Away From Here- Chapter 18.
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Chapter 18.
From Rags to Riches.
The hotel room is darkened, the curtains are drawn but light still leaks through the cracks in the slats of material, causing slithers of wintry light to slip across the room, lighting the speckles of dust in the air, floating through the messy hotel suit, unassuming and peaceful.
Mara stands in front of the full length mirror set into the front of the wardrobe and sighs. She slides her fingers across the neat shirt and trousers she’s been forced into, her high heels clinking slightly against the metal as she moves to inspects herself from all angles.
She thought maybe the dark would help to hide the fact that all her clothing is plastic. It rustles slightly against her, even though it’s set to mimic fabric, and it feels wrong against her skin, hard and itchy.
Shannon had told her that she needed to wear plastic clothes. ‘For the sake of the press’ had been her reasoning.
Mara had wanted to refuse; she could have found some fabric clothes to wear that were smart enough, but Shannon and Miss Ashcroft had both told her that plastic clothes were needed with this occasion.
She smiles, her eyes sad, even to her own refection. It seems fitting, for every life change she makes, her clothing changes too.
She chuckles softly to herself, first it was from rags to fabric, now fabric to plastic.
Whatever next?
She sighs at her reflection, her hair is flawless, hanging around her shoulders, perfectly straightened, and her face is made up with soft makeup. Shannon told her she had to make a good show for the cameras, and she’s never felt like more like anyone else in her life.
She shakes her head. It’s just for the press, then she can change back into her clothes for stasis.
Then, then she can be whoever she wants to be.
She turns to the bed, where her small brown bag is sat on the bed. Everything else has already been packed and stored away. Well, everything she needed anyway, and according to Miss Ashcroft and Shannon, that’s not much.
She grabs her bag so she can swing it up over her shoulder, but as her fingers close around the firm brown leather, her hand brushes against a small metal object.
She turns and looks at the small remote for the vid screen in the corner, currently switched off.
Her fingers hesitate.
It could be so easy.
It’s only three buttons away.
He’s only three buttons away.
She shakes her head sharply at herself. Dropping the remote, not even realising that she’d picked it up in the first place. Her chest swells with anger.
No. If he doesn’t want to talk to her, then she doesn’t want to talk to him.
She slings her bag high up onto her shoulder and turns on finely pointed heel, walking out of the room, not looking back until she’s stepped into the sleek black solar car that’s sat waiting outside the hotel, ready to take her far out of the city.
“So.”
Shift from one foot to the other. Hands behind his back.
“Yeah.”
Lips twitch, almost a smile, almost a frown. Almost means nothing.
“This is really it?”
Arms flex, muscles tighten then release; nervous, upset? Or are they too far gone for that?
“I guess it’s going to have to be.”
“You’re doing the right thing.”
“I know.”
A pause, neither move, the crowds bustle hurriedly around them paparazzi that pass by them, screaming crowds of people that peer insistently at every member of the team. And them, stood on the side lines, watching each other. Lieutenant Simon Jameson stands, rigidly, looking at Shannon, and Shannon looks right back, trying desperately to keep hold of that piercing gaze.
“I should go,” she says. She hadn’t wanted to see him. She’d wanted to walk away from all of this, just let it all go.
She hadn’t wanted to have to go at all. But things change.
She turns on her too-high heels, her bag held in her right hand and she ties to stride into the crowds, away from him, as if breaking eye contact can break feelings too.
But there’s a warm grip on her hand and suddenly she’s being pulled back, spun around and pressed into a solid chest. Bright eyes stare down at her as Simon leans down and kisses her soundly and she kisses back without thinking, one hand buried in his hair, his around the back of her neck. Sparks fire off between them, hot and bright, electrifying like it always was, red hot and unpredictable.
They break apart, their breath mingling in the shared space between them. Simon brushes an errant blonde hair out of the way of her eyes.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he tells her again, almost as though he’s convincing himself, and looks at her, his gaze softening. “You’re doing the right thing, but I wish you weren’t.”
She sighs and rests her head on his chest, her face buried in his military issue jacket. “Me too.”
Next Chapter>>
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Chapter 18.
From Rags to Riches.
The hotel room is darkened, the curtains are drawn but light still leaks through the cracks in the slats of material, causing slithers of wintry light to slip across the room, lighting the speckles of dust in the air, floating through the messy hotel suit, unassuming and peaceful.
Mara stands in front of the full length mirror set into the front of the wardrobe and sighs. She slides her fingers across the neat shirt and trousers she’s been forced into, her high heels clinking slightly against the metal as she moves to inspects herself from all angles.
She thought maybe the dark would help to hide the fact that all her clothing is plastic. It rustles slightly against her, even though it’s set to mimic fabric, and it feels wrong against her skin, hard and itchy.
Shannon had told her that she needed to wear plastic clothes. ‘For the sake of the press’ had been her reasoning.
Mara had wanted to refuse; she could have found some fabric clothes to wear that were smart enough, but Shannon and Miss Ashcroft had both told her that plastic clothes were needed with this occasion.
She smiles, her eyes sad, even to her own refection. It seems fitting, for every life change she makes, her clothing changes too.
She chuckles softly to herself, first it was from rags to fabric, now fabric to plastic.
Whatever next?
She sighs at her reflection, her hair is flawless, hanging around her shoulders, perfectly straightened, and her face is made up with soft makeup. Shannon told her she had to make a good show for the cameras, and she’s never felt like more like anyone else in her life.
She shakes her head. It’s just for the press, then she can change back into her clothes for stasis.
Then, then she can be whoever she wants to be.
She turns to the bed, where her small brown bag is sat on the bed. Everything else has already been packed and stored away. Well, everything she needed anyway, and according to Miss Ashcroft and Shannon, that’s not much.
She grabs her bag so she can swing it up over her shoulder, but as her fingers close around the firm brown leather, her hand brushes against a small metal object.
She turns and looks at the small remote for the vid screen in the corner, currently switched off.
Her fingers hesitate.
It could be so easy.
It’s only three buttons away.
He’s only three buttons away.
She shakes her head sharply at herself. Dropping the remote, not even realising that she’d picked it up in the first place. Her chest swells with anger.
No. If he doesn’t want to talk to her, then she doesn’t want to talk to him.
She slings her bag high up onto her shoulder and turns on finely pointed heel, walking out of the room, not looking back until she’s stepped into the sleek black solar car that’s sat waiting outside the hotel, ready to take her far out of the city.
“So.”
Shift from one foot to the other. Hands behind his back.
“Yeah.”
Lips twitch, almost a smile, almost a frown. Almost means nothing.
“This is really it?”
Arms flex, muscles tighten then release; nervous, upset? Or are they too far gone for that?
“I guess it’s going to have to be.”
“You’re doing the right thing.”
“I know.”
A pause, neither move, the crowds bustle hurriedly around them paparazzi that pass by them, screaming crowds of people that peer insistently at every member of the team. And them, stood on the side lines, watching each other. Lieutenant Simon Jameson stands, rigidly, looking at Shannon, and Shannon looks right back, trying desperately to keep hold of that piercing gaze.
“I should go,” she says. She hadn’t wanted to see him. She’d wanted to walk away from all of this, just let it all go.
She hadn’t wanted to have to go at all. But things change.
She turns on her too-high heels, her bag held in her right hand and she ties to stride into the crowds, away from him, as if breaking eye contact can break feelings too.
But there’s a warm grip on her hand and suddenly she’s being pulled back, spun around and pressed into a solid chest. Bright eyes stare down at her as Simon leans down and kisses her soundly and she kisses back without thinking, one hand buried in his hair, his around the back of her neck. Sparks fire off between them, hot and bright, electrifying like it always was, red hot and unpredictable.
They break apart, their breath mingling in the shared space between them. Simon brushes an errant blonde hair out of the way of her eyes.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he tells her again, almost as though he’s convincing himself, and looks at her, his gaze softening. “You’re doing the right thing, but I wish you weren’t.”
She sighs and rests her head on his chest, her face buried in his military issue jacket. “Me too.”
Next Chapter>>