Pretty metaphor heavy, this one. I'm quite proud of it :)
As I mentioned, this is an unintentional companion to last chapter - I wrote both separately, went back and read them, and yeah...
Thanks go to everyone who reviewed/favourite/followed, especially saved240307 for the 70ish prompts! Should be interesting *rubs hands together gleefully*
For you, the reader. Without you, this would be nothing.
I doubt Marlowe is currently revising for his GCSEs. I don't own anything you recognise.
He wrote them, she read them; that's how it worked. Her bedside table was a pile of Nikki Heats, propped against one of his old promotional mugs, taking pride of place next to her father's watch and mother's ring. Every time he caught sight of the mini-shrine, as he liked to call it, his heart squeezed a little with the sheer amount of adoration he had for the beautiful woman currently snuffling quietly into her pillow, arms thrown out wide across the bed and pinning him to the mattress.
He often compared her to a book.
She was her own genre, a mystery to everyone.
Her blurb read "Dangerous woman with a gun, beware of extreme emotions and a tough exterior."
The reviews listed on her cover were "Youngest Woman in the NYPD to Make Detective – a must read"; "Written with real finesse. A credit to the author"; "An emotional rollercoaster with unexpected twists throughout."
From the day he met her, she had captured his attention, much like the posters advertising signings in the corner bookshop. It had been a struggle to get through the first couple of chapters, the complex plot not yet apparent, but he had fought past the cheesy characters and the stolen one-liners to find that he could read her more easily than anticipated.
"Under most circumstances, you should not be here. Most smart good-looking women become lawyers, not cops. You're not bridge-and-tunnel, no trace of the boroughs when you talk, so that means Manhattan, and that means money. You went to college, probably a pretty good one, you had options – yeah, you had lots of options, better options, more socially acceptable options; and you still chose this. That tells me that something happened. Not to you – you're wounded, but you're not that wounded. No, it was somebody you cared about. It was someone you loved. And you probably could've lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught."
She had been a challenge. Past tense. Now, he was nearing the end of the Chronicles of Beckett to find the conclusion revealed and her open and receptive to his tentative turns of the page.
They were reaching their happy ending.
Thoughts?
Reviews are love - thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, particularly those who have reviewed EACH CHAPTER BECAUSE THEY ARE SO AWESOME.
Next chapter, we meet the future Castles...it's a long chapter folks. Over a thousand words. Wouldn't want to miss that, would you? ;)
*throws Jaffa cakes*
~wolfergirl
