Days Apart, and Hurried Nights
By the Almighty SporkGoddess
"Sweetie, go back to sleep."
Despite his lover's protests, Franklin eased himself up so that he was leaning against the backboard of the bed. She in turn slid up a bit, so that her head rested against his chest. Her long, rose-colored locks brushed his skin, and he longed to simply kiss her, and stay in this room, in this bed, in this moment, with her forever.
"Margarita… you know I have to leave soon." He said, more to convince himself than her. She knew his situation, and why this pleasant state of affairs could not always be.
"She already knows," Margarita complained, sitting up now and folding her arms. "Why bother hiding it like this?"
He couldn't explain why he felt the need to; he just did. She would never understand—Margarita was much younger than he was, and also naïve. Maybe that's why he loved her so much—she was fresh, untainted. Well, except for the fact that he had made her the "other woman."
His face turned into an involuntary frown at that thought; why was guilt always so wretched?
"Dear, you're brooding…" Margarita said sleepily, laying her head back down on his chest. He stroked her hair soothingly.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm just wondering what to do…"
"She already knows." Margarita repeated stubbornly. "You yourself said that she doesn't care."
Franklin felt no remorse over what he was doing to his wife—she was the cold one, not him. She hadn't been able to give him what he needed, and so he had found it in another. Yet, this was deemed immoral.
"You don't understand…" She blinked as he said this. "Of course you don't." He added in an undertone, so that she couldn't hear. "Aren't you sick of being a mistress?"
"As long as I can be with you, it doesn't matter to me." She said quietly, eyes half-closed. Poor Margarita, he thought—so idealistic.
"Look, things are fine the way that they are." Her head rose a bit, and she looked right at him. "Why change it?"
"You forget that I have a wife, and a son, obviously."
"They know, and they don't care. Why push it?"
Franklin had been throwing himself into his work, moreso than usual, lately. It made him forget about this mess for at least a brief period of time. His wife did the same—that was the one thing they had in common, he thought dryly; both were married to their work.
"Because you have nothing to feel guilty over." He stated.
"Neither do you. If she cared, it would be another story."
"I turned you into some sort of homewrecker." He spat, wishing that Margarita didn't have to be involved in this. It wasn't her fault that he had no love for his wife.
"I love you…" She said quietly.
"I know." He sighed, taking her into his arms.
The two lay there for a moment; one perfect moment where Franklin wasn't a married man, and there was no war. Where they were just two people in love, and it was as simple and as wonderful as that.
"We'll run away someday." He whispered, stroking her silky hair which always reminded him of the pink sky during a sunset.
"I'm content to be just here…" She replied, snuggling up against him.
"So am I," He told her.
But he knew, deep down, that this was all a lie. They would never run away together, their rendezvous would always have to secret and hurried. There was only one truth in this whole mess, and that was that he loved her.
But no matter what happened, that small truth in a bed of lies would always remain, and would never change.
And that was enough, if just for now.
Author's Note: I love trying to show things in a new light, and the whole affair of Franklin/Margarita was a nice opportunity to do just that. Camille's parents both really are married to their work, and I have a feeling that Margarita showed Franklin that there's more to life. He really did love her, too. You can call her a whore, and you can call him a scumbag… but they really seemed to be in love, and we don't know the real story.
Disclaimer: I was a very talented blob of nothingness to have created Zeta before I was born. ^_^ Don't you agree? The title is from Elaborate Lives from Aida, btw.