Alice Blue #17, Daffodil #10, Screaming Green #6
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Alice Blue #17 (it's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards), Daffodil #10 (fresh grass), Screaming Green #6 (don't knock masturbation--it's sex with someone I love)
Styles/Supplies: Pastels to card prompt "taking a chance"
Word Count: 1,778
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; implications of abuse
Summary: James doesn't know if he should get involved.
Note: Hope and James, take two--fifteen years after their last conversation. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
The woman was sitting on the hill, grass stains creeping up the sides of her pale yellow dress, her head down and her face covered with her long blond hair. It was clear to James that she was crying, and his first inclination was to keep walking--he'd left the hotel for some fresh air after all, to clear his head after a long night of too many people and too many glasses of champagne--but there was something familiar about the woman.
So he approached her, telling himself with every step that he was making a mistake. But forward he marched, until his once-shiny black shoes sunk into the grass and he was standing in front of her. "Hope Fern, right?"
Her head shot up, her large gray eyes blinking at him in surprise. They were red around the rims, and the thin layer of eyeliner she had been wearing was now decorating her cheeks. She wiped at her face, smearing the makeup even more, and said, "Yeah." Then she squinted at him, and James realized she probably couldn't see his features very well, with the bright lights from the hotel behind him casting him in shadow.
"James?" she finally said. "James Breaker?" Her voice wobbled a little bit, and James questioned himself again. He shouldn't have come over. He didn't know Hope Fern; or rather, he didn't know who she had become between when he had known her as an awkward fifteen-year-old and now, outside of a five minute talk at the party.
That summer in Florida. He didn't like to think about it. But she had been there, had seen at least something of the strange things that had happened, and that brought out a feeling of something like solidarity in him, a feeling he rarely felt toward anyone. At the party, he had been too busy trying to keep the smile on his face and the thoughts out of his head to really see her, even though he had talked to her. Looking at her, he had remembered images: the not quite pretty skinny girl with her red hair always up in a messy ponytail, staring at him and trying to find excuses to be in the same room as him. A hopeless, stupid crush, and James had been glad to be rid of her.
But that was half a lifetime ago, and now he felt like there was a reason they had run into each other again. He was allowed his sentimental moments, even if his family thought differently. So he sat beside her on the grass.
She gasped. "Your suit!"
He shrugged. "Your dress."
She snorted in a way that turned into a little sniffle at the end. "$39.99 at Wal-Mart. Yours looks tailored."
It was, but it wasn't like he couldn't afford another one if the current one was ruined. Actually, if he had any say in it, there would be no reason for him to even need to replace it, at least not for a long time. He fully intended to have a long talk with Marsha the next day, tell her that he damn well had fulfilled enough social obligations to his editor to last for a long time, and then disappear to some far off place where anyone would need at least two plane trips and a native guide to find him.
"So why are you out here?" he asked, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him.
She stared at his legs for a moment. "Why do you care?"
"I do remember you," he replied. "The girl in Florida. Our sisters played together."
She winced, and James knew that wasn't what she had been looking for. She had wanted reassurance that he remembered her as her, not as a family accessory. He remembered, dimly, that she and her sister had not gotten along well.
"So." Hope brought her knees up to her chest. "Funny running into you again. I mean, we talked earlier, so obviously I knew you were here, but...you know what I mean."
"Yeah," he said. "Funny. So your date, you said he's a lawyer for the publishing house?"
She shook her head, the small smile on her face collapsing. Ah. A sore spot. "Did things go badly with your date?" Unbidden, he started to see it: the tall angry man yelling, calling her names, heading toward the door...he clamped down hard on the images, forcing them away. Let her tell him herself, if she wanted.
"You could say that," she said, not looking at him. "He left."
"He didn't just abandon you?" He didn't know how far away they lived, but they were obviously staying at the hotel, so it likely wasn't just down the street. "Do you need a ride home?"
Hope shook her head. "No, he'll be back. He does this a lot."
Insult you? he wondered, but he didn't say anything. She hadn't offered that information in words.
"It's really stupid," she continued, swiping again at her face. "I'm out here crying like a teenage girl, and it was just a fight. Couples have those all the time. Well, you know."
"I don't, actually," said James, tipping his head back to look at the stars. "Never got that far into a relationship. Never really got into a relationship, period."
She turned to look at him, blinking in shock. He pretended not to notice. "Never? But you're...I mean, you're..."
"Kind of old to be single?"
Even in the dim light he could see her blush. "No! I didn't mean that at all. I just meant that...well, you're not, you know, that bad-looking, and you're kind of famous, but...you've never had a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, I guess? A lover? At all?"
"The opportunity never arose." Which was a lie. Enough women had told him he was attractive that he figured it was the truth, and the fame and money definitely didn't hurt his prospects, either. He'd had women--and some men--throw themselves at him before, try their hardest to get close to him. None of them understood why he didn't reciprocate. None of them could understand.
"Oh," said Hope. "I guess the writing and the book tours keep you busy."
He laughed, delighted that she had immediately thought to blame his workload instead of just thinking him some kind of freak. Already this conversation was better than most he'd had in his life.
Hope was shaking her head. "You're very open."
"I am?" That was one thing he had never been called.
"Well, yeah. This is the first conversation we've had since..." she thought. "Well, ever, really. And you're telling me kind of personal stuff. I really didn't mean to pry, I was just upset about Tobias--"
"You weren't prying," said James. "I took it into too personal of an area. I'm sorry." He did sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between small talk and too-intimate talk. There were so many times he had accidentally seen something too personal from strangers, so many times he had forgotten what had been said versus what had been thought in a conversation, that it was sometimes difficult to tell when he had crossed a line. It was easier to just not talk at all. He had let his guard down slightly with Hope, because she was someone he sort of knew but whom he had no obligations to.
"Did you ever go back?" she asked, after a few seconds of silence. "To Holwood, I mean? After?"
"Never." He didn't elaborate.
"Now I got too personal," said Hope. "Sorry."
"It's nothing." He really didn't want to talk about Florida, but it really was the only thing they had in common. "I don't think it stayed open after that summer. After Robert died."
She visibly cringed at the mention of the late resort owner's name. "Oh. I guess I thought someone would take it over."
"Who, exactly?" It had been the scene of a crime, of the abduction and probable murder of a child. Police had swarmed over the place for months. The owner had died under mysterious circumstances after being implicated in the crime. It had been all over the national news. Even after the authorities left, who would even attempt to rebuild a place that had gained such a horrific reputation?
"You're right," said Hope. "I've never even been back to the state. I probably never will."
"The rest of Florida's not so bad," said James.
"You're from there, right?"
"I haven't lived there in a long time." Not since he left for college, only returning occasionally for holidays at his dad's house.
A few more seconds of silence passed, and Hope looked at her watch. "I'd better go to my room. Tobias will be back soon and he'll probably want to leave right away."
"You don't have to stay with him," said James, and it was just a stupid, stupid thing to say, because he wasn't supposed to know anything about this Tobias, and even what he had illicitly seen had only been a small part, taken out of context. But he had a bad feeling just the same. Everything about Hope, from the cheap dress to the dyed hair to the air of resigned acceptance even as she sat on the damp grass and sobbed, told him she was deeply unhappy, and that Tobias was a major part of the reason.
She pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry? You don't know anything about him."
"I know he made you cry." And just how many women had he made cry? How many first dates had ended with her baffled and upset, him annoyed and hurting while unwanted thoughts and images crowded into his head?
But that was different. Those were all first dates, little emotional investment required. This was the systematic destruction of a person's self-worth, Tobias slowly grinding beneath his heavy heel a woman, James thought, who could be so much more than she was.
"I just cry easily," she said, the defense mechanism probably automatic at this point. "It's my own fault, anyway. I make him mad."
James jumped up. "Do you even hear yourself?" he demanded. "That's not you talking, that's him!"
But he had definitely crossed a line, because Hope had already turned her back on him and was walking briskly back toward the hotel, her arms hugged around her body and the back of her damp dress sticking to her legs.
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Alice Blue #17 (it's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards), Daffodil #10 (fresh grass), Screaming Green #6 (don't knock masturbation--it's sex with someone I love)
Styles/Supplies: Pastels to card prompt "taking a chance"
Word Count: 1,778
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; implications of abuse
Summary: James doesn't know if he should get involved.
Note: Hope and James, take two--fifteen years after their last conversation. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
The woman was sitting on the hill, grass stains creeping up the sides of her pale yellow dress, her head down and her face covered with her long blond hair. It was clear to James that she was crying, and his first inclination was to keep walking--he'd left the hotel for some fresh air after all, to clear his head after a long night of too many people and too many glasses of champagne--but there was something familiar about the woman.
So he approached her, telling himself with every step that he was making a mistake. But forward he marched, until his once-shiny black shoes sunk into the grass and he was standing in front of her. "Hope Fern, right?"
Her head shot up, her large gray eyes blinking at him in surprise. They were red around the rims, and the thin layer of eyeliner she had been wearing was now decorating her cheeks. She wiped at her face, smearing the makeup even more, and said, "Yeah." Then she squinted at him, and James realized she probably couldn't see his features very well, with the bright lights from the hotel behind him casting him in shadow.
"James?" she finally said. "James Breaker?" Her voice wobbled a little bit, and James questioned himself again. He shouldn't have come over. He didn't know Hope Fern; or rather, he didn't know who she had become between when he had known her as an awkward fifteen-year-old and now, outside of a five minute talk at the party.
That summer in Florida. He didn't like to think about it. But she had been there, had seen at least something of the strange things that had happened, and that brought out a feeling of something like solidarity in him, a feeling he rarely felt toward anyone. At the party, he had been too busy trying to keep the smile on his face and the thoughts out of his head to really see her, even though he had talked to her. Looking at her, he had remembered images: the not quite pretty skinny girl with her red hair always up in a messy ponytail, staring at him and trying to find excuses to be in the same room as him. A hopeless, stupid crush, and James had been glad to be rid of her.
But that was half a lifetime ago, and now he felt like there was a reason they had run into each other again. He was allowed his sentimental moments, even if his family thought differently. So he sat beside her on the grass.
She gasped. "Your suit!"
He shrugged. "Your dress."
She snorted in a way that turned into a little sniffle at the end. "$39.99 at Wal-Mart. Yours looks tailored."
It was, but it wasn't like he couldn't afford another one if the current one was ruined. Actually, if he had any say in it, there would be no reason for him to even need to replace it, at least not for a long time. He fully intended to have a long talk with Marsha the next day, tell her that he damn well had fulfilled enough social obligations to his editor to last for a long time, and then disappear to some far off place where anyone would need at least two plane trips and a native guide to find him.
"So why are you out here?" he asked, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him.
She stared at his legs for a moment. "Why do you care?"
"I do remember you," he replied. "The girl in Florida. Our sisters played together."
She winced, and James knew that wasn't what she had been looking for. She had wanted reassurance that he remembered her as her, not as a family accessory. He remembered, dimly, that she and her sister had not gotten along well.
"So." Hope brought her knees up to her chest. "Funny running into you again. I mean, we talked earlier, so obviously I knew you were here, but...you know what I mean."
"Yeah," he said. "Funny. So your date, you said he's a lawyer for the publishing house?"
She shook her head, the small smile on her face collapsing. Ah. A sore spot. "Did things go badly with your date?" Unbidden, he started to see it: the tall angry man yelling, calling her names, heading toward the door...he clamped down hard on the images, forcing them away. Let her tell him herself, if she wanted.
"You could say that," she said, not looking at him. "He left."
"He didn't just abandon you?" He didn't know how far away they lived, but they were obviously staying at the hotel, so it likely wasn't just down the street. "Do you need a ride home?"
Hope shook her head. "No, he'll be back. He does this a lot."
Insult you? he wondered, but he didn't say anything. She hadn't offered that information in words.
"It's really stupid," she continued, swiping again at her face. "I'm out here crying like a teenage girl, and it was just a fight. Couples have those all the time. Well, you know."
"I don't, actually," said James, tipping his head back to look at the stars. "Never got that far into a relationship. Never really got into a relationship, period."
She turned to look at him, blinking in shock. He pretended not to notice. "Never? But you're...I mean, you're..."
"Kind of old to be single?"
Even in the dim light he could see her blush. "No! I didn't mean that at all. I just meant that...well, you're not, you know, that bad-looking, and you're kind of famous, but...you've never had a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, I guess? A lover? At all?"
"The opportunity never arose." Which was a lie. Enough women had told him he was attractive that he figured it was the truth, and the fame and money definitely didn't hurt his prospects, either. He'd had women--and some men--throw themselves at him before, try their hardest to get close to him. None of them understood why he didn't reciprocate. None of them could understand.
"Oh," said Hope. "I guess the writing and the book tours keep you busy."
He laughed, delighted that she had immediately thought to blame his workload instead of just thinking him some kind of freak. Already this conversation was better than most he'd had in his life.
Hope was shaking her head. "You're very open."
"I am?" That was one thing he had never been called.
"Well, yeah. This is the first conversation we've had since..." she thought. "Well, ever, really. And you're telling me kind of personal stuff. I really didn't mean to pry, I was just upset about Tobias--"
"You weren't prying," said James. "I took it into too personal of an area. I'm sorry." He did sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between small talk and too-intimate talk. There were so many times he had accidentally seen something too personal from strangers, so many times he had forgotten what had been said versus what had been thought in a conversation, that it was sometimes difficult to tell when he had crossed a line. It was easier to just not talk at all. He had let his guard down slightly with Hope, because she was someone he sort of knew but whom he had no obligations to.
"Did you ever go back?" she asked, after a few seconds of silence. "To Holwood, I mean? After?"
"Never." He didn't elaborate.
"Now I got too personal," said Hope. "Sorry."
"It's nothing." He really didn't want to talk about Florida, but it really was the only thing they had in common. "I don't think it stayed open after that summer. After Robert died."
She visibly cringed at the mention of the late resort owner's name. "Oh. I guess I thought someone would take it over."
"Who, exactly?" It had been the scene of a crime, of the abduction and probable murder of a child. Police had swarmed over the place for months. The owner had died under mysterious circumstances after being implicated in the crime. It had been all over the national news. Even after the authorities left, who would even attempt to rebuild a place that had gained such a horrific reputation?
"You're right," said Hope. "I've never even been back to the state. I probably never will."
"The rest of Florida's not so bad," said James.
"You're from there, right?"
"I haven't lived there in a long time." Not since he left for college, only returning occasionally for holidays at his dad's house.
A few more seconds of silence passed, and Hope looked at her watch. "I'd better go to my room. Tobias will be back soon and he'll probably want to leave right away."
"You don't have to stay with him," said James, and it was just a stupid, stupid thing to say, because he wasn't supposed to know anything about this Tobias, and even what he had illicitly seen had only been a small part, taken out of context. But he had a bad feeling just the same. Everything about Hope, from the cheap dress to the dyed hair to the air of resigned acceptance even as she sat on the damp grass and sobbed, told him she was deeply unhappy, and that Tobias was a major part of the reason.
She pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry? You don't know anything about him."
"I know he made you cry." And just how many women had he made cry? How many first dates had ended with her baffled and upset, him annoyed and hurting while unwanted thoughts and images crowded into his head?
But that was different. Those were all first dates, little emotional investment required. This was the systematic destruction of a person's self-worth, Tobias slowly grinding beneath his heavy heel a woman, James thought, who could be so much more than she was.
"I just cry easily," she said, the defense mechanism probably automatic at this point. "It's my own fault, anyway. I make him mad."
James jumped up. "Do you even hear yourself?" he demanded. "That's not you talking, that's him!"
But he had definitely crossed a line, because Hope had already turned her back on him and was walking briskly back toward the hotel, her arms hugged around her body and the back of her damp dress sticking to her legs.