Kiss the Flame
By Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: Blue Heelers and associated characters have their home at Channel Seven. I claim no ownership.
Summary: "She dreams of him sometimes, in the cold, empty bed of her failed marriage." Tess POV, minor drabble.
Author's Note: If you find the sentence structure a bit weird in places, it's entirely on purpose. Experimenting a wee bit - yell at me if it worked horribly.
******
Evan.
She dreams of him sometimes, in the cold, empty bed of her failed marriage. She sleeps and dreams of passion and heat and flames licking her skin. She tosses and turns and hugs the pillows because there is nothing else there.
She dreams of him and try to forget in the morning. Because it's inappropriate. Because she carries another man's child. Because he is not her husband. Because they work together. Because she doesn't love him she can't love him she mustn't love him she shouldn't love him she can't help but love him.
She loves him but she fears him. He is the flame and her heart is the cold dew on the grass. They cannot be together oh but how she wishes how she dreams how she hopes in the back of her mind where fears cannot reach. But the tides of water are merciless, always pushing away. She speaks her fears, not her dreams, and she is losing him.
She tries to tell herself it doesn't matter. He is not what is good for her and she is carrying a child to another man and it is not right. It was never right. Not even when she kissed him, kissed the flame. Nothing so good can be right, she tells herself. She almost believes it.
It is easy to lie in the grey twilight of the dawn. Easy to pretend dreams do not matter, already vaporising like the dew on the grass before the sun's rays. Easy to pretend the sun will warm her and she doesn't need the flame.
Easy to lie in the morning, but morning becomes day becomes evening becomes night. She almost desires the dream, for it knows no lies, no excuses. It knows only the passion the heat the desire the kiss the flame.
She wonders if he dreams too, or if he is moving on. He should move on, she has never given him reason not to. He has pushed and pushed and she has been the unmovable wall and surely he must have moved on he must have surely he must have.
Except that he looks at her still and his gaze is a blanket of heat and love and passion. It is like the sun, blinding if she looks straight at it. So much love will surely burn her to a crisp.
But sometimes she wonders if it would be worth it. Sometimes she does look at him and find herself not blinded, but seeing more than ever. Sometimes she lets him touch her stomach, to revel in the life growing inside her as much as she does. Sometimes she wonders if she should have married him instead and had his child.
Sometimes she wonders if she still can.
The dream is her hope, for it tells her she still can.
But one morning she wakes and realises she's had no dream, that it has fled from her at last. She feels no pain, she doesn't need the dream. She is not hugging the pillow and the dawn brings no lies. Her bed is not empty.
He is warm in her bed even in the cold air of morning not yet come. His skin clings to her like the grass clings to the dew, desiring moisture like she desires the heat. And she knows both are needed to bring life and she cannot deny him, cannot deny the call of her heart, cannot deny what the dream has told her all along.
Kiss the flame.
By Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: Blue Heelers and associated characters have their home at Channel Seven. I claim no ownership.
Summary: "She dreams of him sometimes, in the cold, empty bed of her failed marriage." Tess POV, minor drabble.
Author's Note: If you find the sentence structure a bit weird in places, it's entirely on purpose. Experimenting a wee bit - yell at me if it worked horribly.
******
Evan.
She dreams of him sometimes, in the cold, empty bed of her failed marriage. She sleeps and dreams of passion and heat and flames licking her skin. She tosses and turns and hugs the pillows because there is nothing else there.
She dreams of him and try to forget in the morning. Because it's inappropriate. Because she carries another man's child. Because he is not her husband. Because they work together. Because she doesn't love him she can't love him she mustn't love him she shouldn't love him she can't help but love him.
She loves him but she fears him. He is the flame and her heart is the cold dew on the grass. They cannot be together oh but how she wishes how she dreams how she hopes in the back of her mind where fears cannot reach. But the tides of water are merciless, always pushing away. She speaks her fears, not her dreams, and she is losing him.
She tries to tell herself it doesn't matter. He is not what is good for her and she is carrying a child to another man and it is not right. It was never right. Not even when she kissed him, kissed the flame. Nothing so good can be right, she tells herself. She almost believes it.
It is easy to lie in the grey twilight of the dawn. Easy to pretend dreams do not matter, already vaporising like the dew on the grass before the sun's rays. Easy to pretend the sun will warm her and she doesn't need the flame.
Easy to lie in the morning, but morning becomes day becomes evening becomes night. She almost desires the dream, for it knows no lies, no excuses. It knows only the passion the heat the desire the kiss the flame.
She wonders if he dreams too, or if he is moving on. He should move on, she has never given him reason not to. He has pushed and pushed and she has been the unmovable wall and surely he must have moved on he must have surely he must have.
Except that he looks at her still and his gaze is a blanket of heat and love and passion. It is like the sun, blinding if she looks straight at it. So much love will surely burn her to a crisp.
But sometimes she wonders if it would be worth it. Sometimes she does look at him and find herself not blinded, but seeing more than ever. Sometimes she lets him touch her stomach, to revel in the life growing inside her as much as she does. Sometimes she wonders if she should have married him instead and had his child.
Sometimes she wonders if she still can.
The dream is her hope, for it tells her she still can.
But one morning she wakes and realises she's had no dream, that it has fled from her at last. She feels no pain, she doesn't need the dream. She is not hugging the pillow and the dawn brings no lies. Her bed is not empty.
He is warm in her bed even in the cold air of morning not yet come. His skin clings to her like the grass clings to the dew, desiring moisture like she desires the heat. And she knows both are needed to bring life and she cannot deny him, cannot deny the call of her heart, cannot deny what the dream has told her all along.
Kiss the flame.