Somewhere, a Romance fanfic - FictionPress.com

Somewhere

She died in my arms, looking into my eyes.

That's what I remember every night when I wake. For since her death, not a night has passed where I don't wake from the nightmares.

She was beautiful, in her own way. Not traditionally. She wasn't the trophy wife type. Not at all. She was intelligent, clever, witty, the most wonderful girl I ever knew. And I killed her.

I don't mean like that. I mean she died because of me.

I'm not explaining this well. Let me start again.

Her name was Christine. Her mom was a big fan of The Phantom of the Opera, and she was delighted when she found out her daughter could sing.

But I'm getting off topic again.

Christine fell in love with me. I'm not sure why. I'm nothing special; just a guy with a few things on his mind, a few girlfriends in his past. I didn't know who she was for the longest time. She was just that quiet girl in the back of the classroom, who consistently got A's, a feat I never quite accomplished. She would smile when our eyes chanced to meet, and I'd smile back. She was that kind of girl; she made you want to smile back.

Then she got a spot in the musical. It was West Side Story. She wasn't anyone in particular, just a girl who had a beautiful solo. Somewhere, it was called. And when I heard her sing it, I must confess: I fell in love with that girl. She made me feel what she was singing.

There's a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air
Wait for us
Somewhere.

There's a time for us,
Some day a time for us,
Time together with time spare,
Time to learn, time to care,
Some day!

Somewhere.
We'll find a new way of living,
We'll find a way of forgiving
Somewhere . . .

There's a place for us,
A time and place for us.
Hold my hand and we're halfway there.
Hold my hand and I'll take you there
Somehow,
Some day,
Somewhere!

I went opening night with a friend of mine (his girlfriend was playing Anita). But I loved that song so much that I went every night after that. She saw me the second night and smiled slightly. After that, she looked for me. And I was there.

I went up to her after the last show and congratulated her. She blushed and thanked me. I hesitated for a moment. She saw me hesitate and started making excuses to leave. I stopped her. And asked her out.

I bet you're thinking, hey, this sounds like it would have a happy ending. Wishful thinking.

We went out for a while, but we left for college, and we decided it would be better to break it off. I went to Stanford. She went to Cornell.

Then one day she called me, out of the blue. She told me she loved me. That she missed me, and would I come out there?

At this point, I had a girlfriend, a sweet girl named Roxanne like the Police song. But I knew I loved Christine. So I made my apologies and flew out to see her.

She was so happy to see me. She loved me. I can't get over that. She loved me.

I feel like Oliver Barrett in Love Story. "What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?"

But we parted, and we decided that we wouldn't see each other again; that it would be too hard. And she had a boyfriend as well. It would be better for all involved for us to stay apart.

I don't know why we didn't just get married. I guess we were too involved in our own vision of the future. We had plans.

I didn't see her for years. I got married to Roxanne. We had a child, a little boy. I love him to bits. He's the best thing I can claim as my own.

Then she called me. I don't know how she got my number, but got it she did, and she called me. She whispered to me over the phone, saying that she made a mistake, and would I please come to see her? She gave me her address. I flew out to New York and went to the address she gave me.

She was lying on the floor, a wreck of her former self. I picked her up in my arms, asked her what was wrong. She told me her husband left her when she got pregnant. That he didn't want the responsibility. And she kept thinking of what a good father I would have been. And she said that she didn't want to think about me anymore, so she took some sleeping pills to help her sleep.

She took too many. She had forced herself into a miscarriage, and she was bleeding heavily. I held her in my arms, and kissed her over and over again. She told me not to be afraid, not to blame myself. But how can I not? She took those pills so she wouldn't have to think about me.

I remember the moment she left me. She gripped my hand hard and stared into my eyes. She whispered a faint I love you, and she was gone, the vitality flickering out of her beautiful eyes.

Not a day goes by where I don't think of her smile. Of what might have been if she had lived. Or if we had done what we wanted so many years ago. What might have happened? Would things have been happy?

So every night, before I go to sleep next to Roxanne, I whisper a promise to Christine.

Somewhere, someday, my love. We'll be together. This I promise you.

A/N: Not meant to be a religious piece, but it kind of turned out that way, didn't it?

I don't own West Side Story or Love Story. The lyrics are from and the quote is from imdb.