These Sleepless Nights | PG13 | Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Title: These Sleepless Nights
Prompt: George is a restless sleeper.
Fandom: George/Martha, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 755
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I have read this play a dozen times. I’ve seen it performed on stage. I’ve watched the movie a hundred times. Nevertheless, I’m actually a little nervous about this story. This is my fictional attempt at getting into George’s mind. Let me know what you think! Comments are love.
-
George is a restless sleeper. He has been for the eighty or so years he’s been married to Martha. His lack of sleep can be contributed to a number of things that range from heartburn to bad dreams, but most of them have to do with his ever so charming wife.
Martha snores. She denies it, of course, but when he told her about it some years ago, she laughed in his face, called him a liar, and unconsciously began to snore even louder. There are nights when he awakes in confusion, wondering if he’s sharing a bed with a truck driver. He wouldn’t put it past Martha to invite a lover into their marriage bed and is therefore unable to sink back into sleep until he discerns just who is lying beside him. By then it’s too late: having to make out facial features in the dark whilst cataloguing her infidelities usually destroy any hopes of getting more rest for the remainder of the night.
He’s considered taking a separate bedroom for himself; he could easily convert his office into a spare room if he moved one of the bookshelves. He always discards the idea as soon as it surfaces, already knowing that Martha would call him a prudish Victorian if he were to verbally broach the idea. She would willfully ignore his practical rationale in favor of more colorful assumptions. It would become a guessing game and George decides he’d rather save his strength and sit that one out.
But that’s not why he continues to share her bed. He quietly appreciates the moments when Martha is asleep. Here, swept away in REM cycles and dreams of a child that doesn’t exist, Martha is at her most authentic. With her hair flat and tangled like a nest, her makeup gone or smudged, her supple body hidden beneath a loose gown, she is enigmatically herself. He likes her like this, when she is haggard and worn out from a day of braying and brooding. She’s beautiful without the makeup and form-fitting clothes, without the vulgarities spilling from her pretty mouth.
What George likes most about these sleepless nights is the lack of games that accompany them. She may have a scathing quip or two before she falls asleep, her back resolutely turned toward him, but she always seeks him out in the night. No matter the rows they have throughout the day, Martha always curls her body against his when she’s fallen asleep. He has reached the point where he can no longer sleep unless her head is on his shoulder and her arm flung across his stomach.
She rests there now, her knee draped over his thighs and her hand resting atop his chest. His arm, though numb from being beneath her body all these hours, curls around her shoulder. He hugs her closer. He has to cherish these quiet moments, when Martha cannot remember her contempt for him.
He studies her face, focusing on her eyes that flick rapidly beneath her eyelids. He wonders what she dreams about, if she dreams of anything other than ways to torment him during their waking hours. He never dreams of such things; his dreams are wrought with allegories of his failures as a man and a husband and a teacher and a writer. He wonders if Martha possesses the depth required for such self-awareness.
What George really truly loves about these sleepless nights is not Martha’s beauty or the peace of mind that accompanies knowing she’s home and not in someone else’s bed. When she’s quiet like this, George feels like he’s won. He sees her at her most vulnerable, devoid of defenses and venom. She gets the last word before she falls asleep because he allows her to, knowing that a time will come in the middle of the night that proves he is the victor.
The clock ticks steadily on the wall. Seconds become minutes and minutes become hours and George is awake through it all. Martha stirs and nestles in closer, hooking her leg over his hip and nuzzling her nose into his neck. George is curiously still while she moves and, once she has settled back into slumber, he pets her hair and smiles into the darkness. She still needs him. She has no idea that she reaffirms her feelings for him every night.
Because George knows something about Martha that she does not, he is the winner.
This is the thought that allows him to finally reclaim his sleep.
---
Prompt: George is a restless sleeper.
Fandom: George/Martha, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 755
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I have read this play a dozen times. I’ve seen it performed on stage. I’ve watched the movie a hundred times. Nevertheless, I’m actually a little nervous about this story. This is my fictional attempt at getting into George’s mind. Let me know what you think! Comments are love.
-
George is a restless sleeper. He has been for the eighty or so years he’s been married to Martha. His lack of sleep can be contributed to a number of things that range from heartburn to bad dreams, but most of them have to do with his ever so charming wife.
Martha snores. She denies it, of course, but when he told her about it some years ago, she laughed in his face, called him a liar, and unconsciously began to snore even louder. There are nights when he awakes in confusion, wondering if he’s sharing a bed with a truck driver. He wouldn’t put it past Martha to invite a lover into their marriage bed and is therefore unable to sink back into sleep until he discerns just who is lying beside him. By then it’s too late: having to make out facial features in the dark whilst cataloguing her infidelities usually destroy any hopes of getting more rest for the remainder of the night.
He’s considered taking a separate bedroom for himself; he could easily convert his office into a spare room if he moved one of the bookshelves. He always discards the idea as soon as it surfaces, already knowing that Martha would call him a prudish Victorian if he were to verbally broach the idea. She would willfully ignore his practical rationale in favor of more colorful assumptions. It would become a guessing game and George decides he’d rather save his strength and sit that one out.
But that’s not why he continues to share her bed. He quietly appreciates the moments when Martha is asleep. Here, swept away in REM cycles and dreams of a child that doesn’t exist, Martha is at her most authentic. With her hair flat and tangled like a nest, her makeup gone or smudged, her supple body hidden beneath a loose gown, she is enigmatically herself. He likes her like this, when she is haggard and worn out from a day of braying and brooding. She’s beautiful without the makeup and form-fitting clothes, without the vulgarities spilling from her pretty mouth.
What George likes most about these sleepless nights is the lack of games that accompany them. She may have a scathing quip or two before she falls asleep, her back resolutely turned toward him, but she always seeks him out in the night. No matter the rows they have throughout the day, Martha always curls her body against his when she’s fallen asleep. He has reached the point where he can no longer sleep unless her head is on his shoulder and her arm flung across his stomach.
She rests there now, her knee draped over his thighs and her hand resting atop his chest. His arm, though numb from being beneath her body all these hours, curls around her shoulder. He hugs her closer. He has to cherish these quiet moments, when Martha cannot remember her contempt for him.
He studies her face, focusing on her eyes that flick rapidly beneath her eyelids. He wonders what she dreams about, if she dreams of anything other than ways to torment him during their waking hours. He never dreams of such things; his dreams are wrought with allegories of his failures as a man and a husband and a teacher and a writer. He wonders if Martha possesses the depth required for such self-awareness.
What George really truly loves about these sleepless nights is not Martha’s beauty or the peace of mind that accompanies knowing she’s home and not in someone else’s bed. When she’s quiet like this, George feels like he’s won. He sees her at her most vulnerable, devoid of defenses and venom. She gets the last word before she falls asleep because he allows her to, knowing that a time will come in the middle of the night that proves he is the victor.
The clock ticks steadily on the wall. Seconds become minutes and minutes become hours and George is awake through it all. Martha stirs and nestles in closer, hooking her leg over his hip and nuzzling her nose into his neck. George is curiously still while she moves and, once she has settled back into slumber, he pets her hair and smiles into the darkness. She still needs him. She has no idea that she reaffirms her feelings for him every night.
Because George knows something about Martha that she does not, he is the winner.
This is the thought that allows him to finally reclaim his sleep.
---