Gorgeous Carat Drabbles
Four Words
Summary: An act of desperation nearly destroys the Courland household.
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Four words are all it takes to push her into madness.
Building up for many months – the changes, the loneliness, the presence of
_him_, it only takes four words overheard to change everything, irrevocably.
"I love you, Florian."
They greet her pleasantly as they pass, Ray and his pet all dressed for an
excursion, leaving her to manage the house. She waits a full ten minutes before
entering their suite and undressing. Throwing the pet's pillow aside she lays
down, her hand brushing wetness. Tasting the still-warm fluid she smiles and
gathers up more, this time pressing it inside herself.
*****
Sanity returns and she plays the waiting game. Angry and frightened she lashes
out at everyone, especially Ray's pet. Of course it's him that finds her huddled
over, retching into a bucket. His quiet solicitude makes her angriest of all,
earning her a private talk with Ray.
It hurts to see Ray's anger but it's the trust fading from his eyes that nearly
kills her. He reminds her coldly that there is another person she must confess
to. Speaking to Ray's pet should be easier but it's not – especially when the
compassion she's so often mocked is withheld from her.
*****
She breaks one afternoon, leveling her frustration at Ray now
that his pet avoids her.
Ray replies in his "chastising Noel" tone, speaking of his pet's honor, pride
and duty. Then he speaks the name that has been forbidden since their return
from Morocco. He doesn't spare words like violation and betrayal and, because it
is Ray, she listens to every condemning syllable.
When they travel to Ray's villa in Italy, Ray's pet remains in Paris.
The boy-child has pale skin and sandy-blond hair. Laila prays to every god she
knows, hoping the newborn-blue eyes turn any color but amethyst.
::end::
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Their gravel-voiced host brags of treasures, pointing out
exotic trinkets. Florian hears another voice instead – silver-tongued and
terrifying. The heat of the fireplace becomes burning sand and merciless sun.
A fragile construct of finely carved wood and colored glass is thrust into
Florian's hands, the host waiting expectantly for Florian's appreciation of the
item. Only Ray's quick thinking saves the thing from meeting its fate on the
hearthrug when Florian's hands begin to tremble.
"Migraines," Ray explains, shoving the trinket at its owner and taking hold of
Florian. He makes their excuses as quickly as possible and guides Florian out.
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Morocco doesn't haunt him the way Ray thinks it does. It's not what Azura did,
nor the brush with death; it's the uncertainty that torments him. Not knowing
which of the many terrible memories are real and which are opium-induced.
Florian was never afraid of shadows as a child – he delighted in exploring
darkened rooms. But these dark corners of his memory don't promise adventures –
they promise fear and shame – things he has too much of already.
Florian's ashamed of the burden Ray carries because of him, but he's terrified
that what he can't remember will destroy them both.