|Le Bel Homme
Author: Little Miss Dancer Girl PM
No one has ever asked Dominic about how he feels. Maybe that's a good thing; maybe it's not, but eventually somebody has to do so.Rated: Fiction T - English - Crime/Supernatural - Dominic - Chapters: 8 - Words: 4,310 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 12 - Updated: 03-19-13 - Published: 06-22-12 - id: 8244102
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait! If you're wondering why this took so long, read the news portion of my profile (LMDG News, if you don't know).
Yes, I've put the French version of this story on hold until I finish this version; one reason for that being that I have barely enough time to write three stories at once, and also, it takes up to two weeks for me to translate whole chapters so it flows and sounds reasonable, because if I don't have a good enough translation, I have to refer to a translator, and those aren't very reliable. (For example: "I am a girl" sometimes translates to "je suis un fille" instead of "je suis une fille".)
If you don't like cheesy drama, don't read this. Last chapter wasn't bad, but once you start reading on, things will pick up; I promise.
Back at home, I sit on the leather couch in the living room, staring out the window at the courtyard in absolute boredom. I feel Eunice's presence in the room, and I expect her to go tell Godfrey to drag me out of the house again. However, I don't hear any footsteps, thus meaning that she hasn't budged. I sigh.
Eunice then walks up to me, and hesitantly places her hand on my shoulder. "Y-you under stand th-that Godfrey is do-doing this for you- your own good, r-right?"
I don't understand what she meant by saying that, but obviously my trip to FAME was neither accident nor was it a trip for merely my entertainment. She knows I know, so I just nod, and she nervously walks away. This was too weird; I clearly didn't know all of what's going on, but I'm sure that eventually either Godfrey will tell me or I'll find out on my own. I am Dominic Strata, of course; it's his obligation to tell me.
Later that night, I realize that Godfrey hasn't been home since three o'clock this afternoon.
He's usually here by this hour.
Still in my suit, (minus the jacket and tie, since it's just home) I walk outside to the front entryway, knowing that Eunice wouldn't stop me. Hoping to see a limousine, there isn't one, and to make things even more out-of-the-ordinary, a yellow Toyota pulls up and swerves around the fountain instead, and the last person I expect comes out: Christi Adams.
With a look of anxiety plastered on her face, she dashes up to me. Her eyes show a bit of confusion (most likely concerning my being out here at such a time) when she demands, "Dominic, you need to come with me, like, right now."
"Of course," I say out of habit. "Why?" I ask as we walk back to her car. I feel my stomach tie itself up in knots. Does this have to do with what Eunice said about Godfrey?
"Godfrey's in the hospital, ER actually," she gasps out while jamming in the key.
She suddenly slams down on the gas pedal, and I press back against the passenger seat. I am oddly calm, although I wish I was actually hyperventilating. My serenity just says to me that I don't care enough about Godfrey, so to make up for it, I ask Christi how Godfrey got himself into the hospital in the first place.
She shakes her head. "I don't know the details, but he was shot in the shoulder. He lost a lot of blood when I left. He told me to bring you to him; he needs to tell you something, something important," she mutters, seeming to be in a daze.
"Is anyone else there?" I ask all of a sudden.
"Grace and Renée, I saw, along with Libby and Olivia. I don't know if Zoë's still there, but when she was there she said she had to leave," she says. She then scrunches her nose and adds, "I find that a bit suspicious. Not only did everyone show up at the hospital at around the same time, but then Zoë just said she needed to leave; I mean what the hell?!" Her murmur morphs into a yell.
I pat her arm reassuringly. She takes her eyes off the road for a second and meets my eyes. Then, she silently pulls into the hospital parking lot, as if nothing had happened.
I don't register when the car stops; Christi just pulls me out of the passenger seat, and we sprint towards the front door.
"Christi Adams and Dominic Strata," I gasp to the lady operating the front desk. She nods and mutters "214."
Without a sound other than our heavy breathing, we dash to the elevator. Once the doors close, I have a good 15 seconds to think.
However, I waste them on my proximity to Ms. Adams, and when the doors open, I still have a frazzled mind.
I watch the numbers as we run by:
By the time we approach room 214 my legs feel numb.
We hurry in and I see Godfrey hooked up to several IVs and a heart monitor, in addition to several bandages on his right shoulder, a neck brace, and a cast on his left shin.
"Master Dominic..." he manages to say.
"Godfrey... What is it that you need to tell me?" I ask tentatively.
"Th-that man wh-who sh-shot me... he w-was looking f-for you," he stutters. "I'm n-not sure why, but h-he's after you."