|Because I Love You
Author: nexia PM
Christian St. John could handle her annoying, scathing comments a lot better than he could ever handle the cold, dead silence... That damn ice cold princess act did not fit her at all. / One-shotRated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Tragedy - Words: 1,391 - Reviews: 18 - Favs: 38 - Follows: 3 - Published: 10-14-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2855744
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Because I Love You
Christian St. John could handle running into a burning house on a daily basis and he could knife fight with the best of them, but if there was one thing in the world that he didn't like it was the silent treatment. Especially when it came from a little, stupid girl named Eloise.
He could handle her annoying, scathing comments better than he could handle the cold, dead silence.
At twenty-two years old, she had a mouth of a sailor with an Honest Abe complex. They could argue for hours about something that had no meaning for either of them. Mostly because they liked the sound of their own voices and partly because they liked the sound of the others almost just as much.
But that damn ice cold princess act did not fit her at all.
"I'm sorry," he said trying to garner her attention, but she ignored him
The last time they talked he was drunk and he knew that she hated drunks almost as much as she hated her abusive step-mother. He tried to quit, but he blamed it on his Irish blood. Two weeks into his struggle to stay sober and he realized that he just couldn't go without a drink.
"I said I was sorry," he said louder, but still to no avail.
She made no move to respond. Her head never tilted to that defiant angle. She didn't even turn to childishly stick her tongue at him.
That's when he knew that something was really wrong.
He shut his eyes tightly as he quickly pieced together their last conversation.
Three days ago, he was drunk off his ass at Jimmy's – no Johnny's – new apartment. His childhood friend just came back from a fishing stint in the Atlantic to get married. It was a 25th birthday and bachelor party rolled into one. Strippers and a birthday cake included.
If he had known about the strippers, he probably wouldn't have been in so much shit, but Johnny hadn't bothered to give him a heads up. The idiot didn't even tell him about the damn birthday party. He thought it was just another poker night.
Not that it all mattered now.
He left the room of boisterous, legion of giddy schoolboys as soon as Kandy Kane started moving those hips of hers. He eventually set up camp in the kitchen and made friends with a keg of Hennessy. He drowned the voice that told him to just go home. By midnight he was gone.
It took him one single moment of clarity to realize that she was the only person he trusted enough to rescue him.
Hell, she was the only person in his life who cared about him enough to rescue him... even if they'd been fighting the night before.
She asked him not to go because he had work the next day, he told her to shove it. Needless to say, he ignored her "suggestion" and the next thing he could remember was the sound of her groggy voice when he called her to pick him up.
"You're an idiot," she growled softly, rubbing her eyes as he entered her Toyota Corolla. From the limp curls of her light, brown hair to the dark bags beneath her eyes, he knew that she had been sleeping for at least a couple of hours. He could also tell that she was holding back on the yelling until she was fully awake and that scared him.
Did she really drive through the city half awake because he called her?
"I swear to whatever it is you believe in, you better not puke in my car," she added before putting the car in drive.
He sighed. Her words did not reflect the concern in eyes and it made him feel like shit.
He ran an unsteady hand over the door handle and pulled it in to a tight close.
The drive back was in complete silence aside from the howling of the wind going through the half-opened windows. When they got to her apartment, he immediately jumped out and puked all over the grass in front of her apartment. The stench was indescribable. Did he really drink that – fucking – much?
Every time he emptied his stomach, she held him through it. Rubbing her hands over his back to soothe him. He'd never felt more grateful for her then he did at that time.
She could have just let the phone ring earlier. She could have hung up after he explained the situation. She could have just left him there once she took in the stench, instead, she stayed with him. Like she always did.
It was then that he realized just how much she meant to him. There was no one, absolutely no one in the world that he would have wanted there with him than her.
"I think I'm going to quit drinking."
She snorted at his comment. "And why would you even think about doing that? Eh, Chris?"
"Because I love you," he said softly while she helped him to the couch in her living room.
He almost face palmed himself. They'd been friends since first grade and they just started "dating" a few weeks ago, but nothing was really official. He'd never even whispered those three words to her. A part of him actually wanted to take it back. She deserved better than a drunkard confession of love.
He half expected her to laugh in his face for his terrible timing. Instead, she kissed him on the forehead and said, "I love you too, idiot."
He couldn't remember much after that. Just the soft hint of white tea and ginger from her favorite perfume and the soft touches of her hands as she carefully helped him into some clean clothes.
One thing he did remember was her saying something about getting some Gatorade and Chicken Noodle soup from the store.
He shut his eyes tightly trying to remember whether or not she really did say "I love you" before she left or if he had imagined the whole damn episode.
"Sir," a soft voice said, breaking the silence, "They're ready to take her to the church."
He opened his eyes to glimpse at the undertaker, trying to make sense of the reality unfolding before him. The man was dressed to fit the mood almost perfectly yet the all black attire did not bear any resemblance to the dark, prim and proper image of a funeral director that he expected. Hell, the man's eyes were simply too kind to have daily dealings with the deceased.
"A-alright," he croaked in a voice that he couldn't recognize as his own.
When was the last time he used his voice? Cleared his throat?
He looked down at Eloise and encompassed her small hand in his larger one.
She faint outline of the cuts and bruising from the car accident were well covered up by the makeup. But, it was still obvious. She had a fairly, pale complexion, but she never looked as pale as she did now. It didn't help that she was wearing a beautiful white dress that faded into her skin color... But, despite his best wishes, she remained cold and vacant.
Her bright green eyes would never roll at his stupid antics again. Her lips would never curl into a smirk. Her right eyebrow would never lift to mock him. Her chin would never angle high to dismiss him. Her sarcastic mouth would never challenge him. Her soft hands would never be able to soothe him. Her kisses would never make him feel like nothing else mattered.
He leaned over her body and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"I'll meet you in heaven, Baby. Make sure they're ready for me when I get there..."
Oh shit. Well, I wanted to write something different and I was kinda inspired to write this in the middle of the night. Stupid insomnia...
To answer some questions:
Yes, she died in a car crash getting him Gatorade and soup.
No, I'm not in a bad mood, I just felt like writing something tragic. Aha.