|Nothing is unberable
Author: jeannie122 PM
The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - Paul V. & Arthur R. - Words: 974 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 15 - Published: 06-10-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6041197
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
For ladyasile. I am sorry it's late.
There was a part of our story I left out. A part I didn't want shared. A part that I wanted to keep to myself because I was selfish and wished to have a treasured moment that was mine and mine alone that no one else could touch, could have or laugh at - well no one alive anyway.
It might seem cheesy or cliché, but it was a memory of the tow of us, of Arthur and I, when we were happy and free. I remember it so clearly. I can almost smell the smells; hear the magnificent sounds of the market, the majestic and magical words that flowed from his lips with ease. If I close my eyes I can see his smile his laughing face and the glint in his eyes that shown and sparkled when I told him of my idea. The idea was for us to take a cooking glass. That's all. A simple cooking class. Just us. I will forever remember the beautiful laugh the glow on his face, and the laughter in his voice when he replied. "A cooking class?" he half shouted half laughed. 'Dare I ask what put this completely idiotic idea into your sick ugly mind?" he had asked with a smirk on his face laughter still in his eyes. I was about to reply when he stopped me. "No let me guess" he said the childish expression still on his face. "You were walking around the market, drunk most likely, when the idea came to your head that you wanted to write about what it would be like to cook, no?" he had asked in a tone that clearly stated he thought he was one-hundred percent accurate on his conclusion. "Actually no," I had responded with a smile on my mouth. His expression quickly shifted to that of a bewildered man in shock. I smirked and continued. "I was not drunk nor was I wondering what it would be like to cook." At that point I remember walking over to where he sat on the floor and sitting next to him. "I was walking along when I found this," I said holding up the envelope I had been carrying with me. "And dare I ask what that is? A photo of bigfoot making and omelet?" he had asked jokingly. At this memory I cannot prevent the small chuckle that escapes me as I recall the joking tone in his voice, and the gleam of curiosity in his eyes. I had laughed and said that there was information about a cooking class and that I had found it lying on the ground. It did not take to ling to convince him that it would be a semi-fun experience. Later that night we left at six-thirty giving us half an hour to arrive at our destination before the class began. Once we arrived it did not take long for Arthur to, how should I put this, start a scene Once the instructor began by telling us what we would be making, Arthur started the same thing he had when I had first introduced him to the other poets. It ended much the same way. We ran out laughing at the chaos we had just created. Once we stopped to catch our breath, which if I recall correctly was very difficult due to our hysterical outburst of laughter. I asked him to tell me that he loved me. His response was different this time. He asked me what I thought the definition of 'love' was. I remember my response word for word. I could recite it verbatim right now if I wanted too. I had said chemically it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamine's norepinephrine, and serotonin. A silence lapsed between the two of us for a painfully long moment. Finally I asked that he tell me that he loved me again. This time I got his usual response. "You know I am very fond of you." he had said. Then he asked me if I loved him, and as always, I gave him my honest answer. "Yes," I had whispered, "Yes, I love you". "Then hold out your hand." he told me. "Palm upwards." he added. Despite what had happened the previous time, I did so without hesitation. This time there was no painful stab, no pain at all in fact. Instead I felt his hand find its way into mine. I looked into his eyes and he into mine. He leaned in and right before our lips connected, I could have swore on my life I heard him whisper with the tiniest voice, and with the smallest breath whisper "I love you too."
That was the night before I left him alone in London.
Every time I look back upon that memory I smile and although I would never admit it, I have to fight back tears. I order tow Absinthe, and when they are brought to my table, I place one in front of me and in front of the empty seat in before me. I look across from me and ask if he will tell me that he loves me, but as usual, his only reply is "You know I am very fond of you."
A/N: I watched Total Eclipse three time in a row last night and I found my inspiration the second time around.
Prompt: Any pairing takes a cooking class. It can have any ending. Include the following: A referance to an urban legend, a quote from CM, and an envelope.
I named my story after one of my favorite quotes in the movie, also I included my favorite quote, "Tell me that you love me."
"You know I'm very fond of you."