Disclaimer: I don't own them, yada yada yada. You know the deal.
This is a Carby standalone. Pleeeeease review it! I have no plans to continue it unless convinced otherwise.
And it begins...
************************
Infatuation
His arm is snaking around my waist and I can't help but smile at this idiosyncrasy. Every night, just before he falls asleep, his arm ends up draped over my body. I can't complain - I like it. It makes me feel secure and it keeps me warm too.
Security. Now there's a word you don't often see in my vocabulary.
Love is another stranger.
I like using both of them now. Together.
I've been able to open up to Carter more than I have to anyone else before. I was always scared that I would confide my darkest secrets in someone and they would betray my trust or that they would break my heart and leave me stranded, naked and emotionally vulnerable.
I never once doubted Carter. He was my knight in shining armor and I never want to be with anyone else.
The corniness of that almost makes me puke. But the fact that it's true also makes me want to gag.
I've turned into lovey dovey mush.
I don't mind that feeling. I've never really felt like this before. With Luka, it was more of a physical attraction. He was strong, and that made me less vulnerable than I was when I was alone. It was something comfortable I could slip into, like a fuzzy pair of slippers. But we all know, eventually the fuzzy stuff falls off and it becomes scratchy and too close to the ground. With Richard - who knew what that disaster was. I'm sure I loved him when I married him, but something got seriously screwed up along the way. We never talked - all our conversations were a ping-pong game of 5- syllabled sentences, often at the top of our lungs. I generally lost.
Carter lets out a snort. I have to stick my fist in my mouth to stifle my giggles. Jeez, my giggles! I've turned into a ringlet haired seven-year- old! Tee hee hee!
Stop it! I slap myself on the forehead, causing Carter to jump slightly.
Our relationship hasn't been easy. There was the whole "my-crazy-brother-is- more-important-than-your-dead-gamma" fiasco. It was easy to blame that on someone else - in this case it was Eric. It's always the easy way out. But I didn't want to pile it on someone else. I've lived my life doing that. Anything that went wrong was always my crazy mother's fault. But for once, I wanted to take responsibility. I wanted to work things out the old fashioned way - with lots of talking, tears, hugs, kisses, and a big tub of ice cream (rocky road of course!) afterwards.
It took us a while to get back to normal after that incident. We were this close to giving up. But there must be some warrior in him. We sat down and talked all night. Sorted everything out, from my brother right down to who ate all the peanut butter (him, all him. I could never eat a whole tub of peanut butter. I'm totally devoted to the ice cream. I'd never cheat on Rocky Road! And besides - it's bad for my figure! Peanuts are extremely high in cholesterol!).
I used a whole packet of throat lozenges the next day. Never have I talked so much, or tried so hard to save something that was almost gone (except at work in a trauma, but that's a given). I guess the saying is true - anything we love can be saved.
I sigh softly, not wanting to disturb him. He's such a light sleeper. One time, a car door slammed and he sat up calling bloody murder! I do not know how this man survived in war torn Africa. Every time a bullet was fired, he probably screamed like a girl and sucked his thumb!
When I told him about that theory, he pouted and wouldn't talk to me for an hour. I probably wouldn't complain if someone called me a man (although I'd wonder how they came to that conclusion as I'm very small) but I suppose it's different for a man - you know, it would damage their macho image.
I have to tell you about his reply though (I mean, after he started talking to me again). He told me that he didn't scream. He cried. He was scared that he might not make it home. He knew that when he left, we had a lot of unresolved tension, and that he might not be able to fix it.
I was the one crying after that. Even though things weren't too crash hot back then, he had enough emotion to feel scared for the emptiness that was evident in our relationship.
I glance over at the digital bedside clock. 2:27 its monotonous green numbers flash back at me. I have to get up in less than four hours. So much for at least eight to nine hours of "beauty" sleep.
Screw that theory. I'll stay up as late as I want. I don't think it really matters. No matter how long I sleep, I still wake up with baggies under my eyes.
I would never have thought that I would find happiness in the place we so fondly call "the hellhole". I mean, we practically dread getting up each morning to go there.
We spent a long time building up the attraction - more than was healthy! We were always skirting around the issue after we had both admitted our feelings. I guess he finally decided to do something about it. It must've been him - I was rather shocked by his actions! (Not that I didn't enjoy the consequences!)
The first kiss was rather different to most. First of all, we were being quarantined for a contagious, deadly disease. And to top it off, we were hot and sweaty, and the room reeked of our sweat. Yea - soooooo romantic. I bet it's every girl's dream. And having marriage proposed whilst shouting at each other on the roof? Even better!
I don't care about all of that though. All I care about is the present and the future (although it is amusing to reminisce on those times). All I want to do is spend the rest of my life with him.
Carter and I have a little fantasy about what we're going to do in ten years time (and if the reality doesn't work out, it'll probably become our backup plan). We're going to sell most of our stuff, get rid of the apartment and buy a trailer and go trekking all over America and eventually reside in the coldest part of Alaska. When we die, we want to be eaten by wolves while wearing a bikini (yes, even him).
Although we consider that a fantasy, it'll probably be something we really want to do but never get around to it. Like how people want to write a novel, or travel around the world.
His arm interrupts my thoughts. His grip tightens and I feel his breath on my back.
"Hey. Whatcha thinking about?"
"You."
I feel him smile into my shoulder. "Well don't I feel special."
"Oh you should," I turn over in the bed to face him. "Very special indeed."
He grins and leans in to kiss me. As the kiss deepens, I think to myself (which I seem to be doing a lot of lately - it's quite weird) that this is more than an infatuation.
I'd bet the world on it, that it's love.
*************
hit that little button! It's right there! You know you want to!!!! It's calling you - taunting you...a little voice in your head says, "Must review! Must review!" *bats eyelashes at you* pweeeze?
This is a Carby standalone. Pleeeeease review it! I have no plans to continue it unless convinced otherwise.
And it begins...
************************
Infatuation
His arm is snaking around my waist and I can't help but smile at this idiosyncrasy. Every night, just before he falls asleep, his arm ends up draped over my body. I can't complain - I like it. It makes me feel secure and it keeps me warm too.
Security. Now there's a word you don't often see in my vocabulary.
Love is another stranger.
I like using both of them now. Together.
I've been able to open up to Carter more than I have to anyone else before. I was always scared that I would confide my darkest secrets in someone and they would betray my trust or that they would break my heart and leave me stranded, naked and emotionally vulnerable.
I never once doubted Carter. He was my knight in shining armor and I never want to be with anyone else.
The corniness of that almost makes me puke. But the fact that it's true also makes me want to gag.
I've turned into lovey dovey mush.
I don't mind that feeling. I've never really felt like this before. With Luka, it was more of a physical attraction. He was strong, and that made me less vulnerable than I was when I was alone. It was something comfortable I could slip into, like a fuzzy pair of slippers. But we all know, eventually the fuzzy stuff falls off and it becomes scratchy and too close to the ground. With Richard - who knew what that disaster was. I'm sure I loved him when I married him, but something got seriously screwed up along the way. We never talked - all our conversations were a ping-pong game of 5- syllabled sentences, often at the top of our lungs. I generally lost.
Carter lets out a snort. I have to stick my fist in my mouth to stifle my giggles. Jeez, my giggles! I've turned into a ringlet haired seven-year- old! Tee hee hee!
Stop it! I slap myself on the forehead, causing Carter to jump slightly.
Our relationship hasn't been easy. There was the whole "my-crazy-brother-is- more-important-than-your-dead-gamma" fiasco. It was easy to blame that on someone else - in this case it was Eric. It's always the easy way out. But I didn't want to pile it on someone else. I've lived my life doing that. Anything that went wrong was always my crazy mother's fault. But for once, I wanted to take responsibility. I wanted to work things out the old fashioned way - with lots of talking, tears, hugs, kisses, and a big tub of ice cream (rocky road of course!) afterwards.
It took us a while to get back to normal after that incident. We were this close to giving up. But there must be some warrior in him. We sat down and talked all night. Sorted everything out, from my brother right down to who ate all the peanut butter (him, all him. I could never eat a whole tub of peanut butter. I'm totally devoted to the ice cream. I'd never cheat on Rocky Road! And besides - it's bad for my figure! Peanuts are extremely high in cholesterol!).
I used a whole packet of throat lozenges the next day. Never have I talked so much, or tried so hard to save something that was almost gone (except at work in a trauma, but that's a given). I guess the saying is true - anything we love can be saved.
I sigh softly, not wanting to disturb him. He's such a light sleeper. One time, a car door slammed and he sat up calling bloody murder! I do not know how this man survived in war torn Africa. Every time a bullet was fired, he probably screamed like a girl and sucked his thumb!
When I told him about that theory, he pouted and wouldn't talk to me for an hour. I probably wouldn't complain if someone called me a man (although I'd wonder how they came to that conclusion as I'm very small) but I suppose it's different for a man - you know, it would damage their macho image.
I have to tell you about his reply though (I mean, after he started talking to me again). He told me that he didn't scream. He cried. He was scared that he might not make it home. He knew that when he left, we had a lot of unresolved tension, and that he might not be able to fix it.
I was the one crying after that. Even though things weren't too crash hot back then, he had enough emotion to feel scared for the emptiness that was evident in our relationship.
I glance over at the digital bedside clock. 2:27 its monotonous green numbers flash back at me. I have to get up in less than four hours. So much for at least eight to nine hours of "beauty" sleep.
Screw that theory. I'll stay up as late as I want. I don't think it really matters. No matter how long I sleep, I still wake up with baggies under my eyes.
I would never have thought that I would find happiness in the place we so fondly call "the hellhole". I mean, we practically dread getting up each morning to go there.
We spent a long time building up the attraction - more than was healthy! We were always skirting around the issue after we had both admitted our feelings. I guess he finally decided to do something about it. It must've been him - I was rather shocked by his actions! (Not that I didn't enjoy the consequences!)
The first kiss was rather different to most. First of all, we were being quarantined for a contagious, deadly disease. And to top it off, we were hot and sweaty, and the room reeked of our sweat. Yea - soooooo romantic. I bet it's every girl's dream. And having marriage proposed whilst shouting at each other on the roof? Even better!
I don't care about all of that though. All I care about is the present and the future (although it is amusing to reminisce on those times). All I want to do is spend the rest of my life with him.
Carter and I have a little fantasy about what we're going to do in ten years time (and if the reality doesn't work out, it'll probably become our backup plan). We're going to sell most of our stuff, get rid of the apartment and buy a trailer and go trekking all over America and eventually reside in the coldest part of Alaska. When we die, we want to be eaten by wolves while wearing a bikini (yes, even him).
Although we consider that a fantasy, it'll probably be something we really want to do but never get around to it. Like how people want to write a novel, or travel around the world.
His arm interrupts my thoughts. His grip tightens and I feel his breath on my back.
"Hey. Whatcha thinking about?"
"You."
I feel him smile into my shoulder. "Well don't I feel special."
"Oh you should," I turn over in the bed to face him. "Very special indeed."
He grins and leans in to kiss me. As the kiss deepens, I think to myself (which I seem to be doing a lot of lately - it's quite weird) that this is more than an infatuation.
I'd bet the world on it, that it's love.
*************
hit that little button! It's right there! You know you want to!!!! It's calling you - taunting you...a little voice in your head says, "Must review! Must review!" *bats eyelashes at you* pweeeze?