Re: Ill-Met By A Score of Chandeliers (Peter Parkman)
Posted: 20 Oct 2014, 21:26
When his expression changed, it should have prepared her. She felt somehow as if she should have known, as soon as she saw his eyes become the eyes she had known, that this went far deeper than a potential for embarrassment. Perhaps her all-too-sheltered life had made her, by some odd reverse karma, too jaded to truly see pain when it was offered to her. Or too self-concerned to recognize and care. She watched him sit down, settle himself, watched the tension roll through him. An instant later, she wished for another seat as a surge of emotion rushed through her trembling form.
She was killed. She... she died.
Therese felt rocked to her core. They had been friends - she had liked- no, that was unworthy - she had truly cared for Lily. And somehow, she had not known. Whatever had happened, had happened, leaving a void where a friend had been, and Therese had gone on, leaving those that Lily had loved to shoulder the burden on their own. What could have happened, and why? That Arthur was not immediately forthcoming on the wherefores could have been delicacy. Therese could barely process the few words she had heard, after all. She felt tears coming to her eyes, blinked them away and swallowed against a hot, dry throat that didn't seem to want to be comforted.
The immediate shock, like a blow to the gut, receded a little, leaving a misty disbelief in its wake, tinged with grief. That mist made room for a flood of compassion and she said, "God, Arthur, I'm sorry. I didn't - what can I do?"
That was a dumb question, and she regretted it as soon as she said it, but she wasn't the sort of person who tried to take back what had already been said. Instead, she approached, slowly, and came to perch on the edge of the little table, close enough to hear even if what came next was difficult to say, but far enough away that she was still offering him his space.
"I mean..."
What did she mean? What was there to say? And as she considered that, her worst and wisest self poked her in the ribs and whispered, where is the rest of the story? If it's not about Lily, what had him so frightened a minute ago?
"Do you mind talking about it?"
Therese dug into her purse again, found the cigarettes, removed one, tried to remember if Arthur had smoked and offered him one anyway. The lighter was a little more hidden under the junk at the bottom of the purse, but she found it. She found her nerves needed a boost.
She was killed. She... she died.
Therese felt rocked to her core. They had been friends - she had liked- no, that was unworthy - she had truly cared for Lily. And somehow, she had not known. Whatever had happened, had happened, leaving a void where a friend had been, and Therese had gone on, leaving those that Lily had loved to shoulder the burden on their own. What could have happened, and why? That Arthur was not immediately forthcoming on the wherefores could have been delicacy. Therese could barely process the few words she had heard, after all. She felt tears coming to her eyes, blinked them away and swallowed against a hot, dry throat that didn't seem to want to be comforted.
The immediate shock, like a blow to the gut, receded a little, leaving a misty disbelief in its wake, tinged with grief. That mist made room for a flood of compassion and she said, "God, Arthur, I'm sorry. I didn't - what can I do?"
That was a dumb question, and she regretted it as soon as she said it, but she wasn't the sort of person who tried to take back what had already been said. Instead, she approached, slowly, and came to perch on the edge of the little table, close enough to hear even if what came next was difficult to say, but far enough away that she was still offering him his space.
"I mean..."
What did she mean? What was there to say? And as she considered that, her worst and wisest self poked her in the ribs and whispered, where is the rest of the story? If it's not about Lily, what had him so frightened a minute ago?
"Do you mind talking about it?"
Therese dug into her purse again, found the cigarettes, removed one, tried to remember if Arthur had smoked and offered him one anyway. The lighter was a little more hidden under the junk at the bottom of the purse, but she found it. She found her nerves needed a boost.