Disclaimer: Mark Sloan, Steve Sloan, Amanda Bentley and Jesse Travis aren't
mine *snif*, ähm, I have the cheek to take them for finishing my story.
O Fortuna
Chapter 1
Some people think watching the sun going down is the most romantic thing in the world. The glimmering orange and dark red punching ball whose appearance can harm blindness to your surroundings either diving down into an inky liquid, or disappearing behind houses. You're sitting together with your friend humming a known melody and waiting for a cooler breeze than during the day where the heat has been anything but to be fled from. That's what some people think.
He had left her.
Not anything special behind this sentence. It can be guessed now that sun, moon and stars wasn't such a romantic thing for this left person. For her, the wind was icy and the sun that had burnt her face slightly was now stabbing into her eyes every time she looked on the water as she walked along the beach trying to forget the past. People could tell she'd been walking for a long time estimated by her manner to put her feet one in front of the other, slowly, careful not to stumble. She wanted to be far far away. Looking up she noticed that people were watching her. Well, wasn't it funny that now she had bruises in her face and clothes in which she nearly could have gone undercover in the streets, that people were noticing her? Back home in Sacramento she could have even worn a clown's costume and nobody would have been bothered. Not even he. He who had promised her to care for her was the first who got annoyed of her.
The revolver.
It had laid as usual in his room. She dared not to think of the last two days including the night when he told her about his desire for a divorce. She had asked him why. It was the only question she had been to able to think of at that moment. He hadn't answered. She had asked again. The following hours – or wasn't it? – of deafening silence made her nearly crazy. He hadn't moved since she had last spoken. In an attempt of which she knew would be hopeless to break the hypnotising ticktack of the clock, she swallowed, then took a deep breath and without looking at her husband repeated her question, louder this time, almost screaming, then crying. Now, her movements slowing down more and more until she fell on the sand, she scolded herself to have been such a baby. She wondered. He had never given her a satisfying reason like „I have a girlfriend, she looks sexier than you" or „she's richer than you", maybe also „My dear Emily, you and I, we have been such a wonderful couple for over ten years, perhaps it is time now that I looked for someone I could show myself with before the public". Nothing. Not even a simple „I just don't love you any more". Was it her lack of desire that finally had made him leave their house? He hadn't been home the following day. And neither yesterday. Where had he been?
She couldn't help but wiping a tear out of her face.
Chapter 1
Some people think watching the sun going down is the most romantic thing in the world. The glimmering orange and dark red punching ball whose appearance can harm blindness to your surroundings either diving down into an inky liquid, or disappearing behind houses. You're sitting together with your friend humming a known melody and waiting for a cooler breeze than during the day where the heat has been anything but to be fled from. That's what some people think.
He had left her.
Not anything special behind this sentence. It can be guessed now that sun, moon and stars wasn't such a romantic thing for this left person. For her, the wind was icy and the sun that had burnt her face slightly was now stabbing into her eyes every time she looked on the water as she walked along the beach trying to forget the past. People could tell she'd been walking for a long time estimated by her manner to put her feet one in front of the other, slowly, careful not to stumble. She wanted to be far far away. Looking up she noticed that people were watching her. Well, wasn't it funny that now she had bruises in her face and clothes in which she nearly could have gone undercover in the streets, that people were noticing her? Back home in Sacramento she could have even worn a clown's costume and nobody would have been bothered. Not even he. He who had promised her to care for her was the first who got annoyed of her.
The revolver.
It had laid as usual in his room. She dared not to think of the last two days including the night when he told her about his desire for a divorce. She had asked him why. It was the only question she had been to able to think of at that moment. He hadn't answered. She had asked again. The following hours – or wasn't it? – of deafening silence made her nearly crazy. He hadn't moved since she had last spoken. In an attempt of which she knew would be hopeless to break the hypnotising ticktack of the clock, she swallowed, then took a deep breath and without looking at her husband repeated her question, louder this time, almost screaming, then crying. Now, her movements slowing down more and more until she fell on the sand, she scolded herself to have been such a baby. She wondered. He had never given her a satisfying reason like „I have a girlfriend, she looks sexier than you" or „she's richer than you", maybe also „My dear Emily, you and I, we have been such a wonderful couple for over ten years, perhaps it is time now that I looked for someone I could show myself with before the public". Nothing. Not even a simple „I just don't love you any more". Was it her lack of desire that finally had made him leave their house? He hadn't been home the following day. And neither yesterday. Where had he been?
She couldn't help but wiping a tear out of her face.