Lemon-Lime Sorbet Flavor Binge: Gravity

[bookblather]

Title: Gravity
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Flavor binge (lemon-lime sorbet), brownie, butterscotch, rainbow sprinkles (see if you can spot Joanna; she's the most relevant character in this to the main story), hot fudge (Arelie, though not on purpose), malt (1306's birthday prompt: Samson, by Regina Spektor).
Word Count: 5861
Rating: R
Summary: Arelie never expected this.
WARNING: Possible dubious consent.
Notes: Sooo remember this? Here's your explanation. Informed by the flavor of the day, but I would not have worn my fingers to little tiny nubs writing this in four hours had I remembered that you can't use FOTD with a flavor binge. *headdesk*


2. public place

"Hello, Mrs... er..."

"Arelie Koch," Arelie said, cheerfully, without looking up. "Are-eh-ly. It's Hebrew. How can I help you?"

"I have an appointment with Allen Terrini. Do you know where his office is?"

Arelie looked up at last and found herself face to face with the most handsome man she'd ever seen in her life. Grey eyes the color of fog, black hair kept short and neat, an equally neat goatee, and a shy smile aimed right at her. Almost automatically, she shifted into flirtatious mode-- shoulders back, chest forward, pleasant smile turned just the littlest bit suggestive. "I do indeed," she said. "Would you like directions, or would you prefer that I show you?"

He blushed, and she let her smile widen just a little bit more. "I--ah--" he paused, shook himself visibly, and said, "Is it very difficult to find?"

"It can be." Arelie leaned forward and rested her elbows on her desk blotter. "Although I'm given to understand that it gets easier to find your way around."

"You're new, then?" He leaned his hip on her desk, half-sitting. A little familiar for someone she'd only just met, but then Arelie was flirting with him and he was very good-looking. She decided to forgive it for now.

She did, however, lean back in her chair. Better to maintain physical distance. "I am. Cynthia is leaving to get married, so they hired me." She smiled. "I promise I am good at my job, no matter how unpronounceable my first name may be."

He smiled at her, and Arelie caught her breath. "I'm certain that you are, Mrs. Koch. Farid Amala." He offered her his hand, and still stunned by that smile, she took it.

"I'm pleased to meet you," she said, automatically, the manners her mother had drilled into her head coming to the fore and saving her. "And it's Miss Koch."

"Charmed," he said, and stunned her further by not shaking her hand, but rather lifting it to his lips. He didn't actually kiss it, which might have been too far, but merely made the gesture. "Miss Koch."

Arelie didn't snatch her hand back when he released it, but it was a very near thing. "So have you been here before?" she asked, still rather dazed.

"I have," he said. "Allen and I are partners of a sort. He's moved offices lately, though, and as you've said this building is an absolute maze."

If it was up to her, she wanted to spend more time with this man. And the phone had been dead all morning. No reason to suppose it would ring now. "Of course," Arelie said, and got up from her chair. "Let me show you where his space is."

Mr. Amala gave a courteous half-bow and gestured. "After you, Miss Koch."

Arelie almost didn't hear him, arrested by the sight of a gold band on his left hand. Married. Damn it. Damn it, he was married, and she'd just been flirting shamelessly with a married man.

Almost, said a small voice deep inside her, as shamelessly as a married man had been flirting with her.

Arelie squashed that voice, and smiled mechanically at Mr. Amala. "This way."

5. sweet nothings

He looked for her when he came in, now. Arelie kept her head down, but she knew because she looked for him, too, glancing up through her eyelashes every time the front door swung open and glancing down again in disappointment when it wasn't him.

She wasn't watching for him because she had designs on him, of course. She was only watching for him because... well, because she liked him, as a person. No harm in that, in liking someone as a person. Men's lives didn't end because they'd gotten married. There was no harm in a little silly flirtation.

Because she did flirt with him. When she saw through her eyelashes that he'd walked in the door, she'd smile to herself and pretend to be absorbed in her paperwork. She'd watch him strain to see who was behind the desk, and smile when he saw her. She'd pretend to be startled when he walked up and said her name in that wonderful deep voice of his. "Miss Koch," he'd say, and give that courteous little half-bow that always tugged at her heart.

"Mr. Amala," she'd say, and hold out her hand. He'd lift it to his mouth, but never actually kiss it. Arelie was beginning to wish that he would, one day-- but no, that wasn't harmless, so she buried the thought.

She'd say something to him, something silly and light like, "I thought you weren't coming in today. Mr. Terrini called down to say he's in a meeting and can't be disturbed, so you'll have to wait."

And he'd smile at her, and say something equally silly and light like, "Oh, I came early to spend some time with you, Miss Koch."

Arelie would ignore the flip-flops that her stomach always did when he said something like that, and laugh it off. He didn't mean it, of course. No more than she meant it when she'd reply, "How you do go on, Mr. Amala."

They'd talk, then, he half-sitting on her desk, she leaning forward to hear him better, ignoring the ringing phone, ignoring the paperwork that she was perpetually behind on completing. He really was the most charming, interesting, well-read man she'd ever met; their talk ranged from Shakespeare to ee cummings, from the latest trashy B movies to D.H. Thomas.

The thing that had amazed her, when she'd realized it, was that he seemed to find her equally fascinating and charming. Men did not, as a general rule, find Arelie fascinating; she was too outspoken, too comfortably padded in the figure, too dark-haired for the female ideal. Too Jewish-looking, one man had put it. She laughed it off, usually, but in a dark, secret part of herself, she'd begun to fear that she'd always be alone.

Mr. Amala would not, she reminded herself, marry her; he could not. But he was an indication that someday, someone else would want to.

Arelie had begun to look forward to those talks as the brightest part of her week.

10. what you do to me

"I wonder, Miss Koch, if you could do me a favor," he said, unexpectedly, during one of those afternoon talks.

Arelie cocked her head, looked curiously up at him. "Of course," she said, and spread her hands. "What can I do for you, Mr. Amala?"

"Well," he said, and flashed that stunning smile at her, "you could begin by calling me Farid."

She blinked, and in her head, a tiny voice screamed that this was improper. "Why, sir," she said, coyly. "If you think that wise."

"We're friends, aren't we?" he asked, still smiling at her. "Friends use each other's names. Please, Farid. But that's not what I meant to ask. The favor I need is rather more time-consuming than that, I'm afraid."

Arelie leaned back in her chair and ignored the butterflies in her stomach. "Please, ask."

Mr. Amala-- Farid looked rather embarrassed. "There's a function I need to attend," he said. "My wife is... well, she has made it very clear to me that she won't be going. But these things are so boring, and... well, I was wondering if you might like to go with me. Strictly as friends, of course," he said, hastily. "I don't want you to think I mean anything improper by it."

"Of course not," Arelie said, feeling rather stunned. "Well. I'll have to check my calendar, of course, but I see no reason why I couldn't, if I'm free."

That was a lie. There were many reasons why she couldn't. But she liked him, and he was giving her such a pleading look, and... well, why shouldn't she spend some time with him, if she liked him so? They were friends. Hadn't he said as much himself? Friends helped each other out. There was no reason she couldn't help him out a little.

His face lit up. "It's this Friday," he said. "At the Getty. Some sort of cocktail reception... ah, that won't be a problem, will it?"

"What?" Arelie asked, a little offended, and then realized he was asking if she had something to wear, not about her manners. "No, no, of course not. I'll meet you there?"

"Oh, no need," he said, relief shining from his face. "I can come and pick you up. It should end quite late, and a lady shouldn't be walking around Los Angeles at night. Please."

Arelie mulled it over for a moment, but she had already justified flouting her mother's rules in such a large way that any smaller transgressions posed no problem. Besides, he was right. Women her age shouldn't be walking around Los Angeles at night, and she had no car.

"Thank you," she said, and was rewarded with another gorgeous smile. Arelie smiled back, helplessly, and added, "But on one condition."

He raised an eyebrow, spread his hands. "Anything."

"That you call me Arelie," she said.

Farid laughed, then reached down and caught up her hand again. "As you wish, Arelie," he said, and, for the first time, kissed her hand.

12. stolen moments

That reception at the Getty was not the last time she did him such a little favor. Farid was evidently someone quite important, although Arelie had not the faintest idea what it was that he actually did. He took her to receptions and parties all over the city, evening dos which began to expand into dinner before and drinks afterwards-- he even once took her to a première at the Chinese theater, where she met Ryan O'Neal, who kissed her cheeks and called her gorgeous, and almost made her faint with the excitement of it all.

It was fun, and if it was a little bit illicit, well, it was hardly a secret, and it wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong. Farid always introduced her as a friend, always, and he assured her that his wife both knew and approved.

She observed, several weeks in, that his wife must not enjoy these parties and receptions as she did. Farid shrugged, and said, "Yes, well, Fatimah's pregnant. She never likes going out when she's pregnant." The exasperation in his tone spoke of a longstanding argument. Arelie changed the subject.

However much he disliked talking of his wife, he loved speaking of his children as much or more, and after the inevitable brief awkwardness Arelie loved hearing about them. His four daughters, all beautiful, accomplished and more than usually clever for their age, even little Nadia, who was only three. His year-old son, his pride and joy, who he swore could already talk intelligibly. Arelie suspected this was a fond father's interpretation, but she loved so to see his eyes light up that she never challenged him on it.

She told him, in exchange, of her mother, strict but loving and fair, who had died just last year, of the aunts and uncles who had spoiled her and helped raise her. She told him about her longing for children of her own, the secret, quiet and desperate fear that she would never find someone to give them to her, about how much she disliked her job, but didn't know what else she could do.

She told him of her father, who had left her mother for someone younger and prettier when she was barely seven, and who had evidently never thought twice about the young daughter he'd left behind. Arelie cried when she told him about that, and even though she'd felt ashamed of herself, Farid had simply put his arms around her and held her until she'd cried herself out.

When she got home that night, and looked at herself in the mirror, at her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, she knew this had to stop. All of it. There was a burning in her belly and a weakness in her knees, but it was worse, because that had been there from the start and that she could have handled, alone in bed at night.

No, it was worse, because there was also a throbbing in her chest and a sick, frightened feeling whenever she thought of never seeing him again.

She knew, right there in front of her bathroom mirror, that she'd fallen in love with Farid Amala. And she knew, too, that she couldn't be around him anymore.

11. a night to remember

She couldn't leave him in the lurch, though. They already had a date made, some party for some celebrity at someone else's home. She'd promised that she would go, and she could hardly break that promise.

So Arelie dressed herself up, very carefully. Her mother always said that good clothes were a kind of armor in themselves, one that people never saw, but one that gave you extra confidence, knowing that you looked good. Arelie had never really understood how true that was until now, looking at herself in the pretty black silk dress she'd bought. It skimmed her curves but showed almost nothing, and in low heels with her hair pulled back, she looked more businesslike than seductive.

She hoped.

Not that he was trying to seduce her. He was a married man, after all. He wanted nothing from her besides her friendship and her ability to be a witty and charming companion at otherwise stultifying parties. He might miss that, but it would hardly affect his life too badly. After all, his wife would have her baby soon-- in five months? Four? Arelie couldn't remember-- and then he wouldn't need her anymore anyway. No need to torture herself further with what she couldn't have.

She'd meant to tell him as soon as he picked her up, lest she lose her nerve, but he looked so happy to see her that she just couldn't do it, and anyway she hadn't thought of a good excuse yet-- she could hardly tell him the truth, after all. She wanted him to think well of her. So she smiled at him, and got in the car.

She drank more than she should have, at the party. Dutch courage, her mother had called it. Arelie had always wondered why. The Dutch had never struck her as being particularly brave or particularly drunk. Not that it mattered, because at the end of the night she had to tell him that she couldn't see him anymore.

Farid pulled up to her house afterwards and turned to face her, looking worried. "Arelie, is something wrong?"

He knew her too well, she thought. She was dizzy, and not from the drink. "I'm fine," she said. "Only... I can't come, on Tuesday. Or ever." That had been too blunt, and that was the drink.

He looked distressed, like she'd slapped him. "For heaven's sake, why? Did I say something wrong? Did I..." He went white, as if something had occurred to him. "Did I make you feel uncomfortable? I swear I never meant to. I swear it."

She blinked at him, rather owlishly. "No, no," she said, and because he looked so unhappy and she couldn't bear to have Farid be unhappy, she said, "It's only that I love you and I swear I can't--"

She broke off, because he was kissing her, cupping the back of her head in his big hand, and it was better than she had ever expected it to be. The fire inside of her, always smoldering around him, flared bright and caught her up in its grip, blazing, raging. She couldn't stop, didn't want to, couldn't bear to, would die if she had to stop.

She could hardly tell herself that she wasn't hurting anyone anymore. She could hardly tell herself that this was innocent. But they were in her house and in her bedroom and her dress was on the floor and his mouth was on her breast and his hands between her legs and oh, oh, oh...

6. against better judgment

He was still there, in the morning.

Arelie hadn't expected that. She'd thought, when she'd thought at all the previous night, that he would leave before she woke. But he was still there, sleeping on his stomach beside her, and so beautiful that she thought she'd die, looking at him.

It hurt, like a sore tooth, not to touch him, but she made herself get out of bed and go to the bathroom. She couldn't think with him there, with wanting him so much it made her burn up inside and with the sheer joy of loving him and knowing he loved her. And she had to think. What she'd just done...

She ached, between her legs, but it was a good sort of ache, the feeling that came from being thoroughly loved several times over. She'd lost count, the night before, of how many times he'd brought her over the edge and back again. She'd lost count of the number of times he'd said her name.

He'd told her he loved her. She knew exactly how many times he'd said that.

And oh, how wrong that was, but it felt right, righter than anything else she'd done in her entire life.

Arelie closed the bathroom door behind herself, as softly as she could, and stared at herself in the mirror. She was still naked, hadn't bothered to put on a nightgown before she fell asleep, largely because every time she'd thought they were finished, he'd proved to her that they weren't. The memory warmed her, and she pushed it away. She had to think, and not of that.

Her reflection in the mirror looked well-loved-- no, think of it as her mother would have, well-used. Nipples reddened, love-bites all over her, breasts heavy, lips swollen. She'd been-- she made herself use the harshest word-- fucked. By someone else's husband. The wave of shame almost overtook her.

And then, like a wave, it ebbed. What was wrong, exactly, with what had just happened? Farid loved her! She loved him too, more than she'd ever loved anyone. What was wrong with loving someone?

Sleeping with him, well, that was wrong, and no two ways about it. But his wife didn't love him, from what he'd told her, and there was no way that he loved her, not like he loved Arelie. He barely ever talked about or to her, as far as Arelie knew, certainly didn't take her anywhere. He loved his children, but Arelie had no problem with that. She'd love his children too.

Of course, that was assuming he'd leave his wife for her. But Arelie somehow didn't think that was assuming too much.

She'd ask him, she decided, and straightened. If he meant to, then what harm was there in sleeping with a man who loved her? If he didn't...

Well. If he didn't mean to leave his wife, she'd decide what to do then.

"Arelie?" she heard him call, plaintive and uncertain. "Are you there?"

She smiled at herself in the mirror. He was calling for her.

"Here," she said, then turned her back on herself, and went back into the bedroom.

1. our little secret

She was happy, those few months. It was only about two months, only eight weeks, when she looked back on it, but oh, she was so happy that it felt like years and seconds at the same time. She'd see him at work and they'd behave just as usual, he'd take her to parties and they'd behave just as they always did, then he'd take her home and they'd behave with the giddiness of young lovers. They might not have been young, Arelie thought, looking back, but they were in love and she was so, so happy.

She thought about Fatimah Amala, sometimes, at home with her little children, and felt intensely guilty. She felt guiltier still when she thought of her mother, who had been that abandoned wife. For Fatimah was going to be abandoned; Farid had told her that first morning that he was going to leave his wife, and he'd practically begged her to marry him when he did.

Not that Arelie had needed to think about it. She'd flung her arms around his neck and said "yes, yes, a thousand times yes," and then he'd kissed her, laughing, and touched her here and stroked her there and lifted her leg over his shoulder and... she sighed, thinking of it, guilt and joy twisting together in her stomach. He was another woman's husband, but not for long, and she loved him so much.

Besides, how could she really feel too bad? She looked at Farid, and how happy he looked when he was with her, how crestfallen he looked when he had to leave. He looked younger and younger every night he spent with her, every time he touched her and was touched by her. She was going to marry him. The only reason they weren't engaged was because he hadn't divorced his wife yet.

It did bother her a little that he hadn't told his wife yet, about them. But he explained that he was waiting until the baby was born. Fatimah had lost a child, he told her, between his two oldest daughters, and it had nearly destroyed her then. Losing a child and her husband might kill her. He didn't love her, but he didn't wish her harm, because she had borne him five fine children and would with God's mercy bear a sixth. He'd tell her when that sixth was born.

Arelie nodded and hid the pang of hurt she felt when she thought of those six children. They should have been hers. She should have carried and borne them, raised them and loved them.

It didn't matter, she told herself. She would have the chance to love them when she was their stepmother. Farid wasn't leaving them as her father had left her. He would stay with them, and she would get her chance to love them, and to bear more of her own.

She smiled, and laid a hand flat against her belly when she thought of it. They would be so happy.

She was so happy.

7. fun with food (or props)

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, spreading the blanket beneath the pal tree. Half in shade and half in sunlight, so they could spread out in either as they chose.

Farid waved off her worries as if they were so many annoying flies. "What could happen?" he asked her in return, and started setting out the plastic plates, the Tupperware-clad food. "It's just a picnic, galiya. Don't worry so."

Galiya, Arabic for precious. Arelie's heart swelled fit to burst every time she heard the endearment. She beamed up at him, and was rewarded with a kiss. "I won't, then," she replied. "It's a beautiful day for it, anyway."

And it was, bright and clean and clear, one of those rare crisp and beautiful spring days when the smog had all blown out to sea and the palm trees stood stark and gorgeous against a picture-perfect blue sky. The air was just warm enough, cooled by just a touch of breeze so they didn't get overheated. Beautiful, she thought, and perfect.

"Almost as beautiful as you," he replied, eyes crinkling as he smiled. She kissed him this time, couldn't stop herself. She couldn't never stop herself with him.

"Let's get married on a day like this," she said, opening the containers of sandwiches. They'd made them all this morning, laughing and smearing peanut butter on each other until Farid had leaned over and licked some off her breasts, and then they'd had each other right there on the kitchen floor, hands and lips and teeth everywhere.

Arelie made a mental note to mop when she got home.

"Yes," he said, leaning back. "A day just like this."

It was the last perfect day they'd have.

But Arelie didn't know that, then.

3. caught in the act

She opened her door the next morning in her bathrobe, with heavy eyes and tousled hair. She had no idea who she thought it might be. Not Farid-- he was still upstairs in her bed, lying on his stomach, naked and asleep; she'd only heard the knock because she'd already been woken by a strange queasiness-- and she hardly spoke to any of her friends anymore, too caught up in him and her new romance. Maybe someone from the electric company.

It wasn't.

It was a dark-haired woman, hair and body wrapped to nonexistence, her belly swollen out in front of her, her hands locked beneath it. Her eyes fixed on Arelie's face, on her bathrobe and on the love-bite Arelie just knew was rising on her neck, then went huge and dark with betrayal.

"So it's you," she said, very softly.

Arelie blinked at her, yawned, and said, "I'm sorry, can I help you?"

The woman drew herself up, steadied her belly with one hand. "I need to speak to my husband please," she said, with great dignity.

Arelie laughed. "I think you must have the wrong house, ma'am," she said.

"No," the woman said. "I don't. Please let me speak to Farid."

Farid?

Arelie froze, mid-laugh. Farid. She'd forgotten that he was still married. That he still had a wife. A wife who was apparently standing right in front of her. She'd forgotten. How could she have forgotten?

"I..." she stammered. "I, I'm sorry, I don't..."

The woman-- Fatimah, that was her name-- held up her free hand, and a bitter smile twisted her lips. "Oh, don't bother," she said. "I know he's here, I know he's been fucking you." She spat the word. "Did you think people wouldn't tell me? Did you think..." She cut herself off, gripped her hands together above the swell of her belly until they turned white. The gold ring on her left finger caught the light, and made Arelie feel ill.

She couldn't betray Farid, though. He hadn't told his wife, and it was his right to. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, as steadily as she could.

Fatimah's face twisted, and any measure of control she'd gained over herself was gone, just like that. "You whore!" she snarled. "Don't you lie to me! Don't you dare!"

The word slapped Arelie in the face, and she stepped back, cut to the core. "I'm not a whore!"

"And what do you call a woman who sleeps with other women's husbands?" Fatimah retorted. "I call her what she is, a whore. Did you think you would steal him from me? Did you think you could take him?"

Oddly, that steadied Arelie. She took hold of the doorframe. "Maybe," she said, "you should talk to your husband before you say that. Maybe you should ask him what's going to happen."

Fatimah fell back, going white. Upstairs, she heard Farid began to stir. And all she could feel was a smug, vicious satisfaction.

4. under the stars

Farid had taken Fatimah home, and asked Arelie to wait for him. She'd told him, of course, that she would wait for him forever. But she wasn't sure that she meant it, especially now that it was after dark and he still hadn't called.

She thought of calling, but if Fatimah answered, or one of his children, she wouldn't know what to say. So she went there, instead, to his house. Just to see him. She didn't need to speak to him, or even have him see her. She just wanted... to see him, to know in seeing him that everything was all right, and that he still loved her.

It was odd, she thought, looking at the neat little stuccoed house, that she'd never been to his home. He'd been to hers, oh, numberless times, made love to her in every room of her house and on every imaginable surface, but she'd never been to his home.

She probably never would come here again. She imagined that Fatimah would get it in the divorce. Even if Farid was inclined to fight for his assets, surely he would let his children and their mother keep their home. He could come live with her, after all. She smiled at the house, and, oddly tired, settled on a park bench to wait.

She'd just wait for a glimpse of him, then she'd go home and wait for him to call. She was good at waiting.

After twenty minutes or so, a surprisingly short time in the balmy evening, the front door opened. Arelie straightened, excited, but it wasn't Farid, just a group of young girls, hurrying down the steps, chased by the suddenly loud sound of shrieks and sobs coming from within the house.

Fatimah, Arelie thought, making a scene. Of course. She rolled her eyes, and watched the girls. She would be their stepmother. She should at least know what they looked like.

They were a pretty lot, all dark hair and slim limbs and big eyes in pale faces. She could see Farid's aristocratic features and long face in them, and for that alone she was determined to love them. Such pretty girls, she thought, contentedly. She would give them such pretty half-siblings, she would...

One of the girls looked up , and met Arelie's eyes.

She gasped, and barely kept herself from flinching at the expression in those huge, dark eyes, frightened, uncomprehending. She did get up, and put the bench between herself and the girl. The child wasn't any older than Arelie had been when her father left. How much would the girl remember? How much would she come to understand, when she was grown?

Would she even try?

The little girl's gaze slid past Arelie without any sign of recognition or understanding. But that couldn't last. Fatimah had made it very clear that she blamed Arelie for everything. She'd teach her children the same, and then what? They'd look at her, and there would be hate in their eyes that were so much like Farid's.

And they'd look at him, the father who'd abandoned them, with that same uncomprehending hatred. The same way she looked when she thought about her father.

No, no, no. She couldn't do this. No.

Arelie didn't realize that she was backing up until she collided with a street lamp hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Or had they been there already?

8. role reversal

Farid didn't call, but he did come by the next day, looking weary and exhausted. He brightened, though, when she opened the door, and didn't seem to notice her own weariness. She'd been up all night, but she'd made her decision.

"Arelie," he said, sounding relieved. "Galiya. I'm so sorry about that. It's done, now, though."

He reached for her. Arelie backed up. He couldn't touch her. If he touched her, she wouldn't be able to do this.

The relief in Farid's eyes faded to confusion. "Arelie?"

"I can't do this," she said, and watched that confusion turn heartbroken.

It broke her inside, to see that, but she had to do this. That little girl's eyes...

"If this is about my wife," he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off before he could properly get started.

"I don't give a damn about your wife," she said. "I never did. I should think that was obvious. But I do care about your children. You have five children, Farid. How old is your oldest? Nine? Ten?"

"Eleven," he murmured. "Deborah is eleven."

"Eleven." Arelie shook her head, remembering the girl in the park and those huge dark eyes, so young and already so lost. Her father had been three years gone at her tenth birthday. She'd be damned if that little girl suffered the same fate because of her. "And the others are younger. Do you have any idea what it will do to them if you leave?"

She made herself look at him then, saw the torment in his eyes. "I could get custody," he said. It was almost a question. She shook her head again in answer.

"After running off with your mistress?" she asked. "No. The courts favor the mother anyway, and after that... They'll give your wife custody, and you know she'll never let you see them. And you know what she'll tell them when they ask why." She'd blame Arelie, to begin with, and then it would get worse. "They'll hate you for it, and you'll hate me for that."

"Arelie," he began.

"No," she said, as gently as she could. "You can't leave your children. Not for me. I won't let you."

"Arelie," he said, again. There was desperation in his voice now.

"No," she said, and closed the door.

9. in your dreams

She packed her clothes in all the suitcases she owned. She sold the house, and her furniture, and bought a car. Everything she could fit in the car, she did; everything else went into storage.

Not that Arelie planned on coming back for the things she'd left behind, but she supposed one never knew.

She wandered through the empty rooms of the house, no longer hers, marking every spot where she'd had Farid or he'd had her. The kitchen, where they'd laughed so hard that tears came to their eyes. The living room, where they'd had long talks about anything and everything. The bedroom, where... well, that should be obvious, and she wasn't letting herself think about it, because she would cry if she did.

The car was packed and fueled. There was nothing stopping her.

Farid hadn't called, since she'd told him no. She thought that he might try to change her mind, but he hadn't contacted her, not once.

Arelie stopped in the foyer and closed her eyes, inhaled deeply to stop the tears coming. He hadn't contacted her, and she didn't dare contact him. Not even to tell him...

Oh, she couldn't. She didn't dare. He'd demand to see her again, quite rightly, and how could she refuse him that? And once she saw him, he'd touch her, or smile at her, and she'd be lost again. And that little girl with the frightened eyes would never look at her father with joy again.

She fisted her hands at her sides. No. No, she wouldn't let that happen. She wouldn't tell him, or anyone. She'd see him again, but only in memories, only dreaming, and she didn't dare do that too often, for fear she found herself driving back. No. She'd get in the car, and she would drive away.

She'd just... disappear.

Arelie walked out of the house, locked the door behind her, and got in the car, sat behind the steering wheel and stared at the road. She didn't know where she was going, yet, besides away. She'd drive until she couldn't anymore. And then...

And then...

She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and gulped in air.

And then.