Part 7
Alexandra Monroe gazes down on the sleeping being below her, in the comfy little bed with blue sheets. ten minutes ago, she had carefully removed herself from the being, to use the bathroom, that was behind her, now she couldn't help but gaze lovingly at the unmoved sleeper.She pushes away a few strands of his short brown hair, that had fallen into his blue eyes, away from his face with one, graceful, caring gesture."He must be the most miserable creature at times, poor , wretched angel." She whispers softly to the room. She had only tried to get to really know him tonight, and it had come with a tangle of thoughts, and emotions, that bound him tightly from relating well to other people. For some reason, this doesn't disturb her, but intrigues her more. She had always felt herself as complicated, now she knows this poor quiet, smothered mouse, is more complicated then herself. She had always wanted to date an artist type, a quiet gentle soul, who could just accept her easily. Why had she not noticed before Eberts was just the one she needed, the one to make her feel complete, especially after her son had been taken away. She wanted to make him feel the same way too, to make him feel complete. They were the perfect match, it seems now, but why had it taken so long for her to find out. "You never were interested before, he was just Eberts, the lackey for the Official, not a real human being, " she said to herself. Everyone at the agency felt this way, it was like learning to drone yourself out when the official begins to lecture, it was part of the underwritten code of the agency. It wasn't written in the fine print, but you knew it was there.
He tosses unto his other side, she wonders what he is dreaming. She smiles, bring the covers closer to his chin, and kisses his cheek. He had said he tossed in his sleep. If it had been some other day, she wouldn't have believed it. He would seem to her so neat and clean, that there was no way Eberts could do that. Claire believed he ironed his underwear. He does appear that way at times. Tonight, maybe by some strange force, she was being allowed into the real world of Albert Eberts, whose mind is chaotic at time. She found that so attractive. She knows she would have passed him off as oxymoronic, if some else had told her that. It would be some sign of a flaw in his character. Tonight, though it seemed as if it was a strenght. Eberts would have surely gone mental if his mind had been completely neat, he would drive himself nuts making sure everything is perfectly straight, and in its proper place.His paintings catch her eyes, and she walks to take a closer look at them. They are so beautiful, when could he have found the time to paint them. She goes to the one on the easel first, it is a sketching of a jazz quartet. Only some of the paint has been applied, a light background of greenish musical notes, and flowers floating in the air, jamming to the music, it looked all so real, though it was done in an impressionism style. She could almost hear the musicians playing, and it had nothing to do with the music playing in the corner. The painted musicians were playing a different song,a fast, upbeat number with lots of swing, as opposed to the slow, and heart wrenching Ella Fitzgerald tune that was playing from the small green cd player. She had an incredible urge to touch them to see if they were real. She does so carefully, tracing the instruments with her index finger, she doesn't want to smudge the paint if it is still wet. It is cold, and it tingles against her fingers, as if the paint has a life of its own. She moves on to look at a painting on the wall of a pirate ship, sailing through a tempest, a woman walking the plank. The waves look so real, she can almost feel their spray against her face.She can feel the ship beneath her feet, as she has become the woman about to fall to her death. She goes to look at it closer, and trips on the cd player cord, unplugging it, she doesn't fall but continues towards the painting.
She doesn't hear Ella's voice fade away, she is too caught up, of imaging herself on the ship, and she can feel the wild storm around her. She doesn't hear the soft footsteps, coming up near, -or- him plugging back in the radio. She also doesn't hear him come up behind her, and wrap his arms around her until he whispers jokingly, in pirate accent, into her right ear. "What have ye done to walk the plank?"He kisses her nose, playfully.
She jumps. He laughs slightly at her. She turns to face him, and he stops. "I .." She catches her breath. "Did I wake you?"
"When you got intranced in my painting, you tripped over the cord of the cd player, it going off woke me."He says honestly.
She stares at him with confused eyes. "What do you mean?" She says now realizing the music had died down for a second while she was in her trance.
"The music helps me sleep, I listen to music when every I am not at work, when the music goes off in the morning, I know I must step back out of my world into the real world, does that make sense?" He says, playing with a strand of her hair, but keeping her gaze. He gives her a smile.
She nods. "I understand, that's how it feels with me sometimes, when my music isn't on. I have to face the music, so to speak." She says with a laugh. He laughs as well. She smiles, his laugh sounds so musical to her ears. She kiss his cheek. "Will you be a dear, and explain to me, why these paintings are so life like, and beautiful."
"Do you really think so?" He asks, bashfully.
"Yes, they are, they are the most beautiful paintings, I have ever seen."
"Thanks." He gives her a sheepish smile, in this light she cannot tell if he is blushing, but she has the feeling, he is. "I'll try to explain why they are so life like. "
She gives him a smile.
(more to come)
Alexandra Monroe gazes down on the sleeping being below her, in the comfy little bed with blue sheets. ten minutes ago, she had carefully removed herself from the being, to use the bathroom, that was behind her, now she couldn't help but gaze lovingly at the unmoved sleeper.She pushes away a few strands of his short brown hair, that had fallen into his blue eyes, away from his face with one, graceful, caring gesture."He must be the most miserable creature at times, poor , wretched angel." She whispers softly to the room. She had only tried to get to really know him tonight, and it had come with a tangle of thoughts, and emotions, that bound him tightly from relating well to other people. For some reason, this doesn't disturb her, but intrigues her more. She had always felt herself as complicated, now she knows this poor quiet, smothered mouse, is more complicated then herself. She had always wanted to date an artist type, a quiet gentle soul, who could just accept her easily. Why had she not noticed before Eberts was just the one she needed, the one to make her feel complete, especially after her son had been taken away. She wanted to make him feel the same way too, to make him feel complete. They were the perfect match, it seems now, but why had it taken so long for her to find out. "You never were interested before, he was just Eberts, the lackey for the Official, not a real human being, " she said to herself. Everyone at the agency felt this way, it was like learning to drone yourself out when the official begins to lecture, it was part of the underwritten code of the agency. It wasn't written in the fine print, but you knew it was there.
He tosses unto his other side, she wonders what he is dreaming. She smiles, bring the covers closer to his chin, and kisses his cheek. He had said he tossed in his sleep. If it had been some other day, she wouldn't have believed it. He would seem to her so neat and clean, that there was no way Eberts could do that. Claire believed he ironed his underwear. He does appear that way at times. Tonight, maybe by some strange force, she was being allowed into the real world of Albert Eberts, whose mind is chaotic at time. She found that so attractive. She knows she would have passed him off as oxymoronic, if some else had told her that. It would be some sign of a flaw in his character. Tonight, though it seemed as if it was a strenght. Eberts would have surely gone mental if his mind had been completely neat, he would drive himself nuts making sure everything is perfectly straight, and in its proper place.His paintings catch her eyes, and she walks to take a closer look at them. They are so beautiful, when could he have found the time to paint them. She goes to the one on the easel first, it is a sketching of a jazz quartet. Only some of the paint has been applied, a light background of greenish musical notes, and flowers floating in the air, jamming to the music, it looked all so real, though it was done in an impressionism style. She could almost hear the musicians playing, and it had nothing to do with the music playing in the corner. The painted musicians were playing a different song,a fast, upbeat number with lots of swing, as opposed to the slow, and heart wrenching Ella Fitzgerald tune that was playing from the small green cd player. She had an incredible urge to touch them to see if they were real. She does so carefully, tracing the instruments with her index finger, she doesn't want to smudge the paint if it is still wet. It is cold, and it tingles against her fingers, as if the paint has a life of its own. She moves on to look at a painting on the wall of a pirate ship, sailing through a tempest, a woman walking the plank. The waves look so real, she can almost feel their spray against her face.She can feel the ship beneath her feet, as she has become the woman about to fall to her death. She goes to look at it closer, and trips on the cd player cord, unplugging it, she doesn't fall but continues towards the painting.
She doesn't hear Ella's voice fade away, she is too caught up, of imaging herself on the ship, and she can feel the wild storm around her. She doesn't hear the soft footsteps, coming up near, -or- him plugging back in the radio. She also doesn't hear him come up behind her, and wrap his arms around her until he whispers jokingly, in pirate accent, into her right ear. "What have ye done to walk the plank?"He kisses her nose, playfully.
She jumps. He laughs slightly at her. She turns to face him, and he stops. "I .." She catches her breath. "Did I wake you?"
"When you got intranced in my painting, you tripped over the cord of the cd player, it going off woke me."He says honestly.
She stares at him with confused eyes. "What do you mean?" She says now realizing the music had died down for a second while she was in her trance.
"The music helps me sleep, I listen to music when every I am not at work, when the music goes off in the morning, I know I must step back out of my world into the real world, does that make sense?" He says, playing with a strand of her hair, but keeping her gaze. He gives her a smile.
She nods. "I understand, that's how it feels with me sometimes, when my music isn't on. I have to face the music, so to speak." She says with a laugh. He laughs as well. She smiles, his laugh sounds so musical to her ears. She kiss his cheek. "Will you be a dear, and explain to me, why these paintings are so life like, and beautiful."
"Do you really think so?" He asks, bashfully.
"Yes, they are, they are the most beautiful paintings, I have ever seen."
"Thanks." He gives her a sheepish smile, in this light she cannot tell if he is blushing, but she has the feeling, he is. "I'll try to explain why they are so life like. "
She gives him a smile.
(more to come)