Right Here . . . Waiting- by Moony73
Rated-T: for language use. Chapters: 1.
Summary: "It's as much as I can take!" She fought screaming, but her voice only managed a harsh whisper as the first of silent tears trickled down her cheeks. She knew she would have to fight him . . . one more time, just to keep him waiting. RLNT
Okay . . . so yeah. The words of their final conversation were originally from the song, "Right Here" by Staind. Man! I fell in love with that song, and, one day, while in the car, on a long, long, long, long drive, suffering from complete, destructive, mind boggling boredom I came up with this whole little one-shot . . . but, yeah, I liked how it sounded, the way I had parted it, and I put in the whole RLNT thing, and it seemed like a good idea. But, for now, I guess I'll shut up and start typing it.
"What do you want from me?"
"All I ever wanted from you was you, but you always gave those same damned, fucked up, wrong excuses . . . and you never knew how much it hurt me and pissed me off. And it's the weirdest feeling, emotion, I've ever experience." She lowered her voice to a whisper as she finished, as she grasped the collar of his robes, holding him, only by willpower, at arms length, readying herself for the final battle, if there was going to be one.
She slowly, tentatively, pulled him closer, waiting for him to hesitate, tell her otherwise, pull back, or push her away; any way for him to push away, to refuse, had been something she had forever been focused on, and there was always some way she prevented him from doing anything of the sort. And she had him trapped now; she was winning . . . or she hoped.
"Have you realized—" he was cut off, stopped from using excuses again.
She finished the sentence but didn't end it the way he had intended to, "—that I love you?" Her voice almost seemed hurt as she looked into his eyes, almost desperately, frustrated. She thought he had closed his own, only realizing they surveyed her lips guardedly. In fact, his own were trembling, either with frustration or the fact that he was losing.
He wore a stern expression plastered to his face, eyes still watching her lips as he brought his right hand up from where it had originally hung limp and useless at his side after he had only just realized he had use of them. He gripped her wrist tightly and pushed her away once again, notoriously winning.
"Don't even kid me with this," he said firmly, sternly, quietly, now grasping both her wrists tightly in his soft, warm hands, pushing them down away from his neck where they had started to move away from his collar.
"Remus, don't do this to me again, damn it!" She didn't give in to the fact that she had lost and continued, leaning in and capturing him on the lips before they both fell back with the force of the motion and landed hard on the thick rug on the floor.
"I can't do this . . . I'm not good enough for you; I never will be. Do you not understand that!" He spoke quietly, but it was still his stern, firm voice. This time it could have been taken as a little harsher than usual.
"What!" she asked immediately, questioning if she had heard right. She turned in such a fast motion that she hit her head on the coffee table none too gently. She maneuvered out from where she had retaliated against the sharp blow, ending up halfway under the dark wood, and looked up at him fiercely, challenging him to go on with the conversation.
"I know I've been mistaken—" he began slowly, knowing that she had brought him into this again, trying to will the conversation not to begin all over, but he knew. It would have to be brought up, this time fought hard and not half-heartedly, to finally bring an end to their being together.
"But just give me a break and see the changes that I've made," she whispered, already close to tears, knowing that he was, once again, going to fight this. Why wouldn't he just let her win . . . for once?
He began . . . again with the same excuses, and somehow, some way, she had noticed, no matter the amount of stubbornness she used, he found them perfectly useful . . . and he always won, with the same damned excuses, "I've got some imperfections—"
She cut him off once again, tired of the fight, growing even more tired of having to listen to them, already tired of the same excuses, but she hadn't given up yet, and she wouldn't, ever, "But how can you collect them all and throw them in my face! But you always find a way to keep me right here waiting. You always find the words to say to keep me right here waiting. And if you chose to walk away, I'd still be right here, waiting, searching for the things to say to keep you right here waiting."
"I hope you're not intending to be so condescending—" He tried his hardest to complete the sentence; knowing full and well he was going to be cut off, he began with the hardest of word choices, trying not to be rude. But he would have to if he was going to stop her, fight her, to win.
"It's as much as I can take!" She fought screaming, but her voice only managed a harsh whisper as the first of silent tears trickled down her cheeks.
"But you're so independent—" he started. He had tried this already, wording it different than the last time, but he was cut off from continuing any further than the first few words. And it was beginning to get annoying. He was losing the battle. And he knew it, was aware of it . . . completely.
"You just refuse to bend. So I keep bending till I break. But you always find a way to keep me right here waiting. You always find the words to say to keep me right here waiting. And if you chose to walk away, I'd still be right here, waiting. Searching for the things to say to keep you right here waiting. I've made a commitment." She finished boldly, occupied in the fact that she was winning, that he'd soon give in and she would finally be accepted.
"I'm willing to bleed for you—" he started sternly.
"I needed fulfillment. A friend would I need in you," she whispered quietly, continuing as if he hadn't said a word.
"Why can't you just forgive me? I don't want to relive all the mistakes I've made," he almost stated both sentences coldly, but he kept from being harsh. He just couldn't reach being cold, even though, he knew, he needed that element of attack, of battle, to win. And he was losing, now, badly.
"But I always find a way to keep you right here waiting? I always find the words to say to keep you right here waiting?" She asked tentatively, probing, knowing that, if he answered the questions, she would win.
Surprisingly his voice tilted from either being hoarse whispers, or a warm, comforting tone. "But you always find a way to keep me right here waiting. You always find the words to say to keep me right here waiting. And if I chose to walk away would you be right here waiting, searching for the things to say to keep me right here waiting."
And she won . . . finally.
A/N: the way they speak in it makes me fell like I didn't write it. Well, I built off of it, but the ending still made me happy: it made me think of what might happen, but I'm not going to continue it from here . . . maybe . . . for now. Surprisingly, I find a lot of songs compatible with their situation . . . for some odd reason . . . hmm . . . Dumb author notes! The least they do is let me keep up with what I'm doing . . . truthfully . . . they're good for nothing, and they can continue on forever! Darn me and my ramblings, me and my stupid sarcasm . . . LOL.