LJ Idol, Topic 28: "Where Does Love Go When It Dies?" [fiction]
Love is the finest thing in the world, he thought. Until it dies.
It had been flattering, at first. She was lovely, enchanting, sylphlike. Tall and willowy, delicate of face and feature, graceful as a tree bending in the wind. He'd looked at her and thought: dryad. And so when she sat down across the table and asked if she could join him, he was surprised. Beautiful women did not, as a rule, make a habit out of approaching him.
But it had been that simple. Soon after she sat down, she was having dinner with him; not long after that, she was on her way home with him; not long after that, they were lying, entangled, in his bed, after a passionate interlude. He gazed at her, still bewildered at the rapidity of it all, wondering just what the hell had happened.
The next few weeks were just as much of a whirlwind. Every day, it seemed, they were together. She spent every waking moment with him, eyes forever searching his face, fingers tracing idly across his forearm or touching his cheek. She wanted to know everything of him: his hopes, his fears, his wants. She never officially moved in with him, but spent more time at his place than at hers -- except when he was visiting her there. She cooked his favorite meals, catered to his every whim, was by his side day or night. And in bed -- or on the floor, against the wall, on a table, in a chair, whenever and wherever -- she was astounding. She couldn't get enough of him, she said, and he started to believe it. His head was still whirling with the novelty of it all.
But the sweetness became cloying, the intimacy stifling. He never had a spare moment to himself, never went anywhere without her, couldn't do a thing without her calling to find out what he was up to -- and who he was with. He tried reasoning with her, then remonstrating with her, then being abrupt with her. Nothing helped. Her eyes would fill with tears and she would tremble as if falling to pieces. Her panic and distress were so complete that he would swallow his annoyance and put his arms around her, holding her close until her trembling stopped. At times he thought he could catch a hint of a smile on her face, but dismissed that; surely she couldn't be that two-faced.
Yet it grew worse. The months passed and their relationship became a rollercoaster of manic highs and crushing lows. She would purr contentedly how happy she was that he was hers and nobody else's, then peer intently at him, and the velvet purr would become hardened steel as she noted that she was sure she could trust him and didn't have to worry about him making time with another woman. She'd make love to him till he was wrung out and exhausted, then curl up in a ball and sob because he didn't love her enough to keep going. She'd spend a day cooking for him, but would do everything but wail and gnash her teeth if he suggested that any part of it wasn't completely perfect. The slightest hint of his disapproval -- with her behavior, her obsessions, her increasingly frightening dependence on him -- would plunge her into the deepest trenches of depression.
He tried everything he knew, but any attempts to wrestle free of the webs she'd spun round him only drew the strands tighter. His love for her faded, replaced with resentment, and then with open dislike. But he wouldn't, couldn't, bring himself to shatter her illusions completely, to tell her he'd had enough. When it came right down to it, he was a coward, unable to hurt someone deliberately even when he knew that it was only to save a much worse hurt.
He sat in his easy chair, wrapped in gray gloom, staring bleakly into a future where all choices shrank and dwindled. He knew he was trapped, a victim of his own good nature, but could see no way free.
He heard the front door, and she came into the room with her usual grin that brightened still more as she saw him. As ever, he felt his pulse pound with an odd sort of pride, and then immediately run cold again, constricted by the sure and certain knowledge that any sign of approval only encouraged her most fervent excesses. He endured her embrace, her enthusiastic kisses.
"Darling!" she cried when she'd finished kissing him into submission. "I had the most wonderful idea. Why don't we get married?"
He stared at her mutely, a silent scream ringing a clarion call in the empty halls of his heart.
[This has been my entry for Week 28 of LJ Idol, for which the topic was "walking on eggshells". I hope you enjoyed my efforts this week! Please check out the other participants' entries and show them some love as well.]
It had been flattering, at first. She was lovely, enchanting, sylphlike. Tall and willowy, delicate of face and feature, graceful as a tree bending in the wind. He'd looked at her and thought: dryad. And so when she sat down across the table and asked if she could join him, he was surprised. Beautiful women did not, as a rule, make a habit out of approaching him.
But it had been that simple. Soon after she sat down, she was having dinner with him; not long after that, she was on her way home with him; not long after that, they were lying, entangled, in his bed, after a passionate interlude. He gazed at her, still bewildered at the rapidity of it all, wondering just what the hell had happened.
The next few weeks were just as much of a whirlwind. Every day, it seemed, they were together. She spent every waking moment with him, eyes forever searching his face, fingers tracing idly across his forearm or touching his cheek. She wanted to know everything of him: his hopes, his fears, his wants. She never officially moved in with him, but spent more time at his place than at hers -- except when he was visiting her there. She cooked his favorite meals, catered to his every whim, was by his side day or night. And in bed -- or on the floor, against the wall, on a table, in a chair, whenever and wherever -- she was astounding. She couldn't get enough of him, she said, and he started to believe it. His head was still whirling with the novelty of it all.
But the sweetness became cloying, the intimacy stifling. He never had a spare moment to himself, never went anywhere without her, couldn't do a thing without her calling to find out what he was up to -- and who he was with. He tried reasoning with her, then remonstrating with her, then being abrupt with her. Nothing helped. Her eyes would fill with tears and she would tremble as if falling to pieces. Her panic and distress were so complete that he would swallow his annoyance and put his arms around her, holding her close until her trembling stopped. At times he thought he could catch a hint of a smile on her face, but dismissed that; surely she couldn't be that two-faced.
Yet it grew worse. The months passed and their relationship became a rollercoaster of manic highs and crushing lows. She would purr contentedly how happy she was that he was hers and nobody else's, then peer intently at him, and the velvet purr would become hardened steel as she noted that she was sure she could trust him and didn't have to worry about him making time with another woman. She'd make love to him till he was wrung out and exhausted, then curl up in a ball and sob because he didn't love her enough to keep going. She'd spend a day cooking for him, but would do everything but wail and gnash her teeth if he suggested that any part of it wasn't completely perfect. The slightest hint of his disapproval -- with her behavior, her obsessions, her increasingly frightening dependence on him -- would plunge her into the deepest trenches of depression.
He tried everything he knew, but any attempts to wrestle free of the webs she'd spun round him only drew the strands tighter. His love for her faded, replaced with resentment, and then with open dislike. But he wouldn't, couldn't, bring himself to shatter her illusions completely, to tell her he'd had enough. When it came right down to it, he was a coward, unable to hurt someone deliberately even when he knew that it was only to save a much worse hurt.
He sat in his easy chair, wrapped in gray gloom, staring bleakly into a future where all choices shrank and dwindled. He knew he was trapped, a victim of his own good nature, but could see no way free.
He heard the front door, and she came into the room with her usual grin that brightened still more as she saw him. As ever, he felt his pulse pound with an odd sort of pride, and then immediately run cold again, constricted by the sure and certain knowledge that any sign of approval only encouraged her most fervent excesses. He endured her embrace, her enthusiastic kisses.
"Darling!" she cried when she'd finished kissing him into submission. "I had the most wonderful idea. Why don't we get married?"
He stared at her mutely, a silent scream ringing a clarion call in the empty halls of his heart.
[This has been my entry for Week 28 of LJ Idol, for which the topic was "walking on eggshells". I hope you enjoyed my efforts this week! Please check out the other participants' entries and show them some love as well.]