|Night of Comfort
Author: lil smiles PM
Paul and Rebecca seek comfort with each other in the aftermath of Karen's death. Follow up to To Be Numb. Paul/Rebecca angst.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,025 - Reviews: 12 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 08-23-05 - Published: 08-05-05 - id: 2520118
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: I definitely did not expect this kind of reception. So thank you very very much. I guess I'll try my best to continue, no guarantees. Again thanks for the support.
Warning Course language.
Disclaimer: As I've said before I own nothing.
It was a strange feeling, waking up in someone else's house. I forgot for a moment that I didn't go home. Almost gave myself a heart attack. Squinting, I let my eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring into the living room.
"Morning," Paul said, walking in from the kitchen.
"Morning," I replied.
I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. It was then I noticed I was on the couch.
"Were you comfortable?" he asked.
"Good. Want some coffee?"
The offer sounded so tempting but I noticed how awkward the situation was. Me, here, in Paul's living room, in the same clothes I was wearing yesterday. If Karen was still alive, this made Web's story about us sleeping together more plausible.
"I should get going," I said, getting up.
"Oh, right," he replied. "Do you need a ride?"
"I think I can manage."
He nodded his head and followed me to the front door.
"I'll see you later," I said.
Before I could get out, Paul grasped my elbow. I stopped and turned around, looking where his hand was before I looked up at him. He took a deep breath before speaking.
"Thanks, Rebecca," he paused, "for last night."
"Don't mention it."
I swallowed hard as I watched his eyes look down at my lips. I knew I should have just pulled myself free and run but I just stood there as he lowered his head. The kiss was deliberately slow but short-lived. Stepping back, Paul gazed at me and brushed his hand against my cheek. I stayed frozen in my position and closed my eyes, letting the warm feel of Paul's touch take over my senses. Locke, what the Hell do you think you're doing? Snapping open my eyes, I took off down the street. I could hear Paul running behind me and his yells telling me to stop. I didn't know what I was thinking, trying to outrun a man who was much taller than me and in much better shape than I was. But I managed to do just that. After a few blocks, Paul was no longer behind me. I slowed down to a walk and leaned against a lamppost, so I could catch my breath. Great job, why did you just stand there and let him kiss you? He just lost his wife, for God sake. I knew the answer. And all I could do was let the hot tears stinging my eyes fall. But as soon as one tear fell, I quickly swiped it away. I never felt sorry for myself in my entire life and I sure as Hell wasn't going to start now.
Rolling my eyes, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and continued down the street.
"Becca, I'm sorry."
I could see from the corner of my eye, Paul's head leaning towards the open passenger side window.
"Please, just talk to me. Say something."
I stopped and turned towards him.
"Paul, just go home," I said simply. "Please leave me alone."
"I can't do that."
I continued to walk down the street with him following beside me in his car.
"Don't tell me you didn't feel what I felt," he shouted after me.
I wanted nothing more than to slap him and tell him that I didn't feel anything when he kissed me but what was the point telling another lie? It still stood, his wife committed suicide thinking I was the other woman and to some degree I was. And as much as I wanted to tear down the wall that was carefully built around me and let Paul in, he was still hurting. He just wanted to wash away the pain and he wanted to do that with me. For that I didn't hate him, I hated myself.
"Go home, Paul," I repeated in a steely cold tone.
I crossed the street at the next intersection and he swerved his car in front of me.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" I yelled, unable to keep my emotions in check any longer. "You could have fucking killed me!"
Slamming my hands down onto his hood, I stared straight at him through the front windshield. It was then I could tell that he was in tears, his hands clutched around the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. I wanted nothing more than to comfort him, the way I did at the funeral but I couldn't just tell him that he was going to be okay. Life had a sick way of showing you that you aren't really in control. Stepping around the car, I forced myself to walk away. I could still feel the eyes of the people standing around watching me. I guess nobody told them it was rude to stare.