Author: dark-hearted rose PM
Oneshot, a strange hybrid of Webber and Leroux. I know, deep down in my heart of hearts, that this is wrong, terribly, utterly wrong. Why, then, does it feel so wonderful? Hints of femslash. As always, a huge Thank You to readers and reviewers.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Friendship/Romance - Christine & Meg Giry - Words: 1,435 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 6 - Published: 05-09-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4245373
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Dear readers, I swear I'm working on "Devotion", I just... really needed to write this. Enjoy. Feedback is always welcome. :D
I know, deep down in my heart of hearts, that this is wrong, terribly, utterly wrong.
Why, then, does it feel so wonderful?
It started out innocently enough. How could I contain my enthusiasm as I grabbed your hand, eager to pull you away from the barre and show you my new dressing room? You followed obligingly, putting up with my excited chatter, still holding onto my hand as we weaved through the crowds, navigating the labyrinth of endless corridors as I struggled to remember the exact location of the seemingly-forgotten dressing room with the enormous mirror that took up the greater portion of the back wall.
"Here it is!" I squealed, turning the knob and throwing open the door—the resounding squeak of the hinges rivaled my own. "Have a look!"
You entered cautiously and stiffly, shooting the mirror a strange look, one that reflected back at me from the polished surface. From the corner of my eye, I could see my mirror twin grabbing the other girl in the glass by the hand, and bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "Isn't it exciting, Meg? I'm to have my own dressing room!"
"Oh, yes, Christine," you said quickly. "Of course it's exciting; I'm very happy for you."
"You don't sound very happy," I huffed.
You withdrew your hand from my grasp, taking a few steps away from me.
"Meg? Meg, what's wrong?"
"I suppose this means I'll have someone else sleeping in the cot next to me from now on," you said, your back to me, looking around the room, ignoring my questions altogether. "Have they taken your things from the dormitories, then?"
"There's not any sort of bed, only a couch." You continued your inspection of the room, gravitating closer to the mirror-wall, further away from the doorway, away from me. "Do they expect you to sleep there? Or are you taking your cot with you, too?"
"I wonder why this mirror is so huge, it takes up most of the wall—"
"Meg! Stop talking and listen to me!" I immediately gasped and my hand flew to my mouth, at once shocked and ashamed at having raised my voice.
You turned around slowly to regard me. "Of course, Christine. You were saying?"
Your tone and manner were cold, and it stung; I never wanted you to speak to me like that again, ever. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
"It's fine, Christine."
But it wasn't fine, it wasn't fine at all; your expression and eyes and body language spoke out otherwise. You were hurting. Badly. "Tell me what's wrong, Meg," I whispered, tentatively approaching you. "Tell me what's wrong."
You seemed to almost crumple as I came closer, and before long a small, strangled sob escaped from where it had built up in your throat, your eyes suddenly wet with tears. "Oh! Oh, Christine…"
I held my arms out as you ran to me, closing the distance between us, colliding in an embrace, wilting against me. "Shh, there there," I soothed, awkwardly patting you on the back as you sobbed into my shoulder. It wasn't often that I needed to comfort you; more often than not it was the other way around. "What's wrong?" I asked again, content to wait until you were comfortable with saying what was troubling you so.
"I… I don't know!" you choked out suddenly, surprising me. "I—I'm just so… confused…" You looked up at me suddenly, bloodshot, tear-stained eyes meeting my own.
"Here… let's go sit on the couch. Then we can sort this out, all right?"
You nodded, sniffing once, twice, three times, hiccoughing in an attempt to hold back the sobs. I held out my hand and you took it greedily, making me smile as we made our way over to the small, faded piece of furniture.
As we sat down side by side, I said, "Now, why are you so confused?"
It took you a long moment to answer, electing first to make yourself more comfortable by resting your head in my lap, cuddling close. I could hear the slight, crisp crunch of your tulle skirt as you brought your knees closer to your chest, you sniffing once, twice, three more times, filling the silence. "Just these… thoughts. They won't leave me alone, and I'm sick of them. I want them to leave, Christine."
I nodded even though you couldn't see me, running my fingers through your hair, calming you. "What sort of thoughts?" I prompted quietly.
Another long pause, but this time you stiffened, jolted by my question. "I can't say," you replied, so quiet I had to lean towards you to hear.
I wondered what you could be thinking about that you were so unwilling to share with me, intrigued. This was a side of you I'd never seen before, a much more mysterious, vulnerable one. So I sat. And I waited.
I shifted my weight slightly, and you took that as a sign of discomfort, for you righted yourself, nestling your head against my shoulder now. Again came the swish-crunch of your tulle skirt as you stretched your stocking-clad legs out, occupying the length of the couch, then silence, only your warm breath in my ear. In, and out. In, and out. In the silence, impulsively, you wrapped your arms about my torso, and I relaxed into your embrace. It was comforting, having you so close.
"Christine?" you said finally. I straightened up from my slump, but only a little, to show you I was listening. "Christine, even if I tell you…if I show you…"
You took a deep breath, removing your arms from around my waist and resting your hands in your lap, clenching your fingers together out of nervous habit, so ferociously your knuckles turned white. "Please promise that you won't leave me. Please." It seemed like you were almost begging me.
"Of course! Of course, Meg," I exclaimed immediately. Did you really think me so fickle a friend that you needed to ask?
You sighed then, deeply, relief visibly flooding through you. I threw my arms around you then, hugging you tightly, kissing your forehead. "Oh, Meg," I sighed. "I'll be here. Always. I promise."
You smiled at me, a lopsided, silly grin, still overflowing with gratitude. We sank back against the faded cushions of the couch together, you still in my arms.
I closed my eyes for a moment…
Only for them to snap open again another moment after, our eyes meeting. You were centimeters away, still smiling that silly little grin, though it was much subdued, something else I couldn't quite identify taking its place in your expression. I smiled back, noticing the small droplets still caught in your eyelashes from when you had cried.
It was then that I realized you had kissed me, that your beautifully pink, rosebud lips had touched mine.
Now, we lay on the couch, the both of us, your head resting against my left breast, just above my heart. Your breathing is easy, in, and out, in, and out. I suspect that you have fallen asleep, though I am not about to move, to wake you, as I am far too warm, far too comfortable.
I turn my head away from you only to take in the sight of us together on the couch, reflected in the mirror-wall. What a comical pair we make, squished together on the tiny piece of furniture, the starched tulle of your skirt misshapen, our clothing wrinkled, my hair mussed. Unbidden, I am visited by thoughts of bodies pressed together tightly, of roaming hands, hitches in breath, and lips against soft, flawless skin. I flush red and my heart begins to race of its own accord as I think of what has just transpired, between us, and I wonder if you can hear it in your sleep the way I can hear it, magnified in my ears.
I close my eyes again, running my fingers through your hair, listening to your soft breaths. It is quiet, peaceful even. And, as my fingers comb through your beautiful, thick, golden hair, your words come back to me.
"I—I'm just so… confused…"
Don't worry, Meg. That makes two of us.