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- 01/12/2011
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Interlude - 3. Chapter 3
Déjà Vu
My head was pounding. I opened my eyes slowly, fearing what I might see. My dreams had left me with a vague sense of unease, left me feeling as though I had received bad news but could not recall what it was. I turned my head and saw the bright red lights of the digital clock. I reached for my glasses, cursing the day I had given up contacts, missing the feeling of being able to actually SEE as soon as my eyes opened. I slipped them on and winced. God! My face actually hurt! Damn these migraines! Weren’t they supposed to be something only women got? I laughed shortly, wincing again as pain shot through my head. Joanne was always pointing out to me how “in touch with my feminine side” I was--must be I was more in touch with it than even she knew!
I groaned slightly as I read the numbers on the clock. 9:30 in the morning! And I was still in bed and my head was pounding like a bass drum! I sat up and was rewarded for my efforts by flashes of light behind my eyes as the room swam around me. Oh yes, this was going to be one hell of a migraine! And what the HELL had I done to earn this one? I hadn’t had one drop to drink that I could recall…
I got up slowly and made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the light and cursed again. Damn these hotel rooms! Did they think they were lighting an airport runway, for god’s sake? It was a god damned bathroom! Who needed to see so damned well in the bathroom? And there was no way of dimming the lights. One switch. You either had all 10,000,000 watts or you had nothing. I slid off my boxers and stepped into the shower. The water came out cold and I nearly yelled as it hit my skin. But the pain that shot through my head as my body felt the cold water’s attack reminded me that yelling would only cause my head to split completely in two. It seemed to take forever, but finally I had the water adjusted to my customary “cool” of just about body temperature. Joanne always complained that I was trying to freeze her to death. Maybe, subconsciously, I was.
I let the water wash over me. It felt just slightly cool, refreshing, and it seemed to momentarily ease the pounding in my head. I sighed. This was much better.
I cursed as I heard a knock on the door to my room. “Fucking Christ!” Yeah, I had to watch my language more—or so Joanne constantly reminded me. But there was no one around to hear me except the fucking lunatic who was banging on the door to my hotel room at 9:30 in the morning!
Of course, I could just ignore it, let the cool water continue to numb my head. But something told me this person would just stand there and beat on that door until either it caved in or my head did!
I cursed to myself and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel. I wrapped the towel around myself as I padded to the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind me. I didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. I was too annoyed for that. “Just a minute!” I yelled as I tuned the handle and opened the door. “What is…” the words died on my lips and I just stared. I couldn’t do anything but just stare. It was an unreasoning moment. A moment of pure reaction, no thought. I just stared.
His eyes were only inches away from mine. And they were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… But I had never seen them in that face. Or had I? Déjà vu swept over me.
He smiled. It was a slow smile, a tentative smile, a smile filled with questions and uncertainties. I felt the smile, felt it right through my skin, felt it go right through my flesh, right to my soul. And a slight blush colored his cheeks. It was the blush of a rose, delicate, soft to the touch, fragrant to the senses. It crept up his cheeks carefully, as if it was unaccustomed to being there, unsure of finding its way.
“I just came back to see if you were all right.”
Back? I must have asked the question with my eyes, with my face.
He tipped his head a little to one side and nodded slightly. “You didn’t want to see a doctor last night.” He grinned, a boyish grin that went straight through me. “You were REALLY sure about that. Thought you were going to punch out themanager.”
I could feel myself frowning as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. I didn’t remember anything like that at all.
His grin fell away and concern shone in his eyes. “When you passed out in the lobby…” He broke off, those amazing green eyes traveling slowly down my body, taking in—apparently for the first time—my wet and towel-wrapped state. “Oh…I’m so sorry! Here I am making you stand half naked in the doorway!” The blush on his cheeks deepened to a rich crimson. “I’ll just go. Obviously you are ok or you wouldn’t be standing here.” He turned to leave.
“No, wait!” And I did something impulsive. Impulsive, I say, because I know I would never have planned it, would never have done it if I had thought. I reached out and grabbed his arm. My fingers burned from the touch of his skin and my first instinct was to let go immediately. But I held on, held on more tightly than I should have, more tightly than the situation warranted. But something told me to hold on for dear life, to NOT let him get away. And the words “this time” seemed to follow that thought.
He stopped. He really had no choice unless he wanted to drag me behind him down the hall. He looked at me and smiled, a crooked little smile, somewhere in the middle between that slow, tentative smile and that devastating boyish grin. “I couldn’t get away if I wanted to!” He laughed, looking down at my hand, which was gripping his arm so tightly my knuckles were white. Again, that feeling of déjà vu nagged at me.
He tilted his head to one side again, and looked over my shoulder. “Maybe I could come inside?” His voice was very soft and it seemed to caress my skin. I blinked a few times, wondering where THAT thought had come from.
I laughed, and noticed that my head didn’t seem to want to split in two this time. “Sure, that might be a better idea. My luck I’d be standing in the doorway and my towel would fall off—just as a bunch of schoolgirls on a class trip were walking by!”
He laughed and he walked past me. “It would be such a shame if that towel were to fall off…” I looked up quickly and I noticed him raise one eyebrow slightly. He pushed the door shut behind him and stopped. He covered my hand with his—my hand that still clutched his arm in a white-knuckled grip. I felt a wave of warmth sweep through me—and yet again that vague sense of déjà vu gnawed at me.
“You have that look on your face again.” His voice was gentle, concerned. And he did not move his hand.
“What look is that?”
“That same look you had on your face just before you passed out last night. I can’t quite describe it, but it is the same look. Are you sure you are ok?” He reached up and felt my forehead with his other hand, the one that was not still covering mine.
I nodded, my eyes not leaving his. “I get migraines pretty bad sometimes. Considering how my head felt this morning, that must have been what happened last night.” I paused, shaking my head a little. “But man! I don’t remember passing out, or any of what you mentioned. Must have been one HELL of a migraine. Probably a good thing I DID pass out.”
He ran his fingers lightly across my left brow, down over my left temple. Odd…he touched the exact place where I got my migraines. I wondered if I had rubbed that spot or something, if I had given him an unconscious clue. “How is it now?”
I frowned for a moment, trying to feel my headache, to see how bad it actually still was. I shook my head quickly, much like someone trying to shake something loose inside their head. “It’s gone. Odd. Doesn’t hurt at all. And when I got up, when I was in the shower just before you knocked, I thought my head was going to fall off it was so bad.”
He was silent. I met his gaze and I could see he was looking deeply into my eyes, trying to see beyond the surface, as if he were trying to look into my soul. I could not look away. I was mesmerized by his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And I knew beyond a doubt—though I didn’t know HOW I knew—but I knew that I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… And I knew I was falling into them now.
Copyright © 2011 Luc; All Rights Reserved.
My head was pounding. I opened my eyes slowly, fearing what I might see. My dreams had left me with a vague sense of unease, left me feeling as though I had received bad news but could not recall what it was. I turned my head and saw the bright red lights of the digital clock. I reached for my glasses, cursing the day I had given up contacts, missing the feeling of being able to actually SEE as soon as my eyes opened. I slipped them on and winced. God! My face actually hurt! Damn these migraines! Weren’t they supposed to be something only women got? I laughed shortly, wincing again as pain shot through my head. Joanne was always pointing out to me how “in touch with my feminine side” I was--must be I was more in touch with it than even she knew!
I groaned slightly as I read the numbers on the clock. 9:30 in the morning! And I was still in bed and my head was pounding like a bass drum! I sat up and was rewarded for my efforts by flashes of light behind my eyes as the room swam around me. Oh yes, this was going to be one hell of a migraine! And what the HELL had I done to earn this one? I hadn’t had one drop to drink that I could recall…
I got up slowly and made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the light and cursed again. Damn these hotel rooms! Did they think they were lighting an airport runway, for god’s sake? It was a god damned bathroom! Who needed to see so damned well in the bathroom? And there was no way of dimming the lights. One switch. You either had all 10,000,000 watts or you had nothing. I slid off my boxers and stepped into the shower. The water came out cold and I nearly yelled as it hit my skin. But the pain that shot through my head as my body felt the cold water’s attack reminded me that yelling would only cause my head to split completely in two. It seemed to take forever, but finally I had the water adjusted to my customary “cool” of just about body temperature. Joanne always complained that I was trying to freeze her to death. Maybe, subconsciously, I was.
I let the water wash over me. It felt just slightly cool, refreshing, and it seemed to momentarily ease the pounding in my head. I sighed. This was much better.
I cursed as I heard a knock on the door to my room. “Fucking Christ!” Yeah, I had to watch my language more—or so Joanne constantly reminded me. But there was no one around to hear me except the fucking lunatic who was banging on the door to my hotel room at 9:30 in the morning!
Of course, I could just ignore it, let the cool water continue to numb my head. But something told me this person would just stand there and beat on that door until either it caved in or my head did!
I cursed to myself and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel. I wrapped the towel around myself as I padded to the door, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind me. I didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. I was too annoyed for that. “Just a minute!” I yelled as I tuned the handle and opened the door. “What is…” the words died on my lips and I just stared. I couldn’t do anything but just stare. It was an unreasoning moment. A moment of pure reaction, no thought. I just stared.
His eyes were only inches away from mine. And they were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… But I had never seen them in that face. Or had I? Déjà vu swept over me.
He smiled. It was a slow smile, a tentative smile, a smile filled with questions and uncertainties. I felt the smile, felt it right through my skin, felt it go right through my flesh, right to my soul. And a slight blush colored his cheeks. It was the blush of a rose, delicate, soft to the touch, fragrant to the senses. It crept up his cheeks carefully, as if it was unaccustomed to being there, unsure of finding its way.
“I just came back to see if you were all right.”
Back? I must have asked the question with my eyes, with my face.
He tipped his head a little to one side and nodded slightly. “You didn’t want to see a doctor last night.” He grinned, a boyish grin that went straight through me. “You were REALLY sure about that. Thought you were going to punch out themanager.”
I could feel myself frowning as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. I didn’t remember anything like that at all.
His grin fell away and concern shone in his eyes. “When you passed out in the lobby…” He broke off, those amazing green eyes traveling slowly down my body, taking in—apparently for the first time—my wet and towel-wrapped state. “Oh…I’m so sorry! Here I am making you stand half naked in the doorway!” The blush on his cheeks deepened to a rich crimson. “I’ll just go. Obviously you are ok or you wouldn’t be standing here.” He turned to leave.
“No, wait!” And I did something impulsive. Impulsive, I say, because I know I would never have planned it, would never have done it if I had thought. I reached out and grabbed his arm. My fingers burned from the touch of his skin and my first instinct was to let go immediately. But I held on, held on more tightly than I should have, more tightly than the situation warranted. But something told me to hold on for dear life, to NOT let him get away. And the words “this time” seemed to follow that thought.
He stopped. He really had no choice unless he wanted to drag me behind him down the hall. He looked at me and smiled, a crooked little smile, somewhere in the middle between that slow, tentative smile and that devastating boyish grin. “I couldn’t get away if I wanted to!” He laughed, looking down at my hand, which was gripping his arm so tightly my knuckles were white. Again, that feeling of déjà vu nagged at me.
He tilted his head to one side again, and looked over my shoulder. “Maybe I could come inside?” His voice was very soft and it seemed to caress my skin. I blinked a few times, wondering where THAT thought had come from.
I laughed, and noticed that my head didn’t seem to want to split in two this time. “Sure, that might be a better idea. My luck I’d be standing in the doorway and my towel would fall off—just as a bunch of schoolgirls on a class trip were walking by!”
He laughed and he walked past me. “It would be such a shame if that towel were to fall off…” I looked up quickly and I noticed him raise one eyebrow slightly. He pushed the door shut behind him and stopped. He covered my hand with his—my hand that still clutched his arm in a white-knuckled grip. I felt a wave of warmth sweep through me—and yet again that vague sense of déjà vu gnawed at me.
“You have that look on your face again.” His voice was gentle, concerned. And he did not move his hand.
“What look is that?”
“That same look you had on your face just before you passed out last night. I can’t quite describe it, but it is the same look. Are you sure you are ok?” He reached up and felt my forehead with his other hand, the one that was not still covering mine.
I nodded, my eyes not leaving his. “I get migraines pretty bad sometimes. Considering how my head felt this morning, that must have been what happened last night.” I paused, shaking my head a little. “But man! I don’t remember passing out, or any of what you mentioned. Must have been one HELL of a migraine. Probably a good thing I DID pass out.”
He ran his fingers lightly across my left brow, down over my left temple. Odd…he touched the exact place where I got my migraines. I wondered if I had rubbed that spot or something, if I had given him an unconscious clue. “How is it now?”
I frowned for a moment, trying to feel my headache, to see how bad it actually still was. I shook my head quickly, much like someone trying to shake something loose inside their head. “It’s gone. Odd. Doesn’t hurt at all. And when I got up, when I was in the shower just before you knocked, I thought my head was going to fall off it was so bad.”
He was silent. I met his gaze and I could see he was looking deeply into my eyes, trying to see beyond the surface, as if he were trying to look into my soul. I could not look away. I was mesmerized by his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And I knew beyond a doubt—though I didn’t know HOW I knew—but I knew that I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… And I knew I was falling into them now.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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