I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
And I do not own a Massimo. Or an Elsa. *Whew*
Everything That Has a Beginning Has An End
Reunion
1952
She hated it here, she absolutely hated it.
Trapped in this musky tent with these tired, worn out old things.
And these idiots who couldn't do anything at all right.
She would never be famous.
She would never be revered.
She would never be loved.
Not really, not truly.
Not the way she wished.
That had happened only once.
So very long ago.
And then the fool, the great and wonderful fool, had thrown it all away.
For revenge.
For her.
And she owed him.
She would always owe him.
Not one day, not one damn day, did she not remember him, think of him, miss him.
And what they had had together.
There was no way under the sun that she could forget.
For she walked every day upon legs. Wooden legs, legs carved by her master craftsman Italian, to remind her.
And she hated them.
And hated him.
And hated herself.
Except she did not at all.
She did not, could not, hate him.
Not truly.
But she did miss him.
All these long years.
But she could not bear his presence knowing that he could no longer love her, care for her, desire her.
And so she had gone on.
Away from him.
Though part of her never really had.
But she had never breathed a word of it at all.
Or made any attempt whatsoever to contact him.
Until now.
And it was all because of Jimmy.
That damn lobster-handed brat had gone and gotten himself into the worse possible bind she had ever witnessed anyone (excluding herself) get themselves worked into.
She didn't know it was possible for a person who wasn't a pinhead to make such idiotic decisions.
Allow themselves to be rused so badly.
And now the fool boy had no hands.
And needed help.
Needed hope.
Needed a carpenter.
And so, her renewed pain swelling within her like a tidal wave of misery and longing, she wrote to him.
To Massimo.
Because Jimmy Darling, her idiot boy, needed new hands.
And Elsa knew a master craftsman.
But he had not come.
Again.
And she would be left to wonder.
Again.
And all would be lost.
Again.
And she was angry.
Because he had not come.
And she had wondered.
And there was no hope left at all.
Until she saw him.
Massimo.
Standing in the shadows of the big top entrance.
Cloaked in the gloom, he looked exactly the same as when she had lived her life for him all those long years ago.
And whatever pointless, meaningless, inane drabble she was about to sing, died in her throat.
He had finally come.
She had waited all these years to see him standing there, sitting there, in the audience.
Every song she had sung, she had sung for him.
Even when she didn't know it.
And even when she did. And had denied it.
And now here he was.
And it was just the two of them again.
Alone, such a vast, dusty, dim void separating them.
And she didn't even know if he was real.
She didn't want him to be, not after all this time.
And yet she did.
She saw him.
And wrapped her arms around her thin frame to keep from bursting into a million tiny pieces.
She would not break apart and shatter.
Not in front of him.
She must not.
She must walk.
Walk on those damn legs he had carved just for her.
And she did.
Without knowing how she kept her balance, her momentum, her direction, her sanity, Elsa moved toward him.
Slowly.
She walked toward Massimo Dolcefino.
And saw him clearer in the quiet light.
He was older now, they both were. More careworn, more used up by the world and its awful, miserable dealings and cruelities.
But oh, he was handsome. So very handsome still.
It made her wonder distractedly if he liked her hair.
He had never seen it red before. It had always been blond.
And her body, this drooping bag of flesh and bone.
She had kept it up, as a star must, but age was chasing her all the same.
And he was here now after so long away.
And seeing her.
But she lost all those thoughts and random wonderings a moment later.
Because when he removed his hat in that casual gentlemanly way of his and gazed at her with those deep, dark eyes, her heart swelled with love and shattered with grief all at the same time.
Touch him, touch him.
She wanted to touch him so badly.
Feel the scruff of his precious face with her skin again.
Feel the warmth of his strong body again.
Feel his sure, steady arms around her again.
But she hesitated.
So much time, so much gone. Lost. So much time, never to get back.
And all because of her.
And his love for her.
That consuming love that had caused her physical ecstasy when they had joined together those months so long ago, that same consuming love had driven him to seek vengeance for her.
That love had destroyed them both.
And now he was finally here.
And all she wanted to do was touch him.
Be touched by him.
And so, trembling and aching and yearning and hurting and loving, she reached out.
And threw herself into his arms.
Let her tears flow.
And knew without a doubt that it was the only place she would ever truly belong.
Massimo.
He found the place, just as she said he would.
Old and worn, the flags, the tents, the stands, the carousel. Strings of multi-colored lights.
All set up in an overgrown field.
All waiting, lifeless and still in the harsh, light of day.
Resting, biding their time. Until dusk.
Until showtime.
To spring to life in the magic of night.
Walking through a huge, hideous devil face and mouth with tongue and pointed fangs.
Mysterious and gruesome and darkly appealing.
And Elsa, his Elsa, her touch was on every single bit of it.
It reflected her dark fascinations and desires.
Fraulein Elsa's Cabinet of Curiosities.
How very extraordinary.
The big top awaited, red and white worn cloth wilted under the heat of the sun.
He would find her there.
No doubt practicing for her upcoming musical performance.
He remembered her singing.
Not the best he'd ever heard. Rather brash and coarse even as she hit the right notes and tones.
But he'd loved it all the same.
Because it was hers.
And encouraged the continuation of it.
Because he loved her. Because everyone needed hope, needed a goal, a bright light to reach toward.
And everything, everything, could be smoothed, polished.
Like rough wood, shaped and refined.
Until it was just as it should be, could be.
Or so he'd once thought.
He heard her before he saw her.
Yelling, raging at someone for some unforgiveable slight.
Yes, he remembered her fire.
He remembered being seared by it on several occasions.
And he remembered forgiving her time and time again.
And forcing himself to let go.
Because that was what love and acceptance did.
Let go.
And hoping it would help sooth her so that she might learn to forgive. Learn to accept.
Learn to be calm without and within.
Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not.
And sometimes it had made him want to shout and rage back.
Or put his hands around her throat to shake her and stop her words until she collected herself.
But he never had.
Because that would teach her nothing. Heal her not at all.
And so with patience and care and persistence, he had given her room to change, room to grow.
And she had.
Softer, gentler, more aware of others' as living, breathing souls.
But now, apparently, she had slipped right back to where she had been.
And he felt sorrow he had failed her so in not providing her with the love and care throughout these lost years that she had needed so badly.
Because now she was hard and biting all over again.
And he had failed her.
Nevertheless, he approached.
Slowly. Quietly.
Toward Elsa.
With his worn hat on his aged head.
And his bag and toolbox in his hands, he walked toward her.
Seeing her again after all these many years.
Sixteen long years.
And she was beautiful still.
Older, more tired and frustrated by the world.
But still beautiful.
Red curls now, not blond.
Slender figure adorned stylishly.
Walking on the legs he had given her.
She was almost to the microphone when she saw him.
And stopped as if frozen, unable to move.
Wrapping her arms around herself as if holding herself together.
Much in the same manner as she had that night when he, out of desperate loneliness and unrelenting yearning, had gone to the apartment in which she resided.
Just to see her again. Smell her aromatic perfume. Hear her voice, that voice that so gave her away.
He had not meant to touch her, to take her in his arms and kiss her. He had not meant to make love to her.
He had only wanted to see her, hear her voice.
Or so he had told himself at the time he had knocked on her door.
And then he had let go of everything holding him back.
And in that moment and for the few free months afterward, he could not have imagined doing anything else.
But now, he did not know how to feel, what to feel.
Because he could not feel.
He did not know what to do.
Because there was nothing he could do.
But wait for her to come to him.
And so he did.
It did not take long.
She moved toward him almost immediately. Slowly, as if in a trance.
Her face a tumult of mixed emotions.
He almost smiled then.
She had never been adept at keeping her feelings hidden within, no matter what she thought to the contrary.
The spotlight illuminating the otherwise darkened space cast her in an unearthly glow.
And he saw her.
Self-consciously playing with her hair, smoothing her dress.
Her thoughts seemed so loud that they thundered in the silence, garbled and swirling and confused.
He set down his baggage and, from years of gentlemanly practice and habit, removed his hat.
And looked back up to see her almost to him.
She seemed to be reigning herself in just a bit, attempting to smile. But still looking as though she might break apart yet.
He whispered her name, a release of breath and trapped years of desolate emotional isolation.
And that seemed to break her reserve.
For she reached out, caught herself back.
And finally threw herself into his arms that seemed to reflexively come up around her.
To hold her tight.
If only for a brief moment in time.
Because that, now, was all that remained for them.
Just now.
Cara mia.
Hello!
Well, had to finish the story then, didn't I?
Another coupla chapters I think. But not too much.
Because I can only hold so much sadness and woe for their story within me.
And then, I too must let go. :)
Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.
