17; something in the way.
Something In The Way.
green light (stoplight system.)
concerning: Roger Collins, Victoria Winters.
735. words; complete.
It's the way Victoria smiles at him in the morning. It's demure and nothing more than a polite greeting, and Roger knows this. But he can't help but wonder if there's something deeper there. For all of her naivety, Vicki is intuitive, and the way she looks at him makes him second-guess his intentions. She smiles that way and looks that way at everyone, but to Roger, it's what makes the morning, and he can't help but stare transfixed for a moment too long. He knows she probably noticed. He hopes she didn't. She says nothing.
It's the way Victoria glares at him and turns her back before storming out of the room. She's infuriated. He's infuriated. Neither of them will back down. They're both stubborn and it's a ritual they've been through many times. Roger knows it's because of some idiotic comment he's made, but she's the one twisting the meaning of his words. Isn't she? She has to be. Roger, still fuming, stops himself from stalking out after her.
It's the way Victoria gasps when Roger's hand lingers too long on her shoulder. She feels his eyes burning into her and she turns as though startled, even though it's something else they've been through countless times before. Their eyes meet and the moment grows so tense that Vicki has to turn away. She takes a deep breath. Roger has the speech, the apology, prepared in his mind, but he can't tell her. He can't tell her how she makes him feel; it's completely indescribable and the words he's prepared sound sheepish, cheap, and manufactured in comparison. But she forgives him - at least, she says she does, and that's all he's looking for.
It's the way Victoria's hair spills over the pillow as she sleeps soundly, the moonlight from her window pouring through and illuminating part of her face. Roger tells himself that he's only checking to make sure she's all right - she's called out for help in the night more than once, after all, and if she didn't want anyone there, she wouldn't have left her door slightly ajar. He knows that he's overstayed his welcome, that he shouldn't be there at all, that if she wakes up now she'll be far less than pleased, but Roger can't bring himself to look away from her. His eyes follow what he can make out of her outline under the sheets before fixing on her face again, but she stirs. Her eyes flutter open, but Roger's already gone.
It's the way Victoria can't look him in the eye when she tells him that she's getting married. To Burke Devlin. Roger's the last to know - he's always the last to know, and he tries his best to force a smile and congratulate her before throwing back a drink. He'll need a few more of those before the night's out - he can feel it. She's nervous and she can feel the animosity, but she doesn't ask if he's all right. She knows the answer she'll get, and she knows how to read between the lines. She knows the real answer. Besides, Vicki's not looking for his blessing; he has no control over her, and he knows this. The next morning, he's not over it and he has a hangover and it's that much harder for him to pretend that the world isn't crashing down around him - his own personal Armageddon.
It's the way Victoria's mood suddenly turns wistful and sad. Burke Devlin is dead. Roger knows this and he can't help but feel smug about it, as though it's revenge - even though he had no influence on that particular turn of events. He says sympathetic things, but he can't bring himself to feel pity toward her, thinking that maybe now she'll come to her senses and realize that Devlin was never worth it in the first place. Roger's got that smirk on his face when he sees her the next morning, but her smile is hesitant and slight. It's not what he was expecting and it surprises and troubles him. The smile fades and Victoria's mood darkens once more before she hurries out of the kitchen with her coffee cup. Roger's eyes follow her, but he says nothing. He knows he has to give her time. He knows that, in this case, even time may not help. He won't admit it.
green light (stoplight system.)
concerning: Roger Collins, Victoria Winters.
735. words; complete.
It's the way Victoria smiles at him in the morning. It's demure and nothing more than a polite greeting, and Roger knows this. But he can't help but wonder if there's something deeper there. For all of her naivety, Vicki is intuitive, and the way she looks at him makes him second-guess his intentions. She smiles that way and looks that way at everyone, but to Roger, it's what makes the morning, and he can't help but stare transfixed for a moment too long. He knows she probably noticed. He hopes she didn't. She says nothing.
It's the way Victoria glares at him and turns her back before storming out of the room. She's infuriated. He's infuriated. Neither of them will back down. They're both stubborn and it's a ritual they've been through many times. Roger knows it's because of some idiotic comment he's made, but she's the one twisting the meaning of his words. Isn't she? She has to be. Roger, still fuming, stops himself from stalking out after her.
It's the way Victoria gasps when Roger's hand lingers too long on her shoulder. She feels his eyes burning into her and she turns as though startled, even though it's something else they've been through countless times before. Their eyes meet and the moment grows so tense that Vicki has to turn away. She takes a deep breath. Roger has the speech, the apology, prepared in his mind, but he can't tell her. He can't tell her how she makes him feel; it's completely indescribable and the words he's prepared sound sheepish, cheap, and manufactured in comparison. But she forgives him - at least, she says she does, and that's all he's looking for.
It's the way Victoria's hair spills over the pillow as she sleeps soundly, the moonlight from her window pouring through and illuminating part of her face. Roger tells himself that he's only checking to make sure she's all right - she's called out for help in the night more than once, after all, and if she didn't want anyone there, she wouldn't have left her door slightly ajar. He knows that he's overstayed his welcome, that he shouldn't be there at all, that if she wakes up now she'll be far less than pleased, but Roger can't bring himself to look away from her. His eyes follow what he can make out of her outline under the sheets before fixing on her face again, but she stirs. Her eyes flutter open, but Roger's already gone.
It's the way Victoria can't look him in the eye when she tells him that she's getting married. To Burke Devlin. Roger's the last to know - he's always the last to know, and he tries his best to force a smile and congratulate her before throwing back a drink. He'll need a few more of those before the night's out - he can feel it. She's nervous and she can feel the animosity, but she doesn't ask if he's all right. She knows the answer she'll get, and she knows how to read between the lines. She knows the real answer. Besides, Vicki's not looking for his blessing; he has no control over her, and he knows this. The next morning, he's not over it and he has a hangover and it's that much harder for him to pretend that the world isn't crashing down around him - his own personal Armageddon.
It's the way Victoria's mood suddenly turns wistful and sad. Burke Devlin is dead. Roger knows this and he can't help but feel smug about it, as though it's revenge - even though he had no influence on that particular turn of events. He says sympathetic things, but he can't bring himself to feel pity toward her, thinking that maybe now she'll come to her senses and realize that Devlin was never worth it in the first place. Roger's got that smirk on his face when he sees her the next morning, but her smile is hesitant and slight. It's not what he was expecting and it surprises and troubles him. The smile fades and Victoria's mood darkens once more before she hurries out of the kitchen with her coffee cup. Roger's eyes follow her, but he says nothing. He knows he has to give her time. He knows that, in this case, even time may not help. He won't admit it.