Smanie implacabili: Part IV
Ships: Arthur/Cobb, Arthur/Phillipa (one-sided), Eames/Phillipa
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He doesn't call.
A/N: Thank you again to my beta. May the shame of reading Inu Yasha fic long along ago one day wash away.
Part I| Part II| Part III| Part IV| Part V| Part VI
In March someone starts to hang up Eames’ cell instead of letting it ring through or go automatically to voicemail when she calls, and Phillipa knows he is back in the country. For a time she practices restraint. Once a day Phillipa calls his cell, hoping that he’ll pick up, and every day she is frustrated when someone hangs up on her.
Then she doesn’t call.
He doesn’t call either.
The week before her finals, she loses her last ounce of patience. She crams late into the night. Paintings and sculptures keep her mind off of him--keep her from remembering how he has rejected her. She has spent hours thinking of reasons why.
Arthur had said Eames was in love with her. If Arthur hadn’t been lying to her, then Eames had a strange way of expressing his love.
But as she studies, she can’t help but think of him. Everything seems to find a connection back to him. She sees a Renoir of a woman in an opera box and thinks back to laying in bed with Eames after they made love, listening to opera while Eames ran a hand in circles over her back, his hands warm and fingertips callused. Phillipa knows that Eames would have something clever to say about the works pictured in her book on Dadaism. She imagines him ranting about “Fountain,” and she can’t help but smile.
The worst comes when she imagines him admitting his love for her. They’re on the metro, in a vineyard, lazing on the beach, in Phillipa’s dreams. A stray lock of hair falls in her eyes and Eames tucks it behind her ear. He traces his fingertips along the shell of her ear, down to her jaw, and up to her lips. Phillipa’s eyes are drawn to his lips. She watches him say it. She watches his lips form the words that tell her that he loves over. Everything changes in that moment. Phillipa knows that this is love. That it is true. That the search is over.
She has to remind herself that Eames isn’t there, and it has become plain that he doesn’t want to be.
It becomes more distracting as she continues to study. When she can’t see a male nude without thinking of him, she closes her textbook and retrieves the key to his apartment from where she hid it in her make-up bag.
The streets are empty. She walks to clear her head and think about what she will say when she sees him again. Nothing comes to mind. There isn’t much to say.
You left me alone.
I didn’t deserve to be left alone.
Don’t you love me?
If you really love me, you wouldn’t do this.
Why are you doing this?
It should have never gone this far, but it has. Phillipa isn’t sure that she loves him, she’s never been in love, but she wants him. She doesn’t want him to look at anyone else the way he has looked at her.
For a moment, Phillipa wonders if there might be another woman, but she doesn’t want to consider the possibility.
All the lights are off in his apartment when she enters. Only the faint light of the streetlamps finds its way in through the windows. Phillipa lets her eyes adjust to the light before making her way across the main room.
Eames is asleep in bed. He is on the side he always takes when they sleep together. One of his arms is stretched out over the empty side of the bed.
He looks so serene. It pisses Phillipa off.
I wasn’t even his girlfriend, Phillipa reminds herself as she walks to the kitchen.
I was just using him.
She sets a pitcher in the sink and turns on the water.
He just told Arthur and Dad he’s in love with me.
She carries the pitcher across the main room and into the bedroom. Phillipa stands at Eames’ bedside, just watching him sleep.
This was just a con.
The water goes everywhere when she throws it. It splashes all over the bed and even drenches her sleeves. He is awake in an instant.
“What is wrong with you?” Eames asks. He is up out of the bed, using a dry corner to wipe some of the water off of his face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Many things, darling. None of which can be solved by throwing water on me.”
“You deserved it.”
“I’m sure I did,” he says, trying to keep his cool, but she can feel the anger catching in his voice.
Eames pushes past her to get to the wardrobe by the door. She watches him strip out of his wet pajama pants and towel his legs with them before dropping them on floor.
“Why won’t you take my calls?”
“Phillipa, I--”
She throws the pitcher at him and stalked out of the bedroom.
“Phillipa, stop.”
“No. And fuck you.”
The key she had stolen was still in her pocket. She fumbled as she pulled it out, dropping the key on the ground. Phillipa crouched to pick it up and so did Eames.
“I was only doing what was best for you, darling.”
“What’s that? Or was it just that you didn’t have the balls to tell me it was over? Did my father tell you to?”
She tried to pull away and let him have the key, but Eames wasn’t after the key, it seemed. He trapped her hand atop it.
“Your father said he thought we would make a good couple. Arthur thought it was amusing.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“It would never work, darling.”
Phillipa pulled her hand away and stood.
“Have a good life,” she said and walked out the door.
It will probably be a week between updates. School is busy.
Part V
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He doesn't call.
A/N: Thank you again to my beta. May the shame of reading Inu Yasha fic long along ago one day wash away.
Part I| Part II| Part III| Part IV| Part V| Part VI
In March someone starts to hang up Eames’ cell instead of letting it ring through or go automatically to voicemail when she calls, and Phillipa knows he is back in the country. For a time she practices restraint. Once a day Phillipa calls his cell, hoping that he’ll pick up, and every day she is frustrated when someone hangs up on her.
Then she doesn’t call.
He doesn’t call either.
The week before her finals, she loses her last ounce of patience. She crams late into the night. Paintings and sculptures keep her mind off of him--keep her from remembering how he has rejected her. She has spent hours thinking of reasons why.
Arthur had said Eames was in love with her. If Arthur hadn’t been lying to her, then Eames had a strange way of expressing his love.
But as she studies, she can’t help but think of him. Everything seems to find a connection back to him. She sees a Renoir of a woman in an opera box and thinks back to laying in bed with Eames after they made love, listening to opera while Eames ran a hand in circles over her back, his hands warm and fingertips callused. Phillipa knows that Eames would have something clever to say about the works pictured in her book on Dadaism. She imagines him ranting about “Fountain,” and she can’t help but smile.
The worst comes when she imagines him admitting his love for her. They’re on the metro, in a vineyard, lazing on the beach, in Phillipa’s dreams. A stray lock of hair falls in her eyes and Eames tucks it behind her ear. He traces his fingertips along the shell of her ear, down to her jaw, and up to her lips. Phillipa’s eyes are drawn to his lips. She watches him say it. She watches his lips form the words that tell her that he loves over. Everything changes in that moment. Phillipa knows that this is love. That it is true. That the search is over.
She has to remind herself that Eames isn’t there, and it has become plain that he doesn’t want to be.
It becomes more distracting as she continues to study. When she can’t see a male nude without thinking of him, she closes her textbook and retrieves the key to his apartment from where she hid it in her make-up bag.
The streets are empty. She walks to clear her head and think about what she will say when she sees him again. Nothing comes to mind. There isn’t much to say.
You left me alone.
I didn’t deserve to be left alone.
Don’t you love me?
If you really love me, you wouldn’t do this.
Why are you doing this?
It should have never gone this far, but it has. Phillipa isn’t sure that she loves him, she’s never been in love, but she wants him. She doesn’t want him to look at anyone else the way he has looked at her.
For a moment, Phillipa wonders if there might be another woman, but she doesn’t want to consider the possibility.
All the lights are off in his apartment when she enters. Only the faint light of the streetlamps finds its way in through the windows. Phillipa lets her eyes adjust to the light before making her way across the main room.
Eames is asleep in bed. He is on the side he always takes when they sleep together. One of his arms is stretched out over the empty side of the bed.
He looks so serene. It pisses Phillipa off.
I wasn’t even his girlfriend, Phillipa reminds herself as she walks to the kitchen.
I was just using him.
She sets a pitcher in the sink and turns on the water.
He just told Arthur and Dad he’s in love with me.
She carries the pitcher across the main room and into the bedroom. Phillipa stands at Eames’ bedside, just watching him sleep.
This was just a con.
The water goes everywhere when she throws it. It splashes all over the bed and even drenches her sleeves. He is awake in an instant.
“What is wrong with you?” Eames asks. He is up out of the bed, using a dry corner to wipe some of the water off of his face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Many things, darling. None of which can be solved by throwing water on me.”
“You deserved it.”
“I’m sure I did,” he says, trying to keep his cool, but she can feel the anger catching in his voice.
Eames pushes past her to get to the wardrobe by the door. She watches him strip out of his wet pajama pants and towel his legs with them before dropping them on floor.
“Why won’t you take my calls?”
“Phillipa, I--”
She throws the pitcher at him and stalked out of the bedroom.
“Phillipa, stop.”
“No. And fuck you.”
The key she had stolen was still in her pocket. She fumbled as she pulled it out, dropping the key on the ground. Phillipa crouched to pick it up and so did Eames.
“I was only doing what was best for you, darling.”
“What’s that? Or was it just that you didn’t have the balls to tell me it was over? Did my father tell you to?”
She tried to pull away and let him have the key, but Eames wasn’t after the key, it seemed. He trapped her hand atop it.
“Your father said he thought we would make a good couple. Arthur thought it was amusing.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“It would never work, darling.”
Phillipa pulled her hand away and stood.
“Have a good life,” she said and walked out the door.
It will probably be a week between updates. School is busy.
Part V