"So keep me awake to memorize you.
Give me more time to feel this way.
We can't stay like this forever
but I can have you next to me today."
- Josh Groban – Awake
He was blinded by love...or at least deafened by it. That's what she said, sitting at the antique piano with her fingers running over the keys, frequently stumbling over themselves and striking the wrong note. She was awful at the instrument, but he loved listening to her and could sit for hours in one of the overstuffed chairs beside the window, gazing out at Lake Toluca while the gentle streams of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" drifted through the room. There was something hauntingly beautiful about the tune, something...romantically foreboding.
Mary hit a sour note and cringed. She growled and slammed both hands down on the keys. Guests coming to and from their rooms stopped to find out what the fuss was about. She sent them an irritable glare to send them on their way. "Why do I even bother with this stupid thing?"
"You're being way too hard on yourself," James replied drowsily from the chair and rolled his head to the side to look at her. She raised one brow and came over, enduring the discomfort to sit on the wooden armrest of the chair.
"You're just saying that to make me feel better."
The truth was he was and he wasn't. On the one hand, he couldn't even play "Chopsticks" without fumbling. Hell, he didn't even know which key was which. Anything shy of mindless key pounded sounded golden to his ear. On the other, even if she was bad, that wasn't something you admitted to the woman you married no more than a week ago. That landed you in the proverbial doghouse for a month, if not longer.
"No, I'm not 'just saying that'. You're really good." And grabbing her wrist gently, he pulled her onto his lap, not caring who saw or judged, and taking her face in his hands, kissed her softly on the lips. She was wearing a fruity gloss; it tasted like raspberry and mint.
"Liar," she murmured as he kissed her a second time. She wore a smile nevertheless. Then she half-turned and gazed out the window. A gentle wind – unfelt through the sturdy glass – caused rippling waves to obscure the lake's glassine surface. A few boats dotted the horizon and families lined the shore while young children splashed in the shallow waters. Hot dog stands had been set up for those whose activities left them famished. The shore-side stores flourished with the help of tourists.
Mary reached for his hand, jumping up, and pulled. "Let's go for a walk."
James looked out the window as well, imagining the crowds and the smells – the smell of sweat mixed with grilled hot dogs and sugary cotton candy, the pine mixed with ice cream and mulch – and the unbearable summer humidity. His pores opened just thinking about it. "How about later? When the sun starts setting , it'll be cooler and the crowds will have died down. We can have dinner down by the lake as well, if you want."
"Sure." Mary smiled at the idea of a romantic dinner at on of the restaurants lining the lake – candlelight, fancy dress, exquisite, expensive food and wine and real piano – while the stretch of dark water glistened in the growing twilight and his heart swelled. She was so beautiful, so full of life and she pressed her finger into the dimple in her chin in a gesture of deep thought. Her eyes glittered mischievously. "What are we going to do until then, though? I'm done with the piano for the day. I guess I could read; there's a gas station nearby that I'm pretty sure has some cheap paperbacks."
James shrugged, playing along. "You could. Or we could do something together."
"What'd you have in mind?"
Instead of answering, he rose from the chair and made to walk by her, lingering for only a moment as he glanced around to make certain the coast was clear. She was a conservative young woman – wearing pencil skirts and cardigans where others wore midriffs and minis – so he settled for touching his fingertips to her rear, exciting a startled but giddy yelp. His lips brushed against her ear, forcing the hairs on her neck onto their ends. "Meet me upstairs."
She waited for a long moment – five minutes that felt like five years – with her hands clasped over her chest, keeping her heart where it belonged between her ribs. Her cheeks were warm and her body tingled and trembled. It appeared one had witnessed the exchange, or else cared if they did, though she was innocent and shy.
Then, willing her heavy legs forward, she entered the long hallway and started up the old staircase towards Room 312.
The floor was littered with faded jeans and a flower printed sundress, change from unsealed pockets, thin, nude-coloured stockings, loose grey boxers and ivory pumps, a cotton polo shirt, panties with a lace trim and a pair of brown, leather Oxfords – one with the laces untied. A wallet that somehow missed the bedside table lay among a couple empty bottles of vodka and tequila from the mini fridge under the small television near the window. A breeze came in through the open window, playing with the translucent curtains.
The breeze cooled Mary's hot skin and fevered cheeks. Shifting beneath her husband's weight, she traced the faded heart on his left shoulder with her thumb - musing that he didn't strike her as the type to ever get a tattoo. Finches in the trees beyond the window chirped and the leaves rustled on waving branches. The sun was beginning to set – they'd been in bed all afternoon – painting the sky orange and purple. It would be chilly once night came and she reminded herself to bring a sweater when they went for dinner.
James lifted his hand slowly and touched Mary's lips lightly with one finger. She was still as he dragged it up the curve of her small nose and over her eyelids, coming back down her cheekbones and jaw, then over her throat and breasts and stomach.
"What are you doing?" His touch tickled, though she did not laugh. There was something melancholy in his actions that squandered any desire to express delight. She turned her head slightly on the damp pillow to see him out of the corner of her eye.
His voice was a whisper, afraid to break the spell that had fallen over them. "Trying to memorize you. I want to remember you – your face, your voice, everything – even when I'm asleep. I want to dream about you, even when you're gone."
Her lips turned up in a small smile. "And where am I going?"
"Nowhere, hopefully." Something in his tone gave her the feeling he didn't believe that; there was accusation, as though he believed of her own volition – or someone, something beyond her – she would disappear someday.
"Right. Nowhere." And the moment she spoke, her lungs collapsed and she sprang up, coughing and beating her chest until it filled with air again. Tears stung her eyes and her throat was raw, sore. She curled over, her head in her hands, and closed her eyes, counting her long, deep breaths.
James sat up beside her, his hand moving soothingly up and down her back. "Are you all right?"
She pulled on a smile, though her eyes spoke of fear. "I'm fine. I probably just choked on some air, or saliva. It happens sometimes."
He didn't want to argue, but... "This isn't the first time you've coughed like that. Even on this trip. Remember yesterday, when I took that video?"
"I'm all right," she insisted and her tone dared him to continue arguing. He sensed the consequences if he did. "It's probably just a cold. If it'll make you feel better, I'll visit a doctor when we get home. But I'm sure he'll tell me it's a bug. The seasons are changing after all."
But the worry remained etched on his face. Her expression softening, Mary stroked the side of his face. He closed his eyes, savouring her touch. She leaned in closer. Their lips bumped together like inebriated moths, then came together with lung crushing ferocity. His mind was a fluster of fear, euphoria and wild sexuality, and with his hands pressing hard into her skin, he turned her onto her back while her short, thin legs coiled around his hips. Her ribs rattled in her chest when she hit the mattress, her skull throbbing with surprise and a little bit of pain.
Horror flashed in her brown eyes for only a moment, sparking something inside him, before her body responded to his advancements. In short, quick breaths, she suffocated on his name – though in desperation, ecstasy or both, he couldn't be certain – and held him tightly. Somehow, came the thought among the blinding flurry, if he could control her, dominate her, he could keep her forever.
And he certainly never wanted to lose her.
Disclaimer: All Silent Hill characters and locations are property of Konami and respected developers. (I realize I forgot to add this to my previous story, "Brothers" but it applies there as well).
Author's Notes: I wrote this intending to shed some happier light on my favourite (and pretty well only) pairing in the Silent Hill universe, but with no real point, this is sort of how it turned out: a dismal foreshadow of game events and suggestively rough sexual activity (Pyramid Head reference anyone?).
Though I've made allusions in previous fan fiction, it wasn't quite to this degree but I thought it was still easy enough for a T rating. It can always be changed if I get reviews saying it's that bad.