Thomas Sinew Pulled The Trigger

Peacocking Jigsaw Puzzles

1) I finally downloaded Microsoft word so the formatting will look a bit different

2) This is a short chapter, but I wanted to give a little background on Stéphanie before moving any further

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                                                                Peacocking Jigsaw Puzzles

        When one finds themselves in an intensely or acutely difficult situation, it is only natural to feel anxiety. Will you stay or run? Fight or flight? Has the room suddenly been layered in molten lava, thickening into tar and excreting chest-itching fumes? The action one will income obviously depends not singularly on the situation, but an entendre involving the person as well. Stéphanie de Rose has lived through enough compromising experiences to understand this concept, that action is no less spontaneous than the mind. She understands—faced with the hard times of being poor, of having nothing to eat, sleeping with one size too small jeans and black tank top, barren of any coverage to her feminine parts—she understands what a person will say or do to make situations seem less horrible than they appear, albeit a self-induced illusion.

        Only at a respectably ripened age of twenty-five, did Stéphanie abandon said illusion and finally start her life; no more knives, thieves, and tricks.

        Except, when Stéphanie excused herself from her family back in San Diego, none of her epiphanies struck them as important or memory worthy; they let her leave, never said a word when she called a cab and rode herself to the airport. Everyone: Père, Mère, Sœur, Frère: flashed their pearly whites, smoothed back their gelled hair, patted wrinkles from finely starched clothes, and blocked the doorway to prevent reentry.

        Stéphanie had made up her mind. She wouldn't be allowed back in that house.

        These days she isn't so bitter now that the betrayal has worn off, nothing to be associated with but freshly baked muffins and cakes, warming up her home like a personal patisserie. Sa chien aussi, mais Chestnut n'est pas très intéressant. As for the rest of her life, a supremely complex jigsaw puzzles she has yet to patch together, Stéphanie is waiting for the right piece to come along and fill another space.

        Her neighbor, monsieur Alec Sinew, blinded her from the corner of her peripheral, peacocking the most magnificent of blues and golds and browns; such beautiful colors that are not at all blended.

        But could be.

        "It's only the day after Thanksgiving, Alec...where's your family?" She seats herself comfortably next to the omega, placing two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table to cool; he says nothing as her finely manicured fingers brush lightly, almost intimately, over his jaw. Five ticks of the clock pass in silence before his mouth ticks the slightest inch.

        "I feel like there is something in my chest...something wrapped around my heart, making it hard to really understand what's happening—what's happened."

        "How did this object manifest in the first place?"

        Alec gives himself time to think; really think. He has a crazy idea that maybe, whatever has been choking him since earlier this afternoon, is only noticeable now because there is nothing to distract him from feeling it any longer. Ironic, considering that chilly bones and numb lips are the only thing that he is actually aware of. But everything else...if someone asked Alec to write a summary of events from two nights ago leading up to now, sitting in Stéphanie's living room, the most you would get from him could be compared to abused paints on a canvas.

        Inept.

        "I don't know." He answers. The steam from their mugs has condensed into a thin trail; Stéphanie has a lot of patience and clearly waited. Gave him time to think.

        "The heart is a very sensitive organ, mon ami. It's compromised with emotions, blood, texture. But I have a feeling," Alec meets her gaze, "that it is broken. Can you smile?" Obviously not. "Can you frown?" Where is she going with this? "You look like you've seen a ghost, Alec. Have you seen one?"

        "No, but I- " created one.

        "The wedding band." She presses on. "It's gone. Your skin isn't colored with little Thomas' paints anymore, like it always is. You smell like—like...."

        His heart.

        His heart, his heart, his heart. Fuck, it's pounding out of his ribcage, threateningly pulling itself loose and crawling up his throat. He feels it, it hurts, he can't breathe because his heart is literally in his throat and he's shaking and it's all coming back to him and he can hear something, someone; hears the laughter of a little boy and God, his mind is telling him to listen but his heart says stop.

        It slides back down with ease; the organ is back in its proper place, pumping blood like nothing happened. Alec feels a pleasant warmth in his bones, feels exactly what he needs himself to be.

        "Daddy, please!"

        Numb.

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So what do you think of Stéphanie? I haven't given her much of a personality yet, but based on her background and intimate knowledge of the mind, how do you feel about Stéphanie in general?