Sweet Catatonia
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: For Alithea who gave me so much support during Road Rage. This is one of the potential alternate continuations for the characters of that series. May be a bit confusing without Road Rage, and if the pairing seems unusual--it's because of the history fostered in that piece of fanfiction. Characters not mine. Lyrics from Catatonia. I know I've used them before, but Catatonia inspires so much!)
***
Chance dreams that cut across the bed
leaving colors there instead
See lines that draw it to an end
but ignore them.
***
The bedroom was bright with morning sunlight, characteristically full of the lazy warmness left only in the comfort of a Saturday. The apartment was snug in the wooded outskirts of the city. One wall a full patio door leading to the third floor porch. Decorated with various, thriving plants and extending outward to a view of the forest and valley below. The curtains had been pulled back allowing the eastern sun to decorate the sheets with warmth.
Juri stirred, knowing that it was late enough that she had rested well. Knowing by the way her arm curled over her companion that everything else was very new. She pressed more closely to lovely friend, not knowing how else to think about her. Protectively putting one ankle over hers. Pushing her nose into the neck where auburn curls were unceremoniously fallen. Breathing in deeply of the unique aroma.
Vaguely, she remembered sharing a bed with intimate strangers. Her first affair lasted for desperate years of not knowing how to stop. How he possessively had wrapped around her night after night, only to continually wake up back to back. Each fisting their share of the bed sheets defensively. Until they had managed to tear away.
Then she had accepted the affection of her best friend. How he had patiently and persistently petitioned her with caresses. Breaking down every last barrier until she relented, accepted his loyalty. Giving. Always giving what he wanted. Loving how he appreciated her and trying to transpose that into an willing commitment. And then still trying to shrug off his body when he fell into senseless sleep. Ruka teaching her the limits of friendship and driving her to want other things-the wildness of passion.
Shiori.
***
And if I say how I feel again
is it wise to do it,
Or like hearing for the umpteenth time,
some despise.
***
That Saturday morning, Juri took another breath, letting her chest and abdomen push out the remaining ache of those times, those memories. She let her arm slip to rest on the other woman's hip. Her fingers sliding down that curve until her arm stretched out to relax along the smooth skin of her thigh. Reminiscent of what could be the musculature of a trim acrobat. Elegant limbs.
So different from the girlish softness she had tried to squeeze out of herself in that one evening. Different that the straining grin Juri had molded her face into as she had wolfishly responded to Shiori's laughter taking each mocking response and finding a physical way to turn it into deep throated and reflexive cry of pleasure. A strange tangle of demonstrating power. Taking and taking.
Lovely friend. Familiar, not perplexing. Familiar, not insistent. Familiar, not self-centered.
Juri brought her hand up to explore, pausing over the slight movement of life. Stopping to rest palm flat against the stomach, each finger marveling at the vibrations of breath even as her lovely friend slept.
That this other person existed and breathed was beautiful to her. It was everything.
"Catherine." She whispered, the sound nothing that would disturb the sleeper as Juri's lips pressed the intonation of the name into the other woman's neck.
***
Don't you fall asleep,
there's lots of things,
I need to say,
that just won't keep
***
Nothing that Friday evening had been unusual.
Having Juri visit was not unusual. Having Juri stay was not unusual. Having Juri sit closely was not unusual.
They had put in some movie that Catherine had borrowed from her step- brother, Trowa insisting that it was well-written, and--since he was teaching a creative writing course in addition to acting classes at the university-Catherine trusted him. Trowa being rather trustworthy, as long as it was not in regards to his disputable love life she decided.
Not that her own love life was beyond dispute. A conglomeration of failed marriage or hasty sexual intimacy. And guilt. Guilt spun from deceiving others until she could not pretend any more.
Having Juri kiss her was not unusual. Only it was. And it was comfortable. As comfortable as slipping into a favorite habit.
Catherine wondered why feeling bonded emotionally and physically in that moment was not unexpected. Her actions were like choreographed reflexes. Actions that did not need thought because every decision had already been made and accepted. The confident embrace simply affirmation of touches practiced on a dance floor, at the dinner table, before letting Juri go back to her home in the city.
So soft.
The television screen with dim blue light guided their glances to see each other with slightly awakened perspective.
"You're beautiful." Juri had said. Something Catherine had heard spoken with sincerity before. In a wedding dress, in cut off jeans, and then hastily in some stage of becoming undressed. Spoken truthfully from parents, her brother, and lovers. Usually her retort flew as a rejection, not accepting, sarcastic. Only that evening, Catherine found her words, a rehearsed line, brimmed with new emotion.
Choked on hope. "Tell me more."
***
Sweet, sweet sweet sweet, Catatonia
I should've told ya
***
Saturday afternoon, Catherine continually found her routine thoughts broken over memories. Some from the night before, some from years in her far past. Remembering that Trowa's tie had been crooked at her wedding. That in her marriage bed she had felt a security in the scent of her husband's aftershave. How a boyish smile could charm her into absolute weakness. Along with other reflections. How she had hated isolation after her daughter was born and feared the maternal intensity of bonding to that same child.
She thought about how she missed the peace she derived from having Juri near.
That morning they had woken in a warm tangle of limbs, sheets and sunshine. Bashfully smiling while getting dressed and making excuses for going to the kitchen or going to the shower. Catherine offering to fix breakfast. Juri needing to decline. They already knew she had to go back to the theater for the matinee of the show.
A politely awkward hesitation in the doorway. And then the desired good- bye wrap of Juri's arm steadily put around her waist and the lingering taste of her kiss. Catherine let her tongue moisten her lips remembering the genuine flavor: part chapstick, part toothpaste.
Catherine went about her chores for the afternoon. Now and again stopping to put her hand over an enthusiastic or pleased grin. The only factor causing her satisfaction to waver being that Juri could not be with her right then nor with her for every moment forever.
***
And with my fears in the back of my mind,
will they gang up on me,
And when I least expect them to,
will they devour me
***
Road Rage had two shows on Saturday. A matinee at three with a casual audience that amusingly felt inclined to voice their comments and suggestions toward the actors on stage. Reminding her how much she loved the dynamic relationship fostered by the independent theater.
The evening show had a more academically enthused audience. Trowa having come with a handful of engrossed students. Afterward, the theater majors and their interested classmates mingling with the cast. A few of the braver souls questioning Saitou on his directing decisions. She had politely entertained the first inquiries, but she still felt the same inclination of wanting to leave. The same inclination that caused her to have intriguing thoughts when she caught glimpses of their professor, Mr. Barton.
She had been friends with Trowa before she met his step-sister. But the years that he lived with Catherine caused her to recognize uncanny similarities channeled through Trowa that she'd come to finding endearing about his sister. The tilt of their head to one side when listening attentively, the gradual stages of a genuine smile that was hauntingly similar when revealed, and the melancholy silence when alone and thinking they were unobserved.
Part of the melancholy came from the tireless devotion Trowa attached to his lover. His characteristic flaw of putting too much effort into his romance and significant other. Devotion that both Catherine and Juri questioned on more than one occasion.
Juri wondered if she caused that sort of intensified attention in Catherine. Uncertain, but wanting Catherine to feel free to be herself, to love and accept Juri's love.
Love. Juri had to fight the sloppy grin from her face. It was a different feeling, but one she liked.
When she drove home, she drove away from the city and to Catherine's apartment. She had to know how to move forward. To learn what Catherine loved and follow accordingly.
***
Don't you turn aside,
your tired ears must hear me out,
there's nowhere to hide
***
"I love you, too," Catherine murmured, fighting hard to keep her eyes open but each blink of her eyelids becoming lazier. Her face pressed into her pillow, mostly sleeping on her stomach. The bedroom moonlit and rather chill, except where they were in bed together.
Juri watched, on her side, letting her index finger and thumb continually stroke a wayward curl behind Catherine's ear, "Go ahead to sleep." Juri said softly, not knowing if the words or only the sounds were reaching Catherine. Either way enjoying the smallest lift of a shadow in Catherine's cheek.
A smile that reminded her, "Tomorrow, we're going to have to find some way to announce this to your brother."
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: For Alithea who gave me so much support during Road Rage. This is one of the potential alternate continuations for the characters of that series. May be a bit confusing without Road Rage, and if the pairing seems unusual--it's because of the history fostered in that piece of fanfiction. Characters not mine. Lyrics from Catatonia. I know I've used them before, but Catatonia inspires so much!)
***
Chance dreams that cut across the bed
leaving colors there instead
See lines that draw it to an end
but ignore them.
***
The bedroom was bright with morning sunlight, characteristically full of the lazy warmness left only in the comfort of a Saturday. The apartment was snug in the wooded outskirts of the city. One wall a full patio door leading to the third floor porch. Decorated with various, thriving plants and extending outward to a view of the forest and valley below. The curtains had been pulled back allowing the eastern sun to decorate the sheets with warmth.
Juri stirred, knowing that it was late enough that she had rested well. Knowing by the way her arm curled over her companion that everything else was very new. She pressed more closely to lovely friend, not knowing how else to think about her. Protectively putting one ankle over hers. Pushing her nose into the neck where auburn curls were unceremoniously fallen. Breathing in deeply of the unique aroma.
Vaguely, she remembered sharing a bed with intimate strangers. Her first affair lasted for desperate years of not knowing how to stop. How he possessively had wrapped around her night after night, only to continually wake up back to back. Each fisting their share of the bed sheets defensively. Until they had managed to tear away.
Then she had accepted the affection of her best friend. How he had patiently and persistently petitioned her with caresses. Breaking down every last barrier until she relented, accepted his loyalty. Giving. Always giving what he wanted. Loving how he appreciated her and trying to transpose that into an willing commitment. And then still trying to shrug off his body when he fell into senseless sleep. Ruka teaching her the limits of friendship and driving her to want other things-the wildness of passion.
Shiori.
***
And if I say how I feel again
is it wise to do it,
Or like hearing for the umpteenth time,
some despise.
***
That Saturday morning, Juri took another breath, letting her chest and abdomen push out the remaining ache of those times, those memories. She let her arm slip to rest on the other woman's hip. Her fingers sliding down that curve until her arm stretched out to relax along the smooth skin of her thigh. Reminiscent of what could be the musculature of a trim acrobat. Elegant limbs.
So different from the girlish softness she had tried to squeeze out of herself in that one evening. Different that the straining grin Juri had molded her face into as she had wolfishly responded to Shiori's laughter taking each mocking response and finding a physical way to turn it into deep throated and reflexive cry of pleasure. A strange tangle of demonstrating power. Taking and taking.
Lovely friend. Familiar, not perplexing. Familiar, not insistent. Familiar, not self-centered.
Juri brought her hand up to explore, pausing over the slight movement of life. Stopping to rest palm flat against the stomach, each finger marveling at the vibrations of breath even as her lovely friend slept.
That this other person existed and breathed was beautiful to her. It was everything.
"Catherine." She whispered, the sound nothing that would disturb the sleeper as Juri's lips pressed the intonation of the name into the other woman's neck.
***
Don't you fall asleep,
there's lots of things,
I need to say,
that just won't keep
***
Nothing that Friday evening had been unusual.
Having Juri visit was not unusual. Having Juri stay was not unusual. Having Juri sit closely was not unusual.
They had put in some movie that Catherine had borrowed from her step- brother, Trowa insisting that it was well-written, and--since he was teaching a creative writing course in addition to acting classes at the university-Catherine trusted him. Trowa being rather trustworthy, as long as it was not in regards to his disputable love life she decided.
Not that her own love life was beyond dispute. A conglomeration of failed marriage or hasty sexual intimacy. And guilt. Guilt spun from deceiving others until she could not pretend any more.
Having Juri kiss her was not unusual. Only it was. And it was comfortable. As comfortable as slipping into a favorite habit.
Catherine wondered why feeling bonded emotionally and physically in that moment was not unexpected. Her actions were like choreographed reflexes. Actions that did not need thought because every decision had already been made and accepted. The confident embrace simply affirmation of touches practiced on a dance floor, at the dinner table, before letting Juri go back to her home in the city.
So soft.
The television screen with dim blue light guided their glances to see each other with slightly awakened perspective.
"You're beautiful." Juri had said. Something Catherine had heard spoken with sincerity before. In a wedding dress, in cut off jeans, and then hastily in some stage of becoming undressed. Spoken truthfully from parents, her brother, and lovers. Usually her retort flew as a rejection, not accepting, sarcastic. Only that evening, Catherine found her words, a rehearsed line, brimmed with new emotion.
Choked on hope. "Tell me more."
***
Sweet, sweet sweet sweet, Catatonia
I should've told ya
***
Saturday afternoon, Catherine continually found her routine thoughts broken over memories. Some from the night before, some from years in her far past. Remembering that Trowa's tie had been crooked at her wedding. That in her marriage bed she had felt a security in the scent of her husband's aftershave. How a boyish smile could charm her into absolute weakness. Along with other reflections. How she had hated isolation after her daughter was born and feared the maternal intensity of bonding to that same child.
She thought about how she missed the peace she derived from having Juri near.
That morning they had woken in a warm tangle of limbs, sheets and sunshine. Bashfully smiling while getting dressed and making excuses for going to the kitchen or going to the shower. Catherine offering to fix breakfast. Juri needing to decline. They already knew she had to go back to the theater for the matinee of the show.
A politely awkward hesitation in the doorway. And then the desired good- bye wrap of Juri's arm steadily put around her waist and the lingering taste of her kiss. Catherine let her tongue moisten her lips remembering the genuine flavor: part chapstick, part toothpaste.
Catherine went about her chores for the afternoon. Now and again stopping to put her hand over an enthusiastic or pleased grin. The only factor causing her satisfaction to waver being that Juri could not be with her right then nor with her for every moment forever.
***
And with my fears in the back of my mind,
will they gang up on me,
And when I least expect them to,
will they devour me
***
Road Rage had two shows on Saturday. A matinee at three with a casual audience that amusingly felt inclined to voice their comments and suggestions toward the actors on stage. Reminding her how much she loved the dynamic relationship fostered by the independent theater.
The evening show had a more academically enthused audience. Trowa having come with a handful of engrossed students. Afterward, the theater majors and their interested classmates mingling with the cast. A few of the braver souls questioning Saitou on his directing decisions. She had politely entertained the first inquiries, but she still felt the same inclination of wanting to leave. The same inclination that caused her to have intriguing thoughts when she caught glimpses of their professor, Mr. Barton.
She had been friends with Trowa before she met his step-sister. But the years that he lived with Catherine caused her to recognize uncanny similarities channeled through Trowa that she'd come to finding endearing about his sister. The tilt of their head to one side when listening attentively, the gradual stages of a genuine smile that was hauntingly similar when revealed, and the melancholy silence when alone and thinking they were unobserved.
Part of the melancholy came from the tireless devotion Trowa attached to his lover. His characteristic flaw of putting too much effort into his romance and significant other. Devotion that both Catherine and Juri questioned on more than one occasion.
Juri wondered if she caused that sort of intensified attention in Catherine. Uncertain, but wanting Catherine to feel free to be herself, to love and accept Juri's love.
Love. Juri had to fight the sloppy grin from her face. It was a different feeling, but one she liked.
When she drove home, she drove away from the city and to Catherine's apartment. She had to know how to move forward. To learn what Catherine loved and follow accordingly.
***
Don't you turn aside,
your tired ears must hear me out,
there's nowhere to hide
***
"I love you, too," Catherine murmured, fighting hard to keep her eyes open but each blink of her eyelids becoming lazier. Her face pressed into her pillow, mostly sleeping on her stomach. The bedroom moonlit and rather chill, except where they were in bed together.
Juri watched, on her side, letting her index finger and thumb continually stroke a wayward curl behind Catherine's ear, "Go ahead to sleep." Juri said softly, not knowing if the words or only the sounds were reaching Catherine. Either way enjoying the smallest lift of a shadow in Catherine's cheek.
A smile that reminded her, "Tomorrow, we're going to have to find some way to announce this to your brother."