Scratched Record-

Disclaimer- I do not own the storybook or movie, A Clockwork Orange or its characters. I also don't owe the play Hamlet, or it's characters and quotes.

Plot Summary- Alex fancies a girl who works at the record shop he goes to. However, the girl well pretty and music literate, is too pure and trusting. Will Alex take advantage of the young lady? Or will she be an exception to everything he has always stood for?

Chapter 9: Hallelujah

Ophelia rubbed the towel over before tossing it aside with her shaking fingers. No, not even a warm bath and a good cry could sooth her nerves. Not when he was so close.

Alex had opened up her Pandora's box; making her face the evils she had tried so hard to forget. In a way, she was relieved that someone was there to share them with her; but at the same time she was afraid, because it made her more attached to him.

It was making her fall in love with him. And she still hadn't decided if that was a good idea or not.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, she walked out of the master bathroom into her bedroom, only wearing a towel around her body. It was until she reached her dresser, that she realized she wasn't alone. "Bloody hell…"

With a gasp she turned and saw Alex, sitting on the bed, a dark smile crossing his lips. Ophelia clutched the towel close to her body, trying to cover her pure skin from his tainting eye. "What are you doing in here?"

"Well, well, where did those appear from?" He chuckled nudging his head down to her bust, which had always seemed small up until now. With a blush covering her skin, she looked down, away, anywhere but his eyes.

"I… I'm not sure. I…I m-m-made no attempts to cover them up. " She stammered. Alex rose from bed and walked over to her. He hadn't planned for this, but couldn't hide the satisfaction he felt at watching her squirm; not to mention seeing her body unrestricted. For the past couple weeks when he's stayed the night, they'd stay up until tired and simply go to bed. A steady streak of resilience on his part.

Not that he hadn't thought about it. In the late nights, his dreams seemed to be all about corrupting this light before him. He forced her chin up so she could look him in the eyes. Those fearful, terrified eyes. "Would ye be less shilarny if I was bare as well, sister?"

She responded with only a gasp, as his body sandwiched hers between himself and the dresser. Her mind started racing, barely able to comprehend what he had told her. "I'm…Sorry?"

"You heard me." He growled. His eyesight once again falling into variations of red. No color had ever looked more beautiful on the girl—his control was spiraling so much he couldn't even communicate in his language any longer—he instead gave way to the simple English they taught in schools; that stood against anarchy.

Crimson spread across her cheeks as pink hands fumbled with his shirt. When he grew frustrated from her slowness, he took it upon himself to rip them off; having much practice in doing so. Once his shirt was removed, he removed his pants, undergarments and lastly; the towel wrapped around her body.

The monochromatic color swirled as he dragged her to the bed. Each time he touched her bringing him a tad closer to the edge. If he were to loose sight of her; her white coloring, - if he were to make her as red as the world around him, would it be a sign of passion and deep devotion? Or would he simply mark her as his as he had done to so many before?

Did she even want to be his? The sounds she made suggested yes, but her lips had not yet declared it. Alex simply wanted to bog with it all, and take her anyway. Give in to his natural self.

But he hadn't been his natural self; not with her. She had made a different man out of him, so she only deserved respect. A simple voice of concern. Something to show that he gave a damn about her, at least more so than the others. "Lady, shall I lie in your lap?"

It was a scene he had remembered from Hamlet. Ophelia perhaps remembering the reference sat up, looking at him with that hazy expression. "Alex?"

No. Hamlet. Not that it mattered. The two really weren't so different. Hamlet was just as cold as he was; just as selfish and arrogant. Used his Ophelia just as much as Alex used his own. The only difference between them was that Hamlet thrusted himself into insanity. Alex was born with it. It only made since that he would match Hamlet's words. "I mean, my head upon your lap."

Ophelia's eyes widened in realization. For a second, she had a look of panic. Alex felt as if she'd say no; then he didn't what he'd do. He could try to restrain himself, but his fingers roamed her body without his mind telling them to do so. He was losing control of himself.

He could have shouted hallelujah when she told him. "Aye, my lord."

"Do you think I meant country matters?" Alex whispered in an almost angry whisper. More possessive than anything else. Looking her right in the eyes so there'd be no doubt what they were saying.

With a nod she countered. The tone not at all matching the words, but the message clear as day. "I think nothing, my lord…"

It was all he needed. His lips pressed against hers. She was engulfed in pure red—blood red. It was a beautiful color, almost as beautiful as she was. Yet before becoming off the scale drunk he managed to whisper.

"Forgive me if I am to hurt you, Oppie-feelie-ah."

In a equally drunk voice she responded. "You couldn't hurt me, if you tried."

Lies. He thought. But somehow, that in itself seemed like a lie. And he was too lost in the rabbit hole to decide what was true and what was not anymore.

()

"Ophelia's the wenches eemya." Len explained. It had turned out the tall man wasn't their employer, but was in fact working for the true Alex De Large hater. He had graciously invited the boys into a horrorshow of house, offered them the finest drinks, and treated them like family instead of strangers.

"I see…" The employer said with a bemused smile. "And how long have they been dating? How serious is he about her."

"Can't viddy it, but Little Alex must think this devotchka horrorshow if he's chassoing her so closely. More than most cheena's anyway." Rick responded, carelessly flipping through a book he had picked off the shelf. The tall man from earlier took the book and placed it on the shelf, earning him a nod of thanks from his master. "What do you messel of this?"

The employer scratched his chin—not so much in thought as it was in annoyance. "We'll have to bide our time. Let him get as attached to her as possible."

"How long?" Bully asked impatiently not even bothering to hide his hatred for Alex. The man shrugged.

"Few weeks, few months. The longer the better but really until I see some real commitment to her. Until then, you boys will keep an eye on them; try to seem as normal as possible."

Bully was about to interject, but the employer cut him off. "Now, now, I know he's done each of you wrong; he's done me very wrong. It's just as difficult for me to wait as the rest of you, but imagine how much it'll hurt!" He clenched his calloused hand and leaned forward from his chair. "When we rip the woman he loves from him in the most cruel way. It'll be like taking the breath from his body! It'll be the perfect retribution—a true show of karma."

Len saw the hateful look in the mans face, and realized it ran much deeper for him than it did even to them. This was beyond their childish rejection; this man didn't want to put Alex in place; he wanted to remove him completely, and Len absolutely loved it.

The man turned his wheel chair; gazing at the picture hanging over them. A beautiful woman staring back at them; one that Len believed this so called… F. Alexander loved.

()

He watched her sleep. It baffled Alex how innocent she still looked; even with her virginity removed, she was still white as snow. It escaped him; how could she still be so interesting to him?

Alex had somewhat worried himself over what would happen when morning came. He knew in his heart that after 'making love' to her, he'd be bored of her and the poor girl would get her heart shredded. The only comfort he'd take was that by morning, he wouldn't care so much about her anymore. It would be nothing to him, perhaps devastating to her, but he would be gone by then.

The opposite had happened; last night was the best night of his sexual life. Despite her naïve nature, Ophelia had wanted to please him; even crying when she thought she had done nothing wrong. It was slow, sloppy, and emotional; but bog it was fantastic! And what's more; he had done so without causing her any real pain; nor did he feel the immense desire to leave her. In fact, the very thought seemed…cruel to him. He couldn't even think of it!

It's a sort of unconditional love…

Love? Pete's words came flying back to him. He tried to shake his head of them immediately. Alex De Large didn't love! That was too human for him, a bog himself, to even think of! No one, not even Ophelia could make him believe in that word.

But why was he still then? In her bed after a night of the good old in-out, in-out? Why had he forsaken his droogs for her? Remained with her after discovering paternity? Put himself and reputation on the line over and over again?

She's never asked me to be a better person, but I try to because I want to do good by her.

He hasn't wanted to commit any crime since they've been together. In fact, he's been almost…kind and patient. Pleasant even. Even with his parents, he's been less moody with them, not that he's been around them lately but to her…he's been almost nothing but gentlemen like. And it's all been for her benefit.

She's like my angel…

She was his angel. Ophelia was everything that was good, everything that was wonderful about life. She was strong in her own way, uniquely loving towards life known and unknown. Ophelia was everything he wasn't but somehow, it made her more attractive. To have ever found her plain, he must have been blind by the light she reflected. She was beautiful—naïve with defense for herself- but his to protect.

It rocked him like an earthquake. Lighting stuck and suddenly, he realized that the impossible had happened. Hell had frozen over. Pigs had flown.

And Alex had fallen in love.

"Mmm, Alex…" Ophelia muttered, perhaps waking from a dream about last night. With a shaking hand, he stroked her shoulder, earning him an unaware smile. Her eyes opened as she laid across her back, opening her eyes to him. "That was…incredibly horrorshow…"

She felt the shivering hand on her shoulder and shot him a confused look. "Is…is something wrong?"

He gave her a small smile and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Nothing be the matter, Oppie-feelie-ah. Just messeling, I am."

"Oh…" Alex then brought himself out of the bed to pick his clothing off the floor.

"Saturday, is it not?"

"Yes it is, so I don't have to work today. I was thinking maybe we could work on the lullaby and maybe go the jazz club later. Would you like that?" She said leaning on her elbows and drawing her knees up. Alex gave her a sympathetic look.

"Appypolly loggy, sister… I fear Uncle Alex has other veshch this day. Em and pe worry over their son…I should drop in at domy to show them he lives." Ophelia did seem a bit disappointed by this; maybe even afraid he wouldn't return. "Don't vred yourself… He'll be back in time to take her to hear some jazzy. That he can very much do."

"Alright then….Do you mind if I work on the lullaby myself?" Ophelia asked, just as he collected the last of his things.

"Fine enough to me." He shrugged, turning towards the bathroom. Just before he entered, Alex stopped, leaning against the door. As soon as the words would lift from his mouth, he wouldn't be able to take them back. It was dangerous ground he was walking on; only it wasn't his skin on the line. Yet, in an entirely different way, he had lost control. No use hiding it; he had already accepted it; realized it to be true.

So he simply was out with it. "I love you."

"What did you say?" Ophelia responded almost immediately. Swallowing his pride, he turned to her. She wouldn't have believed it if he had said it last night; when passion was at play and anyone would say anything to get their due. But he had no reason to say it after the fact; long after it even. She still couldn't believe her ears though— especially when she was so sure he'd be gone.

"I love you, Ophelia." Alex repeated, this time looking back at her. Her look of shock was amusing to him, after opening and closing her mouth a few times, she gave him a response.

"I…love you too, Alex."

As soon as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door, she got dressed in her pajamas and prepared a small breakfast of fruit and returned to her (more Alex's now) piano. He emerged from the bedroom dressed, clean, and ready to face the day.

"I shall return about seven afterlunch… Be ready to go out then, eh beloved?" He said, teasing her with her own nickname. She nodded.'

"Alright, tell your parents I said hello."

Alex smiled, as he was about to walk out the door. "Will do, then."

As soon as the door shut, the piano ceased. Ophelia began to cry. Deep, earth shattering sobs squeezed out of her as she fought to keep herself breathing. Tears fell like last night as she allowed herself to release the emotions she had held in when he told her he loved her.

It was because it had finally happened. Something good came of trusting another human being. Not only that, but someone loved her without using her or making her miserable. It wasn't her fathers controlling, compulsive love—but love that came from accepting someone as they were and allowing them to be that person.

Most of all, she cried because for once she had done something the didn't blowup in her face. She had given her love and received love in return.

And it was from Alex nonetheless.