Title: A Fleeting Second
Author: AC
Pairing: April/Roger
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drabble
Notes: I took a different view with this April. In my mind, she is a self-concious waifish blonde, very shy. Sort of gives you the impression of a puppy kicked too many times. It's not supposed to be too angsty, really, more of the classic sort of "flower-ish (?)" tradgey sort of thing. I blame this on playing Laura in the Glass Menagerie. I really do. I really don't like this April as much as I like the April in Factlets and it seems a lot less likely Roger would be with a girl like this, but this is sort of what came out. I'm not opposed to it, it's just not my favorite.
Warnings: Implied Drug Use.
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
To April, love is something that is just there, just for a fleeting moment, and then it is gone. It goes. It changes. It becomes unrecognizable. You forgot about it and move on. Slowly, it stops mattering. You stop caring because it stops mattering.
The cycle goes on and on. New people. New faces. New situation. New illusions of a misplaced ideal called love.
She is convinced that love just exists for a second. Like... A sunset or something like that. Beautiful for one moment, but terrible the next. It only leaves you darker then before. More alone. Emptier.
She doesn't think he's any different then any other man who's left her when he kisses her, plays with her hair. Like always, she reacts, only tentatively, only slightly, a kiss back, a smile in his direction and a simple touch. But it's merely for now. Merely for these few seconds he wants her.
She doesn't think he's any different when he huskily whisper, 'I love you,' in the dark. Like always, the words send shivers up her spine, a rush of emotion, but she bites it down. She hides it away and reminds herself that he's not any different. Like everyone else, he'll change. He'll cease to matter. In the darkness, she rolls over and feigns sleep, mouthing the words back to him and wishing she meant them, too.
She doesn't think he's any different when he holds up the needle in the surreal bright lights of a bar bathroom, grinning. Let go. He always tells her that. Let go. She desperately wants to hang on though, but his promises and his smile, oh god, his smile. She is tempted into it. Maybe he'll really love her if they do this- somehow. Maybe she'll want to love him back. In hindsight, she knew it wouldn't work forever like she always dreamed off. What they had, like everything else, would change and disappear. But maybe it'll make him give a damn for a few more nights. Maybe it can be like this for just a few more nights. His touch on her arm is so tender, so slow. He surprises her with his gentleness, his soft words, the way he holds the needle and soothes her into it.
Something is there, for a fleeting moment, and then it is gone.
