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| Lover's Folly | |
| By Alexis.G | ||||||||||
| 08 September 2008 | ||||||||||
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Romance with a side serving of angst. Reviews appreciated. Two halves that when pieced together, didn’t quite fit to make a whole. “You are cruel, horrible and above all else, a compulsive liar.” Vivienne slowly tilted her head up, not surprised by Christopher’s sudden outburst. Studiously peering from beneath dark lowered lashes, she noted his hands shaking on the chair opposite, white knuckled and dripping with sweat. He was hunched, his back buckled as though he’d been punched, a stark departure from the regal bearing he usually imitated. Really, it had been obvious all afternoon that there was something on his mind as he flipped through book after book, not really pausing to read a word. She’d known him so long that certainty had bled patience. He would burst sooner or later, frustrated by his own hesitation. Now the dam was open and the field flooded. She sighed. Bottling his feelings up for so long about anything was really devastating for one such as Christopher. “I’d no idea I was so horrible.” She drawled, hoping he would be calmed by the familiarity of her deadpan response. “Really Christopher, I can change.” Though she considered herself absolutely nonchalant in all matters, she had to admit to the shockwave that burst through her body as he responded, “And what if I don’t want you to change?” His voice was hoarse, sensitive from the effort of restraining tears, mingled with boyish timidity. Footsteps just as tentative as he took a few steps forward, wavering. She waited for his laughter, a sound to cut through the tension. Nothing. Just brown eyes swimming, no drowning, in a sea of desperation, as though she held the answer. She idly wondered why anyone would think to turn to her of all people for answers. Even she knew she was edging towards the wrong side of brilliance, and for Vivienne to admit such a thing was no mean task. She was reluctant to admit to any faults, any breaks in the sophisticated façade she’d constructed. Perfection marred by that which itself is made of; Vivienne. When Christopher gazed upon her, he saw past the outer barriers she’d cultivated; the glorious mane of hair crowning her delicate heart shaped face, the skin deceptively soft, rose bud lips set permanently in a pout; to see the more tainted inner image. And Vivienne loved him because he never looked away. She raised one eyebrow, “Out of all people, you should be the one most welcoming of any change to my personality. You seem to forget my dear, what I am capable of.” Not that she ever could. Vivienne always felt a breath away from inflicting injury on those around her, her spiteful side forcibly restrained though slinking on the edges of her vision. She’d remember in later years the generosity Christopher had shown, in what must have been his defining moment. He took her fine boned hands in his, soft hands held in such a harsh embrace. “Love holds many capabilities, the greatest of which is forgiveness. And I love you, so much that I forgive you things you’d never dream to forgive yourself.” This was all too much. Much more than she could possibly take. Vivienne vainly endeavored to keep her hands from shaking as she pulled out a cigarette from its gilded case, though she was sure her fingers must have gone more pallid than usual at his declaration. She didn’t owe shock to the revelation that he loved her. That was something she’d always been sure of, a law of nature as certain as the sun rising in the morning and setting at nightfall. Something she was always dimly aware of, but never gave much thought to. “I have no idea why I love you. This wretched devotion has been a part of me as long as I can remember and that’s the only assurance I can give you that it shall last forever…” He trailed off. But never had she expected he’d actually see fit to voice his ardor. Surely he knew that by loving her he’d damn himself? But oh how tempting it was to hold onto him as she sunk, to drag him down to the depths with her! She could almost see peace in leaving this world, his face the last and best image whispering hints of what beauty the world might have held. The right thing is so rarely the good thing to do, the easiest so often the cruelest of all. Abandoning her cigarette to the other hand, Vivienne ran one smooth finger along his face, her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. He steeled himself as he inwardly cringed, ambivalent at her touch. She was overwhelming, a vision of beauty rank with the smell of smoke. He was dimly aware of the hand coming to a rest, as that familiar haughty voice made its divine presence known. “Such pretty words, and so passionately spoken.” The brief soaring hope in the pit of his stomach plummeted as sharp fingernails dug into his jaw. Still smiling coyly as he winced, Vivienne continued. “But tell me, how long have you been practicing your passion, pretty boy?” And just like that, her hand was gone. She’d turned towards the window, presumably to stare into the torrid and murky depths of the lake, her finger trailing blood on the windowsill as she traced in the dust. “And oh, what a blessed assurance you give. You love me now, so you’ll love me always?” She laughed softly, and he imagined smoke filtering out from behind grand marble statues. “Just tell me now. Tell me I’m unwanted. Tell me that you don’t love me and you never will. Please, so that I may finally crush my treacherous instincts that scream that behind the mockery, Vivienne Merleton is as devoted to me as I am to her. That the impetus of the act is simply a girl who loves a boy, now and forever.” Forever. What a strange thought, when by seventeen their lives were already slipping away. Death didn’t care for their brilliance, or their talent, who they loved or who they hated. They were ephemeral, transient. Together they were a thousandth of a second in a stage production by an unknown director. And yet… She clenched the necklace he’d given her, weighing her down as though it were made of lead, and thought of summers spent running a muck, feet bare as the two of them ran underneath the stately trees. A passing moment in time that only the two of them could possibly remember, but which made all of the difference to her. She bit down hard on her lip, casting over all of the options in her mind, though finding no alternative final solution. “And if I tell you my piece, you swear you will take me by my word? You have already questioned the validity of my remarks once today and on countless others.” Her lips were red and curled in distain, yet he still wanted to kiss her. This was madness, he knew. But could there be love without madness? “This is no act. Today everything is real; whatever I say is the absolute truth. You have the power to crush me with those delicate little fingers of yours or remodel my life into something for once resembling art. Although it is true that knowing you has already molded me into the man I have become. The truth is all I beg of you, Vivienne.” Her lips were pressed tightly together now, and he dimly realised that her hair, though painstakingly coiffed, was subject to a steady evacuation of strays. “Oh, to see how far the mighty have fallen, to rest at my feet. Tell me, why should I, Vivienne Merleton love one such as you? Whilst I admit that your dogged devotion is almost as endearing as it is pathetic, the almost is the imperative in this instance. No, Vivienne Merleton does not love you, nor could she ever.” Funny how the sound of his heart breaking was not muted by the blood rushing wild in his veins; flagrant disbelief warring with grim resignation. “Nor could she love anyone, not even herself. I would make a good husband and father. Think on it. Think of what we could have. Can you not see past your pride? Your ambition?” Unwillingly, she did imagine. She imagined the estate they would have shared together, the children they would have had together and in all, the lives they would have lived together. Always together. She shook her head slowly; she’d taken advantage of folly enough times before in others that she could just as easily see it in herself. “It is not pride nor misplaced ambition that prevents that absurd vision of yours from fruition. Rather, the truth you begged of me but five minutes ago.” The door slammed, and the beautiful world outside of the library and the haunted manor stole true love away from her. Vivienne moved silently throughout the room, and as she dusted and reorganized the books, she fancied the lump in her throat disappearing with as the weight on her neck was lessened, the necklace hidden behind the encyclopedias as it was. She stroked the hollow of her neck, mourning the absence of that beauty. All for the best, she knew. But oh, why did she for once do the right thing, when the right thing to do hurt as much as she’d always suspected it would? For him. Always, her everything. For him. After carefully securing a few stray hairs back, she emerged from the library and walked the twisted hallways once more.
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