So, this just exploded into my mind... andddd, I have no where else to file it right except "This crazy scene that I wrote that has no connection to anything else..." I KNOW the rest of the story, which also got downloaded into my mind in about twenty five seconds, but only in a "this is what happens" sort of way. -
I give unto you, THIS THING THAT I WROTE!!!
Discovering that Randy Peretti is not the man that she believed she married, Alicia closes herself off from the world in an attempt to cope with his dark truths. She is ordered to pretend happiness, and smile, and for awhile she obeys Randy fearful of what he’ll do. Eventually however, she can’t take the silence anymore. Realizing her own strength, and becoming tired of the prison that he has put her in, she goes on a spree of her own –
“This was not for your eyes!” he cried, pointing.
She leaned against the wall. “Is it true?”
There was silence between them for far too long. It seemed like an eternity. She saw within him the struggle, the conversation. What was he going to tell her?
“Yes.” He replied coldly.
She felt numb all over. Staggering away, she somehow ended up on the couch.
Her eyes were moist, and glazed. Her focus was on some thing that Randy could not see. It was as though she were caught somewhere between here and reality.
She sat like this for many moments, before her jaw slacked and she turned to her young husband- too young in fact, too young to carry the weight of an assassin. He was small too, not tiny, but not the kind of man that she suspected would be a killer. How had she never known this? How had he kept it from her? She was trying to remind herself of the actions that would allow her to breathe.
His eyes were cold, with a hint of sadness.
Her mind flashed to their wedding day. It moved over the velvet on the tables and the yellow cake- the brightness that his eyes lacked completely now. The vows had been spoken in a way that would have made the coldest non-believer fall in love. They’d written their own vows several nights before, and when they had, they’d made love.
It left a stale taste in her mouth, and made her throat dry as sand. She looked to him, wanting any of the kindness that he’d shown her in dating. Wanting any of the reassurance that he’d given to her on hard nights when he had held her close. She found nothing. This man was a stranger.
“Who are you?” she breathed.
“I’m your husband,” came his very soft reply.
“You are not my husband!” she cried, slapping her knees manically. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “My husband goes to church on Sunday, he’s a body guard, and works security.” She put her face to her palms and wept; now not holding anything back.
“I’m still your husband.” He said, and he slowly put himself beside her on the couch, she felt herself leaning away from him. His entire demeanor was cold. He was trying to soothe her, but it was false somehow. His eyes held no expression.
“Look at me…” he took her chin, and gently, but firmly moved it to his face. She looked back at him with hatred now, “Look at me,” he was still calm, but there was something threatening in his tone. She obeyed and her expression softened. When she softened, her tears began again. “Be at peace.” He said calmly.
She jerked away. “Peace? There’s no peace now!” she sobbed. She stood, and tried to back away from him, “Women, and children?” she demanded. He arose, his air was confident and frightfully elegant, he nodded only once. “How could you do this?”
“It’s what I am.” He took one step towards her. Her heart pounded and she laid herself against the wall. Somehow, she never expected to be afraid of Randy. Randy of all people! He was quiet, and kind. He was the guy who raised his glass to toast first at charities. He was the guy who’d offered to take care of his brother’s children last year when he and his wife went away on a cruise for their anniversary. He had stayed up every night to tell them bedtime stories, tuck them in, and pray for them.
Her eyes met his. She loved him didn’t she?
Randy’s face seemed to see the internal monologue that she was having with herself. She loved him, she hated him, she loved him, she hated him. He took another step.
“Don’t come near me.” She whispered, again taken with this new information.
“Alicia, this can go two ways.” He whispered, and she immediately took note of the warning in his tone. Her eyes widened in fear, “Until now, I’ve protected you…” he said, and he was reaching his hand out to touch her forearm in that loving, yet mildly possessive way that he always had. She got the feeling however that when his hand actually reached her, it wasn’t quite going to be the same. She lurched back again, tight against the wall.
He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her up against him. Again, she didn’t know who was handling her. This wasn’t Randy! This was a dream!
“You will continue to be my wife. You will go to the charity tonight, and wear the dress that I picked out. You will smile, and you will converse, and you will not say a word,” he forced her to stop squirming, “to anyone about any of this.” He smiled and lifted a curled finger to her tear, “Do you understand?” she closed her eyes, how could she bear it? “Alicia? Do you understand?” he asked, and this time, even though there was still something false about it, the question seemed more genuine, more caring.
She weighed her options. She didn’t have a choice did she? She clenched her eyes shut and nodded, tears streaking her cheeks.
Randy half smiled, “Good girl.” He whispered, pleased with himself. His eyes were so dark. She wasn’t sure if she was in the clear at all. “Now… go to the bedroom…” he said, his tone slightly sinister.
* * *
Alicia looked at herself in the mirror, a goddess really- holding her head high even though inside she was dying. She wore the dress that he’d wanted her to wear. It was blood red. Perhaps, to Randy, it was ironic.
She gently put the red lipstick to her lips and began to smooth it over, she felt her eyes begin to moisten, and jerked back, putting her chin up in the air, refusing to cry any of her mascara off.
She didn’t want to upset Randy, but she shook as her eyes spotted his reflection behind her.
Dressed mostly in black, he put a champagne flute to his lips and sipped. Then his hand fell, and he cocked his head to one side, eyes running up the back of her body as he swallowed. She was noticing at this moment, as if for the first time ever, how elegant he really was- how very composed, how very sinister.
He saw her look at him, but then noted that she focused on her reflection again. She continued to apply the lipstick, afraid now. She was afraid that if she even went a small bit outside the line, he’d be furious with her.
Internally, she was trying to come to grips with these facts. She was the wife of a killer, and somehow, she’d never known. Somehow, she’d been hoodwinked for the last four years.
“Um,” she cleared her shaky throat, “I can’t decide which necklace to wear,” she murmured. Her hand shook as she reached for the marble jewelry box.
She heard his footsteps approach, she closed her eyes, blocking out the fear. Those steps that once brought her happiness, and joy, would now always cause her dread and concern. She figured it was just another thing that she’d have to get used to.
She felt his breath on her shoulder, and it turned her to ice. “The gold one.” He whispered. She nodded, reached for it, and knew that he saw her hand shaking. She tucked her fingers into her palm.
“Hey…” he whispered, and he drug his fingertips up her neck, causing her to shake more internally. He didn’t see it. “Don’t be afraid,” he said putting his mouth near her ear. “You know a very important secret.” He said, stroking the spot that would be her Adam’s apple were she a man, “That’s all.” He finished
His hand traveled to her shoulder blade. She flinched in pain at the bruise that was forming. He looked at her, she was still refusing to look back, “Was I a little too rough?” he asked. She glared at him, her eyes filling with hatred, “I’m sorry,” he said, it was false. He tipped her chin, “My beautiful wife.” He said with pride.
She looked back at her own reflection, a puppet on a string. This woman in the glass was a shell, void of its internal contents.
“Put your shoulders back.” He whispered, “and smile,” he gently poked her side, “Come on, smile baby.” He said. She did so, but drug her gaze to the ceiling to hide the moisture in her eyes. “That’s a good girl.” He backed away and left her to the mirror, sipping the champagne again. “You have a few minutes.”
She listened to his footsteps grow fainter and fainter before crumbling to the ground. She’d have to reapply her mascara.
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I'm filing it until further notice. I'm sorry for what is probably many gramatical errors.
- LKJ Slain (me)
