"THE STORM"
Princess drank her water quickly. She hadn't danced like that in years. All the
unsettling feelings which had plagued her in the past few weeks had been, at
least temporarily, expelled on the dance floor.
"Hey," Lesia commented "I think you've got an admirer! Do I hear the word
'yummy' leaping to anyone's mind?"
Princess looked over in the direction her friend had nodded in. Looking back
was a fine specimen indeed. About 6'4" she guessed, broad shoulders, golden
blonde hair and laughing grey eyes. She turned back to Lesia. "He's O.K., I
guess."
"Well don't look now, 'cause here comes Mr.O.K. himself!" Lesia poked Princess
in the ribs as her admirer approached.
"Excuse me," the young man began "you wouldn't happen to be the Countess Anis
de la Fressange of the Doublain bloodline, would you?"
Princess blinked, unimpressed. "Uh, no" she replied flatly.
"Oh good!" the man continued "Because I could NEVER marry a girl with as
pretentious a name as that!"
Princess stared blankly at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "That
has got to be the WORST pick-up line I've EVER heard!" she concluded.
"Ya think?" the still nameless blonde countered. "I mean, you're still talking
to me aren't you?" He flashed her a warm smile, and Princess responded with an
equally charmed expression.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mark lay in bed, wishing his mind would switch off. What the hell was happening
to them all? It had all been so much easier when they were younger, but they
weren't children and things were changing--not for the better he feared. They
were still at war, but that war still couldn't stop their emotions, problems,
personal evolutions from coming in like the flood. It was one thing to live to
fight, it was another to start seeing your life and want more.
Like Princess, he too had also been watching Tiny and Maria with a certain
degree of unmalicious envy, but in his position he couldn't afford such a
luxury, as the Chief constantly reminded him. Was it so wrong to want more--to
need more? They were only flesh and blood, after all. "Man cannot live by bread
alone" Mark whispered to himself as his mind turned over a scene from the
previous day.
He had taken Princess and Keyop out shopping. Thankfully the three of them
shared the same vice. Keyop hungered for video games, Princess ached for Fluvog
shoes and, loathe as he was to admit it, an indulgent wardrobe was Mark's
weakness.
They had stopped outside a store window when Princess turned to see a newborn
in it's mother's arms. Smiling proudly, the young mother suggested she hold the
babe. With equal parts surprise and delight, Princess gently lifted the baby to
her chest, gently pressing her lips against the downey hair and murmuring
soothing words to it's ear. Watching her gently rock the child--looking so
comfortable in such a fragile picture--had nearly torn Mark in two.
"She might never get that chance, he thought somberly "I might never get it
either...."
He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing the thoughts to leave him, begging
sleep to bring him some kind of release.
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Jason awoke to the sounds of laughter coming from the living room. He sat up
slowly and tried to focus. His eyes shifted to the Vodka bottle which sat empty
on his bedside table. "Not the best idea after all" he muttered and made the
first of two attempts to get up.
He walked slowly down the hall which led into the living room in time to catch
the end of Princess's sentence:
"...so, that was it! We danced all night, closed the joint, closed the
after-hours bar, and spent the last three hours eating greasy eggs and drinking
coffee!"
"And you call ME the party animal?!" Tiny laughed.
Jason walked in and looked at the two: Tiny, seated in his favourite spot, and
Princess, eagerly perched on the coffee table--still dressed in the same
clothes as the previous night. Jason opened his mouth to say something cutting,
when he stopped--he too was in the same attire as last night.
Princess heard him and looked up. On seeing him, her smile faded. He looked at
her, giving another tell-tale head to toe.
"Wild night?" he asked icily. She stood up.
"No, I believe that's your domain." she replied dryly, brushing past him.
His eyes followed her. Why did she make it so difficult? She felt lost to him
now...He turned to Tiny, whose expression stopped him cold. The look on Tiny's
face was utter disenchantment, and it spoke volumes: "You two have to work this
thing out, whatever it is, before you hurt us all."
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Jason stumbled into the kitchen to find Mark reading the paper. With a pang, he
realised that Mark, probably deliberately, had been within earshot of Tiny and
Princess's conversation. Jason walked up to the counter and poured himself a
cup of coffee. Mark neither spoke nor acknowledged him.
"So...guess you heard about Princess's new guy" Jason offered. Mark's shoulders
tensed visibly. He waited a beat before speaking.
"His name's Evan" Mark replied flatly. Slowly, he turned to face Jason and
frowned. He gave him a once over and looked hard at his teammate, his personal
feelings giving way to genuine concern for his friend. "Are you still not
sleeping?" he ventured.
Jason looked down. "It's nothing a bottle of cyanide can't fix" he offered with
a half-hearted laugh. Mark's brow creased in further concern.
"Go and see Anderson," he offered, "he can give you something that'll help,
without destroying your liver." Jason gave a chuffed smile. Mark went on. "I
know things have been a bit tense 'round here, but you've got to talk to
someone about these nightmares, they're not health..."
Jason's head snapped up and he stopped Mark mid-sentence. "Let it go...I'm
dealing with it."
Mark sighed slowly and got up. "No man, that's the problem...you're not."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The warmth of the sand felt great underfoot, but the
bright afternoon sun was doing nothing for his hangover. Jason sat on the rocks
and looked out on to the azure waters, and said a quiet 'thank-you' to the
powers that be for the moment of respite. This was the first calm he had felt
in months. Sometimes, he felt he had lost the ability to lose himself in the
beauty of creation. There were days, more frequent than not, that he felt he
was barely hanging on to his soul, as though his ability to register joy,
passion, lucidity were all caught in the chokehold of death and destruction. He
didn't feel world weary so much, as he feared he had no soul left to lose.
As reluctant as he was to admit it, Mark was
right--the nightmares were getting to him. Try as he would to decipher
something from them, they remained inscrutable. They were more a collection of
horrifying images and sensations which would leave him gasping and shaking like
a child. Problem was, he didn't really want to explore them. He was afraid it
would be like Pandora's box: Once he opened it, he might be unable to close it.
Jason watched the gulls dance an impromptu ballet
across the waves and closed his eyes, mulling over the past few weeks. Little
things were bothering him in ways they hadn't before...particularly Princess's
opinion of him. It genuinely angered him that she spoke so disparagingly, so
disapprovingly of his personal life--where the Hell did she get off judging him
as a female predator? Come to that, why the Hell did he even care?! But she had
made it painfully clear that she thought him to be, well promiscuous to be
plain.
He shook his head, frustrated. Oh, there was the irony,
he could hardly remember the last time he'd been with a woman. Truth be told,
he had neither the desire or inclination to go through the motions of courting
a woman, offering the mandatory compliments and often insincere flattery...what
was the point? A few passable moments of physical pleasure--and then what?! No
woman on the outside could possibly understand his work, his drive, his coping
skills, his fears...no one on the outside...
Jason's eyes opened, and he stopped his mind from finishing the thought. He
grabbed a smooth, flat stone and skipped it across the water. "Evan," he
muttered to himself "stupid name anyways."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"AW MAN!!! Stupid fricken thing! Geez..." Keyop frustratedly backhanded the
joystick after having lost a third game of Dark Racer to Tiny. Tiny responded
with a scowl and a slap across the youngsters back.
"Watch your mouth! Your sister wouldn't like it!" he reprimanded.
"My 'sister'?! What does she care?!! She barely notices me any more. She's gone
all weird...so's Mark and Jase...everyone's grumpy and bitching at each other--I
hate it!" Keyop growled.
Tiny frowned. The youngster was far more observant than any of them had given
him credit for, and it worried him, Keyop was right though, they WERE acting a
little more than peculiar. Trying to alleviate the anger of the youth, Tiny
tried to change the subject: "So what do you think of Evan?"
Keyop pulled a face--Tiny continued. "What? You don't like him?"
Keyop thought this over before responding. "No, it's just that...he acts too
cool--like he thinks he's all that, and well...they're just gross together--all
sucky face, ya know, like you and Maria!"
Tiny slapped him across the back once more. "Smart-Ass!" he rebuked, smiling.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Princess sat in the booth with Lesia. Mark and Jason were at the pool table and
Evan had just left. She had suggested Tiny and Keyop stop by the snack bar to
meet him--but just them. Needless to say it came as quite the awkward surprise
when she showed up with Evan to find her other two teammates present. Princess
vaguely suspected they had shown up out of curiosity and, unbeknownst to her,
she was right. Mark had heard her inviting Keyop down and Jason overheard the
same proposal offered to Tiny. Both men were quietly plagued with curiosity.
When Mark asked Jason if he felt like a game, Jason had his jacket in hand
before Mark had even finished asking. They had looked at each other with a
silent, slightly shamed sense of mutual understanding: it was childish and
immature...but curiosity won out.
"Sooooo..." Lesia asked, twisting her straw "How's it going with the 'E'-man?"
Princess smiled. "It's alright, I guess" she offered, giving a non-committal
shrug.
"Alright you GUESS?!!!" Lesia scoffed feigning melodrama. "I swear to God
Princess...you are your own worst enemy!!! I mean look--the guy's a dish!"
Princess tried to explain. "No no...I know--he's great. He's funny, really
sweet, nice body..." she smiled slyly "I don't know what it is...it's just that
he's not, he's just not..." her voice trailed off.
"He's just not Mark...right?" Lesia concluded.
Princess's eyes looked up, only slightly surprised by her friend's frank
remark; Lesia knew her too well. Her eyes looked over to her two teammates at
the pool table and she sighed. "I guess you're right Lise...he's just not
Jason".
Lesia cocked her head to one side and gave a curious half smile. "What was that
you said?"
Princess looked back at her friend. "Hmmm?"
"You said," Lesia continued, trying to suppress her smile " 'I guess you're
right Lise, he's just not Jason!' "
Princess's eyes widened. "I NEVER said that" she stammered, painfully flustered.
"Oh yes, you DID hon!!!" Lesia was grinning ear to ear, her voice raising
excitedly in pitch. "Now THIS is getting interesting! Sooo, when did this
begin--do dish!!"
Princess's defensive reserve kicked in. "Nothing 'began' as you put it, it was
just a slip of the tongue!"
Lesia sat back and considered this. "Sorry sweetie, but old Siggy Freud would
have a field day with you and a slip like that!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mark and Jason were tied: Three games a piece. They decided on one more before
they called it a night. Jason had been waiting all evening to ask Mark the $50
question.
"So...what do you think of Evan?" Jason asked casually.
Mark was focused on his shot, but he answered before shooting. "He seems O.K."
The ball hit the side and fell short an inch from the pocket ending Mark's turn.
Jason's eyes followed the ball. He was bristling: he was waiting for Mark to
ask him HIS opinion. Mark knew damn well why Jason had asked--it was painfully
obvious that his impassioned teammate was bursting to give his two cents worth.
As unkind as it was, Mark could't resist drawing out Jason's frustration and
impatience a little bit longer. When he decided the raging condor had suffered
long enough, he finally asked: "So Jase...what do you think of him?"
"I don't like him." Jason hadn't waited a beat to reply.
Mark smiled knowingly. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"
Jason took his shot and tried to explain. Well, just look at the guy for
starters! He dresses like a runway reject, he's too full of himself, too into
his looks, and he's just...too damn cocky!!!"
Mark laughed at him. "Look at the proverbial pot calling the kettle black! If I
wasn't around to keep you're ass in check, you'd be as big an egomaniac as he
is!"
Jason pounced on the remark: "An egomaniac heh? Sounds like maybe you don't
think he's so great after all."
Mark lined up his cue and took the shot, sinking the eight ball and ending the
game. He looked up at Jason. "I just don't think he's good enough for her".
Jason said nothing. He agreed with Mark, but unfortunately, for all the wrong
reasons.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Princess walked Lesia to her car and embraced the girl fondly. They were
childhood friends who had met as shy, awkward youngsters in their ballet class.
They had been through first crushes, first heartbreaks, bad hair cuts, make-up
fiascos, fashion disasters and all the little growing pains of a normal
existence Princess cherished in her abnormal childhood. Despite their lengthy
liason, Lesia actually knew very little about her friend's life. Princess had
only said that her father was a doctor and they travelled around a lot. While
the intuitive red-head suspected there was more to Princess's story than that,
she never pressed for details. She suspected a traumatic childhood perhaps, or
some sort of tragedy, but rather than force the story from her doe-eyed friend,
she simply let Princess know she was there. Lesia constantly marvelled at her
friend's seemingly bottomless well of strength and wisdom. They balanced each
other nicely, with Lesia providing the lighter side of life and comic relief to
Princess's often dark existence.
Holding her friends hand reassuringly, Princess gently asked the delicate
question: "How's Emily doing?"
Lesia flashed a brave smile. "Good. She's optimistic--so are my parents and the
doctors. So, we're just taking it one day at a time...but I have faith..."
Princess smiled and squeezed her hand. Emily was Lesia's little sister. She was
about Keyop's age and for the past two years had been fighting a loosing battle
to leukemia. Last month she had been transferred to the Mount Sinclair
Hospital, which cynics cruelly dubbed The House of Death. It was there that
terminal cases went as a last ditch attempt to try unorthodox methods and
bizarre treatments in which were, often futile, attempts to conquer their
disease. Princess had gone with Lesia to visit Emily last month and it had
nearly broken her heart. The once bubbly young blonde was now but a shadow of
her former self. The skeletal frame was further insulted by the chemotherapy
robbing her of her once abundant curls. Fine wisps of down grew unwillingly,
exposing the already huge eyes to the point where it physically pained Princess
to look at the little girl. All they could do now is pray.
"Are you going to see her tonight?" Princess inquired.
"No," Lesia explained "they don't like visitors every day, they like her to
rest, so were heading down later this week".
"Well, I'll try and come." Princess offered.
Lesia smiled. "Thanks...it would mean a lot to her... and me."
Princess wrapped her arms around her friend once more, turning her head, trying
to hold back the tears of compassion which rolled down her cheeks.
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