Look Through To Me, by Dizzy

Look Through to Me

Chapter 4

With the silent tears still streaming down her face, Allara made the short walk to what she had hoped would become her home, if only for a short time. When she arrived at the run-down apartment, she was not in the least bit surprised to find the door ajar and her possessions strewn across the rooms.

When it rains, it pours.

Resignedly, she bent to pick things up on her way through the living room, down the short hall, and into her bedroom. The robbers didn’t take much, there wasn’t anything of value there anyway. She threw it all into one bag and packed up what was left of her pitiful art supplies into the other bags, cases, and boxes. Taking one last look around the ransacked hell-hole, a faint, quirky smile played upon her lips at the thought of how ironic life was.

As she stepped into the cab, a single, large raindrop splatted itself against her mussed up hair. Throughout the ride the car was battered in what was probably the worst thunderstorm Los Angeles had seen in years. Finally the taxi came to a halt and she exited, paying silently with a grim look of determination. She leaned against the wall and extracted yet another cigarette from her purse, savoring the smell of the unlit tobacco. As she lit it, the acrid smoke filled the immediate vicinity before dissipating into the rain-heavy air.

‘Isn’t it ironic? Doncha think? A little bit too ironic, yeah I really do think. It’s like rain on your wedding day, it’s the free ride when you’ve already paid, it’s the good advice that you just didn’t take and who would’ve thought, it figures?’ I hate that song.

She began humming the tune to the all-too familiar song. Fellow midnight flyers around her simply turned their shoulders to ignore her. Turning her head to the automatic double-doors, she prepared herself to swallow all pride and dignity and just buy the ticket back to Atlanta. One step towards the doors, then another.

No. I can’t do this. I can’t go back there.

Torn between what she should do and what she wanted to do, she resumed leaning against the hard, cold, wet concrete. Again, she turned her head to the door. Except this time she was not met with a collage of weary travelers, this time she found herself staring at a lively and very-much-so awake Orlando Bloom with a trolley full of boxes marked with such labels as "Kitchen," "Bedroom," and "??? Miscellaneous." He also had various bags and suitcases slung across his shoulders and hanging on his arms. In fact, he looked for all the world like a pack animal...

Oh Lord Almighty. I ask you for a messenger on an albino donkey and this asshole is the best you can do? Screw it, just get your lighter back Evans.

"Hey!" She barked from her post at the wall. He turned with a jovial smile that faded a little when he remembered who he was looking at, then returned in full force. She waited for the imminent wise-crack.

"Well hello there! What, have you been waiting outside the airport for almost a month just to see me again? I’m touched, truly." Looking away with a pained statement, she rolled her eyes and called out to him. "Shove it, Bloom. I want my lighter back."

A bit taken aback by her furiously challenging demeanor, he returned to the stuttering fool she had first met. "W-well, uh, ah, I d-don’t ah really exactly have it...on me...r-right now."

She turned to mutter under her breath and throw her cigarette to the ground, ignoring the receptacle specially made for cigarettes. She ground it with her toe vindictively and turned to enter the airport. Orlando blocked the entrance.

Oh Jesus, Mary and motherfucking Joseph. I should’ve just let him go and forgotten about the lighter. This man will be the death of me.

"Can I help you?" A less determined, or perhaps just less curious person would have been sufficiently deterred simply by the tone in her voice. Orlando Bloom was no such person and his curiosity outweighed his fear. "Yeah, I want to know where you’re going." His interest had been sparked and there was no stopping him now. Seeing that she was not going to get pass him, Allara began walking towards the other double doors.

"Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s none of your business, is it?" Without even turning to face him, she was snapping over her shoulder. In all honesty, she couldn’t turn around now. With him pestering her about where she was going, again she had felt the heavy hand of defeat rest on her shoulder and a single tear had managed to spill from her large emerald eye. It was no use; as an actor, it was Orlando Bloom’s job to differentiate between the different emotions a person was feeling and the faint quavering in her voice had belied her true emotions. Walking faster and faster, she thought that perhaps she had lost him as he wasn’t questioning her anymore. A bit relieved, she slowed down before reaching the entrance, it was then that she was forcefully turned around by a large hand on her shoulder.

"Shit!" As she whirled to face him, one of her bags went flying and caught him in the stomach.

Oh my god, he really doesn’t know when to quit. Just humor him for a while and then maybe he’ll leave you alone. What did you say her name was? ...Beth? Yeah, Aunt Beth.

"What do you want from me?" Her tone was harsh, but she had forgotten about the tell-tale tear still glistening on her cheek. At first his face was a mask of patient humor at her running away from him, but it soon turned to that of concern as he noticed the faint traces of pain still in her eyes; she could not hide everything.

"I want to know why you’re crying."

Shit! Now what am I supposed to tell him?

"It’s nothing, I stubbed my toe" That lie was more obvious than a fuschia elephant boarding a plane to Madagascar. Cocking his head to one side, he reached out to touch her arm. She recoiled violently, almost sideswiping him with another one of her bags again.

"Oh come on, you can tell me. What’s wrong?" His face was so soft and his voice so caring, she didn’t see why she couldn’t tell him. It’s not like it would change anything.

Just tell him, it doesn’t matter now anyway. Besides, it’s another hour until the next flight to Atlanta. Oh god Evans, no, he doesn’t want to hear this. Tell him Aunt Beth got sick or something.

"It’s a long story." She couldn’t tell him the truth, she couldn’t even tell him a lie. Avoidance was the best way to deal with this. Or, it would have been if Orlando Bloom wasn’t such a stubborn son of a bitch.

"I have time." He just wouldn’t go away. Just then, a red Jeep zoomed up to where they were standing on the curb and a tired voce called out to Orlando.

Ugh, finally. This must be his ride, we’re the only two people out here.

"No, you have a ride." She motioned to the obviously impatient man in the car, recognizing him to be none other than Elijah Wood. Silently, she gave herself kudos on guessing correctly why Orlando was in Los Angeles and who he was staying with, even though it took no stroke of genius. Allara stood, impatiently tapping one foot against the asphalt, and watching Orlando out of the corner of her eye.

"Well are you going to go or what?" He had not moved from his position on the curb, not even to set any of his bags down on the ground. Her voice had begun to quaver again and this time she could feel that there was no stopping the violent torrent to come. She just hoped he left before it arrived. Finally, still staring at her, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I’m not going anywhere until either you tell me what’s wrong or you come with me." Of all the things he could have said, that was the last one she expected. He could have told her to get some sleep, go home, even tell her to seek professional help. But no, he still wanted to hear her sob-story. “There is no way in hell that I am going with you and I have a flight to catch, so I guess you’re just shit out of luck, aren’t you?” She turned from him once again, heading inside, wanting to get away. It wasn’t Orlando that she was running from, it was the steadily rising lump in her throat, the burning sensation in her eyes, the total and complete loss of control that was threatening on the horizon like an angry herd of buffalo. And once again, she felt his comforting hand on her shoulder…it was too much. The past few weeks had made her so frail and weak that she could take it anymore. His hand on her shoulder was the last straw, the breaking point. She was like a beautiful cobalt vase falling to the floor. The crash was deafening and the airport stopped moving, time stood still as she broke on the concrete. The pain washed over her like small shards of blue glass and Allara could do nothing to stop it. She fell into oblivion and was barely aware of her surroundings as she let herself be led to the curb and guided into the back seat of the vehicle. She didn’t scream, she hardly cried, two tears leaked from her large almond-shaped eyes and she sat, vacant in the large SUV.

That’s it. It’s over. I am a failure.

Orlando climbed into the front seat, waving away Elijah’s questions impatiently, while gazing at the broken pottery sitting behind him. She looked so different now from the young women he saw twenty minutes ago. Then, her eyes had been ablaze with life, her movements quick and graceful; now she sat, a smoldering heap that looked as if it would tumble to the ground at any given moment. He wondered at the quick transformation from a powerful woman to a crumbling child

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