end for her and Maloof. She cannot say why- things have been going well for both of them in all aspects of their lives, and their bond has never been stronger. Perhaps this is it, the mere fact that things have been too good for too long. Nothing good can last forever; especially not for a Doom- the ruin of her parent's marriage is proof enough of that.
Her silence is the only answer he needs to confirm his fears. He looks away, his grip on her arm slackening as he contemplates the carpet, searching the elaborate pattern for a way to avoid the inevitable. The rain seems to intensify in the silence, the sound of it crashing onto the window now annoying instead of soothing, each plonk-plonk-plonk like a needle being driven into her skull. It makes her want to press her hands over her ears and sing 'la-la-la, I can't hear you!' like she used to when she was a kid to block it out.
Maloof releases her arm and shifts forward until he is practically in her lap, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. His soft body is warm and heavy against hers, and being held by him is like being under a pile of blankets during a cold winter night. She reflexively snuggles against him. "It doesn't matter," he says, his breath hot on her neck, lips grazing against her throat. "Whatever you see, I'm gonna…" He trails off, not sure of what exactly he is going to do but absolutely certain that he is going to do it. "I'm not gonna let it happen. I'm gonna stop it."
His determination to change the things that cannot be altered brings a smile to her face, albeit it a small, sad one. "You can't," she says as gently as possible, as though sweetening her tone will lessen the sting of her words. "If I see it, it has to happen. That's how it works, sweetie."
This conversation is an old one, and Elka already knows how it will play out. Her blunt honesty and resignation to what fate has in store for them will do nothing to extinguish his hope that his love will prevail over her precognition, though it never has before. "It's not going down like that, baby," he says, leaning forward and pressing his lips against her cheek. "Not this time."
Elka wishes she could believe that, wishes she could have as much faith in Maloof as he deserves. "Maloof…"
"We know it's coming," he says, interrupting her before she can discourage a line of thinking that will only cause him more pain. "So you can just…tell me everything you see, and I'll put everything I've got into preventing it." He must sense how unconvinced she is, for he plants a hard kiss on her lips, as though trying to transfer some of his optimism over to her. "I swear it'll be different this time. I've got money, people, and power. That's gotta count for something." His tone becomes more confident the more he talks, like he's the one with pre-cognition and he's just seen that things are guaranteed to turn out alright. "If we've got to go underground to change fate, than that's what we'll do!"
The thought of the two of them holed up in some underground bunker for the rest of their lives elicits a laugh from her. "That's probably what the vision will be about," she says, glad to find some humor in this situation. "You and I having to spend our lives eating nothing but canned food and watching the same movies over and over again."
Maloof grins up at her, expression boyish. "I'll get used to it," he says eagerly, laying his head on her shoulder. "I'll eat Chef Boyar-bastard for the rest of my life if it means staying with you."
Elka sighs, fondly this time instead of wearily. The silly turn the conversation has taken lightens her mood, though she knows it won't be long before her anxiety plunges it back into darkness. Just let me have this moment, she tells herself, pressing her cheek the top of Maloof's curly head. Let me enjoy the rest of tonight. "Maybe the vision won't even be about us," she says, allowing herself to express the one scant bit of hope that she's allowed herself. "I've been wrong about these things before."
Maloof nods, looking up at her with bright, hopeful eyes. "Who knows, maybe you'll see something good for once."
Again, Elka laughs, though there is a bitter edge to it this time. "Now that will definitely never happen."