shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's late afternoon when Shelley finds the headache has receded enough for her to sit up without too much discomfort. She's still fairly dizzy, and her head feels hot underneath chilled fingers, but she makes herself get out of bed anyhow.

Ten minutes under a hot shower spray leaves her feeling slightly more like herself, if 'herself' bears much resemblance to a half-drowned, redheaded kitten. But the girl gamely ties on a warm dressing gown, rubs halfheartedly at her hair to change it from sopping wet to just damp, and heads carefully downstairs, slippers flopping on each step.

Determined, she makes her way to the couch and sits, slightly rueful at how accomplished she now feels.

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"This is my home," Shelley whispers.

Her expression is one of misery tempered by determination. He will not make her wish- make her unhappy to be here.

"The only thing I hate about it is you."

A small shudder from Elan as her question dug up feelings he would rather not give voice or even thought. There were things that spawned so great a horror within Elan--latent thoughts--that were he to shine the light of consciousness on those dark corners, he would surely crumble to dust from the horror--the blatant, unchanging, ennui of his life and the possibility that this was, indeed, the end.

And Elan knew, somewhere, about the dangers of those thoughts, and had methodically avoided them, but Shelley was unearthing them.

"...The only thing here I love, or even have, really, is you."

"You don't love me," says Shelley, managing for the first time to keep something approximating calm. But she still can't meet his eyes, knows it, and so keeps her gaze on the floor.

"Y- you just need me while you're stuck here."

Leaning in closely, he kissed her chastely on the corner of her mouth. His voice was tender as he commented.

"I think I would know full and well if I loved someone, and rest assured that I do love you."

She turns her face away, sharp shoulders hunching in.

"But I don't love you," she says, as coldly as she can manage when she wants to shiver, or run far, far away.

"And anyway. I don't believe a word you say. So."

For a moment, there was no movement.

Nothing.

An austere silence.

Then Elan closed his eyes, and slowly rose from his seat beside her, taking his arm from around her shoulders.

He began to walk towards the kitchen. After a moment, he turned to look back at her. For a brief moment anger--but unable to maintain it, his look softened to a heartbroken hurt.

The kind of look that said "I love you anyway."

Shelley makes the mistake of looking up as he stands, and is caught when he turns back to look at her.

She should say something.

But apart from what she had just said - what she'd been trying to say for months, she will not take it back now - what is there to say?

She looks down again, cheeks flushing.

The door to the kitchen shuts with a click.

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