A/N: College sucks because it's taking my time away from you all. I am so sorry for the delay. Midterms will be over next week so more frequent updates should hopefully come. In the meantime, thank you guys so much for your amazing feedback. There are just no words to appropriately express my gratitude!
Warning: This chapter may, in some eyes, dangerously toe the line between a 'T' and 'M' rating. If you don't like that…sorry! Try to enjoy it anyway. ;]
Amy waited patiently as she sat in a blue plastic chair in the receiving area with her red suitcase resting at her feet. Her Pop said he would be there to pick her up and take her home at noon and it was only 11:40AM, so there was plenty of time.
She wondered how the air would taste today.
Amy was hardly a prisoner, not physically at least. She was allowed to roam outside in the grounds of the facility and have time to herself. Pop had always told her he was envious of her, all protected and tended to inside the walls of the facility while he was cursed to deal with the demons of everyday life by himself on the outside. He paid lots of money to keep her here, the most recommended and isolated mental health clinic on the east coast. Her room was comfortable, airy thanks to all the windows (granted, they were reinforced to withstand cracking and were not able to be opened from the inside). She had a private room in the penthouse and employed attentive staff.
But when she walked outside today, it would be different. She wouldn't have to be back inside by her 5 o'clock dosage. They wouldn't have to pat her down for contraband. After nine years, she was finally being released.
She thought she felt grateful. Maybe she was sad to leave , or happy…she didn't know. The medication that the doctor finally settled on keeping her on had Amy resisting any feelings at all.
But for years, she had no hallucinations, no voices telling her to destroy anything. She heard nothing. It was comforting. And the doctor guaranteed that with continued upkeep of her medication, Amy would be free to continue living life hallucination-free.
"A lifelong battle," he had called her condition.
She sighed and pinched her forearm. She smiled at the minuscule pain. She was real. Today was real. Slowly, she turned her head to the plasma television nailed to the wall across the room.
"If you would just listen to me," a man on his knees begged the woman standing before him. "She meant nothing to me, Donna. Nothing."
"How quickly men can decide the value of women," Donna seethed, ripping her hand from the pathetic man's grip. She wore a pearl-colored silk gown and her brunette hair curled around her v-shaped face, her bangs feathered by her eyes. She stared down hatefully through her thick eyelashes.
Amy's breath caught in her throat as Farrah Holt shined radiantly in her first and only feature film made in 1979. She watched her mother sneer down at her lover before whirling around to leave, her slim gown flattering her slim physique.
"But I love you, Donna. Don't leave me!" He rose to his feet and reached out his arm to stop her. He stopped when Farrah turned around, so in character that her dark brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears and an inscrutable pain that caused Amy to gasp.
"Love is a joke," she declared as the camera panned in on her achingly beautiful face. "It doesn't last."
The only light in the room was provided by a dim, bedside lamp and the occasional brilliant flashes of white from the lightening in the sky that came in through her window.
"The rain seems to have let up a little," Sheldon murmured, regret lacing his tone.
Amy lied flat on her back and craned her neck, her cheek touching the pillow, to look at Sheldon through her pink-rimmed glasses. He was lying on his side facing her, his head propped up on his arm, the elbow pressing into his pillow. His other hand was closed into a tight fist and resting on his chest. His cheeks were still red from their stifled activities. She sighed her own sound of regret; they were both still fully clothed, even three hours later. When Sheldon said he would go slow, unfortunately, he truly meant it. Every time she tried to lose an article of clothing or pull at his, he would tut at her and remove their hands, giving them time to cool off, much to her disappointment.
"Yeah," she agreed. They both gazed out of her window as the lightening continued to streak across the sky right above the tree line, but the moisture from the atmosphere had finally pulled the reigns, now slowing to a steady drizzle.
"The view from here is amazing."
Amy smiled and nodded her head in agreement. This was her favorite room in the house. Her bed was situated on the north wall and faced towards the south wall, where the horizontal sliver that was entirely made of glass looked over her property. It was like she was a princess in the tower, able to survey the kingdom and wait for the prince to come save her. There was something enchanting about the sadness of her solitude; it made her think of another time and place when she had been kept locked up alone in a tower, waiting to be rescued. She looked back at Sheldon and her eyes widened when she saw that he was already studying her, an almost predatory expression plastered across his features.
"What?" she breathed, her heart rate rising. She may not have much experience with lust, but after rolling around in her bed with Sheldon for hours, lips attached to his and her hands freely roaming all over the softest, and hardest, spots on his body, she was beginning to become accustomed to what this face meant. It excited her.
"I need to get out of this bed before I do something that can't be undone," he said ominously.
"What do you mean?" Amy asked innocently, though, the way his eyes traveled down to meet the curve of her slightly exposed cleavage from beneath her button-up shirt, she somehow knew exactly what he meant.
"Vixen," he accused with a crooked smile. She studied the way his top row of teeth pinched his pouty bottom lip as he spoke. "You know what I mean." With that, he finally folded his body to sit up straight and Amy frowned. "I'd better get going. It's nearly midnight."
"What happens after midnight?" she inquired teasingly. "You turn back into a pumpkin?"
"Maybe." Sheldon looked down and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Or maybe I turn back into an ogre."
Amy thought for a moment before she took a deep breath and let her arms fall limp at her sides. Then she infinitesimally arched her back so that her chest stuck out. "An ogre would have his way with me."
"You're very lucky that I'm a gentleman."
"I wish you weren't."
She watched Sheldon's eyebrows perch up high at her last comment and then she let her eyes flutter closed, anticipating what he would do after her uncharacteristic attempt at flirtation. When nothing happened for a moment, she almost opened her eyes and apologized for her crude comment. The humiliation of her forwardness had caused her blood to rush to the surface of her skin, initiating a raging blush all over her body.
But before she could say a word, she felt the mattress shift beneath her as the weight from Sheldon's side was suddenly on hers. Then something hard as bone wedged up between her thighs, pressing against her center. Her eyes flew open and she saw Sheldon was now hovering over her, his arms pillared by her head. He peered down at her and smiled wickedly. She risked a glance down and saw that it was his knee that he had situated between her legs. He leaned down, pressing his thigh into her center so hard that she had the overwhelming urge to cry out in passion.
She didn't hold back.
"Mmmm, Amy," he groaned after she had cried out his name, lowering his face until his nose was buried in her shirt, nudging the crease between her covered breasts. "Say it again."
"Sheldon," she rasped, her hands desperately latching onto his back. She clawed at his shoulder blades, causing his shirt to lift higher and expose his abdomen. "Please…"
"Hmm?" His tongue darted out and he lapped at her collarbone before blowing cool air on the moist spot. At the same time, he ground his leg deeper into her, and Amy clenched her thighs around his knee, writhing at the contact.
"Please!" she whined again. Sheldon licked his way up to her neck and Amy brought one hand around to gently grab a fistful of his hair. She tried to pull his head back in an attempt to capture his lips with her own, but he resisted, still intent on assaulting the sensitive spot behind her ear with his tongue. He nudged her roughly, yet slowly, one more time with his knee when she tugged at his hair.
"'Please' what, Amy?"
She shut her eyes tight as one of Sheldon's hands made their way to her waist and he roughly closed his fingers on her hip, aggressively pushing her body down onto his knee, meeting the contact with a thrust of his leg. His long fingers dug into her soft waist so hard that she was sure they would leave bruises. And she loved the idea of this.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. She let her hands roam all the way down until they found the skin of Sheldon's hips and she let her fingers dance between his jeans and the waistband of his underwear. She had the instinctual desire to pull down the barriers of clothing that kept him from being exposed to her, but she was afraid of how he would react since earlier, before he initiated this rough petting, he had been the one to pull back. But right now, his face was still buried in her neck and he grunted in pleasure as his leg pushed against her again and his erection rubbed along her thigh.
When she heard the primal noise come from his mouth, Amy felt a peculiar, damp feeling between her legs where Sheldon was making contact, rubbing against her, and she abruptly felt a heat swirl in the pit of her abdomen before it surged higher and higher, reaching her lungs, then spewed out of her throat. She whimpered as a tremor rocked her, splitting her in half, causing small stars to dot her vision.
"God, yes!"
Soon, Amy was grinding herself against his stagnant leg on her own accord as waves of pleasure caused her eyes to roll back and her mouth to fall open. She felt as though she was possessed by another being, a spirit which caused her to mew small sounds of ecstasy and throb violently in very private places. She was grateful that Sheldon remained motionless above her so that the sensation could last longer, patiently waiting for her to ride it out. He clutched her hip tightly as she squirmed beneath him, never letting his strong hold on her waiver.
"Fascinating," he observed when it was over. The hand on Amy's waist released her and traveled up to her neck, where he cupped her throat and pulled her up slightly, meeting her halfway. He kissed her deeply, the cushion of his soft lips breathing life back into her. Finally, he pulled away and peeled himself out of her clutches, rolling over to his side of the bed.
"I'm so sorry," she breathed, her chest heaving up and down as she gulped air like a drowning woman. "I don't know what came over me."
Sheldon wheezed a laugh. "Oh, Amy Farrah Fowler. You know exactly what you are doing."
No, she thought quietly while Sheldon intertwined their fingers as their hands lied flat on the mattress. I really don't.
Since she was a young girl, with fantasies running amok and all the free time she had to entertain them, Amy certainly was no stranger to her own touch. But the truth was, she had never anticipated this rampant desire of wanting another person to join her pleasure. This was a sensation she had never in her life thought she could experience. She longed to touch Sheldon but he seemed satisfied for the evening to only bring her to release. Amy made a mental vow to return the favor just as soon as he would allow her.
They laid in companionable silence clipped by her labored breaths for awhile longer, every so often sneaking shy glances at each other and giggling before Sheldon finally spoke.
"Walk me to the door?" he asked. She turned her neck again to look at him and nodded, even though she never wanted those blue eyes and cherry lips to leave her sight.
"Thank you so much for coming to see me," Amy said, turning the knob. She opened the door to reveal the dark world outside and she shivered slightly at the cold wind that blew in, intruding on what had been her and Sheldon's warm fortress for the last few hours. Shakespeare had followed them downstairs and saw the open door as an opportunity to run outside and handle his business.
"You're welcome," he replied with an easy grin after they both watched her dog dash off into the rain before stopping just ten feet away from the porch to relieve himself. "I look forward to telling everyone the news about the map."
"Everyone?"
"Yes," Sheldon said with an enthusiastic nod, his eyes dancing between her and the living room behind her. "The rest of the performers. They all adore you and will be that much more excited to know that you will be more involved in our theater."
Amy was naturally skeptical. "Really? All of them?"
It took a moment for Sheldon to follow her train of thought. He pursed his lips and tilted his head. "You must not let Penelope's words by the stage the other night get to you."
Amy studied his face but her ears were listening for the whispering. From the corner of her eyes, she waited for her to pop up, in flames or not. She didn't know what she was expecting, but she wished with every fiber of her being that she could explain to Sheldon that it wasn't just what Penelope had told her by the stage that was bothering her. It was that Penelope had not left her since. She shifted uncomfortably and wrapped her arms around herself, curiosity getting the best of her.
"Sheldon," she started hesitantly. "Have you seen Penelope since that night? Since our confrontation by the stage?"
His demeanor shifted slightly, seemingly thrown by her question. "No," he said quickly. "I have not. I don't see her unless we're performing."
She wasn't sure how to react to this. If Sheldon had not seen Penelope since that night she ripped into Amy by the stage then left them, her brilliant red dress billowing behind her as she disappeared into the woods like a dancing flame, was there any chance that anyone had seen her since? Amy was never a believer in supernatural concepts, but the thought of her Penelope visions gave her another chill. She felt Sheldon's hands lightly grasp her forearms and rub them to generate warmth as they stood in the open doorway. Looking into his eyes, she suddenly had the urge to ask him something that had been rattling around in her mind for a few days.
"Why…" she began, but quickly changed her mind. "Never mind."
"Amy," Sheldon said in a slight warning tone. "Out with it."
"I just…I have a silly question. Feel free to not answer." She took a deep breath and concentrated on his large, warm hands on her skin. "Why do you call her Penny?" She closed her eyes when Sheldon's hands immediately detached from her arms, sure she had upset him. She figured that she was already tumbling down the rabbit hole and continued. "The first night I saw you two arguing on the porch at the Coliseum, she grabbed you to keep you from leaving. You looked at her and called her Penny. Why?"
She felt a cool blast of air on her face as Sheldon exhaled. "I've known her a long time. It was a nick name that stuck."
"No one else calls her that," Amy said softly, barely above a whisper. She was still unable to meet his eyes.
"I told you that we were friends, nothing romantic. And I meant that. But we were, at one point, close friends. But things started to change—" he paused and she watched him latch both of his hands to his hips, "She changed. I can't really explain how to you. It worried me. It still worries me to this day, but that is neither here nor there. I hope this doesn't change your opinion of me, Amy."
The desperate inflection in his voice forced her to tilt her chin up and look at him, deep into his eyes, as he finished. "I would never be here with you if my head or heart was with someone else. I don't know what you've done to me, Amy, but I can't get you out of my mind. This has never happened to me before. I've known women, both intimate and not, but never anyone like you. I've only just met you, and yet I felt like I've known you for years. And I want to know you more. So much more." With his last words, he took a tentative step forward and when he saw that she wasn't going to resist, he placed one hand at her waist and the other on her face, cupping her cheek tenderly. "You believe me, don't you?"
"I do." She did. She offered him a smile, weak, but genuine.
"Vixen," he said before dipping his head and kissing her, not hesitating to use his tongue to part her lips. They finally broke away and Amy nodded at him, giving him the impression that she was satisfied with his answer. He significantly brightened and gave one last long look at her living room. "I have a brilliant idea." He looked over her shoulder and studied the large space of the empty area again.
"Why do you keep looking over there?" Amy asked, following his line of vision and turning her back to him. She saw him walk away from the door and venture the space, stopping by her leather arm chair.
"What better way to tell everyone about your co-owning the theater than a big party?" Sheldon's arms spread wide as he faced Amy again. "Here, at River Road Manor."
"A party?" Amy squeaked, looking at every corner of her house. "Here?"
"Sure," Sheldon said excitedly. "We can help you clean it up and after a performance at the end of the week we can all come here instead of the Coliseum. Amy, everyone will love it. The structure of this house is magnificent." He spoke loudly, the echo of his voice ringing in the rafters to accentuate his point.
"I don't have any furniture, any food, any…anything," she protested, her head shaking from side to side.
"Let me worry about that." He shuffled to meet her at the door then pulled gently on her hand until she followed him to the center of the living room. "I'll foot the bill for everything. I want everyone to see this place. It's beautiful." When Amy didn't say anything at first, he turned down his enthusiasm a decibel. "I'm sorry I'm being so intrusive. We don't have to…"
"Shh," Amy commanded gently, listening to the silence of her four walls. She detached herself from Sheldon's arms and began to wander around the space. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine hosting a get-together here as extravagant as Sheldon's parties were. She was certainly as capable of 'footing the bill' as Sheldon was, so she would not let him pay for anything. With a small smile, she realized it could be fun. It would be a night she wouldn't have to endure the deafening silence on her own.
Robbie Fowler, a party thrower from way back, would certainly approve.
And if Penelope were to join them, it would also give Amy the opportunity to see her again, and perhaps ask her some questions.
She twirled around to meet Sheldon's face, smiling with decision. "Okay," she said, nodding happily as his tense face broke into a smile as well. "It'll be fun," she said forcefully, more to herself than him.
"It will," he agreed, taking her hands in his. "You'll see. I'll let the others know." With a sigh, he spoke in a low voice. "I should really get going."
"Alright," Amy relented. They walked to the door once again just as Shakespeare padded up the porch steps, shaking the rain water from his fur violently. "Shakes!" Amy half-chastised, half-laughed when his residue splattered her and Sheldon.
"Good boy," Sheldon murmured as he bent at the knee to get eye level with Amy's goofy dog, patting his head. "Take care of your mother. I want her in one piece when I return tomorrow. Got it, Shakes?"
Shakespeare tilted his head to the left and stared blankly at Sheldon, his tongue drooping lazily out of the right side of his muzzle.
"I think that's a 'yes'," Sheldon mused with a grin. He straightened his frame and looked down at Amy. "Tomorrow? We can start cleaning up this place. I'll bring reinforcements."
"Okay," Amy said with a nod. "Can't wait."
"Me neither." He smoothed a strand of hair behind Amy's ear before letting his arm fall to his side. He hovered at her threshold and looked torn between staying and leaving. "See you then." He finally walked to the porch and Amy watched him as he carefully headed down the steps and jogged to his car. She stood at the door for awhile after his headlights disappeared around the corner and he was out of sight.
Amy didn't hear the silent steps of Robbie Fowler as he joined her in the waiting area. She was studying the TV screen so intently that all other sounds failed to resonate.
It was the first time she had ever heard her mother's voice.
"She was a looker, huh?" Robbie asked as he settled into the seat next to his daughter.
"I'm not that beautiful," Amy said softly. She felt her father beside her, but was too entranced by her mother's screen presence to acknowledge him with a greeting.
"No," Robbie said. "You're much, much more beautiful than that."
At this, Amy finally broke eye contact with the television and turned in her chair to face her handsome father. His green eyes were wide and expressive, just like hers. She had his nose, but she knew that she had Farrah's very prominent chin. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiled warmly at him.
"Hi, Pop."
"Hi there, little bear."
They were in no hurry to get up, and instead sat and watched as Farrah gallivanted around town, the proverbial woman scorned as she sought revenge on her unfaithful lover. Every once in awhile, Robbie would interject with facts about the scene, the location of shooting, or how he knew the director. Amy felt tears stain trails down her cheeks before she had finally had enough.
"How come you've never let me see this before?"
He had never kept this film in the house and back when she was a child, Amy didn't know how to ask about her mother without upsetting him. There was no way for her to access her Farrah's work. She waited as Robbie stared thoughtfully back at her, taking his time to answer.
"We had other things going on," he finally said. "More important things than to worry about watching your mother on film. You are the most important thing in my life, Amy. I know I don't talk about your mother, but that's because everything good about her is sitting right in front of me. She made one movie worth its salt and was an extra on tons of television shows before her addiction consumed her.
"She could have gone far. But her greatest masterpiece, and mine, started and ended with you. That's all that matters."
Amy sniffed and swallowed back her first pang of emotion that she had felt in so long. No mood-stabilizing medication could stifle the giant hole in her stomach that she had never known was there until she heard Farrah Holt's voice. "I'm ready to go home, Pop."
"Me, too," he said. When he smiled at that moment, Amy truly saw him for the first time. He looked older somehow than the last time he had visited, just a week ago. The tufts of silver hair above his ears made him looked weathered and his eyes were sagging on the sides. As they rose to their feet, Amy watched as her usually light-stepping, relaxed and poised father grabbed her suitcase with a tired arm. His shoulders hunched forward as though he was terribly anxious. What had he suffered in the last seven days to make him look so unlike himself?
"Pop," she started as they walked towards the exit. Her paperwork had already been taken care of and they were free to go. "What's wrong? You don't look the same."
"Oh, don't you worry about your old man," he shooed her concern. "I'm just happy that you're finally coming back home with me." As they walked outside to the waiting town car idling at the curb, he spoke again. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," she said, not sure how else to answer him. She waited for him to ask her another question as the driver hopped out of the car, greeted her with a smile, and took the suitcase from Robbie. "I'm good, Pop."
"Heard from any of your old friends, lately?" he asked with a light tone and pointedly glanced at her head.
"No." Amy couldn't help feel a small ounce of guilt. She couldn't blame her father for asking such a seemingly ridiculous question—her hallucinations and fire-starting had been the reason she was in admitted in the first place. The remorse of causing years of anguish and the pain she had caused him threatened to overcome her. She turned to look over her shoulder at the facility, suddenly wondering if leaving was such a good idea. She had only been discharged for an hour and feelings were flying at her from every corner of the world. She was unsure of how to process them.
"Are you…are you sure?" He caught her eyes before quickly turning away, but Amy had seen enough in that quick flicker.
Robbie Fowler was afraid of his daughter.
"Come, boy," Amy commanded Shakespeare inside and they stared at each other for awhile in the silence. She suddenly missed Sheldon so much that her body physically ached. After another moment of sadness, she shook her head, ridding herself of the sensation of tears. Without thinking, her legs started to move and she found herself ascending the stairs, taking them two at a time. She reached her bathroom seconds later and stared at herself in the mirror.
Sheldon had made her feel things before in a short span of a few hours that she had never felt in her almost 30 years of being alive. Although her body felt animated and every nerve ending was shouting, begging for more, she was petrified. What if she relapsed because she wasn't taking her medication and she was with Sheldon when it happened? Amy couldn't bear to see him walk away from her after discovering her dark secret. She couldn't bear to see fear in his eyes as she had once seen in her father's. After a few seconds of deliberation, she had decided she had been adventurous enough. She opened the vanity mirror above the sink and reached for her medication, opened both bottles, and placed two pills on her tongue. She turned on the faucet and stuck her mouth under the stream, lapping a few ounces of water to wash down the medication.
She straightened out and looked at herself again in the mirror. She refused to be her own worst enemy any more.
"Haven't you been listening to me?" Penelope asked.
Amy gripped the sides of the sink and screwed her eyelids as tight as they could close. The water continued to run from the spout, bubbling as it seeped down the drain.
"It doesn't last, Amy."
"You won't last," Amy promised, her voice barely above a whisper. "You won't ruin this for me. I don't know who you are or what you want, but you're not Penelope. She is a real person. You aren't. It's impossible."
"We'll see."
Shakespeare whined and Amy only opened her eyes again when she felt his heavy tail thumping against her calve. She looked down at him and smiled reassuringly before she dared a glance at her surroundings. She was alone. Sighing, she turned off the faucet and switched off the light before she retreated to her bedroom, Shakespeare following closely behind.
The duvet on the mattress was still rumpled and Amy laid down on her stomach, inhaling Sheldon's scent, wrapping herself in it. She feared that the desire she had for him would wane overnight as the medication took its effect and entered her bloodstream, but it was a chance she had to take. Amy wanted to be well for Sheldon. She deserved a chance to be happy and live without fear.
She reached her arms out until her hand disappeared beneath the pillows and met with something crinkly. She grabbed it and pulled it to her and realized it was the map.
"Where did you come from?" she asked the object, twisting it in her hands. She looked over her shoulder at her dog who sat patiently on the ground, looking up at her expectantly. Rubbing her finger over her initials scribbled on the parchment, she went over Sheldon's explanation in her head again. He had thought he heard Shakespeare's tags jingling here in her room. It was entirely probable that perhaps he heard jingling from a room nearby. But he was drawn straight to her room.
If this map had been left for her here in this house, where could it have come from? She stood up from her bed and let her eyes sweep the room until they came to rest on her closet, tucked in the far east corner of the bedroom. She slowly walked towards it and as she got closer, she saw that the door was slightly ajar, not enough for a body to slip in, but enough so that she could see the daunting black of the space inside.
"Shakes, come," Amy called out and was joined a split second later by her faithful furry companion. He stood at rapt attention, lowering his head as she reached for the closet. She wasn't sure what she was so afraid of, of what she may find lurking inside, but her heart was pounding so hard she could taste the vibrations on her tongue. Finally, she drew in a sharp breath and grabbed the frame of the door and ripped it open.
The light from the bedroom filled the closet space and revealed to Amy absolutely nothing. She hadn't even gotten around to unpack all of her clothes and hang them inside, so the jackets and a few pairs of jeans hanging from the bar did little to hamper her view. She was about to close the door when she saw Shakespeare walk inside and sniff at a large box in the center of the closet.
"What the hell?" she whispered as a box she had not seen before came into view. It was open, the lid leaning against it. The box was filled with old photographs and other papers but she had to drag it out of the closet in order to see it in the proper light. Shakespeare was sniffing vigorously around the lid of the box and she picked it up, squinting to read the printed logo on the face of it.
"Sanford, Michaels and Berry," Amy read aloud before emitting a small gasp.
Rajesh's law firm.
A/N pt 2: I know, I threw a lot of crazy stuff at you! Keep an eye out for small hints I've dropped in this chapter. Mysteries will soon be brought to light…next chapter in the works ;]