A Heart That Was Made to Beat
By Mad Meg Askevron
Chapter one
Disclaimer: no shit.
Chapter One: City of Perpetual Rain
Dorothy sat up in bed, eyes wide, a strange purple color that could be seen recently, drenched in sweat. She tossed the blankets to the side and ran a white hand through her hair. She looked out through the window, it was raining again. She cupped a hand to her neck and the side that had ached was horribly swollen. She tossed the blankets aside and tried to stand up. Dizziness swamped her and she fell to the floor.
"Roger…" Someone slammed the door opened and she fell into robed arms.
Dorothy walked down the lonely road. It was raining; it was pouring so hard she couldn't put her hand in front of her face and see it. She had an umbrella shielding her and the basket of groceries from the tempest. She cried out when suddenly she felt white hot, searing pain shoot up the neck. She collapsed and was dragged into an ally. That was when Roger found her unconscious, and human.
When Dorothy woke again it was to an unfamiliar, elderly face. When the man realized that she was awake his face creased in a warm smile.
"Mr. Smith, she's awake." Roger, who had been sleeping in a chair on her other side holding her hand, woke instantly.
"Dorothy!" She turned her head to him and smiled with feverish eyes. The doctor gasped exposed her neck. The side of her that had been shot was puffy and purple. The doctor quickly reached into his bag and brought out a small tube of clear gel.
"Normally I would give her a shot but I don't want to antagonize the wound." The doctor put away his things secretly smiling over the way Roger held this fragile girl in his arms protectively.
Roger had held her while the doctor had smeared her neck with the stinging substance. As she laid there she looked almost as if she were dead. She looked no more then sixteen, with pale skin so fine that you could see traceries of veins where her skin was fragile. She seemed as delicate as a bird he'd seen a picture of.
She was fine boned and thin, Roger's hand engulfed her petite one. She looked up at him, already slipping in and out of consciousness. Her hair was a curious shade of red, like the blood red of a blazing sunset.
The doctor took his leave silently since Roger was lost in another world as he held her sleeping form. The next day Roger took a job and didn't come home until well after midnight. Norman and Dorothy were asleep, so he stumbled into his bedroom and collapsed on his bed. He lay there aching in ways he'd never known.
"Roger? I thought I h-; oh my, what happened?" Dorothy rushed to him crying out. Roger lay on his back one of his eyes slowly swelling shut. He was covered in bruises of varying intensity, and soaked to the skin. "Come on, we need to get you out of those wet clothes."
Dorothy walked over to his closet and got out a clean set of pajamas and underwear. Dorothy took his coat and set him down while she took off his boots and unbuttoned his shirt. She found herself crying as she looked at Roger's chest.
"Dorothy? Dorothy! Don't cry, please!" He took her by the chin and gently turned her toward him, and rubbed the tears off her cheeks. Dorothy turned away as he changed underwear. She helped him into his pants and buttoned his shirt. As she tucked him in she felt his forehead.
"Oh dear, you have a fever. Don't move." Dorothy walked into the kitchen.
"Dorothy, dear, what are you doing at this time of night; and in your nightshirt no less?" The shirt was a shirt that Roger had given her before she had night clothes of her own. Sometimes she just wore it because it was comfortable.
"Roger is sick, so I put him to bed. I'll take care of him, Norman." Norman smiled kindly and nodded slipping off to his own room smiling silently.
Dorothy brought in a tray with medicine and a steamy cup of warm milk and honey. Roger was soon asleep and warm, but despite Dorothy's efforts Roger caught a cold and was abed all day. That morning Dorothy, customarily, played the piano, but she played gently, playing a snatch of song from an old memory. She spent the rest of the day sitting by Roger, though she was still sick herself, and laid cool strips on his forehead.
When Roger woke the next morning he was as good as new, almost all of the bruises gone. He got dress but when he stepped through the door Norman called out.
"Miss Dorothy is missing, Master Roger." He said coolly though anxiety flashed in his only eye.
"Don't worry, Norman. I'll find her, besides I have an idea where she is."
Dorothy paid the man in the cab and turned away and hugged the coat Roger gave her closer. It was almost as if her were there holding her. She looked up at the iron gate before her with scrolled writing. "Paradigm City Cemetery"
You were once
my one
companion . . .
you were all
that mattered . . .
You were
once
a friend and father -
then my world
was shattered .
. .
Dorothy somehow found herself singing as she pushed the cold gate open and began to follow the path.
Wishing you were
somehow
here again . . .
wishing you were
somehow near . . .
Sometimes it seemed
if I just dreamed,
somehow you would
be here . . .
Dorothy had only ever been here once but the memory was burned into her brain.
Wishing I could
hear your
voice again . . .
knowing that I
never would . . .
Dreaming
of you
won't help me to do
all that you dreamed
I could .
. .
Dorothy felt hot tears slide, unobtrusively down her cheek, as her sweet voice lilted and rolled softly.
Passing bells
and sculpted
angels,
cold and monumental,
seem, for you,
the wrong
companions -
you were warm and gentle . . .
Dorothy's fingers trailed against the smooth stone of statues; as she walked blindly down the twisted road.
Too many years
fighting back
tears . . .
Why can't the past
just die . . .?
Dorothy asked in anguish to no one in particular, tears flowing freer.
Wishing you were
somehow
here again . . .
knowing we must
say goodbye . . .
Dorothy turned to the steps behind her, some how knowing it would be Roger. He walked beside her as they reached the graves, listening to the song as she kneeled and place lilies before the gates that she had bought on the way. They must have been really expensive. Dorothy looked up at him, wet face shining, her black skirts pooling around her.
Try to forgive . . .
teach
me to live . . .
give me the strength
to try . . .
Roger held out his handkerchief to her with a gentle, yet sad smile. She jumped up and ran to him, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her. Dorothy cried on his shoulder for a moment.
No
more memories,
no more silent tears . . .
No more gazing
across
the wasted years . . .
Help me say
goodbye
"Roger, will you take me home now?" Dorothy asked in a soft and chocked whisper.
"Yes, Dorothy lets go home." He picked her up and carried her to the car.
End of Chapter One
