Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 10/10
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: 'R', LoCa, SoCa, J/S, AU.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: There's no such thing as 'too far' in love. Is there?
Notes: Well, it's over. Was it worth it?
No woman was born wanting to be a whore. Pulled squalling from the womb, an innocent baby never planned to use its body to give a man pleasure.
Growing up in Florida, amidst the orange blossoms, all Caroline Benson had wanted to be...was a princess. Not a seamstress. Not a nurse. Not a nun. Not a whore. Simply cherished...adored.
She remembered being a tiny girl, sitting in the back of a horse cart as her father clicked the reins and moved through the grove. She would wave to her subjects...the men and women picking fruit... dreaming that, one day, they would all bow and curtsy to a great lady of the South. No, of the world.
Tired of smelling like citrus, of breathing it, of living it...of watching her mamma and papa grow mottled and tinted like the very oranges they hawked...she ran away from home at fifteen, seeking her fortune.
And she had found it.
Dewy, bloodstained, grass beneath her palms. A multitude of sounds rushing against her eardrums. Voices, the breeze, her own heartbeat.
Lorenzo. "Caroline...are you all right?"
Michael. "Are you hurt?"
"I...I don't think so."
Two pairs of firm hands helped her rise, and she did not stumble. No, she stood, regal, above the fallen body only a few feet away.
She had not missed. Her aim with a gun was infinitely truer than with a poker. And Michael's bullet had found its mark as well. Jason Morgan's unholy eyes were obliterated. He would have no face to show to the Devil. The leeches in the swamp, this time, would have a veritable feast before them.
She was not a killer.
She was whole.
***
A hush seemed to fall over the room...at least the female portion, when the man appeared at the top of the stairs and was announced as a plantation owner from Venezuela. He was dressed impeccably, from head to toe, in black. From the crisp frock coat to his Hessians to the scarf at his throat. Everything about him, in fact, was dark... except for his eyes. Even from this distance, it was clear they were a startling blue. His hair was just a tad too long for fashion...deliciously indecent.
Just the way she liked it.
"Oh...oh, he's married," the other woman warned from behind her rapidly moving fan. "Disgusting, really. They say he doesn't even have a mistress because he spends all night in his little wifey's bed. It's a wonder he hasn't expired from exhaustion."
"Disgusting", thought Maxie, really meant Faith was jealous.
There wasn't a man in New Orleans safe from Faith Flynn's roving eye and her even *more* roving hands. Except for, it seemed, Lorenzo Alcazar.
"Why, Faith...I thought nothing could stop you from trying?"
"Nothing can, Darling." The older woman laughed, huskily, indulgently, at Miss Bobbie's newest girl. "Except a whore's luck...and a wife's aim."
Caroline smiled down at the crowded room, her blue Parisian silk gown complementing her husband's beautiful eyes, and her joy outshining them. They shared an altogether too brazen kiss, but as the society biddies were absent, no one died of apoplexy. Simply envy.
And when Michael Corinthos, himself, moved up to escort the couple to the floor, he bowed over her hand.
He remembered. All too well.
A secret kept between an uneasy alliance of three.
She was a mother. A wife. A lover.
But, first, and foremost, a woman.
A great lady of the world.
--the end--
December 2, 2003.
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: 'R', LoCa, SoCa, J/S, AU.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: There's no such thing as 'too far' in love. Is there?
Notes: Well, it's over. Was it worth it?
No woman was born wanting to be a whore. Pulled squalling from the womb, an innocent baby never planned to use its body to give a man pleasure.
Growing up in Florida, amidst the orange blossoms, all Caroline Benson had wanted to be...was a princess. Not a seamstress. Not a nurse. Not a nun. Not a whore. Simply cherished...adored.
She remembered being a tiny girl, sitting in the back of a horse cart as her father clicked the reins and moved through the grove. She would wave to her subjects...the men and women picking fruit... dreaming that, one day, they would all bow and curtsy to a great lady of the South. No, of the world.
Tired of smelling like citrus, of breathing it, of living it...of watching her mamma and papa grow mottled and tinted like the very oranges they hawked...she ran away from home at fifteen, seeking her fortune.
And she had found it.
Dewy, bloodstained, grass beneath her palms. A multitude of sounds rushing against her eardrums. Voices, the breeze, her own heartbeat.
Lorenzo. "Caroline...are you all right?"
Michael. "Are you hurt?"
"I...I don't think so."
Two pairs of firm hands helped her rise, and she did not stumble. No, she stood, regal, above the fallen body only a few feet away.
She had not missed. Her aim with a gun was infinitely truer than with a poker. And Michael's bullet had found its mark as well. Jason Morgan's unholy eyes were obliterated. He would have no face to show to the Devil. The leeches in the swamp, this time, would have a veritable feast before them.
She was not a killer.
She was whole.
***
A hush seemed to fall over the room...at least the female portion, when the man appeared at the top of the stairs and was announced as a plantation owner from Venezuela. He was dressed impeccably, from head to toe, in black. From the crisp frock coat to his Hessians to the scarf at his throat. Everything about him, in fact, was dark... except for his eyes. Even from this distance, it was clear they were a startling blue. His hair was just a tad too long for fashion...deliciously indecent.
Just the way she liked it.
"Oh...oh, he's married," the other woman warned from behind her rapidly moving fan. "Disgusting, really. They say he doesn't even have a mistress because he spends all night in his little wifey's bed. It's a wonder he hasn't expired from exhaustion."
"Disgusting", thought Maxie, really meant Faith was jealous.
There wasn't a man in New Orleans safe from Faith Flynn's roving eye and her even *more* roving hands. Except for, it seemed, Lorenzo Alcazar.
"Why, Faith...I thought nothing could stop you from trying?"
"Nothing can, Darling." The older woman laughed, huskily, indulgently, at Miss Bobbie's newest girl. "Except a whore's luck...and a wife's aim."
Caroline smiled down at the crowded room, her blue Parisian silk gown complementing her husband's beautiful eyes, and her joy outshining them. They shared an altogether too brazen kiss, but as the society biddies were absent, no one died of apoplexy. Simply envy.
And when Michael Corinthos, himself, moved up to escort the couple to the floor, he bowed over her hand.
He remembered. All too well.
A secret kept between an uneasy alliance of three.
She was a mother. A wife. A lover.
But, first, and foremost, a woman.
A great lady of the world.
--the end--
December 2, 2003.