Tend Towards

[W] Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

Entry for the CommunityInteractive Weekly Contest 11: In Between the Lines;;

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees in the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn. 

Darkness wrapped around Amelia Morton like a funeral shroud, and only the flicker of the moonlight in the mirror told her that she was still alive. She shouldn't have stayed here, she knew that now. She knew it with a certainty that filled her soul with dread. She should have gone home, stayed alone in the tiny shack that crouched above the city where she knew she would have been safe.

But she hadn't left. he had stayed because the roses lingered about her, almost suffocating her with their presence and only the breeze seemed to breathe fresh air to her.

"Fuck."

Jonas stirred on the bed, and raised himself onto his arms. His form was silhouetted in the silver light. He said her name, and the jump of her heartbeat did more to remind her that she was alive, and awake. 

The silence over them was stroked and coated by the sound of the breeze outside. Jonas got u; from the bed, and stood behind her. When he touched her arm with his hand, she felt herself nearly fall to pieces, like shattered glass.

All she wanted to do was stare at him, and sit there and listen to him tell her about where in the world he wanted to go, and feel her soul leave her when he said he wanted to take her with him. She didn't want to speak a word. She wanted to be the mirror that stared at him, cried in front him each morning, and painted him a portrait framed with roses.

Fuck. She repeated to herself, silently. Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

"Are you alright?" He asked. He stood so close to her, his chest pressing against her back so slightly that she was afraid he would feel her heartbeat. His hands curled around hers and he rested his head on her shoulder.

"I'm in love with you," she admitted. She wasn't supposed to be, but love was a stormy sea on a summer's eve. It started with the light summer wind, and soon she was borne away, by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.