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Author of 58 Stories |
Author's Note: Nothing much to say, really. FOP and its characters don't belong to me and if you read the story, you'll see my theory on the "new" Cosmo. That's it.
Enshrouded
Fingers, callused and worn, caressed her and she sighed contently, permitting this travesty to recur. Every Saturday night, without fail, they ended up in each other's company and while words flew occasionally, bodies more than conversation mingled. However they valued each other, they never surmised its extent. Loneliness crashed upon them and swept them away.
How pathetic, she mused mentally, was it that she awaited his visit and counted the days? Surely, one hypothesized, she enjoyed a hobby or endeavored elsewhere. Lamentably, "no" answered that question every time. She had nothing and no one with which to share her life. Therefore, even someone whose business dealings probably related to her husband's disappearance and death registered on her radar. She never meshed well with Fairy World's hoi polloi, intrigued by the shenanigans of a ten year old boy and his two faeries and by an obvious rip-off of a human television program. She knew only one creature that disliked the insipid, humdrum common folk and he would arrive in twenty minutes.
Breathing deeply, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Gorgeous as always, but she spruced herself up nonetheless. You could never appear too glamorous, after all or too hopeful. Unfortunately, she'd probably already exceeded the limit on the latter, but it hadn't repulsed him yet. Maybe, she pondered, he truly liked her for her.
Nothing he'd coordinated lately proceeded as planned. Mama Cosma's kidnapping followed the last of a train of events, each more gruesome than the last. Faeries vowing silence opened their mouths and he'd the arduous task of locating and assassinating them; Blonda called him to tell him that via their "twin telepathy", she sensed Wanda's distress and there'd been an argument over whether that ought to constitute as bad news; some buffoon dumped toxic waste near the Fairy World's municipal court and the police; and, shamefully, one of his own died in "combat". No, Big Daddy reflected, the week had gone sour early on before Mama Cosma's interruption.
However, her initial intervention eased his frayed nerves and smoothed his feathers. Maybe that explained why he dated her, if one could call it that. To be polite, one might dub it 'courting', but it really defied anything diplomatic. Therefore, in the company of his 'goons', he refrained from mentioning it. He had no real loyalties toward Mama Cosma, either, and that defined whether or not someone meant something to another faerie in his world. He wouldn't risk his neck for her.
She had no idea his feelings for her fell far from worthy of their level of intimacy. He also had no intention of verbalizing its limits, either, because why knock a good thing? Of course, he probably should have more respect for her than to use her like a cheap floozy, but he understood her to be a reasonably intelligent woman. If she realized he possessed no deep emotions regarding her and accepted it regardless, then he ought to leave that be. Heaven knew that was the only satisfactory aspect in his life.
"What do you mean he squealed?" Big Daddy growled, pounding his fist on the floating table. Binky, nearby, squeaked and poofed away. No sooner had he disappeared than Big Daddy yanked him back into the room and slammed him into the wall like a rubber chew toy.
The voice on the other end stammered excuses and Big Daddy exercised the little patience he exhibited at the cessation of a day. Hammering poor Binky into the wall repeatedly, he snarled out a threat. Binky drifted away once the mafia don released him and groaned, nursing his wounded head. Big Daddy paid him no mind. Thanks to that idiot, he now ran late for his date with Mama Cosma. In Fairy World, tardiness was ill appreciated, considering the ease of teleportation.
Would she miss him if he skipped one meeting? Yes, he could use the relaxation provided after dinner and the 'entertainment', but forsaking his immediate concerns to please himself spelled disaster. These cretins couldn't identify the wand's tip. He had best call it off.
The phone rang shrilly and he answered it, teeth clenched. Ten minutes became twenty, which extended into thirty and an hour…another hour…
Big Daddy would disapprove of her methods, because it stressed Wanda out and she knew how territorial he could be over his daughters. The ends, she believed, justified the means. When Wanda divorced Cosmo, both could rejoice. And then…
And then what? The only thing she had in common with Big Daddy was their mutual dislike of whom their children married. Evidently, that failed her because two hours had passed since their arranged dinner and he hadn't called or otherwise contacted her. She'd dialed his cell phone, but he never responded. Maybe he'd moved on.
She knew in her heart that her thing with Big Daddy revolved around lust, not love, and carnal lust at that, but she sought it nonetheless. In lieu of a distraction, she considered how that relationship had fared and her life's alteration since. Did she feel loved? Appreciated? Or was she using him too, to eliminate her moroseness over Cosmo's abandonment nearly ten thousand years ago? How gullible, to fall for a ploy like "getting the milk". Faeries could produce their own easily.
And if she fell for an inane lie like that, then it stood to reason he peered through her veneer too. Miserable, she sipped her red wine, dropped it on the coaster, and closed her eyes. She'd never felt loved. That was why she bestowed all her love and affection on Cosmo, because she could cling to him. It was wrong, but she'd bypassed that eons ago. Now, a similar effect transpired with Big Daddy, where she doted on him, he took what he needed, and then she was alone again, in a house too large for her and empty to boot. Where her breathing echoed and her resentment, misery, and loneliness swirled like the wine in her glass.
Yet, she argued, what was wrong with affection? She received pleasure, didn't she? But was the pleasure worth it?
Shaking his head, he questioned why now, of all times, he should choose to pity her. Why should he suddenly care when the travesty ravaged unchecked for months? Was it because she lay vulnerable on the chair? Was it because he hurt her like he hurt his daughter Wanda and drove her toward Cosmo in the first place? His insistence that she should marry someone aesthetically pleasing, Juandissimo, and ignore her heart's stirrings. If he did what he considered right and ignored others, then he'd continue to harm them.
Shrugging, he kissed her on the cheek and decided if these feelings persisted, he would break it off.
"I know," she replied softly. She rolled so her back was to him and he gawked.
"You're okay with that?" he inquired, stroking her hair; its silkiness enticed him.
"Maybe in time…" she trailed off and he shook his head sadly. His pink eyes bore holes into the ceiling.
"I don't think so."
"It's all right."
What was love but a shackle, anyway? It kept Wanda and Cosmo together despite Wanda's upset. It glued faeries and humans together against their will. Maybe she didn't need love. Maybe she needed someone with whom to share the bed so it didn't get cold. And maybe, in time, true love would come.
Two lost souls floating in a fish bowl…