![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Mar. 22nd, 2006 11:39 pmThere's something so fucking satisfying about this: the movie Beth picked -- one he never saw before called The African Queen -- plays on that VCR attached to his old TV that they can watch from right here on the bed. He's leaning against the wall, pillows propped up behind him, and the most amazing woman in the universe is in his arms, using him as her wall and he likes the arrangement just fine. This way he can hold her and he can kiss the back of her neck, or her shoulder, let his hands play over her body, feed her popcorn and water, and at the same time get to be a movie critic.
It's kind of perfect.
The movie's pretty compelling in its own way, but nowhere near as compelling as Beth. Her skin is soft beneath his hands and he's always liked that sleeveless shirt of hers. It's the first thing he ever saw her in, after all, a year and a half ago almost to the day. He remembers it so clearly, too, and the way he felt watching her move across the room after he said goodnight to her in his usual abrupt fashion, the way he went upstairs to this same room shaking his head thinking no fucking way, not a goddamn chance, get that thought the fuck out of your head. It was too soon. Hell, he didn't even know how he'd gotten to this place.
He still doesn't know. But he does know that being here? biggest damn gift of his life. Reaching for one of the water glasses and offering it to Beth, he remembers what it was like out there before he knew her. It's a place he doesn't want to have to live in again. Not physically, not intellectually, and sure as shit not emotionally.
Then he peers over at the TV in horror. "What the fuck is she doing to all Charlie's bottles?"
He laughs at himself, though: pure gut reaction. One of his favorite things about what they have is moments like this: he can be himself with her and she doesn't think he's a pain in the ass, or stupid, or some loner geek, or socially inept. At least he hopes not.
I love you, Beth. When I try real hard I can sometimes imagine what it was like for you those two years, alone at that church, no one to keep you company and no one to care for you. I can also sometimes imagine how Yorick must have felt the moment he saw you, except I like to think I do it better. I love you, and every fucking thing about you, and everything you are. I feel pretty damn lucky, and I've never been a lucky guy.
He is now, and he knows it.
It's kind of perfect.
The movie's pretty compelling in its own way, but nowhere near as compelling as Beth. Her skin is soft beneath his hands and he's always liked that sleeveless shirt of hers. It's the first thing he ever saw her in, after all, a year and a half ago almost to the day. He remembers it so clearly, too, and the way he felt watching her move across the room after he said goodnight to her in his usual abrupt fashion, the way he went upstairs to this same room shaking his head thinking no fucking way, not a goddamn chance, get that thought the fuck out of your head. It was too soon. Hell, he didn't even know how he'd gotten to this place.
He still doesn't know. But he does know that being here? biggest damn gift of his life. Reaching for one of the water glasses and offering it to Beth, he remembers what it was like out there before he knew her. It's a place he doesn't want to have to live in again. Not physically, not intellectually, and sure as shit not emotionally.
Then he peers over at the TV in horror. "What the fuck is she doing to all Charlie's bottles?"
He laughs at himself, though: pure gut reaction. One of his favorite things about what they have is moments like this: he can be himself with her and she doesn't think he's a pain in the ass, or stupid, or some loner geek, or socially inept. At least he hopes not.
I love you, Beth. When I try real hard I can sometimes imagine what it was like for you those two years, alone at that church, no one to keep you company and no one to care for you. I can also sometimes imagine how Yorick must have felt the moment he saw you, except I like to think I do it better. I love you, and every fucking thing about you, and everything you are. I feel pretty damn lucky, and I've never been a lucky guy.
He is now, and he knows it.
