| Subject: Chapter 210 - Part 2 (end of chapter 210) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, October 26, 06:31:55am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Her terrors, then, remained unspoken, stayed firmly on her conscience. And there was another, growing fear of late, one which wouldn't aid any of their plans, if it were true; her heart shrank. It might be a blessing, but it wasn't one which would help them at all.
She tried to talk herself out of these concerns, yet again--certain she was being hasty. After all, she had only been married a little over a month--had no real way to tell. Even if she *was* pregnant, there was no way to be certain just yet.
It was this possibility alone which frightened her, however--taking her back to her multiple anxieties over her more intimate life with her husband. She and Michael had yet to approach each other entirely tenderly during their marriage, therefore conceiving this child--if a child there was--in a less than gentle way; she didn't know whether that was right. She had always imagined--despite her adoration of these wilder times with her partner, despite her current, indestructible need for his fierce devotion--that her child would be created in an act of pure, tender love; even if she was well aware that many a child was not conceived in such an act--herself included--this was not the sort of parent she wished to be. That their child might have been formed by two parents who simply couldn't live without everything the other had to give wasn't enough. If she were to be a mother, it should only happen with the purest of motives.
She was showing some lingering sense of naiveté with these thoughts, of course, but there was no way for her to see it--very few positive role models existing for her to judge by. In her life, such desire-driven intimacy only indicated a lack of true affection--children conceived out of it bastards, in one sense or another. The movies, too, didn't help her--their images deceiving. Love there was either tender or abusive; even if the abuse was sometimes, supposedly, a positive, this wasn't a great help to her. She didn't want to be in a relationship with a brute, one where she so achingly desired such a man--never wished to be like her own mother; her hands folded together finally, even if she just kept from wringing them. That wasn't a healthy way to start a child's life at all.
It was this concern which wracked her, giving her nowhere to turn. Despite her wonderful intimacy with Michael, she was too young to truly understand the many sides of love--the fact that real tenderness, deep love, came in many different forms. A couple's approach didn't have to be unvaryingly soft to be real--only the true emotions which underpinned it important. But her experience was much too limited to understand this in full.
She was worrying herself over these facts, terrifying herself with the possibility that Michael didn't love her as deeply as he had believed, or that she had only been attracted to this far-less-gentle side of him, wanting some cruelty in her life--her ever-present fear of turning into her mother tormenting her. Even if every second of lovemaking with her husband dismissed these fears, she couldn't quite see it--still too wrapped up the supposed truths of life she had always been taught; it was a very old story, for so many people. Even if every second of your life showed you the truth, society's lies took precedence every time.
She was caught here, then, had no way out--far too frightened to bring up such subjects with her partner. After all, they were waiting for an attack, had to focus there. Shifting their attention to more personal issues would only get them into trouble.
She told herself this truth again, taking a deep breath, trying to calm her inner qualms. They wouldn't do her any good. Neither would the fact that--the stronger her terrors grew--the more she craved Michael's ruthless lovemaking; just watching him acting now could make her crazy. She wanted to tell Petrosian to call it a day, wanted to go home with her husband and beg him to have his most unhinged way with her. Perhaps it was only a form of goodbye--she thought suddenly. Because, if Madeline had her way . . .
Her breath was sharper this time, barely hidden from the scene; she had to scold herself, not wanting to bring their director's wrath down on any of them. He would find enough reasons to make them suffer. She didn't need to give him any further ones now.
Still, her new fear shook through her, making nothing easier to take--the revelation frightening. While part of her understood that she and Michael were diverting their terrors into their intimate time together, were devouring each other rather than focus on them, she had never entirely allowed herself to think this truth through. Now that she did, it made her feel no better. The prospect of never seeing him again couldn't aid her at all.
She did come to several resolutions with this epiphany, though. Primary among them was the determination not to tell her husband of even her suspicions about their child; it wouldn't aid them. Not only would it prove a distraction to his protection of them both--a distraction which could well prove deadly--but it might cause him to change his methods of pleasing her, as well. And, no matter what the fears their fierce lovemaking had brought on, she was absolutely unwilling to give this new path up.
She wasn't certain that she liked this new decision but saw no other way; the time left to them was too precious, far too short. Even if they were successful against Madeline's attacks, there would have to be a change between them after it--one or the other of them likely to become a murderer that night. And the devastation such a course might well bring didn't bear thinking about.
These were her thoroughly depressed musings, as she watched Petrosian shoot one more take--her breath deep, supporting. She was going to revel in these last few nights with her husband before everything changed, would not tell him her suspicions. If she died, indeed, he was better off not knowing--didn't need another Simone, another mother of his dead child, to haunt him. And, if she survived alone, then she would simply have to find a way to cope.
Perhaps she was being pessimistic, however; she tried to smile. Perhaps there was hope. If the two of them managed to survive this coming attack, their child withstanding it as well, then they would just have to work together to somehow rebuild whatever was left of their lives. It *was* possible, she supposed. Maybe, despite all the odds, they would be that lucky, after all.
[End of Part 210]
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