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23/1/05 04:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minervasoloI wrote. I sat and I wrote with a pen and paper. How bizarre!
Doze
Warnings for occasionaly strong language
It was light when she woke. Maybe ten, maybe eleven, maybe a particularly sunny nine AM. The cheap curtains were too thin to deny the light. It was thick and golden and was just the way she felt. She could see it with her eyes shut, feeling it with her skin and smelling it on the breeze that poked around the badly built window. The bed smelt of two people, but only had the warmth of one body.
She stretched. Her back arched and her toes curled. She could feel the thin cotton sheets touching every inch of her skin. It was rare for her to sleep naked, and she enjoyed it for a moment.
She tucked her arms behind her head and let herself doze. In a half familiar room next door someone was watching television, in a semi-unknown kitchen immediately below pans were being banged about. She knew this house, though it was not her own. She had spent days and nights here, knew many faces and a few names. She was a friend of a friend.
A friend waking up in that other friend's bed. Naked and alone.
With a sigh she propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. The room was in a better state than it had been last night. The beer cans were now arranged in neat rows on the crowded desk, ready to be recycled. The empty bottle which had stained the floor with spirirs was upright again, though the stain remained. The alarm clock had been reset and told her she had woken just in time to see late morning become early afternoon.
Next to the bed was a chair, and on that chair her clothes had been placed, moved from their scattered homes on the carpet. There was a folded piece of paper topping the haphazard pile. Uncurious for the moment, she sat up in the narrow bed and moved the letter aside to study her clothes. A few buttons missing from the blouse and a beer stain on the still fastened jeans. She had lost weight since buying them, it would seem. She smiled.
She could guess the contents of the letter, and regarded the paper suspiciously for a brief moment. She had stayed sober last night, but she wondered if he'd remember that. The bed was too warm and the light too languid to allow any guilt in just yet, but she knew it would come. She knew it had already come for him.
She shoved her clothes away onto the floor and snuggled back down again, pulling the soft blanket back over her chest. The temptation to sleep was strong. Would he come back this afternoon and find her as he left her in the morning? The thought roused questions of where he had gone, and she pulled the letter to her.
She lay back, nestling her head into the pillow and held the letter just above her face, hoping it wasn't long enough to make her arms ache. It was this or the crick in the neck method of resting the letter on her chest.
It began with her name, which was a good start.
It continued with a brief explanation of lectures and seminars, and a promise to be back for lunch.
It didn't entirely expect her to be there.
It was sorry.
It was still sorry six lines later, at which point she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows, resting the letter on the dented pillow. If it kept being sorry she was going to stop reading and go back to sleep. She was beginning to feel bad for making him feel so bad.
Fortunately he did stop being sorry, or so effusively sorry, around a line later. He'd discussed a few things in amongst the sorries. Some she would bring up later. Others could wait for a less painful time.
Which was worse: his taking advantage of her feelings for him, or her taking advantage of his post-breakup vulnerability and need?
Everything else could be put off. She dressed, she made lunch and she settled next to it. There was one question to answer together, and the rest could hold until he felt better.
In the kitchen she said hello to his housemates. The smart ones, the ones who knew him, knew what had happened between them. He'd come in yesterday morning, hurting. She'd come when she got the text. This was the first the housemates had seen of either of them.
He'd come in yesterday morning: a pity fuck. She wasn't sure whether to admire or despise the ex-girlfriend for that. He hadn't known either. She had never been dumped like that. She'd never been dumped, if she was honest. Her few relationships had tended towards fading away. She never invested enough in them either to stop it or to care. She didn't emotionally attach.
But she had here. Because he was her friend. She cared about him. She cared about him too much, really, but he hadn't known that until last night. She hadn't minded.
Last night had been about giving him what he needed, being there in a way his other friends couldn't or wouldn't, letting him take what he wanted. It had satisfied a desire of her own, yes. She wasn't going to push for anything, especially not while he was still hurting. If he wanted his again she would be happy to oblige. There were no implications, no attachments, no promises. She just wanted to be there for him any way she could, any way he needed. She was his friend.
She stared at the pasta and salad in front of her on the table. He would be here soon.
She let herself back into his room and found the pad of paper he had used to write his letter. She wrote her own, her 'kitchen thoughts'. She went back to the kitchen and wrote 'To my Friend' on the outside of the folded note, tucking it under the plate.
Then she went back to his room. She kicked off her shoes, took off her watch and crawled back into his bed, to doze the afternoon away.
Finished Woman in White (absolutely brilliant!) and watched 28 Days Later, which has some of the most gorgeous and interesting visiaul effects. The whole of Manchester, burning. London, empty. And so on. I wrote hte above while watching, and made a third attempt at the last page of Freefall. I'm debating whether to go to anime at 5, or at 7. I've seen most of Metropolis (anime version) before, and it is good, but I'm not sure if I can be arsed to rewatch it. I wantto see Noir and I definitely want to see Saber Marionette J Again. I found SBJ manga the other day ^_^ Also found, and actually bought, a lot of random back issues of Impulse (adorable!) and the latest Authority, which made for some handbrake turns in subject. Didn't find the other two comics I wanted though, which is a good excuse to go back. Also need to find Olly a present, and buy spreadable butter.
I haven't anything to do for another two hours, so maybe I will go and watch Metropolis.
Doze
Warnings for occasionaly strong language
It was light when she woke. Maybe ten, maybe eleven, maybe a particularly sunny nine AM. The cheap curtains were too thin to deny the light. It was thick and golden and was just the way she felt. She could see it with her eyes shut, feeling it with her skin and smelling it on the breeze that poked around the badly built window. The bed smelt of two people, but only had the warmth of one body.
She stretched. Her back arched and her toes curled. She could feel the thin cotton sheets touching every inch of her skin. It was rare for her to sleep naked, and she enjoyed it for a moment.
She tucked her arms behind her head and let herself doze. In a half familiar room next door someone was watching television, in a semi-unknown kitchen immediately below pans were being banged about. She knew this house, though it was not her own. She had spent days and nights here, knew many faces and a few names. She was a friend of a friend.
A friend waking up in that other friend's bed. Naked and alone.
With a sigh she propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. The room was in a better state than it had been last night. The beer cans were now arranged in neat rows on the crowded desk, ready to be recycled. The empty bottle which had stained the floor with spirirs was upright again, though the stain remained. The alarm clock had been reset and told her she had woken just in time to see late morning become early afternoon.
Next to the bed was a chair, and on that chair her clothes had been placed, moved from their scattered homes on the carpet. There was a folded piece of paper topping the haphazard pile. Uncurious for the moment, she sat up in the narrow bed and moved the letter aside to study her clothes. A few buttons missing from the blouse and a beer stain on the still fastened jeans. She had lost weight since buying them, it would seem. She smiled.
She could guess the contents of the letter, and regarded the paper suspiciously for a brief moment. She had stayed sober last night, but she wondered if he'd remember that. The bed was too warm and the light too languid to allow any guilt in just yet, but she knew it would come. She knew it had already come for him.
She shoved her clothes away onto the floor and snuggled back down again, pulling the soft blanket back over her chest. The temptation to sleep was strong. Would he come back this afternoon and find her as he left her in the morning? The thought roused questions of where he had gone, and she pulled the letter to her.
She lay back, nestling her head into the pillow and held the letter just above her face, hoping it wasn't long enough to make her arms ache. It was this or the crick in the neck method of resting the letter on her chest.
It began with her name, which was a good start.
It continued with a brief explanation of lectures and seminars, and a promise to be back for lunch.
It didn't entirely expect her to be there.
It was sorry.
It was still sorry six lines later, at which point she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows, resting the letter on the dented pillow. If it kept being sorry she was going to stop reading and go back to sleep. She was beginning to feel bad for making him feel so bad.
Fortunately he did stop being sorry, or so effusively sorry, around a line later. He'd discussed a few things in amongst the sorries. Some she would bring up later. Others could wait for a less painful time.
Which was worse: his taking advantage of her feelings for him, or her taking advantage of his post-breakup vulnerability and need?
Everything else could be put off. She dressed, she made lunch and she settled next to it. There was one question to answer together, and the rest could hold until he felt better.
In the kitchen she said hello to his housemates. The smart ones, the ones who knew him, knew what had happened between them. He'd come in yesterday morning, hurting. She'd come when she got the text. This was the first the housemates had seen of either of them.
He'd come in yesterday morning: a pity fuck. She wasn't sure whether to admire or despise the ex-girlfriend for that. He hadn't known either. She had never been dumped like that. She'd never been dumped, if she was honest. Her few relationships had tended towards fading away. She never invested enough in them either to stop it or to care. She didn't emotionally attach.
But she had here. Because he was her friend. She cared about him. She cared about him too much, really, but he hadn't known that until last night. She hadn't minded.
Last night had been about giving him what he needed, being there in a way his other friends couldn't or wouldn't, letting him take what he wanted. It had satisfied a desire of her own, yes. She wasn't going to push for anything, especially not while he was still hurting. If he wanted his again she would be happy to oblige. There were no implications, no attachments, no promises. She just wanted to be there for him any way she could, any way he needed. She was his friend.
She stared at the pasta and salad in front of her on the table. He would be here soon.
She let herself back into his room and found the pad of paper he had used to write his letter. She wrote her own, her 'kitchen thoughts'. She went back to the kitchen and wrote 'To my Friend' on the outside of the folded note, tucking it under the plate.
Then she went back to his room. She kicked off her shoes, took off her watch and crawled back into his bed, to doze the afternoon away.
Finished Woman in White (absolutely brilliant!) and watched 28 Days Later, which has some of the most gorgeous and interesting visiaul effects. The whole of Manchester, burning. London, empty. And so on. I wrote hte above while watching, and made a third attempt at the last page of Freefall. I'm debating whether to go to anime at 5, or at 7. I've seen most of Metropolis (anime version) before, and it is good, but I'm not sure if I can be arsed to rewatch it. I wantto see Noir and I definitely want to see Saber Marionette J Again. I found SBJ manga the other day ^_^ Also found, and actually bought, a lot of random back issues of Impulse (adorable!) and the latest Authority, which made for some handbrake turns in subject. Didn't find the other two comics I wanted though, which is a good excuse to go back. Also need to find Olly a present, and buy spreadable butter.
I haven't anything to do for another two hours, so maybe I will go and watch Metropolis.
