I Don't Believe...
title: I Don't Believe...
warnings: eh, nothing really, just playing around...
notes: unfinished, because there will always be something more.
first draft 15.01.08
"I don't believe in 'I love you.'"
The girl's words fall into the silence, like drops of crystal destined to shatter. Her companion glanced at her, perched on his kitchen's island. Elizabeth made a pretty picture, her petite frame engulfed by his oversized shirt and her bare legs dangling from the edge. She was staring at him, mahogany eyes examining him as he set the cutting board and the knife nexxt to her before turning to pull a colander full of vegetables from the sink. He set himself next to her, chopping vegetables under her scrutiny. Their silence was punctuated by his rhythmic chopping, her legs slowly starting to swing in a quiet counter b eat until he finished. He glanced at her and smiled.
"Your eyes are tearing." He cupped her face, thumb caressing her cheek.
"It's the onions." Her eyes slipped closed as she turned her face into his hand.
"I know." He glanced at her--the bird in his hand--then released her and stepped away. He walked away, suddenly conscious of how he was in nothing but pyjama pants, its matching shirt barely covering Elizabeth's thighs. He grabbed a wok from the hanging rack and set it up on the stove, his back to the girl. There were five feet between them, but it might as well have been a continent. "So, how is Jeremy?"
He poured oil into the pan and turned on the flame. As the oil heated, he walked around the island to the refridgerator, leaving the girl in her stunned silence as he circled around again, arranging his ingredients next to the stove. A flick of a switch and the hood turned on, almost soundles, and a twist of his wrist and the ginger landed in the pan.
"He's fine," her voice was soft over the sizzle of ingreedients being tossed in efficient motions of his arms; wrists; hands. Unspoken is that she talked to Jeremy before coming to him. She will not apologize for visiting her boyfriend, first. It's okay, he probably won't tell Jessica when he sees his girl. "How's Jess, still with her?"
He drops the fish into the pan, no wince on his face when oil splatters onto his chest and arms. There is no such thing as physical pain when they are together; the marks on her neck and the scratches on his back seem to burn red as a reminder. The scent of curry and fish waft around the kitchen as he thinks about how to phrase his response. He can feel her confusion rising as she watches him cook, anxious energy coalescing in her body and translating into the tapping of her fingers on the granite of his countertop.
"B.B.?" He jerks at the unexpected sound of her voice, then relaxes into the feel of her arms wrapping around him and her forehead resting in the middle of his back.
"Sorry, Liz." He states after a moment, bringing one of her hands to his lips. She laughs, silvery and genuine behind him. "I got distracted by the food."
"I could tell."
She brushes a feathery kiss on a shoulder blade, releasing him to pad back to the island. He hears her opening a cupboard, the sound of porcelain distinct in his ears. Bryant knows that if he turned around, he would be treated to the sight of the petite girl's long legs, exposed by the raised hem of his shirt as she pulls plates and mugs from the low cupboard. He knows, because he has seen it before, and allowed himself to become distracted in her and consigning himself to hours of struggling with the charcoal in his pans. This time, he forces himself to concentrate more fully on the wok as she moves around behind him, eventually setting plates with preplaced rice on the counter and collecting the knife, cutting board, and fish bowl to wash at the sink. He adds the last of the vegetables as she does this.
"Jess wants to get married." He only felt her pause because he expected it.
"It's about time," she replies shakily as he stires the dish absentmindedly and lowers the flame. "I mean, you two have been together off-and-on since what, high school?"
They knew each other first, but he knows better than to mention that. Instead, he sets his stirring spoon to the side and catches her around the waist. She looks up at him, eyes wild and panicked. She reads the apologies and pleas in his eyes and drops her head to his chest. His arms were warm around her, her breath light on his skin, and her hands half-tucked into his pockets. It was a pose they had taken hundreds, maybe even thousands of times.
warnings: eh, nothing really, just playing around...
notes: unfinished, because there will always be something more.
first draft 15.01.08
"I don't believe in 'I love you.'"
The girl's words fall into the silence, like drops of crystal destined to shatter. Her companion glanced at her, perched on his kitchen's island. Elizabeth made a pretty picture, her petite frame engulfed by his oversized shirt and her bare legs dangling from the edge. She was staring at him, mahogany eyes examining him as he set the cutting board and the knife nexxt to her before turning to pull a colander full of vegetables from the sink. He set himself next to her, chopping vegetables under her scrutiny. Their silence was punctuated by his rhythmic chopping, her legs slowly starting to swing in a quiet counter b eat until he finished. He glanced at her and smiled.
"Your eyes are tearing." He cupped her face, thumb caressing her cheek.
"It's the onions." Her eyes slipped closed as she turned her face into his hand.
"I know." He glanced at her--the bird in his hand--then released her and stepped away. He walked away, suddenly conscious of how he was in nothing but pyjama pants, its matching shirt barely covering Elizabeth's thighs. He grabbed a wok from the hanging rack and set it up on the stove, his back to the girl. There were five feet between them, but it might as well have been a continent. "So, how is Jeremy?"
He poured oil into the pan and turned on the flame. As the oil heated, he walked around the island to the refridgerator, leaving the girl in her stunned silence as he circled around again, arranging his ingredients next to the stove. A flick of a switch and the hood turned on, almost soundles, and a twist of his wrist and the ginger landed in the pan.
"He's fine," her voice was soft over the sizzle of ingreedients being tossed in efficient motions of his arms; wrists; hands. Unspoken is that she talked to Jeremy before coming to him. She will not apologize for visiting her boyfriend, first. It's okay, he probably won't tell Jessica when he sees his girl. "How's Jess, still with her?"
He drops the fish into the pan, no wince on his face when oil splatters onto his chest and arms. There is no such thing as physical pain when they are together; the marks on her neck and the scratches on his back seem to burn red as a reminder. The scent of curry and fish waft around the kitchen as he thinks about how to phrase his response. He can feel her confusion rising as she watches him cook, anxious energy coalescing in her body and translating into the tapping of her fingers on the granite of his countertop.
"B.B.?" He jerks at the unexpected sound of her voice, then relaxes into the feel of her arms wrapping around him and her forehead resting in the middle of his back.
"Sorry, Liz." He states after a moment, bringing one of her hands to his lips. She laughs, silvery and genuine behind him. "I got distracted by the food."
"I could tell."
She brushes a feathery kiss on a shoulder blade, releasing him to pad back to the island. He hears her opening a cupboard, the sound of porcelain distinct in his ears. Bryant knows that if he turned around, he would be treated to the sight of the petite girl's long legs, exposed by the raised hem of his shirt as she pulls plates and mugs from the low cupboard. He knows, because he has seen it before, and allowed himself to become distracted in her and consigning himself to hours of struggling with the charcoal in his pans. This time, he forces himself to concentrate more fully on the wok as she moves around behind him, eventually setting plates with preplaced rice on the counter and collecting the knife, cutting board, and fish bowl to wash at the sink. He adds the last of the vegetables as she does this.
"Jess wants to get married." He only felt her pause because he expected it.
"It's about time," she replies shakily as he stires the dish absentmindedly and lowers the flame. "I mean, you two have been together off-and-on since what, high school?"
They knew each other first, but he knows better than to mention that. Instead, he sets his stirring spoon to the side and catches her around the waist. She looks up at him, eyes wild and panicked. She reads the apologies and pleas in his eyes and drops her head to his chest. His arms were warm around her, her breath light on his skin, and her hands half-tucked into his pockets. It was a pose they had taken hundreds, maybe even thousands of times.