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The warm summer breeze blows the curtains inward.
They mould her body, veiling her in white.
She watches as he heaves his bags into the cab - watches as he hesitates.
He looks toward the window and lifts his hand; then lets it fall and turns away.
He's been a long time saying good-bye.
He's going - and he isn't coming back.
She's lost him - if she ever had him at all.
She leans on the window and stares out at the quiet street.
The liquid shimmer of the heat mirage dances above the concrete---hypnotic, mesmerizing.
Drawing out the memories.
Sean.
She'd read the book when he got the part. She'd enjoyed it -laughed and wept in all the right places; Sam and Frodo's desperate journey, Sam and Rosie's love. The quaint and archaic dialogue had amused her. She hadn't read anything more to it than what it had seemed to be.
Then that impossible, painful night - and she had picked it up again.
Trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand.
It terrified her. Was it some lack of womanhood in her that made him so?
She had haunted the sets, watching him - watching them both.
Sean submerged in Sam, Elijah lost in Frodo.
She'd heard the love in their voices, seen it in their eyes.
And it had dawned on her. Peter was filming a love story; but it wasn't Aragorn's and Arwen's story. Peter had wanted realism - and had gotten more than he bargained for.
She had thought she understood.
It was an on-set romance. That's all it was.
It couldn’t last.
He had vowed that it was over. Promised to try again.
He’d never lied to her before - not even then.
Forgiveness didn’t satisfy, nor could she forget.
Ten years of her life she had given to him, now tossed aside on a whim. He had savaged her pride, made her doubt her femininity. The soulmate love she’d thought they shared was an illusion. So she tested his resolve - and made him pay.
She’d demanded a bigger house, and he had given it to her.
She had insisted that they go to all the premieres together.
And they did; and she was never far from his side - the perfect couple. She’d always disliked the weight he’d gained, and he shed it for her. With each painful pound, a little bit of Sam was stripped away - and she was glad. He bore her demands with fortitude, and her barbs with weary silence.
Silence.
He was always silent now, when he came into her bed.
He’d never been very vocal before, but now he was voiceless, mute.
Still tender and gentle, but she needed more. She wanted him to cry out in fulfillment, in mindless ecstasy - and he never did. She had seen the bloodstains on the pillow, seen the bitten lip, and wondered bitterly whose name he had suppressed. It infuriated her. She wasn’t proud of what she did then, but she hadn’t cared.
She had forged bonds to bind him closer, shackles of responsibility and guilt. She’d watched him closely when she told him; seen the accusation in his somber eyes, the flash of keen despair. He had never shown resentment, only caring and concern - and when he held his daughter in his arms, she saw a dawning joy.
The story continued and the premieres began anew. She’d heard the rumors, and she wanted to be sure. Elijah and Dom were together - so the gossips said; and she caught her husband's face in an unguarded moment and knew that it was true. The pain and longing in that look had cut her to the bone. He had sworn that it was over - but he couldn’t make the wanting stop.
She had woken in the night, and he wasn’t there beside her.
The faint hum of the treadmill told her where he was.
The ache in her heart told her what she would see.
The relentless pounding of his feet, the staring eyes, the labored breath and the tracks of tears. The sound of a name, whispered into the night.
When he returned, she had told him - that she couldn’t go on, and had set him free. He had taken her in his arms in silence.
And the tears that came were bitter with regret.
It was better to stop now, with friendship still between them, than tarry and depart in hate. She shuts her eyes against the bright sunshine and her mind calls up a memory. The two of them, so young, so much in love - she and her golden boy. Does nothing last forever? she whispers.
And she locks the memory away.
She couldn’t hate him - he had tried so hard. They could have stayed a family, but would pay too high a price. And she couldn’t hate him - he had done what she had asked of him, and had suffered in the doing. She wished them well.
But sometimes - she hated the damn movie.