Disclaimer: I own nothing… but the world! Bwahahahahaha!
Domino
Chapter Seven – Of Witty Banter and Cotton Towels
Sarah woke up to an alarm clock blaring.
Glancing over, she realized that it was two hours late.
Funny, she thought. She'd swore she'd set it for ten o' clock. She stretched her limbs, wondering why in the world they felt so stiff and sore. It was like she'd slept for ages or something.
There was something nagging on the fringes of her thoughts. Today was important, and so was… yesterday?
What had she done yesterday?
Let's see… she sat up in bed and tapped her fingers on the sheets, sending shadows dancing over the white where sunlight was streaming through the windows of her New York City apartment.
Sarah tried to recall yesterday's events, but failed miserably. It was nerve-wracking, and that was an understatement. Amnesia was something she'd never really suffered from before.
Maybe I'm having a mental breakdown from the stress.
Being a struggling actress, not knowing entirely when her next paycheck would be or if there would be one at all was indeed a thought that had weighed heavy on her mind for the past couple of months.
She briefly wondered if Julia Roberts ever had to live in a shoebox like this.
Sarah sighed and hauled herself out of bed, a full two hours behind schedule. It was such an odd day.
She thought that maybe her lost memories would come to her in a shower, so she stepped into her claustrophobia-inducing bathroom.
The knob squeaked as she turned it with a wrench (the actual silver handles had rusted and fallen off long ago). The water sputtered out of the spicket for a minute before roaring down in a steady cascade. She removed her clothes and stepped into the steam, letting it soothe her worries… somewhat.
She still couldn't recall yesterday, or, for that matter, what she needed to do for today. And at the back of her thoughts, always and forever at the back of her thoughts, but profusely stronger today, was a certain king and his crooked smile.
Of course, Sarah had long ago acclimated to his presence there. You could call it evolution.
While she was showering, there was a knock on her apartment door.
"Mail call!" she heard a voice shouting.
"Shower," she answered back. That must be Morton. He did mail rounds for the five-story building, but usually on Wednesdays. He'd never come on Saturday before. "Just slide it under the door!"
"Okay," Morton yelled.
After lathering and rinsing, she decided she'd forego the repeat and twisted the knob back off with the wrench. Wrapping a towel around her torso, she walked out to her bedroom, noting the white envelope at the foot of her door. She scooped it off the ground and examined it.
There was no stamp or return address, but Sarah's full name and apartment number were written with the finest of penmanship. Over the flap, there was something written, but the print was too tiny to make out.
She slit open the letter with a fingernail and removed the letter inside.
You really must learn to read the fine print.
There was nothing else written. It was blank except for that strange message.
"That look suits."
The paper fell from her hands and fluttered to the ground.
Jareth.
The Goblin King.
Was standing.
Right.
Behind.
Her.
Wait a second.
Hadn't this happened before? God above it was just so familiar.
She pivoted, and Jareth looked surprised to note that her demeanor screamed confusion, rather than anger and fright.
"I'm losing my touch," he muttered, but she didn't hear him.
"Were you here before?" she demanded, squaring her shoulders and promptly ignoring both his crude comment and leering gaze.
"Not at all," he lied. "Perhaps you dreamed of me?" He smirked.
He wrote the book on smirking.
"That would be a nightmare," she quipped.
"Then tell me," he took a step closer. "Why do you call out my name?"
"You have been here before!" she accused, standing her ground.
It was daylight, in her city, and for some reason, Jareth couldn't terrify her right now. Goblin Kings didn't belong in the day.
"You're the reason I can't remember things!" Sarah's eyes narrowed.
The arrogant bastard.
For a moment, a shadow of something like surprise flitted over his face. He quickly recovered though, façade fluidly shifting into the confidence he wielded like a sword. "Now really Sarah. Your mental incapacities need no help of mine."
"Then, pray tell, why can't I remember?"
"Sounds like a personal problem to me."
"And why did this problem start the same day you waltz into my apartment." She took a step toward him, trying to scrutinize and intimidate him with her eyes.
Good God he's beautiful.
"Mere happenstance."
Who uses words like that?
"Yeah right," she snorted. "Why are you here then?"
"Don't you know?" he asked innocently. "You wished yourself away." Jareth gestured to the letter on the floor by her bare feet. "And I, being the gracious monarch I am, have obliged to comply with your wishes."
"I did not wish myself away."
"Of course you did. You opened the envelope."
Sarah's brows creased. Smoothly, in one graceful motion, Jareth approached her and snatched the paper. He pointed to the writing across the seal, the script that was too tiny for her to read.
"I told you you should read the fine print. This says that anyone who breaks the seal of the envelope is hereby subject to immediate retrieval by the goblins." He smiled down at her. "I do hope you have a good lawyer up here."
"But… but…" she stammered. "You can't do that."
"I'm king, sweet. I can do anything I want to."
She looked past his shoulder, out into the New York sunlight. She opened her mouth several times, but couldn't think of anything to say. "You're a liar," she settled on finally, "and a cheat."
"Fae," he reminded her, before pulling her towards him, towel and all, and whirlpooling them both to the Underground.
They found themselves (once again for Jareth) in his ransacked bedchamber. Sarah studied the pools of glass shards, the toppled furniture, and the in-general mess of the place.
Tornado?
"Don't you have servants?"
"Constantly with the insolence." He still had one arm around her, holding her close. His voice was intoxicating velvet when he whispered in her ear. "You're really in no position to talk."
Sarah blushed when she realized she was still clad in only a towel. "I hate you."
"No you don't."
"Yes," she said, "I really do."
"You're lying."
He strung the words on a necklace of kisses around her collar bone.
"Cheat," she gasped out through the haze, and tried to pull away.
His lips brushed up the side of her neck, to her pulse point. He stayed there, as if he was monitoring her reaction to him.
"No." His hand moved down her side, coming to grip her hip. "I simply make up the rules as I go."
Sarah let out the breath she'd been holding.
"And before we're done here," he whispered into her earlobe. She shuddered. His nails dug into her hip through her cotton towel, "you will say that you love me."
a/n: I love Jareth. Yes I do. I love Jareth. How bout' you? Ahhhhhhhhhh. Sexy Jareth gives me goosebumps. And I promise promise promise the next chapter will be longer and out pronto. Pinky swear. I have a five-day weekend.
