Disclaimer: Christopher Irvine, Stephanie McMahon, and the others you recognize are property of themselves, and their characters are property of WWE Entertainment. I make no claim to their minds or thoughts, and the work here is produced solely for entertainment purposes. The song used is "Somebody Out There," by the The Calling, and is off their CD "Two." The song is property of band and their label.
Author's Note: I hope I didn't slaughter the characters too badly here. This is my second real attempt at romance, so pardons are welcomed. Also, I do not hate the character of Triple H. I need an bad guy, and so he got the job. If you don't want to read something that bashes him (well, sort of), then I suggest you turn back.
There is some violence and language, and for that it gets its rating.
Constructive criticism is appreciated, though I do take flames, although if you don't want to read it, then don't (and you know who you are).
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A Sign That You're Near
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I looked up at the stars, not acknowledging, knowing somewhere that they were beautiful, but knowing that they weren't. They were hateful things, stars. They just glittered away up there, glittered away like they owned the whole universe. Like they were vain, arrogant. Like they knew they were pretty and they had to flash it at everyone to show it.
"Stephanie?"
The voice called to me from inside the house, but she said nothing. I wanted to lie here, underneath these hateful stars, and have them shine down at me, with all their beauty. They were pristine beauties. Maybe, I reflected, if I lay underneath them, some of their hateful beauty would be mines.
"Stephanie, are you outside? Stephanie, don't make me come after you."
I shivered at the voice, wanting at once to run, but knowing if I did, the stars would only twinkle down upon me and he'd be only a step behind me, but instead of a neutral breath, it would be hateful.
"Stephanie?"
Now his voice was starting to rise angrily, and I got up, dusting the grass from her back and legs. I'd worn the Outfit tonight; the Outfit which made him love me, which he never did when I wore her regular clothes. The Outfit was tight-fitting, uncomfortable, and it made me think that if I were out in public, some nice-looking man would throw me a twenty and tell me to get on my knees. I wore it for his sake—and even more, my own sake.
The voice started to roar when I slipped away from the bright stars through the sliding door into the living room.
When I saw his eyes go suddenly dim, and his tongue come forward to lick his lips, I wondered why I was doing this, why I was in his house, why he never came to me. Why I was wearing the Outfit, in front of him, wanting him, wanting him to love me, wanting him to hold me, tell me that he loved me. Why I did this.
He started to walk toward me, his eyes wandering up and down, seeming to search every curve, every revealing facet of the Outfit.
I turned my back to him, staring out the window, seeing the star twinkle at me, wink like it was some kind of god. I closed my eyes, to block out its twinkling, it lightness, its beauty.
I wasn't beautiful anymore.
When I felt Hunter's hand tracing up along my back, the other hand slipping beneath the glittered, short skirt I wore, I didn't open my eyes.
Well, the scene begins
A little girl is crying
And the light in the hallway is dim
"Hey, do you want to go out tonight, Stephanie?"
His voice was so gentle, so earnest, and even though his face was carefully schooled, I still saw the eager anticipation. I smiled at him, reveling in the way he smiled back. His teeth, just a tad off balance, were clean and white, and his lips were pulled up in such a way that lightened his whole face. His deep blue eyes were settled back in anxiety. I loved the way his hair fell so casually over his cheekbone, casting half his face in shade.
When I didn't answer right away, his deep eyes cast down, and he stammered, "It's alright, if you don't, Stephanie, it's just that a few of the guys—and the girls, you know—we're going out tonight and I figured I'd ask you, you know—"
"I'd love to," I said, smiling at him, delighting in the way his face suddenly lit. "I mean, if you're sure you want me to."
"Of course we want you to," he said, eagerly, suddenly grabbing my hand and holding it tightly. "Why wouldn't we? We're going to have so much fun, you'll see, you won't regret it at all—"
I enjoyed his touch, far more, I thought suddenly, than I should. He was being so nice, so gentlemanly, and I knew that it had to be an act. He couldn't be fascinated with me anymore. He had, I knew, and I had tried to block those advances. But certainly not now. I wasn't what she had been. I wasn't beautiful anymore.
"Stephanie?"
His voice came behind me, and I flinched. Chris Irvine dropped my hand.
"Hello, Hunter," he said, in a voice that was too cheerful.
"Hey," said Hunter shortly from behind me, and I felt his arms go around my waist and pull me closer, almost aggressively. I wanted to cower away from him, away from his harsh touch.
"Well," continued Chris, still sounding too bright, "Stephanie just said that she'd come along to our little get-together tonight. Do you want to come too?"
"No," Hunter said, pulling her even closer. "I don't want to go. Stephanie, we have plans tonight, remember?"
I remembered no plans.
"Oh yes, I forgot, sorry babe." I tried to smile at Chris, but his face was too painful for me to want to smile at. "Sorry, Chris. I forgot. You . . . you have a good time, though. I'm sure you will."
"Yeah," he muttered, turning around and heading to the door. "Yeah, we will."
"Shut the door," Hunter told him, and I felt a spike of fear. Close the door?
Chris, without a word, did as asked, and when the door shut, Hunter shoved me so hard that I fell to the linoleum floor, the wind knocked from my lungs.
Panic rolled through me.
"What the hell is your problem?"
Hunter was not a man who raised his voice, until positively angry, until he could no longer contain himself. He spoke in a sleek, soft voice, silky in rage. I heard his footsteps, and then my head was jerked up, Hunter's hand entangling in my hair.
I whimpered, struggling on the floor, kicking. "Hunter, let me go. Let me go!"
"Stop crying, slut. He was touching you. He was fucking touching you? You getting fucked, Stephanie? Getting fucked by the pretty white boy?"
"No," I nearly cried, as he twisted my head. I wanted to raise my voice, scream for help, but I knew I wouldn't. Knew I couldn't. "No, I'm not, Hunter, please, listen to me. He just grabbed my hand—"
"So its pretty boy's fault, is it? Maybe I should bring it up with him?"
"No!" I couldn't let Chris get hurt over this. And worse, if Hunter had his way with Chris, then he would know. They'd all know. "Don't hurt him, it wasn't his fault, it was my fault!"
Hunter threw me into the floor, my head knocking against the concrete, and I felt my lip split. The heavy pressure of his foot became apparent and he pressed me into the floor.
I gasped, twinges of pain in my back, and I wanted to scream.
"Are you saying that you grabbed him?" breathed Hunter.
He knew it wasn't true.
"Yes," I whispered. "I'm sorry, Hunter. I don't know what I was thinking."
The foot came up and I was pulled to my feet. Grabbing me by my forearms, he threw me into the wall.
I cried out at the pain, my back connecting first, and before I could fall to the ground, he grabbed me again and threw me to the floor.
I nearly screamed.
As I went crashing into the wall a second time, I thought of Chris's blue gaze, the wondering in his wounded eyes.
I wondered that if I had given up to him that time, that time an eternity ago, those blue eyes would be on me. I would feel his touch.
I wondered if those crystal blue eyes would love me.
And she sits right back, thinks of the reason
Why nothing will fall into place
She gets more and more curious with every day
More furious in every way
The hallway seemed like it was too long to fit into the building.
By the time I reached the locker room he shared, it was like I had walked a mile, the same few words ringing in my head over and over, it's not her fault, it's not her fault, it's not her fault.
"So?" asked Adam Copeland when I entered the room.
"She can't come. She and Hunter 'have plans.'" I could hardly spit out the word.
Trish Stratus snorted. "Of course they have plans, they always have plans."
Amy Dumas nodded next to her post by Matt Hardy. "They do seem to always have plans. She hasn't seen the light of day for ages."
"She hasn't seen the light of day for anything under him," said Trish and the two women exchanged dark looks.
"What are you two fools talking about?" Matt Hardy said, lazily tugging the on the waistband of Amy's pants, and Amy slapped his hand away.
I studied them both with interest. Trish's comment had not been one of offhanded carelessness.
"What do you mean?" I asked, a little more reasonably. "We know she hasn't been out for months. Is there something else?"
Adam was watching them carefully as well, and he asked, "Something we should know about?"
Amy and Trish exchanged another dark look, and Matt said, "Would you mind telling us what the hell your pathetic looks are for?"
This time Amy slapped his head and he looked at her adoringly.
"No, really," interrupted Adam. "We would all like to know. Chris here, especially."
I slapped his head and he slapped me back. We exchanged no adoring looks.
"No, not especially," I said readily.
Trish rolled her eyes, exchanged yet another look with Amy, and said, "They're her stories to tell. Ask her, Chris. I'm sure she'd tell you."
I was disappointed by the answer, but I knew I would get no more, out of either of them. Whatever secrets Stephanie kept, she kept them well.
But the dark look I could not forget. Her face when she'd heard his voice. The shiver shooting through her hand when she heard his voice. The fake smile, the message in her eyes.
She wasn't happy with him. She wasn't happy at all.
But maybe I could try to make her happy.
And she screams aloud
"Why's it happening to me?"
And the answer is
"It's meant to be"
The bruises could be covered up by a strategic long-sleeved shirt. A shirt with sleeves to the elbow would suffice as well. I had a few of those in my wardrobe, but perhaps the long sleeved one would work better. The bruises were angry red and blue, but I hoped that there wasn't too much damage. My head hurt the most, and the split in my lip was more of a tear than anything. I worried that my story would not cover all the incidents.
There was a quiet knocking on my door, and I went to answer it, shrugging into Hunter's jacket.
My brother stood, holding a bouquet of pink roses in his hands.
"Shane," I said, my eyes wandering down. "What are those for?"
"They're for you, silly," he said, embracing me. My arms sang pain, but I endured his suffocating hug.
"Why me?" I asked, bewildered, as he let me take them.
"I don't know," he said, smirking. "Did you think that I sent them?"
I blinked at him.
He laughed and kissed my cheek. "You're so adorable. No, I didn't send them. I got them from an anonymous admirer. They're yours, but I can't tell you who the admirer is. Seems you have a pretty good friend somewhere."
I flushed. "They're beautiful," I marveled, touching the silky petals. "I can't imagine who sent them."
"Maybe it was Hunter," suggested Shane innocently.
I felt the blush leaving my cheeks, felt myself become paler. Hunter? Send me roses? The idea was laughable.
"Maybe," I muttered, pulling the roses away.
Shane frowned at me.
"Your lip," he said, bringing a hand up. I ducked underneath it and his frown deepened. "You cut your lip. And you look like you have a bruise on your face."
Oh fuck. Now what? I couldn't lie to him. My brother knew when I lied.
But I couldn't tell him the truth!
"You'd laugh at me," I said, shrilly.
"Laugh at you? Oh, come on Step. You know I only laugh at you when Chris talks to you."
At the mention of Chris, butterflies alit in my stomach.
"So come on, tell me. What happened?"
"You know those heels you don't like?"
"The strappy, silvery ones?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "Well . . . I tripped."
"You didn't."
"I did."
"You, of impeccable grace?"
"I tripped."
"You, who laughs at tennis shoes?"
"I tripped."
Shane laughed, but his laughter seemed oddly subdued. "You don't trip much."
"No," I admitted. "But when I do, I fall hard."
There was a buzzing and he glanced at his pager. "I have to go," he said, preparing to leave. At the door, he stopped, and turned around.
"Stephy," he said, hesitantly. "If there was something wrong . . . you'd tell me, right?"
Go away, Shane.
I laughed. "Of course I'd tell you, Shane. But as these roses need a vase, might you take yourself out of here so I can put them in one?"
He smiled a little more brightly. "Good to know, Stephy. Good to know. Be good."
He left and I found myself immediately wanting him to come back.
I stared at the roses. Hunter hadn't sent them. Then who?
Whoever it was, it wasn't Hunter. And if Hunter saw them, he'd hit me. Again.
I threw them away.
Well, she's on her knees
Begging please
And she wonders . . .
Is there somebody out there?
"What are you looking so happy about?" Adam Copeland demanded as I walked jauntily back toward the room we shared.
"Nothing," I said, unable to conceal my excitement. "I just sent Stephanie some roses."
I expected the look on his face to be startled, surprised, then maybe brightness, but all I saw was his darkened expression.
"Why did you do that?"
I stopped my near skip. "What? She likes roses."
"And? Hunter's her boyfriend, Chris. Don't you think she doesn't want roses?"
"She wants roses," I said, reasonably. "She's a girl. She likes roses."
"It doesn't matter. She's Hunter's girl. She doesn't want roses from another man."
"Of course she does. She doesn't love him."
The moment I said it, I knew they were the wrong words.
Adam's eyes shot up and he asked, carefully, "And how do you know that?"
I turned away from him. "Forget it," I muttered. "It's stupid."
"Chris, come on. We all know you're madly in love with her."
I spun around. "I am not!" I shouted, knowing it wasn't true at all. "You can just see she's unhappy! You can just read it off of her!"
Adam's expression was one of amusement. "Yes," he said, "you are."
"I am not!"
"You follow her like a puppy. When we want to do something, you're the first one to ask her. When you have a minor problem in your script, easily fixed by a booker, you go to her. Admit it, Chris. You're in mad love."
I smiled at the thought, saw Adam smiling at me, and cut my smile.
"I am not," I said stonily. "She's Hunter's girl. She can never be mine."
"Right," said Adam. "Never ever. You should stop thinking about it."
"Right," I said, startled that he'd answered so readily. "Right."
"You should get ready for your match," he reminded me, like some mother hen.
Huffing, feeling thoroughly dejected, I started for the door.
"Chris?"
"What?" I grumped.
"I don't think she's happy either."
To make things wrong
To make things right
It might be . . .
That there's somebody out there
"We're spending the night at the hotel," Hunter told me, eyeing the jacket. "Are you cold or something?"
"Yes," I lied. "I'm really cold."
Hunter rolled his eyes and bent down to go through his bag. "You have a meeting with your father tonight," he said. "Or do I have to remind you of everything?"
I stung at the comment. "I remember," I said weakly. "But I wanted to see you first."
"Your father needs you more," he said disapprovingly. "I don't need you."
I turned around so he didn't have to see the hurt in my eyes. "I know," I mumbled. "I'm going right now. Will you wait for me?"
"I'm tired," he snapped. "Take the limo back to the hotel. You don't need to be your chauffer."
"Of course," I said. "I know you're tired."
"Good," he grunted, without another word.
Feeling vulnerable, turning my back on him, I opened the door and slipped outside. The hallway was bustling with technicians and crew members, all hurrying in the backstage hustle after the show. A few said short hellos, and I received a few more smiles, and I tried to return them all appropriately. Lately I'd been getting more greetings than I had previously, and I couldn't understand that.
I found the office my father occupied and I knocked. When he called an affirmative, I entered the room. He was sitting at the desk, surrounded by papers, his glasses on the tip of his nose, looking more haggard than I'd seen him.
"Daddy?"
He looked up, eyes red. "Oh, hi Steph. Do you need something?"
"We had a meeting?"
"Oh yes, that's right, I forgot. Well, come on over then. I'm just finishing some technical aspects up. Your mother's job, but since she's sick, I figured Id give her the time off." He smiled. "I don't think I'll pay her, though."
"Of course not," I said absently, sitting down next to him. "So what's the meeting for, Daddy?"
He immediately launched into a speech about how the storylines were being recycled in different forms, and how the fans were noticing, and how we needed to change that. Somewhere between the two different spiels I lost interest and gazed at him dully, making appropriate comments when they were needed.
The room was a nice room. Every arena had one of these nice rooms for the executives to be in and plan. The room was a soft crème color, the chairs the same color. Everything matched perfectly, including the desks and sofas. The only problem with the room was the blue carpeted floor.
So much like Chris's eyes.
I wanted to stare into those eyes again, feel his hand on mine. The touch had been unwarranted, and yes, I'd pleasured from it too much. I wanted more of that same touch.
Like the stars, Chris's eyes glowed. They glowed in a way that Hunter's never did, in a way that I doubted distant Hunter could. Like the stars, Chris's eyes were beautiful. I wished I were beautiful again, the way I had been. I wished almost desperately, almost feverishly. I'd been beautiful when I'd first accepted Hunter, I could remember. But something had happened, hadn't it? Hunter had told me I wasn't beautiful.
And Hunter was always so honest. So open.
He had told me one night, under the hateful, beautiful stars. He'd kissed my eyes, like he knew I loved, the last time he'd ever done it. The stars were beautiful, he'd said. The stars were like the beauty I'd had. Now, I wasn't beautiful, inside or out. But I was good to him, a good lover, and he loved me.
The last he'd told me that he'd love me. The last time he'd kissed my eyes.
I wanted him to kiss my eyes. I wanted his lips, his gentle, caressing lips to feather my eyes with kisses. I longed for it.
And Chris's soft blue eyes were beautiful.
Beautiful like the stars.
Maybe if my eyes were like that, I'd be beautiful again. Hunter would love me again.
Maybe.
"So you understand, Stephanie?"
I looked up at my father, fumbling for an answer. "Yes, Daddy," I said, getting up. "I understand. I have to go, Daddy."
He looked dubious. "Are you sure? You don't want to stay and help me?"
I wanted to. Badly. Hunter was in a wanting mood tonight. I was sure of it. But my body was sore. My head ached. I wanted to go and sleep, or at least prolong a little more abuse of my body. But if he was in a wanting mood, I'd hear it in the morning. Hear it and feel it.
"I'm sorry, Daddy. Hunter was taking me to dinner."
His smile turned to a deep frown. "Stephanie, I don't like you always being with him. I know you're your own woman now, and all that, but you spend a lot of time with him."
My heart hammered. "I . . . like him."
"You seem awfully pale."
"I'm tired, Daddy. It was a long day."
"Are you alright, Steph? You don't seem like yourself at all these days."
"Daddy, I'm fine. I'm just tired."
"Not just today. You just seem like yourself. You've . . . never mind."
I stared at him. "I what?"
"Nothing. Forget it. Go ahead and go eat. I'll hold up the fort."
I felt something lodge in my throat. "What were you going to say?"
"Stephanie, I said to forget it. Go and eat."
"Tell me," I insisted, not knowing why I was.
"Stephanie."
"Daddy, tell me. Come on."
He sighed and rubbed his eyes behind the glasses. "You just don't seem like yourself, Stephanie. You lost your edge."
"My . . . what?"
"Your edge. Your . . . you don't seem . . . you don't seem as spirited as you were."
"Spirited?"
"You're not yelling at people anymore."
"That's a bad thing?"
"No . . . it's not . . . Steph, I don't know. You changed. Something."
I looked away from him. "Nothing's changed," I said harshly, angrily, stepping away from him, clutching my papers. "You're just crazy."
"Hey, hey, I didn't mean it like that," he started, getting up. "And don't you sass me."
"Nothing's wrong. I need to go."
"Stephanie, please."
"No. I have to leave."
I swept out of the room, slamming the door behind me, shaking the floor.
I felt myself breathing hard, and I was unsure of why I had. Yes, something had changed. I wasn't beautiful anymore. So maybe I'd lost that edge. Maybe I'd lost some sort of fire that I'd had. Who cared? I was fine. I didn't yell at people anymore. So I wasn't moody. So who cared? Who wanted a boss who acted like they were on PMS all the time? It was better I'd mellowed out.
I marched down the hall. My father didn't know what he was talking about. I'd lost nothing important.
Maybe the stars. Maybe the stars had lost their beauty for me. Maybe I'd lost my beauty. But it was superficial anyway. So maybe I wasn't beautiful inside, like Hunter said. It didn't matter. The stars had lost their beauty, I'd followed, but nothing mattered.
I had Hunter, didn't I?
And I had the memory of Chris's touch, and the smoldering heat in his gaze.
She moves amongst the crowd
The people
They walk by
She questions why they'll have to die
The bar was filled with soft, golden light. The black stools, out of place in this glowing area, matched my mood perfectly.
Matt and Amy had not sat down once during our little adventure. They were currently swinging around on the dance floor, exuberantly, pushing a few of the other couples out of place. Randy Orton and Trish were trying to dance with them in a group, but their antics, swinging arms and kicking legs, kept them both back out of fear of being maimed. Adam was currently sweet-talking some girl at the bar, shaking his long blonde hair often and obviously, shifting his legs and arms frequently. She looked annoyed at him, but Adam seemed determined to have one dance with. They'd been there for nearly half an hour, though, so she must not have been too seriously annoyed.
I sat alone in our booth, in one of the dark corners, still lighted softly by the golden light. The pounding music had become a steady roar. I had no taste for high pitched dancing music anyway. The couple occupying the table to my right weren't paying much attention to the music either, their attention more focused on each other than anything else. The noises that they were issuing were making me sick, and I wanted to move, but no other table was currently unoccupied. To the left was a gaggle of girls, all looking at me conspicuously and loudly, egging the other on to ask me to dance. They made no attempt to hide their dares.
I leaned back against the seat, wondering if Stephanie had gotten the roses. I'd had Shane deliver them and drop some helpful hints, but I wondered if she'd realized it. Probably not. But still, the roses ought to make her happy, shouldn't they have? At least they would make her smile. She need a smile, it seemed. Nobody had told her, it seemed, that she was different. She didn't seem happy anymore.
"Why are you sitting all alone?" came a voice from above and I saw Shane McMahon standing above me, smirking in the milky darkness.
"I don't feel like dancing," I told him, as he flopped into the booth. "Although it seems like I have some admirers over here, although I'd wished they'd shut up."
They gaggled even louder at Shane's appearance.
"Oh," he said pleasantly, "they're not gawking at you, they're gawking at me."
"Get over yourself."
"It's true. Just because you're blonde doesn't mean you attract everybody."
"Whatever, Wonder Boy. Did you deliver the flowers?"
His demeanor changed smoothly to low. "I did," he said. "But she didn't seem too happy about it."
"No?" I asked, my heart sinking.
"Well, first she thought they were from me, but I told her that she had a secret admirer. She seemed to like the idea, and then I suggested maybe Hunter had sent them."
I soured at his name.
"She . . . she didn't seem too thrilled at that prospect."
"And why should she?" I sighed. "She doesn't love him."
Shane's eyes rose in question, but he said nothing. "I noticed her lip was cut."
I turned to him. "Is she okay?"
"She told me I'd laugh at her. I said I only laughed at her when you talked to her." He let that sink in. "You know, put your name out there, and at the mention she did seem a little happy."
I smiled.
"She said she tripped on her silver, strappy heels."
"Stephanie doesn't trip," I said, frowning.
"I know, and even you know that, and you haven't known her for her entire life. I told her that, and she laughed it off." He grew quiet.
"What else?" I pressed, knowing there had to be something more, had to be. He was distantly quiet.
"I . . . you've noticed she's different, right, Chris?"
"Who couldn't?" I asked, annoyed. "It's there."
"It is. I asked her if there was something wrong. I asked her if she'd tell me. She . . . grew kind of quiet. She looked . . . scared. And then she laughed it off."
He let that out there, and out on the dance floor, Matt was wrestling with Randy on the floor, and they were surrounded by a crowd of spectators. Amy and Trish laughed at them, and poor Randy appeared to be taking the brunt of the beating.
"Something else," Shane said finally. "When I hugged her, she sort of tensed in my arms. Like she didn't want me touching her."
"You're her brother. You touch her all the time."
"Not like that . . . like I'd touched something that was hurting her. Like she was bruised up. She was wearing a jacket. And her lip was split."
I accepted that and struggled to find the words. "What are you saying, Shane?"
Shane stood up. "I have to go," he said, looking down. "All I'm saying, Chris, is that I love my sister. She's different, she's changed, and she's hurting, inside and out. I'm suspicious, but I won't confront her. I can't. She's my sister. All I'm saying, Chris . . . is that I think she needs someone to hang on. She needs someone else."
He left, the girls growing subdued at his exit.
She needs someone to hang on. She needs someone else.
She needed someone else.
She desperately needed someone else.
Her lip was split and there were bruises on her arms.
She needed someone else.
I put a message on a napkin, set the salt shaker on top of it, and left.
I was someone else, wasn't I?
If it's part of our lives, so beautiful and precious
She knows that she shouldn't be afraid of all this
By the time I reached the hotel, it was past midnight.
The night sky was illuminated by the bright lights of the shops and busy streets of this bustling metropolis. I couldn't even remember the name of the city we were in.
I felt immeasurably tired. Hunter would be in a mood tonight, I knew, but all I wanted was to sleep. A real sleep. Sometimes I wished nothing more than that. For Hunter to be lying at my side, his weight warm and real, and I would know I was safe. I wished for that. When, in a rare time, we went straight to sleep, he would push himself as far away from me as possible. I would roll toward him, trying to remain inconspicuous, and he would bark at me, "It's hot! Stay away!" or "you're so wanting. I'm tired right now."
I wanted to sleep, and I would take this sleep from Hunter.
I stopped in the lobby and bought a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin from the gift shop. Maybe if I came in pleading a headache, he'd let me sleep. I craved his love, but right now I craved rest even more.
The elevator was completely empty when I entered it. I jabbed the button for a middle floor and my cell phone rang.
Opening it, I said, "Stephanie McMahon."
"Where are you?"
Hunter's voice sounded a little misty.
"I'm on the elevator up now. I had to stop and get some aspirin. I'm so tired."
"You're tired?" He laughed and I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. "Come on Stephy, you know you're not. I wrestled tonight and I'm loud and happy." He laughed again.
"Not tonight, Hunter. I'm exhausted."
"Stephanie, come on. You don't want to leave me wanting, do you?"
"Tomorrow, Hunter."
"Stephanie, you know I won't let you sleep if you don't." His voice had lost some of its teasing. "I . . . I'm restless, Stephy. Don't you want to help me stop the restlessness?"
If by helping him stop the restlessness, he meant that I would give myself up to him so completely I woke up with bruises and I could barely walk, then no. "Please, Hunter. Not tonight."
"I'm not asking you, Stephanie."
His voice had lost all of its teasing completely now. He spoke with utmost seriousness and when I didn't answer him, he snarled, "Get up here, Stephanie." He hung up.
I clipped my cell phone back to my belt and the doors clanged open to reveal the hallway. Down the hallway was our room, and I could see the door now, opening slowly.
I jabbed the button for the highest floor, as well as the CLOSE buttons, and as the doors slid shut, I saw the door open fully.
Hunter would wait.
My punishment for this, I was sure, would be severe. Hateful.
But I could prolong it, prolong it for just a little while.
Revel in the memory of Chris's eyes.
Revel in the memories of before I'd accepted Hunter. He'd been a different man back then. He'd been kind, loving, he put me before anything else in his life. I'd fallen in love with that man. And now? This man was hateful, spiteful, vicious.
I clung to him still, even after all the bruises, and the way my requests were denied instantly, even after he treated me like I was his property. I didn't fight with him anymore.
I couldn't figure out why. Maybe I clung to the hope that the man I'd fallen in love with would return. Maybe the hope that he'd kiss my eyes again, maybe that one day he'd return my advances again.
The doors clanged open. I stepped of, and was greeted to a revolving café. I stared for a moment, unable to comprehend, and I saw that the café was gently revolving in a circle around the hotel. An enchantment.
When the hostess saw me just standing, she rushed up to me, smiling. "Can I seat you, ma'am?" she asked, smiling. "We've stopped serving dinner, of course, but we have a host of late night snacks that you might find delicious."
"No," I managed to say, still enchanted by the view. "I just wanted to look at the stars."
"We have observation seats, if you'd like. We always have a few stargazers this late, even though you can barely see sometimes for all the lights down below."
"Where is it?"
"I'll show you, ma'am."
She led me down the hall, away from the revolving café, all the way up here on the top floor, and up a few steps to a door, which she opened.
The door opened to fresh night air. She led me forward and I looked around in awe. It was almost entirely dark here, except for a few soft, white lights embedded in the stone floor. This was a small place, the back enclosed by immense, shady trees. She led me forward, and to our left was a small tinkling waterfall. The droplets of water cooled my skin pleasantly. We followed the soft white lights to the end of the roof—this had to be a decorated, extravagant part of the roof—where there were good chairs, all facing in the least lighted part of the city.
The view was breathtaking. The buildings spread out like vines, the lights garbled and bright, but somehow less bright from up here. The cars zoomed along below, but so small you had to squint. And the stars. The stars twinkled up here, glowed radiantly and beautifully.
"It's amazing," I said softly.
The hostess smiled, a nice look to her weary looking face. "I'm glad you like it. It's one of the best parts of our service."
"I can see why the pricing is so much. But this is worth it."
She smiled wider. "Thank you, ma'am. Would you like a beverage or something while you're up here?"
"No thank you," I said, "but thank you for leading me up here."
She smiled again. "My job, ma'am. Can you find your way back, or shall I summon a guide?"
"I can, thank you."
"Enjoy your stay, ma'am."
She turned and walked back. I went tentatively forward to the chairs. There was a railing in front of us, with a few rules printed, barely seeable, as not to take away form the experience. I sat in one of the chairs. An elderly couple sat away from me, holding hands, staring up fondly at the night sky.
I looked up. The stars sprawled in all directions.
They were beautiful, unlike me, and the other night, they'd been hateful. But now, surrounded by nothing but the soft caresses of the breeze, by the soft puttering of the wind, they looked truly happy.
I leaned back against the chair, pulling my legs up, lowering my head. I'd stay here, as long as Hunter didn't find me. He'd searched for me, yes. And he might find this place, but I didn't think he'd seen me in the elevator. He probably thought I'd left. I could stay here all night, if I wanted. It was chilly, but I had Hunter's jacket still, and it was warm enough.
The punishment would be severe.
But these moments I could cherish, these blue, beautiful stars.
Like Chris's eyes.
Well, she's on her knees
Begging please
And she wonders . . .
Is there somebody else there?
I found Shane's cell phone number in my phonebook and I called.
He answered after three rings. "Hello?"
"Shane, it's Chris. I—yow!"
The driver of the taxi swerved to avoid a stalled car, nearly rammed into the bus in the next lane, and then swerved back into our own lane.
"Watch it!" I yelled at him.
He grunted.
"Where are you?" Shane asked, sounding worried.
"I'm in a taxi. Driving around mindlessly, nearly getting myself killed. Where's Stephanie staying?"
Shane was quiet.
"Shane! Where is she?"
He was quiet again, and then said, finally, "Maybe I shouldn't tell you."
I felt frustration well inside me. "You didn't tell me what you told me so I wouldn't do anything! Where is she?"
"If she's with Hunter, and you call her . . ."
I hadn't thought about that. "What?"
"I don't have proof of anything, Chris. Hunter was one of my best friends. I still think he's a decent guy."
"Then why in the world did you tell me what you told me?"
"I don't know! I just . . . she's changed, you know it, we all know it. And Hunter . . . well, Hunter can get very angry sometimes."
"I know that! Shane, where in the hell is your sister? I don't want her hurt anymore than you do!"
He said, softly, "I know you don't. She's staying at the Ruvier on Congress Street. Her room number is 416, and she's on the nineteenth or eighteenth floor."
"Alright, then. I'm on my way now."
"Chris?"
"What?" I asked, impatient.
"Thanks."
To make things wrong
To make things right
It might be . . .
That there's somebody out there
The elderly couple stood up a few moments later, wrapping their jackets more tightly around themselves.
They smiled at each other, then smiled at the stars for a second.
They shuffled forward, holding hands, past me, and stopped.
"Aren't you cold, young miss?" asked the man, in a thick, garbled voice.
I smiled at him. "No, sir," I said. "I'm quite fine, thank you."
"You should be going inside," said the woman. "It looks like it's going to be cold one tonight."
"I will, ma'am. I'm just looking at the stars."
They smiled. "They're quite beautiful, yes. You look so, yourself, young miss," said the old man, and I blushed, averting my eyes.
"My Jake's right," said the woman, sounding congenial enough. "Why are you out here all alone?"
"I . . . oh, I like being alone, that's all."
"Nobody likes being along," said the man. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't have any trouble finding yourself a man."
I blushed again.
"Oh, I have a man," I said, trying to smile. "He's . . . well, he's got some business to take care of."
"A man like that," said the man, "shouldn't have such a fine thing like yourself."
I blushed yet again.
"Well, we won't bother you, dear," said the woman, trudging her husband along. "Two old bats like us need to go inside before we freeze."
"Take some advice, young miss," the husband said, holding on to his wife. "We've been married nearing sixty years, and if I hadn't followed this young miss here everywhere, we wouldn't have had each other. Take your man and give him a good shake."
I smiled, as much as I could. "It's good advice, sir."
The woman said, "My Jake has a heart of gold, but perhaps a brain of mush."
"Ah, you talk too much, Aggie."
Aggie smiled at me, and I smiled back.
Two women of the world, one wise to the way of men.
The other, blind and stupid.The elderly couple left, their hands gripped, as though if they let each other go, they'd fall.
I fell hard.
Most of the time.
The stars winked at me, blue and pure. Chris's eyes.
Maybe I could give Hunter a good shake.
There's times that she hates you
There's times that she shakes you
And hope that you might understand
The driver of the taxi, nearly succeeding in ending our lives six times, dropped me off at the entrance of the Ruvier.
"Thanks," I spat, dropping him two tens on the seat, along with a five for tip.
"No problem, sir," said the man, eyes gleaming.
I shut the door in disgust and ran into the hotel.
I smacked into Hunter.
"What the hell?" he roared, shoving me back bodily, nearly sending me on the floor.
"I . . . sorry. I didn't see you."
He stared at me as the two attendants stared at us. "What the hell are you doing here, Jericho?"
"Nothing, Trips. I stay here."
"Like hell."
"Hunter, please."
"Where is she?" he shouted at me, pushing me backward.
The two attendants started to get worried.
"What?"
"Stephanie! Where is she?"
Stephanie was missing? Was that good?
"I don't know," I said truthfully. "The last time I saw her was when I asked her if she wanted to come with us."
"You fucking my girl, Jericho?"
The look in his eyes was maniac.
I stepped back. "No, Hunter. I have more respect than that." I circled cautiously around him. He didn't seem to recognize that I'd reversed our spots.
He bared his teeth. "You better have, Jericho. You just better have."
He went down the sidewalk, and I breathed in relief. When I lost sight of him, I went inside the hotel.
Stephanie wasn't here. She'd obviously given Hunter the slip. Had she tried? Or had she been forced to?
Uneasily, I went to the coffee shop and bought one. The hotel lobby was nearly deserted this late at night. Where was she? Had she left the hotel? Was she still here? She probably left, to get away from Hunter. She could be anywhere.
I tried her cell phone. She didn't answer.
Either she was not accepting calls . . . or she was unable to.
Still trying not to panic, I read the material on the hotel. Reading senseless, droning information usually had a calming effect.
This hotel was nice. It had a revolving café, gift shops, a full bar, a full buffet, and a sky watch.
A sky watch?
Star seeing was incredibly clear up there.
Maybe it would clear my head. Seeing the stars. Every moment I wasted Stephanie was gone another step, but I felt panic rearing up on my mind, snapping at my consciousness. If I didn't calm down, I'd go into pinwheels. I need to be calm. Relaxed. Focused entirely.
I ran for the elevator, letting my panic take me for a second, and I slammed into an old man.
Shocked, I pulled up, and helped pull the man to his feet. The man was old and wrinkled, balding with wisps of white hair.
"I'm so sorry!" I apologized. Great, Irvine. Bowl over the old people. Great image. "I'm sorry," I said, again, to his wife, who was eyeing me with intense dislike. "I'm so sorry," I continued to the man, who turned black eyes on me. "I'm so, so sorry, I'm looking for someone."
"You are a very rude young man," said the old man.
I flushed. "I'm so sorry," I repeated. "I'm just in big hurry, I'm trying to find someone, I lost her."
I lost her? Great metaphor.
"Or maybe she left you," said the old woman nastily. "There's a poor young dear up there all alone by herself. Men like you are the kind who leave her alone. You probably disrespect her, and she's such a pretty thing."
I froze. "Did she have brown hair?" I asked.
They fixed me with stares."Brown hair?" I pleaded. "Brown eyes? She's in trouble, sir. She's in so much trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" asked the man.
I didn't what to say. I struggled for words as the couple started to pull away.
"No," I begged. "Please, sir, where is she? Her . . . her boyfriend . . ."
"You do not capture the young miss's heart?"
"I wish," I said before I could stop myself. "I wish so much."
The couple looked at me, smiling, and I wanted to die.
"Chris?"
I looked up at hearing my name and there she stood, radiant, her hair a little mussed, her makeup a little smeared, but beautiful all the same. More beautiful than I'd seen her in months.
Before I realized what I was doing, I had moved past the old couple and enveloped her in my arms, folding her completely in my body. I realized how scared I'd been. She had been gone. I was trembling, I realized. Trembling and crushing her at the same time. What if she had been gone? If somehow she'd been lost?
Like she'd been lost for months now.
I trembled harder.
"Chris," she said in amazement, her eyes astonished. "Chris, what's wrong?"
"Hunter," I said, fiercely, still shaking. "Hunter, that's what wrong with you."
"Chris, you don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't give me that, Stephanie. You know what I'm talking about."
I studied her face. Her lip was healing, a light scab forming over the wound. Her face had a bluish tint to it, something she'd covered carefully with makeup. But it was a bruise.
"So you tripped over your heels, huh?"
"Can we go somewhere private?" she hissed, motioning toward the old couple who were still watching us.
"Somewhere," I agreed, "not far."
We smiled at the couple and the man said, genially, "Well, young miss, you seem to have a loving man right here. You shouldn't look so sad."
Stephanie tried to smile, but she looked harassed.
"You," said the man. "Don't lose her, boy."
I looked at her lovely face, marred by the bluish tint, but her eyes so captivating, her face to vulnerable and beautiful.
"I'll try not to," I said, the shakes subsiding.
Stephanie blushed.
Smiling, the old couple left, talking to each other, their hands clutched together. Stephanie tried to make a move for the elevator, but I stopped her. She'd been gone for too many months already. I pulled her toward a private section of the lobby, sheltered by a fake tree and a tinkling waterfall.
"Chris . . . what are you doing here?" she asked me, accepting my persistence, her eyes focused on my face.
"Shane," I said, then revised my statement. "No, not really Shane. Everyone. Everyone's noticed you changed, Steph."
I expected anger, disbelief, anything. Anything but the sadness in her face.
"I haven't changed," she mumbled, turning away. "I don't know why you're here."
"Like now," I continued. "You'd have slapped me if I'd said that a few months ago."
"Nothing's changed."
Her face was so beautiful.
"Hunter," I said.
"What about him?" she asked, suddenly sounding fierce. I felt my heart skip a beat.
"Take off your jacket."
Her eyes flashed, and I saw a bit of her old self start to remerge. "You can't tell me what to do. I'm not stripping right now in front of the lobby."
I had to smile. "I would never ask you too. Shane . . . well, Shane didn't sound too sure of himself today when he saw you."
"He told you?"
"He had to. He delivered the roses." I wanted to smack myself.
Her eyes turned puzzled. "The roses? How did you know about the roses?"
I averted my eyes. "I sent them."
She was quiet and I dared a look. Her rapturous face was broken. Tears simmered in her eyes.
"Stephanie!" Alarmed, I put my hand on her shoulder. "Stephanie, what's wrong? You . . . you didn't like them?"
"No," she said in a broken whisper. "I loved them."
"So . . . so why are you crying? I . . . I didn't mean to hurt you, honestly, I didn't want you to cry . . ."
I pulled her into an awkward hug. She pulled me closer, as close as we could go, and I tensed against her. Her head pushed against my neck, and she her tears started to dampen my shirt. She was crying against me, for reasons I didn't know, and I felt panicked.
I hugged her as close as I could, letting my hands rest on her back, wrapping myself around her. Oh God, how I had dreamed of this. When I could hold her, hold her close and never let her go. Of course, she never cried on me in my dreams, but still, I never wanted to let her go. I never wanted to stop holding her.
"YOU!"
I snapped up, still holding her, looking for the source of the familiar voice.
Hunter was charging me, eyes enraged, screaming.
I pushed Stephanie out of the way and turned to meet him.
It gets hard down here
So many things to fear
But it's all just a sign that you're near . . .
Hunter's dishevelment was the first thing I noticed. His hair was matted and stuck, his normally handsome face haggard and worn.
And his eyes were pits of rage.
Chris pushed me away from him and turned toward Hunter, bracing his legs, not making a move.
Hunter plowed into him and he fell back, crushed underneath Hunter's streaming weight.
His back hit the floor, hard, and Hunter's fists started to eat into Chris's face.
"NO!"
Blood splattered to the floor, in thick drops. Chris made vain attempts to fight back, rocking with his knees, kicking and flailing, dropping a few well-placed kicks, but Hunter's rage outmatched him. In every way.
"Stop it!"
A few bystanders were watching with morbid fascination, but none made a move to help him.
More blood flecked from Chris's face.
I ran for the lobby. The private corner was hidden from view, though the sounds Hunter emitted were making heads turn. The concierge was chatting to a tired looking couple, whose kids were shrieking and trying to break free from their parents. I threw myself at her desk.
"There's a fight!" I pointed. "There're two guys fighting! They're killing each other!"
The lady in the couple gasped and reached for her shrieking children, who had gone quiet at my arrival. The concierge snatched up her phone. "I'll call security."
I nodded gratefully and sprinted back to where Hunter and Chris were still tussling on the ground. Chris had managed to flip himself on his stomach, where at least his face was protected, but Hunter now took to assaulting ribs.
More blood.
What was Hunter doing? What if . . . what if he hurt Chris?
"Stop it!" I could bear it no longer. Hunter was stronger than me, bigger, and he had no qualms about striking me. But the bystanders continued to watch, some making half-hearted gestures to stop them, but none wanting to put themselves directly in the fight.
More blood.
I struck Hunter with my shoe, again and again, and started to rain my fists upon his back.
He paused, and I could hear Chris panting raggedly, his breath short and staunched. He made a weak move, as if not believing that Hunter had stopped.
Hunter flew off him, leaping to his feet as deftly as he did in the ring, and his face smashed into my cheek.
Pain exploded in my head and I fell back, crying out, and I felt his other fist smash into me, sending me to the floor.
Oh God, had I actually believed he wouldn't hit me, even though, logically, I knew he would?
"Hey! Stop it!"
Eyes watering in pain, feeling as though I had just smashed into a rock, I saw a security official and another plains-clothes man wrestling Hunter to the floor. He screamed out, again and again, still fighting, still kicking. Another bystander in the crowd finally broke free of his wife's clutching arm and added his weight to Hunter's fighting one.
"Young miss!"
I was dragged to my feet, and I recognized the voice of the man.
Under the stars, I thought dazedly. Like we'd been under the stars. The beautiful blue stars. Like . . .
"Chris!" I gasped, fighting through the darkness threatening me. "Chris!"
"You'll be fine," said Aggie, the woman of the old couple. "Oh dear, your nose. You look a fright. We need to get you medical aid, now."
"Chris," I choked, trying to break away from the concerned hands. "Chris!"
"Stephanie," came his ragged voice, and I blinked to clear my vision.
He was being supported by two men, his face bloody and nearly unrecognizable. He looked like he was about to fall, his body wavering threateningly.
"Stephanie," he said again, still rocking, the two men looking frightened. "Stephanie . . . he hit you."
My head ached.
Hunter . . . how could Hunter have done it? He hit me, yes. But he'd attacked Chris. Why . . . oh God, I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry and never stop. I remembered that vow under the stars I'd made a few minutes ago—could it only have been that?
The vow, the stupid, petty vow I'd known I wouldn't keep. I couldn't leave Hunter. He had my beauty, he had my body, he had my heart. No matter how many times Chris's eyes came on me, I wouldn't leave him. I would remember the vow, I had supposed on the way down the elevator, but I wouldn't follow it. I couldn't leave Hunter.
But he'd attacked Chris.
And he'd hit me. In public.
But my beauty, my heart . . . I couldn't leave him! He was the only one who knew it!
Two arms folded over me, and I realized Chris was leaning against me, holding me, his blood getting on my shirt, but he was holding me.
Holding me like Hunter never could.
My vow.
Hunter had everything.
And now Chris had me.
Well, she's on her knees
And begging please
"Do you want to file assault charges?"
Through slightly unfocused eyes I found Stephanie. The paramedic was swabbing her face, touching tenderly, trying to see where it hurt. The bluish tint I'd seen earlier was greatly enlarged now, and she would have two black eyes when the swelling subsided.
Anger clawed at my insides, licking me cleanly. She should have justice. She would never file the assault charges herself, I knew.
"What would happen to him?" I asked the police officer.
"He's being taken to the jail right now, but this is his first act. They might give him bail or they might just let him go. If you file the charges, most likely he'll go to prison for a period of time. Or he might just be given probation. It depends."
"But most likely jail?"
"I think so."
"I'll file them."
She wonders . . .
Is there somebody out there?
My head ached fiercely, but the paramedic didn't think I had a concussion. He told me I'd have two pretty eyes when I woke up tomorrow, and maybe a lingering headache and soreness, but not a broken nose or cheekbone or concussion. I was grateful. He told me that if I experienced dizziness or faintness for the next week to check into the hospital immediately, but I was grateful that I wouldn't have to spend the night in the hospital.
Chris was worse off. He still had the slightly unfocused look in his blue eyes, and the paramedic wanted to take him the hospital to check it out. His face had been clean of the blood, but the bruises were ugly, and the scratches on his cheeks were red and angry. He swayed. The paramedic refused and ordered him to be taken to the hospital. Before I could see him again, he had been loaded into the ambulance and taken to Ramport Memorial Hospital.
I felt lost. Hunter was being taken to jail, Chris to the hospital, and I was here alone. I hadn't been alone in a long time.
I retrieved my purse from where I'd left it, and Chris's bag, and I found the old couple I'd met on the roof guarding them.
"Thank you," I said, impatient to be off. I wasn't sure where. Just somewhere away from this place, where people still watched me.
"Your boy," said the old man. "Your boy, how's he?"
"He's going to jail," I said, checking my purse.
"No. Your boy."
I looked up at him, and his eyes were fixing me with an emotion I couldn't read.
"Chris . . . he's going to the hospital. They want to check him for a concussion."
"You're going to see him, aren't you?"
The woman's voice was stern, as was the emotion in the man's eyes.
Had I slightest doubt that I was going to go and see Chris?
"Yes," I answered, "I am."
To make things wrong
I argued, I protested, I fought, but in the end, I was too weak to do anything but that.
The ride in the ambulance was pleasant, aided mightily by a weak tranquilizer. I wondered about Stephanie. I hoped she was alright. I should have fought harder, I reflected. I should have killed Hunter. Made him regret that he'd ever laid a hand on Stephanie.
She should be alright. They hadn't loaded her into the ambulance with me. I should have killed him anyway.
At the hospital they did their bit. A head scan, and then they checked me in. I changed into the humiliating hospital gown and waited in the bed while they checked my vitals and temperature and things. I would be under observation for awhile, until the head scan results came back, and if they came back positive, I'd stay the rest of the night, and possibly a part of the morning.
Yes, I should have killed him.
I lay in the hospital bed an hour later, wishing that I could be anywhere but in the bed. The TV didn't even work. If I'd had my bag, I could have listened to my CD player. My head ached dully, and I wanted to sleep, but I had stern orders not to. I guess that since I was observation, I had to be an interesting specimen. I wanted to sleep badly.
"Chris?"
The voice came form the doorway and I looked at it, realizing I'd dozed. Great job, observation people.
Stephanie stood in the doorway, her face swollen, hair tangled, looking apprehensive.
"Stephanie," I breathed, happy to see her healthy, and obviously well enough to visit my room. "Come in." She entered hesitantly, setting her purse down, as well as my bag. She pulled the chair close to the bed.
"So are you okay?" she asked cautiously.
"The verdict hasn't come back yet," I said, smiling, feeling a pain as I did. I'd have some nasty bruises on my face for awhile. And of course my eyes would be highlighted in black soon, very pretty and manly. "I hope it'll come out negative so I don't have to stay here all day. Although they're saying all signs point to 'yes' and I should make myself comfortable. With a defunct TV, I can't see how I'll be comfortable."
She smiled, her smile still perfect.
"I brought your bag," she said, motioning to it.
"And I praise you. At least I have my CD player."
There was an awkward pause, and I said, "Are you—"
"Did you—"she said at the same time.
Another awkward pause. "You first," she said.
I gathered my breath. "Are you going to press charges on Hunter?" I asked her, carefully.
Her face was incredibly smooth. "Should I?"
"You should. I . . . they said that he's probably going to go to prison for awhile. I filed for assault."
She was quiet.
"Stephanie . . . I know he hits you. It's changed you."
She flinched.
"Steph . . . we all know. For awhile now. You . . . you shouldn't have to endure it."
"I love him," she said, her voice a miserable whisper.
I struggled for words. "No, you don't . . . maybe you do. Maybe some part of you does. But you can't love him when he hits you."
She didn't say anything.
"You can't. You deserve so much better than him. You deserve someone who will love you and not treat you so badly."
She looked at her, her swollen eyes amazingly clear, and even in her pain, in her torment, she was so beautiful.
"Why did you come looking for me?" she asked.
I swallowed. "Shane . . . we all know. And Shane told me what happened when he took you the flowers. I . . . I had to go looking for you. I didn't want you being hurt tonight. I ran into him before I went into the hotel. He said he didn't know where you were." I tried swallowing again. "Where . . . were you?"
Her gaze wandered for a minute before she spoke. "On the roof. They have an observation desk up there. He called me on the way up there. I told him that . . . that I was tired tonight. He said he wasn't." Her voice shrank. "So I went up the roof. To get away from him for a little while. Somewhere he couldn't find me."
I nodded. It was a smart move.
We didn't say anything for a long time, and then she started crying.
Even in her tears she was beautiful.
"No, Stephanie, no, no, don't cry," I said, distressed, reaching out as far as I could, wanting to pull her into my arms, but unable to reach in the stupid bed. I swung my leg out, still in the humiliating hospital gown, and slid to my feet. I rocked, the world lurching crazily in my eyes, and almost fell.
She stood up, still crying, and her arms went around my waist, keeping me still, holding me tightly.
I held her, her tears soaking me, but letting them.
"He made me feel so useless," she said, in a choked whisper. "He made me feel so . . . I'm not beautiful anymore; I'm not like the stars, like I used to be. I . . . I loved him. The way he was. I can't leave him. He has every part of me." She cried.
I held her, letting her cry, letting her shake and sob. She needed this. She needed to cry.
Finally she quieted, still in my arms, still held, still warm.
"You're beautiful, Stephanie. You're still beautiful."
Her face was buried in my chest.
"You're so beautiful."
She raised her head, looking into my eyes.
I lowered my head, not realizing what I was doing, only knowing that yes, this was right. This was so right.
I kissed her softly, slowly, letting her pull back if she wanted, knowing that she probably would recoil, knowing that she was still under Hunter's spell, and then she kissed me back, slowly, gently, her arms tightening around me.
I'd waited for this moment, waited and waited and wanted, and now I had it. It wasn't as tense as I imagined, nor as lusty, but it was just as sweet. It was just as sweet and I never wanted to let her go.
We broke off after a few moments, and she laid her head on my chest again, still holding me.
We stood there for a long time, just holding each other.
She was so beautiful, so fragile . . .
Inside out, she was beautiful.
I leaned against her, closing my eyes, wishing the embrace would last forever.
To make things right
The Ruvier was more than happy to give me their best suite for a solid week, as long as I wanted it, as well as numerous free meals as their buffet and bar. Chris was offered another suite, but he graciously declined. If they feared a lawsuit, they didn't need to worry.
Chris was released a day later. The head scan had come back positive, but the next day I had spent with him, so he didn't feel too down about it, he told me.
The necessary calls were placed. My father had called me, frantic, after receiving a call from Hunter's parents that he was in jail for some altercation between him and Chris.
I told my father that yes, it was true, but that none of it was Chris's fault. Hunter deserved to be where he was. Without dragging any of my own history into it, I explained Chris's injuries, and how he was likely to be out of it for a week, and I calmly explained that I'd be staying with him.
Near the end of the conversation, he had asked me, softly, "Are you alright, Stephanie?"
I'd been in Chris's hospital room at the time. When I looked at him, unsure of how to answer, he took my hand.
"Yes, Daddy, I'm fine."
Chris had called his parents from my phone, endured a berating for being so stupid as to get injured from something not his job, endured another rant aimed at Hunter, and when he was quiet for a second, his eyes locked on me, he said, "Well, let's say it was over something that I just found." He hung up.
"You're so stupid," I'd told him.
"I know," he'd answered, taking my hand again.
I placed a call to Shane and when I told him Hunter was in jail, he turned a cheer into a cough. He'd asked me carefully where I was, and when I told him, this time he did not suppress the happiness in his voice.
"So you're going to stay with him, right?"
The question had more in mind than just the present.
Smiling, I answered, "Well, for a little while."
"Trying making it a long while, Steph. Try that."
In the evening we went to my suite, both our faces very colorful, and Chris made me take him up to the observation deck.
This time nobody occupied the deck, and we took seats in the chairs that the old couple had been in when I had first come up.
For a long time we just gazed up at the stars, holding each other, leaning, hearing each other breathing.
"It's very pretty up here," Chris said, craning his neck. "Like you."
My face heated.
"Last night," he said, his voice purposefully casual. "Last night, in the hospital . . . you said you weren't as pretty as the stars."
I shifted uncomfortably. That seemed like a million years ago now.
"I'm still not," I answered.
"Didn't I tell you to stop thinking that?"
"I'm not."
"You're right," he agreed, and I looked up, startled, put out that he'd agreed so readily.
"Right," I said, demurred.
"Right." He hummed a little, and I stiffened in his arms, and then he said, "You're right, you're more beautiful than the stars are."
My face heated again, and with a little sound, I pushed myself into his side.
"Are you better now?" he asked me a moment later.
"Better?"
"Do you . . . you put up with Hunter for a long time. You weren't ever . . . ever really happy with him."
"I still love him," I said. He didn't say anything, and I changed it. "I mean . . . I loved him."
"Why did you stay with him?"
I groped for an answer. "I stayed with him because I did love him. And I hoped that the man I fell in love with would come back. But he changed. And I don't know if he'll ever change back."
We were quiet for another long time.
I was comfortable here, comfortable with Chris's weight right next to mine, his hand holding mine. His breath was warm and sweet. Impulsively, I kissed him.
He laughed, a sweet sound. "And here I was, thinking I was the only needy one." He kissed my eyes gently.
I smiled.
"I love you," he said, kissing me again.
Could I?
Could I say it?
Hunter was gone. I still wasn't beautiful, I knew that. And that edge, whatever I'd lost, it wasn't back yet.
But Chris was here. He'd kissed my eyes. And his eyes, each their own star, looked at me with love and devotion.
The bruises on my face, on my arms, they reminded me of Hunter. His pain. And my love for him. I loved him still, some little, lingering part of me.
But that part had to go too. Like the bruises would go. Like the memories, the hateful memories, the night under the stars, when I'd hated them with such fury for being beautiful. They'd go, and then whatever love I still had for Hunter, that would go too. It had to.
And Chris was here. Chris would always be here.
"I love you, too."
I didn't kiss him. I pressed myself close to him, and he held me, his arms strong, safe, protecting.
We sat there for a long time.
It just might be . . .
That there's somebody out there