Definition:
a : an act of revealing to view or making known.
b : something that is revealed; especially an enlightening
or astonishing disclosure.
c : a pleasant often enlightening surprise.
Author: Jvantheterrible
Date: June 6th-8th, 2000
Disclaimer: Characters belong to
CC,Fox,1013/InFront. Not mine. Story mine and amokeh’s. (We’re borrowing. No
monies being made. No copyright infringement intended.)
Rating: NC-17, eventually.
Author’s Notes: Walter’s about to be extremely
enlightened. LMAO. (Only because I know that “Revelationized” is NOT a real
word. LMAO.)
Feedback: Jvantheterrible@yahoo.com OR
amokeh@aol.com
**************************************************
I wonder if the fucking torment will never end. I get home
from Mulder’s apartment, having just told him we’re finished, and
I’m......devastated. All I can hear is his voice in my head, telling me that
it’s alright; he expected this from me; telling me that there was no way he
could expect me to put up with his shit, and how everyone else in his life has
left him except for Scully.
Guilt Trip 101 a’la Mulder? Yes. Did it work? Absolutely.
I did my stoic best in front of him. I’m in the privacy of my own home now, so
I can let it out - but I don’t.
As if Tuesday with a hangover wasn’t bad enough, memories
of Sharon on her deathbed running through my head, I now have Fox Mulder there
as well, proclaiming his faults and accepting the blame for the failure of our
relationship.
Looks like Wednesday with an even worse hangover is
looming on the horizon, I think grimly, as I refill my glass to the rim and head
upstairs to my room, glass and bottle in hand. Alone. Christ.
**************************************************
“Rrrring.” Hmph. “Rrrring.” Wh..... “Rrrring.” FUCK. What
time is....oh shit. I pick up the clock, unable to believe what time it really
is. Nine o’fucking clock. I throw it forcefully across the room, killing it
instantly when it hits the wall and shatters.
“Hello,” I grumble into the phone. I haven’t even had a
chance to ignore it in case it’s Fox. Christ. First thing in the morning, I’m
late, and all I can think of is, ‘Fox’. Bastard.
“Sir, is...is everything alright? I was afraid you might
have gotten into an accident or - “ Kimberly. I cut her off in mid-sentence.
“-No, I’m fine, I’m.....I’ll be in directly.” CLICK. I sit
up and rub my face, unable to believe that for the second time in as many days,
I’m fucking late for work. Incredible. Nearly twenty years with a spotless
record, and here I am, late AGAIN. Fox Mulder. Goddamn him. Goddamn the day I
met him. Goddammit I miss him..... ‘Walter, no time for that shit. Get your ass
up and get in the shower,’ I tell myself, nearly falling over my own feet as I
attempt to stand up. I wince as I check my nightstand, and the half-empty
bottle of scotch.
“Christ,” I groan aloud to no one, and manage to finally
hoist myself up and lurch towards the bathroom. The room only spins for a
moment, and I am quite proud of myself for not spewing the entire contents of
my stomach all over the place....and then I remember that I didn’t eat enough
yesterday TO throw up. Not bad enough to adopt Mulder, you had to adopt his
eating habits as well, I think as I climb into the shower.
**************************************************
Twenty minutes later, I’m setting a new record for getting
my shit together as I get into my car and head for JEH. I use my portable
electric razor to shave on the way, ignoring the occasional honk at me for not
utilizing my turn signal like a nice little g-man as I weave in and out of
traffic in an attempt to speed up my approach.
Grumpy does not even begin to describe my demeanor as I
enter the Hoover building some thirty minutes later, now a full two hours
tardy.
Kimberly has attempted to cover up for me, seeing as how
I’ve only missed one meeting with a couple of agents that I had no idea were
even under my jurisdiction, and I manage to nod at her as she relays that
information to me, following me into my office as she chatters on and on.
“Fine,” I growl, and her eyes open wide at my use of the
trademark ‘Mulder Clenched Jaw’, this time directed at her, “That will be all,
Kimberly.” She nods back at me, and thankfully, shuts my office door behind her
on her way out.
I sit heavily down into my leather chair, groaning quietly
to myself, swearing off all future use of scotch to dull my pain, feelings,
etcetera, etcetera. It’s simply not worth it. I have a reputation to uphold.
Perhaps making everyone else in the building as miserable as I am would hold
some hidden reward....
************************************************
By three o’clock, I do believe I’ve managed to instill
fear into the hearts and souls of all the agents under my command. I’ve ranted
and raved at the ten agents that had scheduled meetings with me today, and
Kimberly is no longer even trying to see if there’s anything she can do to
assist me.
I skipped lunch, my stomach rebelling at the mere thought
of food, and that has made me feel even worse - as though that were possible. I
can’t believe that this is what I’ve been reduced to. Because of HIM. I’ve
allowed him to get under my skin that badly. Goddammit, if only....if only it
didn’t hurt so goddamned much.
Two hours late today, and I leave two hours early. This
day is a complete and total bust. Judging from the relieved look on Kimberly’s
face when I tell her I’m leaving, I’d say that my work here is done; I have
effectively alienated everyone from me in the short span of time I’ve shown my
face here today. Lovely.
When I get home, I decide to catch up on some paperwork,
and I fall asleep on the couch minutes into my attempt to stay busy. I’m glad
that I didn’t drink tonight, I think as I nod off. I’ll feel much better
tomorrow - well, about some things, anyway. I still don’t feel like sleeping
alone....in my own bed.
************************************************
I don’t wake up until Thursday morning around 4 a.m.,
according to my watch. Thank God I didn’t smash that up as well; guess I’ll
have to pick up a new alarm clock at some point this afternoon. I decide to get
a serious jump on the day to make up for yesterday; I think a trip to the
florist for Kimberly is in order at some point today, too.
I make it to the parking garage by 5:15 a.m., pleasantly
surprised at the lack of traffic on the road. I don’t remember the last time I
made it to work in this short amount of time - except for that one morning that
I was running late because Fox and I were......shit. I hang my head as I walk
into the building, not even returning the janitor’s pleasant, “Good morning,
sir.” Mulder is going to be the death of me yet, I think. Well, it WAS a good
morning, before that last train of thought pulled into the station.
I sigh heavily to no one as I take the elevator up to my office,
and proceed to immerse myself in my desk, heaped with paperwork from last
weekend. Jesus, it’s Thursday already, and I’m damn near a week behind.
Figures; just look what an influence Fox is on me NOW. Dammit, why can’t I get
him out of my head? I HAVE to concentrate today. I CAN do this, I know I can.
Not even six in the damn morning, and
he’s already defeating my plan to work myself into oblivion.
I work straight through until lunch, and leave the office
for an hour to get a bite to eat and pick up a nice bouquet for Kimberly. She
smiles widely when I walk in with it, and blushes a little. This comes quite
close to earning her a smile - but not close enough. I nod at her, purse my
lips together, and head back into my office; I’m halfway through my paperwork,
and as long as no stray thoughts of certain sexy errant agents impede...who am
I kidding, anyway? This puts me immediately back into a foul mood, and I ring
Kim to tell her that I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon. I
don’t need to tell her twice; Hell, NO one wants to come up to my office ever
again at this point. I don’t blame them.
At three-thirty, Scully calls to check in with me from
Quantico. Needless to say, I’m much less than polite.
“YES,” I yell into my cell when it rings, pissed at the
interruption when I was doing so well and staying so focused on the files in
front of me.
“Sir, it’s Agent Scully. I just wanted to let you know
that my classes are going well here, and I -” I cut her off there.
“Thank you, Scully, I’m glad to hear that things are going
well there.” There is no way in Hell I’m going to give her a chance to tell me
that she’s spoken to HIM. If she even has. I wonder how he’s doing. Damn.
“Is there anything else that you had for me, Agent Scully,
because I’m rather busy for a social call,” I tell her gruffly, and I can hear
her quick intake of breath. I immediately feel like an ass for treating her
that way, but I’m so.......Jesus, I don’t even know what I am anymore. Just
plain pissed and infuriated and lonely and guilty and any other negative
adjective in the English language just about describes it.
“N-no, sir, that’s all I had. Have a nice afternoon, sir,”
she says, and then cuts off the connection. Good. I didn’t want to chit-chat
anyway, I think, and then I mentally kick myself. I could’ve asked her how he
is. I’m sure she’s spoken to him; I could’ve been just a LITTLE bit nicer to
one of my wunderkind agents, with the near-perfect solve rate. Nope, I resorted
to surly, gruff, and incommunicado. Fuck it. I really just don’t care; about
much of anything, actually.
I don’t leave the office until I’m caught up for the week,
and it’s dark outside. Suits my mood, I think to myself, and I nearly smile
again at the bastard that I’ve become this week. I suppose I’ll have a hard
time EVER outdoing this spell of surliness; good. At least no one will think
I’m a soft touch. No danger of THAT happening anytime soon. The one person that
had the power to reduce me to an emotional wreck is.......gone. So why do I
still feel so fucking bad?
**************************************************
I get home around nine o’clock Thursday night, and I am
quite shocked to find a surprise at my front door. It’s propped up against the
stark white of the wood - an envelope with my name on it, and....flowers?
Jesus. H. Christ. There’s only one....Mulder, I think as I bend down to
retrieve the leavings tiredly.
Irises. Huge purple Irises, swathed in Baby’s Breath and
greens. I sniff them tentatively; it is like the proverbial breath of fresh
air. I immediately recognize Fox’s handwriting on the envelope, and I shake my
head as I enter my condo, wondering what kind of ‘Dear Walter’ letter this is
going to be. I sigh deeply, again to no one, as I shed my coat, letting it rest
on the floor where it falls. For once, I don’t pour myself a drink; this is
intriguing, to say the least; Mulder sent me a card? And flowers?
I plop down onto my sofa as I tear open the envelope,
letting the Irises remain in their plastic for a bit longer as I lay them down
on the coffee table. I am mesmerized by what this envelope could possibly
hold....and it’s nothing compared to what I read mere moments later. I’m not
EVEN prepared for what I’m holding in my hands.
**************************************************
Walter:
Hmm, at least it’s not ‘Dear Walter’........too much like
a ‘Dear John’ letter, I think to myself.
I want
you to know that I understand why you said the things you did the other day.
Hmph, I grumble, GOOD. He’s off to a smashing start; the
typical pity-me Mulder stance.....and then I read on.
I don’t say that to sound as if I’m wallowing in
self-pity; I’m not. I know I didn’t leave you much choice in the matter.
‘Goddamn right you didn’t,’ I murmur. And as I read the
next paragraph, I might as well be in a whole new world.
But this time, I didn’t realize that there was no way for
me NOT to get hurt. I’ve simply come to
depend on you too much, to love you too much.
You’re so much a part of me now, Walter, that if I lose you I might as
well cut out my own heart.
What? I read it again just to make sure that I’m not
hallucinating. The next page or so is just as unbelievable, and I find myself
reading and rereading the letter, just to make sure that this is really what
he’s written....unless it’s some cruel Consortium hoax, this is.....Fox William
Mulder’s feelings on paper. His feelings about ME. Holy shit. I keep reading,
transfixed, suddenly fighting the overwhelming urge to pick up the phone
and......
After reading on, he’s promising NOT to go off half-cocked
on anonymous tips. He’s telling me that he swears he’ll come to me before he
chases down any other anonymous leads. I shake my head as I continue reading
his pages and pages of prose.
Now I realize you’re reading this, shaking your head and
thinking, “Yeah, he says this NOW...” But I mean it, Walter. I’ve actually looked at this logically and
determined the following:
Yes, his checklist is pretty goddamned accurate. But it’s
when I reach the next part that I feel the lump in my throat; I struggle
against it with all my will, but I can’t fight it - Fox Mulder knows how to
sock it to me, in no uncertain terms.
...None of it matters if I don’t have my best
friend or my life partner. And that’s
what you are, Walter, despite your trying to end the relationship. I know for a
fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about me, and that as you’re reading
this, you’ve got a lump in your throat....
Asshole; how dare you know me so well, I think, fighting
tears as I read on.
...It starts to form when I think about never touching
you again, about never feeling your arms around me again, never making love
with you again....
...You know, when I think about why I love you, what I
love about you, it’s the little things that get me every time.
OH. MY. GOD. The tears are actually in my eyes as I read
this, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I lean forward and finger the Irises
gently, as though they were Fox, and he could feel my touch...suddenly, I wish
he could; I wish I COULD wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything
is going to be alright....NO. NO. NO. I’m done with this frustration....I told
him....I can’t......do...this.....but I read on, my eyes full of tears that
refuse to fall, barely able to follow his words......
So, because I consider you my life partner, Walter, I’m
not going to let you walk away from me.
I plan to hound you, pester you, cajole you - whatever it takes - into
giving me another chance. You want
flowers? Done.
No shit, I think quietly, my sarcastic edge gone even from
my subconscious now as I eye the Irises once again....
I could beg you to come back to me, Walter, but I think
I’ll save that for my next letter. After all, I’ve got to give you something to
look forward to, right?
There’s going to be another one? I don’t know if I
can.....I finish it up slowly, relishing the words, the emotion; knowing that
his hand wrote this. How long ago? Today? Yesterday? Last weekend?
I love you so much, Walter. Please remember that THAT is
what this letter is about - it’s not about me just being lonely or just needing
someone, ANYone. I NEED YOU. Please
give me another chance to show you just how much.
With all my love,
Fox
I....what.....oh God. I’m.....tears. I drop the pages to
the floor, staring at the flowers just out of my reach - just like him.
I fall asleep well past midnight on the couch again,
having read Mulder’s letter five or so times, each time building up my desire
to call him......talk to him...have SOME contact with him, at the very least.
Maybe tomorrow, I think, not remembering as I’m nodding off that I forgot to
buy a new alarm clock today.
***************************************************
The sun is warming my face by the time I bolt upright on
the couch, unsure where I am to begin with, then panicking as I look at my
watch. It’s only 6:30. Thank GOD. AND it’s Friday. I look down at the floor,
wondering if the words that Mulder wrote were only a dream; the pages lie at my
feet, slightly rumpled, and I smile to myself as I think of the things that Fox
managed to put down on paper. I thought I knew Fox Mulder; I thought he was
just an inconsiderate bastard - up until last night. Now I’m being forced to
reassess my evaluation of him. I know I’m not the paradigm of emotion myself,
but I didn’t know he had it in him. I miss him more than ever. Asshole.
I feel the smile fade from my lips as I head upstairs to
shower and get dressed, dreading another day without him. I notice a tiny
spring in my step - it’s been missing this past week, but now, I feel like
there might just be a flicker of hope for me. Or Mulder. Or.....us? That
goddamned letter has me in a whirl of emotions that I’m not used to dealing
with, let ALONE used to feeling. It’s going to be a long day, I think -
followed by an even longer weekend.
***************************************************
I manage a curt smile at Kim as I walk past, to her
apparent pleasure. She gives me a bubbly, “Good morning, sir,” and I actually
leave my office door open for the first time all week. I can tell she’s
glancing in here every so often for the next couple of hours; I can feel her
gaze burning into the side of my face, and I also catch her staring a couple of
times before she can blush and turn away. The last time I bust her, I tell her
outright, “I’m fine, Kimberly.”
“Y-yes, sir,” she stammers, looking immediately back down
at her desk. As far as I can tell, that ends her silent inquisition, and the
day continues to drag on at its painfully slow snail’s pace. I check my watch
for what must be the millionth time, and by noon, I can’t take it anymore. I
have to go out for some fresh air. I ask Kim if she wants anything while I’m
out, and she informs me that she’s brought her lunch. I take the elevator down
and walk out the front doors of the J. Edgar Hoover building into the sun.
It’s a gorgeous day; the kind where Mulder and I would
normally head out for lunch a couple of minutes apart, grab a sandwich from the
deli across the street, and find a quiet spot in the park by the Reflecting
Pool, eating and talking together, content to just have the briefest respite
from work.
Melancholy kicks in as I recall the words from his letter
last night, and I suddenly want to call him. I reach for my cellphone, then
curse myself under my breath; I refuse to allow myself to do it. I told HIM
goodbye, after all. How would it look if I came crawling back now? I ponder
that question the whole time that I sit in ‘our spot’ by the pool, mindlessly
chewing on a sandwich that might as well be cardboard with cheese for as much
attention as I’m paying to it. Hell, at least I’m eating. I wonder if he’s
eating. I wonder if he’s sleeping. I wonder if he’s taking care of himself. I
wonder if he misses me half as much as I miss him.
**************************************************
I’m considerably bummed out by the time I return to the
office, unsure as to what in the Hell I should do about Mulder. Luckily, a
whole new slew of paperwork has been thrown in my ‘IN’ basket, and I have no
time to worry about that until quitting time comes, some six hours later.
Kimberly told me goodnight and wished me a nice weekend an
hour ago, so I suppose I’m only avoiding the inevitable; going home to an empty
house. Jesus. I don’t even remember being this morose when Sharon left me. I
must have it really bad for Fox. I shut off the lights in my office and head
for the elevators, still not used to the silence of this big building on a Friday
evening an hour after closing time. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what
awaits me at home.
***************************************************
As I get off the elevator in Viva Towers, I see that I
have another gift from my ‘admirer’. It’s again propped up against my front
door, and it’s the same thing as last night, just different flowers and a much
heavier envelope. Daisies? Jesus, Mulder, you ARE a soft touch, aren’t you, I
think to myself as I mentally weigh the envelope - must be at LEAST 10 pages. I
sigh as I open my door, stepping into my quiet dark apartment, shedding my
trenchcoat, careful not to crush my new flowers. My heart is pounding in
anticipation, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let on...even if there ISN’T anyone
else here. Hmph.
I add the daisies to the oversized glass I put the lilies
in last night, chuckling at the absurd appearance on my coffee table. Let’s
see; I’m 48. That makes it officially.......48 years since ANYONE has given me
flowers. Christ. I pour myself a few fingers of scotch, loosen and remove my
tie, open my top couple shirt buttons, and kick off my shoes before I sit down
on the couch with Mulder’s latest ‘novel’.
I take a long sip of my drink, enjoying the warmth sliding
down my throat, and immediately feel much more relaxed. I have a feeling that
Fox has really outdone himself this time, so I’m going to make sure I’m
prepared. I prop my stocking feet up on the table as I rip open the envelope,
not at all shocked at the sheath of papers inside; he talks so goddamned much,
it’s hardly a surprise that he’d ramble on and on with pen and paper as well.
I lean forward a bit and set my glass down on the floor,
half drained. I’ve lost interest in the scotch for the moment, focused entirely
on the matter at hand. Namely, Fox William Mulder.
Walter,
I miss you. I dreamed of you last night or
rather late this morning; it was a wonderful dream of you curling up around me,
the heat and solidity of you firmly pressed against my back, making me feel
safe.
He always WAS a sucker for my body heat, I think with the
barest hint of a grin. Suddenly, I don’t even want to finish this letter. I
want to go to him. I want to hold him, kiss him, tell him I’m
sorry......goddammit, Walter. READ.
So I do. I read, and I read, and I read some more. He’s
had nightmares. He nearly crumpled up the letter because he felt guilty for
even SOUNDING like he was trying to make ME feel guilty. I don’t think I could
BE any more guilty, actually.
God, your smile. Do you know that I worked for you for
six years before I saw you smile? You simply don’t DO it at work. You probably
don’t believe it fits with your hard-assed AD persona. It’s probably just as
well. If you smiled all the time at the bureau, I would NEVER have had a chance
with you. I would have had to fight off every assistant in the administrative
pool. Not to mention the closeted agents - and there are QUITE a few that have
checked you out over the years, Walter.
You may not have noticed it, but I certainly did.
He goes on and on with this whole smiling thing for damn
near a whole page, and I’ve got a very healthy lump in my throat by the time he
tells me, “It’s the little things.” Little my ASS. Closeted agents? Secretaries
crazy for me? “I don’t think so, Mulder,” I say aloud, laughing heartily at the
mere THOUGHT that anyone is harboring a secret desire for me. The lump comes
back when he begins again, describing the changes I’ve made in his life.
I’ve never had much luck with relationships, as I’ve told
you many times, not to mention how I’ve gone out of my way to show you exactly
why I’ve never had much luck with them.
Yeah, Mulder, I’m just the EPITOME of healthy
relationships, I think, reading on slowly, trying to absorb every word, every
nuance that he’s attempting to convey to me - and I do believe I’m getting the
point.
Do you have any idea what it took for me to be able to
lower all my walls in order to let you in? God, Walter, I was so scared - I was
scared I would let you in and get used to you, even need you, and then I’d lose
you just like everyone else I’ve loved. But deep down I came to realize that it
was less scary to let you in than it was to keep you out. I know you can
completely relate to this because you’ve got more walls up than anyone I’ve
ever met. Or at least, you HAD more walls. You let them down, one by one, for
me to see the real you. And it was that voluntary exposure of of your innermost
self that allowed me to garner the courage to do the same. You gave me your
friendship and your trust, and for the first time in my life I felt safe enough
to throw my arms open wide and say, “This is who I am! Know me!”, and in return
you accepted me, warts and all.
The lump is nearly choking me now, and I’m fighting off
tears; I’m sure he sobbed as he wrote this. That would explain the small
smudges on the paper. It would also explain my undying urge to not even finish
this letter - to toss it down and run out the door and drive as fast as I can
to his apartment, grab him and hold him and NEVER let go. But I keep reading.
This is important. It was important enough for him to write, and it’s
definitely important enough for me to finish. This letter...this testimonial
from the man who ‘trusts no one’. What have I gotten myself into, I think as I
feel the tears build in my eyes; and what have I done?
You had every right to believe the relationship was over,
given how I had acted and what I had said. But I need you to forget all of it,
Walter. Jesus, I had to get fucking wasted to believe it enough myself to even
say it to you; and then I just kept getting madder and madder because I knew it
was lame, I knew it was a lie, but at that moment I needed it to be true so I
had some reason to walk out. Not because I wanted to walk out, but because I
was too afraid to stay. When you issued the censure, Walter, it really drove it
home just how badly I had scared you, just how far I had crossed the line; when
you ordered the censure, I thought for sure you were going to end it, so I
decided that I’d beat you to the punch. I know I’m a selfish bastard. But I
don’t want to be a selfish bastard anymore. I’d much rather concentrate on
being happy with you and making you happy......what can I say? I’m turning into
a sentimental fool.
Shitshitshit. He’s turning ME into a sentimental fool. I
have fucked up monumentally. “I can’t believe I told him goodbye,”I murmur to
my condo as the tears actually begin to trickle down my cheeks. “Fox,” I
whisper, and I’m not so sure anymore that finishing this letter is the wisest
move I’ve ever made. Nevertheless.....
Please give me a chance to show you how much I love you.
Please allow me the opportunity to prove that I can learn from the past and be
the partner you and I need me to be. I’m begging you, Walter, to look beyond all the crazy things I said that
horrible Friday to the fear which prompted my tirade. And finally, I’m pleading
with you NOT to give up on me; I need you so badly; I really don’t want to do
any of this without you. I don’t think I can. Not anymore. You’ve become as
necessary to me as the air in my lungs. I’m reminded of a poem I read at
Oxford.....
By the time I finish his poem and his last two sentences -
I love you, Walter. Please give me another
chance.
With all my heart, Fox.
- I’ve been reduced to a sniveling idiot, a FAR cry from
the ‘surly bastard’ that he called me exactly a week ago tonight. I reach down
shakily to the floor and grab my glass, polishing off the rest of my drink in
one big gulp. I look at my watch. It’s 10:00. I can’t. I shouldn’t. How can I?
And then again...how can I NOT?
**************************************************
I took a long hot shower. I changed into jeans and a
t-shirt, and I ate a sandwich to chase my mild buzz away. I wasted as much time
as I could stand to, and then I nearly ran down to my car. I drove to Mulder’s
apartment.
And I’m standing here now, not a fucking CLUE as to what
I’m going to say when he opens the door. Of course, I probably SHOULD knock
first.
BAMBAMBAM. With my fist. Shit, what if he thinks I’m
pissed or something? Far from it, actually. I’m nearing ‘desperate’ to see him;
and no matter how many drops I put in my eyes, they’re still fucking swollen
from reading his goddamn letter.
“All right, all right,” he shouts, “Hold on a second.” I
can hear shuffling around from inside; he must’ve fallen asleep on his couch
watching porn again. Some things never change, I muse silently as I wait for
him to open the door.
“It’s me,” I say quietly, and I can practically hear him
pause on the other side of the door. Oh Jesus, I’m going to see him, he’s going
to open the door and......he opens the door. He looks absolutely fucking
beautiful. His hair is mussed from sleeping on the sofa, and he’s wearing jeans
and a t-shirt, just like me. We stare at each other for a long time, me
standing in the hallway, him standing just inside his place.
“I got your letters,” I manage, my voice hoarse with
emotion and elation at seeing my lover for the first time in four days.
“Come in,” he says, standing aside to let me pass. I walk
in slowly, taking in the cleanliness that greets me, as well as the.....is that
a cooking show on the television? No porn?
I smile at him then, a genuinely huge smile, because he’s
not wasting away in the utter decay of a filthy apartment. It’s clean, just
like the slate that is being rebuilt between the two of us at this moment. I
walk past him and he closes the door behind me. We have a lot to talk about,
Fox and I. For now, though, I’m content just to be in the same room with him.
For now.
************************************************
To be continued in amokeh’s next installment. LMAO. Keep
checking back. We just LOVE to keep our readers hanging on. --Jvantheterrible
TASTE OF LIFE VII COMING SOON..............