20; the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste
The Sweetest of Words Have the Bitterest Taste.
yellow light (stoplight system.)
concerning: Roger Collins, Victoria Winters.
657 words; complete.
Roger Collins is still uncomfortable with accepting defeat. It manages to present itself in the oddest of ways: in his posture, his speech patterns, the way he glares at Victoria from across the room. He's shown himself to be even more abrasive than usual, picking fights only to walk away from them. He's been adamant about having the last word before, but it's now become completely out of proportion.
Victoria tries not to show it, but she's worried. Worried that she's done something else to upset him, worried that she's just another notch in the bedpost, and that's the reason that he's avoiding her. That he no longer wants - or needs - anything to do with her.
If she only knew.
If she only knew that she had been constantly on his mind ever since that night. How he repeatedly had to stop himself from saying something, because he knows it would come out wrong but she's driving him to madness (and more drink) just by being there. For once, Roger muses, the bedding had been the easiest part. He's had conquests of the sort before. He isn't hideous, and even if he were, he's rich; it comes with the territory. But he can't recall a single one that's affected him so deeply.
Victoria is everywhere. In all the wrong places at all the wrong times, it seems, and eventually Roger goes out of his way to avoid her, but sometimes it's impractical. They'll meet on the staircase, and Roger will do everything to avoid eye contact, but it's useless when their bodies lightly brush one another and there's suddenly a pit in his stomach and his heart feels like it will leap out of his chest. He will keep walking, perhaps picking up speed, and he'll know that she has stopped to watch him with puzzlement, but he'll know that he can't give an explanation that's good enough.
He finally blurts it out one evening when they cross paths in the foyer. It's the only solution that he can figure out. "You have to leave."
Victoria tilts her head to the side and the way doubt clouds her eyes makes Roger want to explain everything, no matter how jumbled it may be.
"Roger, what are you talking about?"
He wishes she wouldn't use his first name. It makes them seem close, has personal connotations that Roger hates and yet, with her, he inexplicably longs for.
He lifts his head in order to look down at her. Anything to give him the upper hand as he goes against his instincts. "You've heard me," he says. "I believe you have overstayed your welcome." He has half a mind to tack on a Miss Winters to the end of that, to mark the lines between them more clearly, but his throat catches and he can't.
"Roger, what do you..." Victoria has used his name again, and it makes him clench his fists, but the sadness in her tone makes his heart sink and he suddenly wishes he could take the whole thing back.
Instead, he turns and makes his way to his study. "I'll give you time to pack your bags," he says, and then he hesitates, risking a glance back at the woman who dominated his mind. "If you'd like, I will give you a ride to the train station." With that, Roger takes refuge inside his study, closing the heavy door and locking it behind him.
Victoria stands in the foyer unmoving, simply staring at the door to the study. She takes a step forward, and then another, and then she's determined. She reaches out to knock at the door, but she stop short and bites her lip. She lowers her hand and shakes her head, taking her own retreat until the drawing room.
She takes one last glance at Roger's study. She knows he'll come around. She hopes. She prays. She wants. And she worries.
yellow light (stoplight system.)
concerning: Roger Collins, Victoria Winters.
657 words; complete.
Roger Collins is still uncomfortable with accepting defeat. It manages to present itself in the oddest of ways: in his posture, his speech patterns, the way he glares at Victoria from across the room. He's shown himself to be even more abrasive than usual, picking fights only to walk away from them. He's been adamant about having the last word before, but it's now become completely out of proportion.
Victoria tries not to show it, but she's worried. Worried that she's done something else to upset him, worried that she's just another notch in the bedpost, and that's the reason that he's avoiding her. That he no longer wants - or needs - anything to do with her.
If she only knew.
If she only knew that she had been constantly on his mind ever since that night. How he repeatedly had to stop himself from saying something, because he knows it would come out wrong but she's driving him to madness (and more drink) just by being there. For once, Roger muses, the bedding had been the easiest part. He's had conquests of the sort before. He isn't hideous, and even if he were, he's rich; it comes with the territory. But he can't recall a single one that's affected him so deeply.
Victoria is everywhere. In all the wrong places at all the wrong times, it seems, and eventually Roger goes out of his way to avoid her, but sometimes it's impractical. They'll meet on the staircase, and Roger will do everything to avoid eye contact, but it's useless when their bodies lightly brush one another and there's suddenly a pit in his stomach and his heart feels like it will leap out of his chest. He will keep walking, perhaps picking up speed, and he'll know that she has stopped to watch him with puzzlement, but he'll know that he can't give an explanation that's good enough.
He finally blurts it out one evening when they cross paths in the foyer. It's the only solution that he can figure out. "You have to leave."
Victoria tilts her head to the side and the way doubt clouds her eyes makes Roger want to explain everything, no matter how jumbled it may be.
"Roger, what are you talking about?"
He wishes she wouldn't use his first name. It makes them seem close, has personal connotations that Roger hates and yet, with her, he inexplicably longs for.
He lifts his head in order to look down at her. Anything to give him the upper hand as he goes against his instincts. "You've heard me," he says. "I believe you have overstayed your welcome." He has half a mind to tack on a Miss Winters to the end of that, to mark the lines between them more clearly, but his throat catches and he can't.
"Roger, what do you..." Victoria has used his name again, and it makes him clench his fists, but the sadness in her tone makes his heart sink and he suddenly wishes he could take the whole thing back.
Instead, he turns and makes his way to his study. "I'll give you time to pack your bags," he says, and then he hesitates, risking a glance back at the woman who dominated his mind. "If you'd like, I will give you a ride to the train station." With that, Roger takes refuge inside his study, closing the heavy door and locking it behind him.
Victoria stands in the foyer unmoving, simply staring at the door to the study. She takes a step forward, and then another, and then she's determined. She reaches out to knock at the door, but she stop short and bites her lip. She lowers her hand and shakes her head, taking her own retreat until the drawing room.
She takes one last glance at Roger's study. She knows he'll come around. She hopes. She prays. She wants. And she worries.