Title:Oh Darling, Don't Go
Author: Catalina Royce
Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: It's the dead of the night when she whispers the lies for both of them to hear.
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Just your everyday, angsty one-shot. I wrote this about 12 at night while I was sick of writing my new 'project', so this is all the creativity and angst that I needed at that particular moment. The title comes from a Fiona Apple song, the first verse of which I feel perfectly describes this story.
Also, just to let you know, Quiesence my website is now up again -- there were a few days/weeks can't remember how long it was down for that it wasn't working. It does have a mailing list, for updates on my stories and stuff. It also now has The Myth of Innocence Alternate Ending, for those fans of the story. That ending would have led to a sequel, but I felt that the original ending was all around more satisfying. Besides, I have a list of 31 fanfiction stories to write, so it was time to move on.
Sorry about rambling. Hope you enjoy the one-shot.
It's the dead of the night when she whispers the lies for both of them to hear. She tells him, always, that she doesn't need him, that he's evil and that she's good, that she'll leave him now and that he shouldn't do what he does. But when it comes down to it, her lies will always fade with the night, to be erased by the colours of the dawn.
And every night they repeat that game, and every night she lies. Every morning, he tells her that he's sorry, and then he goes and does it again. This is life, he says. This is how I live.
She doesn't understand it, entirely, but in the daylight she can accept it.
To her, it was just one of his quirks. Because he'd never loved the people she loved, and he'd never lived the life that she lived. He'd been cast out; she'd been accepted.
Once upon a time, he had been the one who lied. He spelt his pretty words out in pretty memories, and she'd fallen for it quill over heart. Dear Tom, she'd written, and she'd trusted him implicitly. He would never have hurt her, would never go so terribly far.
And yet, sometimes she'd wonder just exactly how far was too far. Was it the pain she sometimes thought she'd felt in that moment before he replied? Or that brief glimpse of sorrow when they said goodnight? Perhaps, far greater than that, it was the slow seeping of her love, like a tree trying to hold its leaves for winter. Surely she should have been mad at him for that, should have felt somehow betrayed.
But all she'd felt was the cold seeping in further, and when he was there, it wasn't so very bad after all.
And in the afternoons, past the apologies, and before the accusations, she wonders exactly when it was that she finally gave up, gave in, and let him show her things she hadn't wanted to see. She wonders how, exactly, he feels when he looks at her. And, in her more coherent moments, she wonders why she can't just let him go.
She thinks perhaps it is because she was so young when he first came. Perhaps that's the reason that he seems to almost be a part of her. She had grown so used to him that she simply couldn't live without him.
She'd moved past his lies, of course. When The Dark One had 'defeated' him, she'd seen clearly all that she'd been told. And she'd missed him, had missed his lies and his comfort all at the same time. The Burning One had tried to help her, but The Dark One had problems much more important than hers, and The Burning One had simply given up after a while.
And then she found the book again. She remembers first discovering the treasure hidden in the back of her trunk, remembers thinking that perhaps she should really give it away, return it to The Dark One so he can dispose of it like he did last time.
And she remembers hesitating, telling herself that she just wants to find out if it's dangerous, but really believing that this was a sign that they were meant to be. And she'd missed his lies so much.
So instead of doing the right thing, she opened it and let her quill dribble ink onto him.
She realises at sunset that that is when she gave up, gave in, and let him show her things that she doesn't want to see. Sometimes she revels in these things, but she will never tell him that. And sometimes she loathes it, when the people he hurts are the ones she loved. That's when she wonders how sane she really is, to let him love her when he hurts her, too.
But to her, love is about pain.
It's after sunset but before dark, when the world is paused like its holding its breath, that she realises there is no reason for her not to let him go. So she steeples her reserve, her determination. She thinks that maybe she is holding her breath, too.
She never finds out what he thinks when he looks at her, but sometimes she fancies that he loves her as much as the prisoners love their wives. She thinks that, perhaps, if they were ever caught, he too would plead for mercy for her and declare his undying love.
He'd never said those words the prisoners always said, but she saw them in his eyes, sometimes. After the pause, when it was dark but the candles are lit, she looks into his eyes and sees herself reflected in them, she thinks that maybe, if eyes are the windows to the soul, perhaps she was in his soul too. So she waits, and says nothing, and although it is after the pause-light, she is still holding her breath.
When the candlelight is gone, she finds herself exhaling, and telling him all the lies she remembers from her thoughts.
And he just lies there and listens as she tells him. She tells him that she doesn't need him, that she was fine before him, that he's evil and she is good, that love doesn't hurt in the storybooks, that he shouldn't do what he does and that she'll leave him now because. And always, at the reason why, she falters.
And that's when he gathers her up and holds her tight. That's when he tells her that if she wants, he will go, but he will miss his insane, gorgeous wife. She thinks that he's correct, that she is insane. And sometimes she wonders why, but she never thinks about it long enough to care.
As the dawn starts to mellow the sky, he starts to slide out of bed, and suddenly she has to ask herself why she feels so empty. So she clutches to him and asks him not to leave, to please stay, because she can't remember a time when he wasn't there and if there was a time she isn't sure she wants to remember, anyway.
And he lies down, again, and holds her close. She relaxes ever so nicely and tells him about all that she did today. He nods patiently and she understands that he's bored, and she knows that she did the same things today as yesterday, but still she can't help herself, because different is bad and he is Tom and he always wanted to know everything.
And it's morning when he apologises, and does it all again.
And it won't be until afternoon that she wonders why she can't just let him go.