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likethetailofacomet · 5 years

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The Sting of Embarrassment

A/N: Emma and Ben are promoting another of their films, answering questions about their characters, the challenges on set, and what they liked most about being part of the project. But what happens when the interviewer gets to the more unconventional questions? The first of @zaffrenotes RCD requests. prompt is highlighted below.

Featuring: The Hollywood Squad- Seth x Emma, and Ben x Rach

Word count: 1,704

Ben looked sidelong at Emma, his smile already lighting up his dark eyes like fireworks in an onyx sky, and she covered her beet red face with a groan. Her hair had grown back out in the past year, and it fell in sheets over her covered face as she bent forwards to hide herself further. It was no use, though, the cameras were right in front of them, and they were rolling. The two of them had been having a blast promoting their newest film- a light hearted comedy, which had been a nice change for both of them, not to mention it was filmed entirely in Hawaii. Seth and Rachael had even been able to visit during their week long break from shooting. Now they sat in black canvas director’s chairs, the film’s poster behind them as a backdrop, as interviewers from different television and internet shows rotated in and out of the chair across from them. The interviewer occupying the seat now had asked the damning question of “Any embarrassing stories from your time in Hawaii?”

“Well, actually,” Ben started, the smile in his voice as he turned back to face the interviewer.

Emma sat straight up, knowing full and well what story he was about to tell. “Let me just interject something REAL QUICK.” She pointed first at the interviewer and then at Ben. “We were on break when this happened. And YOU,” She jabbed her finger at Ben as he laughed. “And my HUSBAND were well into a bottle of Tequila. Also, be careful, Barnes, because you know I have dirt on you too. Okay, you may continue.”

“Oh, boy, this sounds good,” the interviewer sat forward in his chair.

“Good? It’s gold,” Ben said, before launching into the story…

It was a gorgeous day on Kauai. The crystal clear waves crashed delicately against the diamond dust sand while the sun shone down on them from a cloudless blue sky. Surfers, swimmers and sunbathers dotted the beach, everyone enjoying the relaxing atmosphere that seemed constant on Kauai. Seth and Rach had gotten there that morning, and the four of them were sprawled across beach blankets. The sand was pillow soft beneath the terry cloth towels, conforming perfectly to every contour of their bodies as they relaxed and soaked up the early afternoon sun. Emma turned the music down on the small portable speaker, and rested her head against Seth’s chest. He drummed his fingers lightly against her thigh, as the sound of the waves and the smell of coconut scented sunscreen washed over them. Rachael and Ben were lying on their sides facing one another, fingers loosely twined in the space between them, and it wasn’t long before all four of them drifted off to sleep.

Emma woke up to the sound of Seth’s raucous laughter some time later, Rach stirring awake seconds after. As they sat up brushing sand from their shoulders, they saw Seth and Ben passing a nearly empty bottle of tequila back and forth. They shared a quick look that said, “oh boy,” before Emma realized that they were on vacation, and as such, it wasn’t necessary that they had their wits about them. From the thick, tropical smell, it seemed as though they’d at least had the wherewithal to reapply their sunscreen, which was a relief as they both had pale complexions and we prone to sunburns. Emma smiled as Seth turned to her with his shining, tipsy eyes and his crooked grin. “Hey, sleeping beauty’s up!” he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to his body, which got Ben’s attention.

He turned towards Rachael, goofy, drunken smile playing with the corners of his mouth. “Nice nap, love?” he asked as she settled against his side. He took a big pull from the bottle in his hand, nearly knocking the rim of it on his two front teeth.

Rach tried to hide the little laugh that always came from watching him eat or drink anything- it was one of the little quirky things that she absolutely adored about him: he just couldn’t seem to understand how to consume food or beverage “properly”. She nodded and kissed the tip of his nose before he offered her the bottle, which she declined, stating that the sun and travel were already making her tired enough and that she didn’t need to add alcohol to that list. Ben shrugged and passed the bottle back to Seth. “I’m actually gonna go take a dip to cool off,” she locked eyes with her friend. “Em, you wanna come?”

“Yeah, I-o-wa,” Seth shoved her playfully, drawing out the word “Iowa” in his tell-tale drunk voice. “Go cool off, you’re tooooo hot.” He bit the air between them.

“Easy, tiger,” Emma laughed before kissing him sweetly, prompting Ben to cat call them and tease them about getting a room. She rose, smacking Ben on the shoulder. He feigned offense but Rach gave him a shrug that said “you kinda deserved that one,” and the two women walked down towards the water, leaving their drunken loves behind.

“Those two, huh?” Emma asked, shaking her head.

“Double trouble,” Rachael agreed, both of them beaming.

“Ever wonder how we got so lucky?”

“Um, only on days that end in Y,” Rachael rolled her eyes and Emma laughed.

“You know he’s entirely smitten with you, right? I spend about as much time with that goofball as you do, and if we’re not talking about something directly related to the movie? He’s talking about you.” She ticked topics off on her fingers as they reached the waterline. “How much he misses you, how much you make him laugh,” she narrowed her eyes conspiratorially, “How much he…” she paused, “well, not sure if I should say…”

Rachael’s eyes went wide and she tilted her head to the side. “YOU SHOULD SAY.”

Emma laughed, reaching down to splash the delightfully cool water on her legs. “Fine, but you didn’t hear it from me.” Rach nodded before Emma continued, “How much he can’t wait to bring you home to meet his family.” Emma’s smile grew double as she watched her friend nearly tumble into the surf.

“He...really...said that?” Rachael regained her balance and the two of them waded a bit further into the water.

Emma rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yes, Rach, I don't know why this continues to shock you, but- AHHHHH!” her involuntary scream swallowed the rest of her sentence as pain shot through her shin and calf. She hopped on one foot, flailing her arms as her wide-eyed friend reached out to help steady her. From the corner of her eye, through the tears that were gathering, she saw Seth and Ben running drunkenly and uncoordinatedly down the beach towards them, panicked looks on both of their faces.

“What just happened?!” Rachael asked as the two of them got there, Seth echoing her question, doubling over and breathing hard.

“Iowa! Em, what happened?”

“Jellyfish!! Damn the je-he-he-hellyfish!!” Emma shouted though her tears as another round of white hot, stinging pain shot through her left leg. She squeezed Rachael's hand and bounced up and down, eyes shut tight against the pain. Seth saw his wife crushing Rachael's hand, knowing that she was stronger that she looked, and stepped in to relieve her. She mouthed a grateful “thank you” before shaking out her hands and inspecting her knuckles. Ben took her hand to perform his own inspection, with a quick kiss to her palm before turning back to Emma and the situation at hand.

“Whatta we do? Em, whatdoido?” Seth slurred, panicking more than he was easing her panic.

“You have to clear the stingers,” Rachael chimed in calmly answering Seth's question.

“How do I do that?” Seth implored.

“It's like in Friends, when Monica gets stung!” Ben said, the tequila boosting his confidence as he recalled the iconic episode. He turned to Seth with a serious look. “You have to pee on it, man.”

“What?!” Emma and Rachael shrieked in unison, followed by a string of “no, no, no!” and “don't you dare!” and “that's not real!” from both of them.

“I'll do it to save you, Em!” Seth assured her, opening the string on his swim trunks and tugging them down.

“I know you WILL!” she screamed out in pain again. “But-”

“No buts! Gotta do this, Iowa!”

“SETH!” She yelled, finally getting his attention. “PUT YOUR PENIS AWAY! DO NOT PEE ON ME! THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING!”

. . . . . Ben was nearly hysterical as he got to the end of the story, the interviewer nearly in tears himself. Emma sat there with pursed lips, shaking her head and staring into space.

“So here's sweet Emma, screaming at the top of her lungs about penises,” he laughed. “There were no life guards on duty, but she drew quite the crowd.”

“And I was fine, by the way,” Emma leaned in sarcastically. “Glad my misfortune added to your good time, Barnes.” she rolled her eyes but she wasn't mad at him.

“I'm sure all of the viewers and all your fans are happy to hear that you were okay, Emma,” the interviewer composed himself as he geared up for his next question.

“So, Emma, any embarrassing Ben moments you want to share?”

Ben looked at her deadpan and said “don't.”

“Oh, too late for that,” she smirked as he scrubbed a hand over his face to hide how rapidly it was reddening. She turned to the interviewer. “Did you know his character was supposed to have a surfing scene?” she indicated Ben with her thumb and the interviewer shook his head. “Yeah, well he was. But he couldn't get through the lessons.” It was Emma's turn to snicker through her words. “He wiped out. On dry land. Several times.”

Ben shook his head, laughing along with her. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too,” Emma snorted back as the two high fived and the interview came to a close with absolutely zero serious questions asked.

* PSA * DO NOT PEE ON JELLY FISH STINGS! VINEGAR, FRIENDS! THAT’S THE ANSWER! CLEAR THE BARBS AND THEN RISE WITH HOT WATER! DON’T DO WHAT SETH DOES! *

tags: @sleepwalkingelite @ooo-barff-ooo @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @kellypenac

#rcd #red carpet diaries #seth x mc #seth levine #seth x emma #hollywood squad #ben x rachael #jellyfish sting #freinds #damn the jellyfish!#prompt request

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iihatsu · 7 years

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a work of fix-ion, part 1

sweats nervously

Rating: G

Warnings: Mentions of sleep deprivation, a loud kiss, badly-written narrative

Series: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Mei Hatsume / Tenya Iida

Length: Distance between your house and the nearest McDonald’s

Summary: Yeah, he hates her, but he was entrusted to get this girl to gain back her sleep cycle, and that’s what he’s gonna do.

Going to a place to get your gear repaired, you expect your gear to be repaired. Not carrying The Developer's protege into the infirmary to repair her... whatever made her unconscious on the floor in the first place.

Tenya sighs under his hand. He takes a peek at the space between his fingers and sees Recovery Girl plant a small kiss on Mei's forehead. The support student then groans and rolls to sleep at her side.

"She has fatigue due to lack of sleep. I've only taken small amounts of her stamina because the amount she currently has is so little," Recovery Girl says, sitting down on a stool beside the bed. "Hopefully, a full round of sleep for a few days could help gain back her strength."

"I apologize for the bother, Recovery Girl," he says, bowing in a perfect 45-degree angle, "and thank you for seeing to her immediately."

"No worries! It's good that you brought her here as soon as you saw her. We don't want our hard worker sleeping on the cold hard ground... In a dirty place, nonetheless!" She says, her smile bright and youthful despite the wrinkles.

A loud wailing surprises them both, and Recovery Girl stands up again. "Hm! It seems like this needs immediate attention. Look after her for a while, would you?"

He nods sharply and says yes, and after that, she walks quickly to her next patient. The wails die down as soon as her loud "SMOOCH!" is heard.

It smells clean. Too clean. Like the development studio, but when it's clean. The light around is too... orange. Which is weird, because unless she's made an exploding experiment while she was asleep - that would be handy, though! - the studio would be dark. With fluorescent lamps. Would that mean that she made something that explodes orange and smells clean... while asleep?

No. That would mean that she isn't where she was supposed to be. Mei looks around and sees lines of cots left and right. And the room was not orange, the sunset just made it look that way. Line of cots, clean smell, that first aid kit, and a desk with an x-ray viewer hanging above it. She was in the infirmary. Yup, time to get up and go! Tesla didn't lie around when he innovated alternating currents, didn't he?

She feels something on her side. She sees a ball of dark blue hair and a pair of white-sleeved arms. Now that she remembers, before waking up here, she was in the studio about to attend to a bespectacled guy from the heroes dept with said hair. All the more reason to get going. Pause. What did he want again? "Hey hey hey," she says, trying to shake the arms of the head's owner, "what was it you need again?"

She sighs and repositions herself to try to wake him up sooner but he slowly raises his head to look at her. He then promptly fixes his hair and readjusts his glasses.

"I... I see you're awake now," Tenya exclaims, "are you feeling better?" "Yep! Like a million bucks!" Mei replies enthusiastically, putting her fists on her hips. "You were gonna get what repaired?"

"It would be best for you right now to postpone my request. Your health is currently of utmost importance" He says, motioning his hands to point at her. "I'm okay!" She exclaims. "Coffee. All I need right now is coffee, or--maybe--a five minutes' worth of power nap,--then I'll get you a baby that's just rightfr-" She is asleep for a few seconds and snaps back, business smiles and all.

"See? A five-minute power nap!"

That was a two-second microsleep and is anything but normal!

He readjusts himself to sit straight and starts to talk sternly. "Really, I insist that you continue your bed rest in your quarters. Recovery Girl has already told Power Loader about your condition a while ago and he has allowed that you rest. If needed, I shall accompany you to your dorm."

"No!" She exclaims.

His hands move swiftly in many directions as he speaks. "As much as you want to continue, she has given you stern instructions regarding your health. She says that on the next two to three days you must focus on getting your sleep cycle back on track, as well as temporarily avoiding coffee, or any forms of caffeine consumption."

"No." She says flatly.

"I understand how tempting it is to pick off from your where you started, but, besides your current condition, it is also forbidden for students to stay on school premises after school hours!" He explains, his gestures slightly more frantic.

"Won't be after school hours if I," a yawn, "stayed long enough."

"That is tr-HATSUME!" He has to admit, she is witty, but this is not the time for jokes.

It's enticing to just leave her alone, call it a day, and sleep snugly by 10pm, but what if he does, and she once again pushes herself at risk? Stay determined, Tenya! A hero must know how to persuade people so he can help them help themselves!

He takes a long, deep breath, huffs, readjusts his seating, and looks dead into her sleepy eyes. "Hatsume, if I remember correctly, you aim to get your inventions-"

"..mmmbabies..."

"...b-babies out into the open by big support companies, am I correct?" She nods drowsily.

"That is truly a noble cause, but to reach such a goal, we have to make sure that we are able enough to pursue them. Now, tell me, will they prefer to hire a person who can barely keep her eyes peeled or someone with a lot of energy?"

"E... energy."

"Exactly!" He raises his hands to the air. "And do you know how you could replenish yours?"

"Coffee!" A weak interjection.

"No! Rest! A full eight to ten hours of it, every day!" More hand motions.

"Point... taken..." She positions herself back to lying down.

He has succeeded persuading her to rest, now to persuade her to go to her dorm to do it.

#iihatsu #fic #please pardon the way it was written but if it got the point across then that sounds nice to hear

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wellmeaningshutin · 7 years

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Short Story #67: Monster.

Written: 3/15/2017 Backwards Week

The hosts and the set of the morning talk show are all done up in a light blue and yellow color scheme, in an attempt to make their subject matter seem less depressing. At first the show existed to only discuss uplifting subjects, like puppies that were up for adoption and community projects led by third graders, but one of the executive producer learned that death, violence, rape, disease, and hatred were subjects that brought in more views, and more money, so the show quickly shifted gears, and gave itself a more lighter and playful look. Looking like they were girl’s dolls that had somehow come alive, the two hosts, a blond man and woman, sat on a large, sunflower yellow couch and discussed the biggest story for the past week.

“It seems like Killer Claire,” the woman announced, unsure if she should look at her co-host or the camera, so she awkwardly did both, “might finally have given indisputable proof of how evil of a person she truly is.” The male co-host stared at the camera with a Vaseline smile. “After what happened yesterday, her strongest supporters will have to think twice about claiming her innocence.”

“I hope she gets sent into prison, and never leaves.” Giving a forced laugh, the male turned to his co-host, staring at the side of her face as she stared into the camera. “People like that are just too dangerous, and they really need to be locked up. There is just no reason to have a sociopath like her walking around the streets, after she ruthlessly killed her own wife like that.”

“The thing is, I don’t just blame her. There is no doubt, it is a fact, that she is as evil as they get. But you really have to question her wife, too. I mean, what type of person would choose to marry such a horrible woman? Could you really call her death a tragedy, since she should have known that it was coming?”

It was also discovered, by the same producer who altered the subject matter, that it was easier to just have attractive people who had no idea what they talked about, instead of average looking people who were well informed. So, the original hosts were fired, and he gave their jobs to two escorts he found at a renowned, European film festival. They were a hard find, mainly because he had to find American escorts. It turned out that people preferred to listen to Americans instead of foreigners.

“Well, that’s how they just work. You can never tell who is a sociopath, and who isn’t, its like they are demons walking around in the skin of the average person. So, there was just no way for that poor woman to know who she was marrying, and the whole situation is like a modern day horror movie, all happening in real life.”

Attempting to look horrified, but instead just looking as if she was yawing, “There has to be some way to tell.”

Looking past the cameras, lost, the male host looked for somebody to give him assistance. The only information he was going off of was just a couple sentences from an article he half red, and he wasn’t even fully sure what sociopaths were. Somebody wrote on a piece of paper, and held it up for him to see, it read: Make something up. “Uh, well, you know.” He smiled past the camera, she still stared at his face, now also smiling. Another paper came up, it read: People don’t care if you’re correct, just lie. “Well,” turning to look into the camera, “I read an article, it was about a scientific study done by many of the top scientists.”

Off camera, somebody whispered to the female host, “Just stare at the camera.” She obeyed.

“Top scientists?” She asked, full of surprise. “Which ones?”

“Oh you know,” he rubbed his hands together, to settle his nerves, “A lot of them. The important ones. They said that the only way you can tell a sociopath from a real person, is by their blood.”

“Their blood?”

“Yes. Apparently, their blood has more concentrated evil in it, and can actually corrode metal. There even was a video, somewhere, of an officer of the law-”

“You have to love our boys in blue.” A producer gave her a thumbs up, then signaled her, like a stage mother, to smile.

“You sure do. The officer got blood all over him when he shot the sociopath, and it actually melted his face right off.”

“That is scary stuff, and knowing this now, I hope that Killer Clair gets the chair.”

Another paper was held up, and the guy read it. “Hashtag, Chair for Claire.” ———————————————————————————————————

They put a coat over her head to hide her identity, but it was of no use since the assault had been televised. As they marched cuffed Claire out of the studio, they were greeted by a vast crowd of reporters, all trying to get coverage of the arrest. Even though she was unable to see any of it, Claire understood the intensity of the crow, just by the effort the arresting officers had to put in to get to their car. The wall of noise, that came from the reporters trying to get their questions answered, was deafening, she could hardly pick out any specifics.

Normally, she would have loved to be in this scenario, to have all of this publicity, but now that she had it she was only agitated. If her hands weren’t cuffed she probably would have swung at somebody, maybe would have tried to smash any of their television cameras. She wanted to scream at them, but knew there was no point in it, so she just had to wait to get into the safety of the car.

Ten minutes passed before the police were able to fight their way through, and when they shoved her into the backseat, her head banged against the roof. There was a scrape, some blood, a dull pain, but Claire didn’t care. “I can’t believe we were the ones to finally do you in.” One of the officers said, she didn’t bother to look at him, Claire just stared at her feet. “You’re one sick son of a bitch, you know that?”

“I don’t think she can understand that,” the other chimed in, “that’s how these fuckers work.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. They do know, I think, but they just don’t care. Like, she knew it was fucked up that she cut the breaks on her wife’s car, but she just didn’t give a shit.”

“Isn’t that psychopaths?”

“No, I think.. Wait. I think psychopaths don’t understand, and sociopaths do understand. And she’s the latter, right?”

“No, I think, psychopaths are the ones that harm people, but sociopaths manipulate people. Like, when you hear the word psycho, what pops into your head?”

“Blood covered man, holding a chain saw.”

“Exactly, and when you hear society, what do you imagine then?”

“Bunch of people talking with each other.”

“So,” the officer announced proudly, proving his misguided point, “psychopaths are the violent ones, while sociopaths are the ones who manipulate and shit. Cutting the breaks on somebody’s car isn’t violent, because she didn’t hit anyone, and when you think about it, she was just manipulating the car.”

“But she just strangled somebody on national television, isn’t that violent.”

Thinking deeply about this for a second, the other officer came to a conclusion, “She must be a hybrid then.” Looking back at her, eyes full of fear and hatred, “We should be very careful about her then. For all we know, she could have wanted to have been arrested.”

“So you’re saying that this could just be a part some sick plan?”

“I have no doubt about it.” For added measure, he removed his gun and held it in his hand, just in case. “Who knows what is going on in her head.”

Claire, who tuned out somewhere during the argument over the distinctions between psycho and sociopaths, was trying to remember the words to the MASH theme song. Although the instrumentation was clear in her mind, the lyrics eluded her. ———————————————————————————————————

“Alright, welcome back, America.” The host, a man with a receding hairline, button up shirt, tie, and suspenders, announced to the camera. “We’re here with the woman known as “Killer Claire”, who has been accused of cutting the breaks on her wife's car, which led to the woman’s death. Police suspect the motives may have been to collect life and car insurance, in addition to a clear lack of morals. What do you have to say about this Claire?”

Was she supposed to smile and defend herself, showing that she didn’t care about their accusations? Or was she supposed to act grief stricken about the loss of her wife, because that might be how regular people would react. In the end, she decided to go with something safe, and talked slow and sad, while looking at the hands in her lap, occasionally making brief eye contact with the host. “Well, I’m innocent. I don’t have any idea of how the breaks were cut in the first place.”

Behind her, and the host, there was a screen that displayed Tweets from the show’s viewers. One read: Crocodile tears from a lying bitch.

“What about the reports, claiming that you have been formally diagnosed as a sociopath? Doesn’t that show that there is a strong chance that you killed her? How could you be one of those, and not kill your wife?”

This probably isn’t the first time she killed. She probably drowned those kids that were found in that abandoned pool the other day #LockHerUp

This accusation was enough for her to stare directly at him, giving up her fake routine, forgetting to blink. “What I was actually diagnosed with was antisocial personality disorder. And having that doesn’t mean I’m some psycho killer. I loved my wife.”

So she’s trying to claim that she is shy? Why does her story keep changing?

Is she trying to claim that she doesn’t love her wife anymore? What an awful human being.

“How could we trust you when you say that you aren’t a psycho killer, when you are diagnosed as a psychopath?” Her left eye twitched. “Also, wouldn’t the police only suspect you if they had good reasons to do so? Are you trying to claim that you, a manipulative, morally bankrupt human being, is more trustworthy than the men who put their lives on the line every day, just to keep this country safe? Are you trying to say-”

“Look, Chet, they didn’t even suspect fowl play until a family member of mine mentioned the ASPD. At first they thought that it was just a malfunction, an accident, so I’m not calling them liars, I’m just saying that their views are clouded by prejudice.”

She’s trying to do the calm and reasonable routine. Chet, don’t let her trick you into becoming aggravated.

The host saw this message, and said into the camera, “Don’t worry America, I won’t let her get me all flustered. I’m a professional. Now, Claire, let me ask you a simple question. How can we trust you?”

“What?”

“Well, lying and being manipulative are a part of your disorder, are they not?”

“Well-”

“So, since you have been professionally diagnosed as being a compulsive liar, a wolf in sheep's clothing, somebody who cannot feel remorse or shame, how can we trust you?”

She’s sweating! Oh man, he’s got her cornered, what a fucking pro

Claire wondered if this was some sort of nightmare, but the pain she received from digging her nails into her forearm proved that it was indeed real. “I didn’t kill my wife. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“That’s for the courtrooms, this is television.”

They should water board her for what she did, how could anybody do that to a human being?

You have to be morally bankrupt to kill somebody, obviously she’s evil. I volunteer to shoot that bitch dead.

I hope she tries to flee so that there can be a manhunt. I would love to see her get torn apart by police dogs.

Does anybody know where Chet gets his ties?

Wondering why she agreed to do the interview in the first place, Claire began to stand up and remove the microphone from her clothing. “I don’t need this bullshit.”

“Please don’t swear on air.”

Placing the mic close to her mouth, “Go fuck yourself Chet, I’m leaving.”

“Well, America, it looks like she has nothing to say. It looks like she’s not that big of a sociopath anyways, but then again, we ask the hard questions, and even the coldest killer is hard pressed to find a way out of our verbal judo. By being unable to answer any of these questions, she has essentially proven her guilt, and it wont be long until we’ll see her on death row. Remember, lock your doors, make sure your children are safe, because Killer Claire is still on the loose, she has not-”

I’m serious about that tie. He always has great ties, but I can never figure out what brand they are.

They should cut her tongue out so that she never lies again.

As she walked away, knowing that she didn’t need any of the bullshit, something shifted Clair’s carefree attitude into pure anger. Looking back on this moment, she wasn’t sure if it was the comment advising people to protect their families, maybe it was the way that the audience leered at her, but most likely, it was both of those combined with a memory of the last beach trip she went on with her wife. A thought sprung into her head, and impulsively, she acted on it. Turning around, slowly and coolly walking towards Chet, Claire appeared back on the camera.

Snidely turning to her, the host asked, “Are you ready for round-” Claire quickly grabbed the back of his head, and slammed his face down into his desk. Nose bleeding, looking terrified, he raised his head, unsure of what was happening, and then she placed her hands around his throat. Wondering how it would feel to crush throat, to feel it break under the pressure she provided, Claire was able to stare at his frightened, bleeding, dying face for about twenty seconds until the camera men rushed in to pull her off of him. Everyone else in the studio was frozen in disbelief.

Delilah, will you marry me? ———————————————————————————————————

Surprised to hear the doorbell ring, Claire began to make her way to the front door. Everyone had been giving her space to grieve, and she wondered if they thought that there had been enough time for her to return to the world. It wasn’t clear how long grieving was supposed to last, and it seemed like the only times she cried was when she forced herself to. Basically, she had to think over and over about how sad it was that her wife died, and if she focused long enough like this then a couple tears would come out. If she was able to maintain focus for long enough, she would be able to enter a state of real sobbing, but she mainly only did this once a day, just because she felt like it was what she was supposed to do.

Also, it just felt nice to cry, because it was like it proved that she was still a tiny bit human inside, even if she stopped being sad when something else caught her attention. It was just nice to know that, in some capacity, she still had emotions.

When she answered the door, she was surprised to see a man and a woman who she assumed were detectives. The woman was the only one who spoke for the whole visit, and she assumed that this might have been because they felt like she may be more willing to open up to someone of the same gender. “Is it okay if we come inside?”

Keeping the door cracked open, guardedly staring out, Claire did not like where this was going. “What is this about?”

“We wanted to talk to you about your wife’s death.”

“That was an accident.”

“We thought so too, but we heard that you are diagnosed as antisocial, so we decided to look further into the case.”

“Who told you?”

“So you are not denying this?”

“What are you implying right now?”

“We have reason to believe that you may have been responsible for the death of your wife. Now, the car was totaled, so there is no way to know that the breaks weren’t cut, but-”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, ma’am, we-”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No, we-”

“Then fuck off.” ———————————————————————————————————

When she got home from work the house had been empty. It was a little unusual, because her wife was normally home at this time, but it was also reasonable assume that she was out, doing some sort of errands. Maybe she was talking to some old friends. Later, unbeknownst to Claire, people would think that it was a sign of guilt that she watched television until eleven at night, never attempting to contact her wife, but really Claire knew that she was her own person, and if she wanted to call she would call.

The call did finally come, but it wasn’t the one she expected. She didn’t even recognize the number, but something told her that she should answer. “Are you Claire, uh, Beth’s wife?”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“This is her friend, uh, its unimportant. We’re all wondering, well, are you planning on seeing her tonight?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Really?” Her voice sounded alarmed, confused, nothing good.

“What’s going on?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“No, wait, what’s?”

“Oh god, do I have to be the one to tell you? Shit. I should’ve made somebody else, oh well. She’s dead?”

Cold and indifferent, “Really?”

“Yes, they think the breaks stopped working, there was a crash, its all-”

“Hm. Send me the location, and I’ll drive over I guess.”

The moment was strange for Claire, mainly because she realized that she should’ve assumed something was wrong. At least, she was sure that a normal person would assume something was wrong. Although she never showed it, in her voice or her body language, from that moment on she had given up on caring about life. Who did she have to impress anymore, who did she have to act normal for? All of the friends she made had been dull, but she stayed in contact with them because that was what Beth needed. Her whole social life had formed, because that’s what Beth needed. If it was up to her, they would forget about the outside world, and just spend most of their time with each other, but she knew that her wife had different needs than her, so she changed to satisfy those needs.

Most people would have trouble changing, but Claire believed that was because they all had firm ideas of who they were, and it was unquestionable for them to be any different. She saw a lot of people suffer, only because their self images were shattered. When she was a child, her father always talked about his martial arts classes, and how he would be able to take anybody in a fight, but one night he was mugged in a back alley, and ended up being hospitalized. After that, he became miserable, and not because of the hospital bills or the injury, but because he had lost a fight to somebody he thought was below him. Throughout her life she had seen plenty of other people experience this sort of loss of identity, and she never understood why she never suffered that, until one day she realized she had no identity. She altered herself depending on who she talked to, never being genuine, never caring about the person she spoke to.

And then she met Beth, and realized that in a way, she could become genuine. When they talked, she realized that she wasn’t picking her words carefully, she wasn’t trying to guess what Beth wanted to hear, she just spoke. When she experienced that connection for the first time, it somehow made her feel whole, made her feel real, and it was the first and only genuine connection she would ever have with another person. Sure, she made an effort to become liked by her Wife’s friends, but this was more of a romantic gesture than anything, it was genuine in the sense that she was only doing it because she wanted her wife to be happy. Isn’t that love

Although, she ended up not going to see the body, it was because she was too busy thinking about all of this. She wanted to spend that night with the memory of her dead wife, instead of going and seeing the remains. What could she possibly gain from seeing a corpse? It wasn’t her wife, it was just an object. Her wife was gone, but the memory wasn’t, so she decided to stay home with that, and she figured everyone would understand.

#Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Antisocial #Media

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