Traveling to Guadalajara ...
Elijah had proposed that the condo built on your behalf would be "home." A place to rest your wings, strayed and fatigued by flight – from one city, from one seminar, to the next.
Paris. Detroit. Rome. Detroit. Moscow. Detroit.
"Home" was nothing but a layover.
The honeymoon had been magical. A personal dresser to stylize both of you to Paris's sky-high fashion standards. A translator, security staff, guide. You and Elijah had to apply very little effort into anything other than just living in the moment, each moment, each step taken in the city of love.
You'd kissed in the rain underneath an umbrella in front of the Eiffel Tower. Had brought snarky jokes to a whisper when observing centuries-old art in The Louvre. Observed and memorized every inch of Notre-Dame, wishing you'd been able to see the original tower before the fire.
The recreation was amazing, nonetheless...most of the original building still stood. France took pride in the preservation of history, and just as much in the revival of history lost to an unfortunate accident.
The food had been transcendent, as had the wine, which never seemed to stop flowing...
But out of all the marvels and unexplainable emotions invoked by out-of-body experiences, there was one night that held you hostage.
The night where you'd spent an unreasonable amount of time on your makeup, in the bathroom, wearing white lingerie made of handcrafted lace that was custom fit to your body. Painted on your flesh by a grand artist with tape measures and needles rather than brushes and oils.
The thunderstorms had been fierce, your itinerary canceled or rescheduled...and once you were satisfied with how you looked, you put your compact down. Uncrossed your legs, adorned in white stockings, standing from the plush ottoman resting on marble floors.
You ran your hands along the beaded corset that'd molded to your frame. Observed each hairspray curl left perfectly round in your hair, and the faint smell of perfume. Gave yourself a smile, and a nod. Waited for room service to leave, as you'd ordered wine and fruits.
When you left that room, when your heels left the hard floors and thudded on the carpet – not too far from the wedding itself, Elijah was frozen.
That morning, that afternoon, that night, when he'd regained composure, when he started moving again...
He didn't stop.
"Sirvame un trago; hit me."
A woman two barstools down from you sat, dropping her suitcase next to her with tired eyes. The barman simply smiled, which she returned.
"Por supuesto, de immediato; of course, right away." He nodded, turning to fill a shot glass with tequila.
You leaned your cheek into the palm of your hand, fingers curled and tucked away. This trip to Mexico was proving to be not so different from Rome or Moscow.
Elijah talking about the patents for the AI software being used, and doing his best to sell them to investors...you, waiting somewhere, talking to the other women who didn't matter, as if you were all children that were sent to entertain themselves. Moscow, at least, provided a show. Elijah fighting with Russian soldiers to prove his "tenacity" to the Russian prime minister was an interesting change of pace.
In Guadalajara, you'd escaped the flock. Had nothing else to contribute to a room full of women who spoke to each other, ignoring you altogether.
This woman, dressed in a silk blouse with cutoff sleeves, dress pants, and flats, seemed to have her own agenda. One that did not involve fanning her feathers in a circle of her dress and jewelry-wearing counterparts. The two of you shared that notion.
YOU ARE READING
Natural Selection (Elijah Kamski x Reader)
FanfictionYou were prepared to die for what you believed in, but whether or not you were ready to live for it again was a different question entirely. Elijah never asked. He made that decision for you, with unexpected help. Confused as to what went wrong, you...
