|Just Like The Weather, Part One: Breaking
Author: CrazyWriter PM
*finished* Part one of two. F/F relationships, non-smut. Ex-lovers are forced to confront each other and the past as they rush to save someone they both love. Please read, please review.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 32 - Words: 42,677 - Reviews: 118 - Favs: 18 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 08-12-03 - Published: 08-19-02 - id: 922596
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: Just Like The Weather
Author: M. Reis AKA Crazywriter,email@example.com
Warnings: Gender sensitive issues (taking a leaf out of Daneorange's book) non-graphic homosexuality, smoking, suicide/depression-related issues.
Disclaimers: The Characters and events depicted in these stories are copyright M. Reis. Dagmar Marx, Mack Frazier, as well as all other characters are original characters. Any resemblance to people, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Author's note: Two stories without Aleck, on a roll here. Actually, that's not quite true… Dagmar Marx is the original Aleck McGee. I started writing a much different version of this story about two years ago, the main character, a girl named Aleck McGee and her girlfriend Mack Frazier. However, that version sucked and I lost inspiration and began writing Love, Evil Be Thou My Good. I liked the name Aleck McGee so I kept the name and some of the personality traits. But now, I've gotten a new concept for this story. I am trying to work on Edge of Oblivion but I've got too many other ideas that I've kept pent up while focusing on that series. And oh yeah, college registration is hell. Classes started today. Oy! ~sighs~ Being released on the world at sixteen. Poor world. So read and review, two reviews for the next chapter.
Dedicated to my girl, Rhy, for her support on the idea, reading my ideas and telling me when they sucked and when they were good.
I feel arms shaking me awake, bringing me into a nightmare from past, into the same one, just a different context. "Dagmar, wake up," a voice commands, "Come on, please." The arms shake me more, fingers running over me, running marathons they know all too well. My eyes flutter open involuntarily and I find myself staring up into a face I would been happy if I never saw again.
"How the hell did you get in?" I snap, pulling away from your grip.
"There's a key under the mat, I remembered," she actually manages a fond smile, "You were always much too trusting."
"And I suppose you came all the way over here just to enlighten me with that bit of knowledge," I muttered, "Besides, how'd you remember?" I asked bitterly, "I seem to recall you were much better at forgetting than remembering."
She lets the remark pass. "I…"
"You what?" I say angrily, "What the fuck are you doing here anyway, Mack?"
Her eyes trace the floorboards, one after the next until she looks up to meet my angry gaze, eyes I remember so well, the pale blue with it's rim of white. What did I use to say they were like? The ocean…
"I… I missed you."
"You miss me?" I sneer, "It doesn't work like that, Mack. You can't just show up after all this time at one in the fucken morning and just say, oh, I missed you. You could have two years ago, but not now."
"I do, you know," she says, slightly more defensive. "It's been a year since I've seen you. You don't come to school anymore."
"One, it's summer, two, I'm in college now."
"What do you want, Mack?"
"I…" she sighs and looks away, "I really miss you sometimes."
"Yeah, I get that," I sigh, trying not to feel anything for you, "But you never came by unless you wanted something. Back when we were together, it was sex. What's it now?"
"Why are you so certain I can't just miss you?"
"Because if you ever missed me, it was a long time ago," I say. "Tell the truth for once, Mack, do the right thing for once in your fucken life."
"You swear a lot now, Dagmar." Two years ago, I barely swore. I laugh bitterly because… well I barely talked two years ago. I would just listen to her talk.
"People change, Mack."
"We do, don't we?" I guess in my mind, changing didn't include her. Maybe because she was my constant for so long. For so long, it was only her.
But times are different now.
"You're stalling, Mack."
"Maybe." She sits on the foot of my bed and I glare at her.
"What is it?" I say, hating the way my voice softens. I want to be hard around her, tough, like I am now, not the perfect little girlfriend, taking care of everything she had once.
She glances over at me, shocked by my tone, "It's… it's Cordelia."
"Don't remind me," I snap bitterly, remembering. Remembering what she did.
"No… it's… Dagmar, can you drive me to Philadelphia?"
"Fucken A', Mack, that's like, ten hours away!"
"You're not helping your case," I say dryly. "What in Philly?"
"Cordy… she's going kill herself, Dagmar." I snap into a sitting position. I glance over at her, her face shining in the moonlight, like it used to. And the moonlight reveals all the pain written all over it. I curse.
"What are you talking about, Mack?" I try to laugh, "Not Cord."
"She… she called me about an hour ago. I don't have a car, Dagmar, you're the only person I could think of."
It scares me, this. The thought that I was the one you turned to. It's not like it should be. But things are never like they should be, are they? No.
"I don't know, Mack."
"Damn you, Dagmar. How can you be so cold? You loved her once, more than me," Mack exclaims.
"You really believe that don't you?" I sigh and light a cigarette.
"Those are bad for you," she says.
"So I've heard," I say, taking a long drag, "Look, Mack, even if we did, what do you think you could do?"
"She asked me to come there, I need to. If there's anything I can do, I have to do it."
I sigh and flick my ashes into my hand, a nervous habit I have. "Still an idealist," I remark, chuckling bitterly.
"You loved that once."
"I didn't love that," I say and I feel my eyes grow dark, have you ever felt that before? "I loved you. There's a difference." I stare out the window, "But that was a long time ago," I whisper and I don't know if you even hear it.
"Please, Dagmar… for what we used to be," she asks, the words coming down as a prayer, a plea for help. I sigh in surrender and stub the cigarette out on my windowsill.
"I never could just tell you no."
"Maybe that was your mistake." I sneer.
"I don't make mistakes," I tell her.
"Everyone does," she argues in her soft, condescending way. I ignore her as I throw some clothes in a duffel bag.
"No," I say after a few minutes, turning back to her, "Everybody doesn't." I sling the duffel over my shoulder. "Well come on…"
She follows me out to the red van I drive and I start it up and pull out of the driveway. Mack doesn't look at me as I push in a CD.
"Do you… do you think she'll hold off until you get there?" I ask softly and she looks even farther away.
"I don't know," she says honestly, taken aback by any form of sensitivity in my voice.
I begin to speed down the freeway, already thinking this is all a mistake.
Because I'm starting to remember things I worked so hard at forgetting. She's breaking down the walls, like only she can. And I worked so hard to build them…
Brick by brick by fucken brick.