Post by Alek on Mar 21, 2006 17:17:07 GMT -5
Dishwater colored hair was hanging into his eyes, but he did not brush it away, and nor did she. Soft, almost unnaturally soft, pale green eyes were focused on a book that lay open upon the table. Long fingers brushed over the old, constantly-thumbed pages. The young face was relaxed at that time, but God only knew how easy it was to set him off... and that would certainly ruin all of the progress that had been made today.
"Apollo?" Her voice trembled slightly as she addressed him, but she was careful to keep her tone even. He was a very bad judge of her emotions, and tended to waste hours trying to guess what she was saying. Slowly, those unnaturally pale eyes raised from the writings of William Shakespeare, landing on her timid frame.
"Are you angry?" His voice was low and throaty, but quiet. Timid. They had a very timid relationship, but it was entirely out of respect for each other and what they were.
A smile came to her face and she shook her head slowly. "No, Apollo, I'm not angry." She assured him, standing up. "But it's time to leave." He turned to look over at the clock and rose quickly, fingers leaping to the pages of Othello. The book was snapped shut, and he picked it up, pushing it quickly back into it's place on the shelf.
Scrambling around, the young man let panic light up his face, though if asked, he wouldn't be able to identify the emotion that he was feeling. Apollo didn't fully understand emotions, but he knew that "angry" and "sad" weren't good.
"Apollo." She stepped toward him, watching as he abruptly went silent and drew backwards until his back was pushed to the shelf. His hands wrung together close to his chest, and he stared at her with wide eyes. "Calm down, Apollo." She offered his coat to him, and he carefully accepted it, pulling it on. "Can I have a hug today, Apollo?" The woman asked, watching as he stared at her again.
"I... I don't..." He avoided looking at her now, staring at the wooden floor. She shook her head, going to the door and opening it for him.
"It's fine, Apollo. You can go, now. The car is waiting to take you to your apartment."
.-.-.-.-.
"Are you angry?"
"No, Apollo, I'm not angry."
"Are you sad?"
"No. I'm just watching you, Apollo. Keep reading."
"And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed on you.--To you, lord governor,
Remains the censure of this hellish villain;
The time, the place, the torture,--O, enforce it!
Myself will straight aboard; and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate."
It amazed her to no end that a man who did not understand emotions could read the finishing lines of Othello with such emotion. She had given up on trying to understand him, and yet, that was her job. It was a contradiction, but so was Apollo. As gentle as a lamb and as shy as a hummingbird one moment, but if touched or disturbed, he was as violent and spontaneous as a drug addict, and so she had been entrusted to caring for him.
She was fit into his schedule, and knew that she would not be able to ruin that. Until the day he died she would have to be here for him for the second half of his day. He came by after lunch, and they would talk about his day even though it was always the same. Then he would read... always Othello. She'd watch him and listen to the range of voices he gave to the characters, enchanted by how... normal he seemed.
Then she would prepare them dinner, and until recently it had always been the same. Identical salads and lemonade. If she ever tried to change anything about hers, he would get horribly nervous and insist that she remake it so it was just like his. She obliged, fearing what would happen if he ever lost his temper with her.
After he left (at exactly nine every night) she would eat another dinner that was the only change she made in her daily life after noon. She hadn't done anything but dealt with Apollo for five years now; no men had been in her life, no friends had been by to see her. Her hair was even worn the same way every day so he wouldn't panic.
She was wasting her life away for a man who did not understand that, and yet, she didn't care. He was pleasant to her and had never hurt her to date. He was good company, and while she was tiring of Othello, she loved listening to him and how he managed to be normal for those few hours.
.-.-.-.-.
Pale jeans hugged his thin legs as Apollo climbed the familiar stairs, coming to the door of her apartment and raising his left hand, tapping twice against it. In exactly fourteen seconds, the door was opened, and he was greeted with the smiling woman who he saw every day. Sarah. She was his favorite part of the day, and he loved their routine. She never questioned it, but that was how things were supposed to be. Right?
"Hello, Apollo."
"Hello, Sarah."
Greetings exchanged, the timid man stepped into her little apartment, taking off his jacket and placing it over the back of the same chair that he always put it over- the one under the window. He faced Sarah, hands pushed into the pockets of his dark jeans.
"How has your day been, Sarah?" He asked in that blank tone- Apollo was reciting the question. He didn't know what the words meant, or what her answer would mean. Everything was recited when it came to conversations, but he was getting better.
"Apollo?" Her voice trembled slightly as she addressed him, but she was careful to keep her tone even. He was a very bad judge of her emotions, and tended to waste hours trying to guess what she was saying. Slowly, those unnaturally pale eyes raised from the writings of William Shakespeare, landing on her timid frame.
"Are you angry?" His voice was low and throaty, but quiet. Timid. They had a very timid relationship, but it was entirely out of respect for each other and what they were.
A smile came to her face and she shook her head slowly. "No, Apollo, I'm not angry." She assured him, standing up. "But it's time to leave." He turned to look over at the clock and rose quickly, fingers leaping to the pages of Othello. The book was snapped shut, and he picked it up, pushing it quickly back into it's place on the shelf.
Scrambling around, the young man let panic light up his face, though if asked, he wouldn't be able to identify the emotion that he was feeling. Apollo didn't fully understand emotions, but he knew that "angry" and "sad" weren't good.
"Apollo." She stepped toward him, watching as he abruptly went silent and drew backwards until his back was pushed to the shelf. His hands wrung together close to his chest, and he stared at her with wide eyes. "Calm down, Apollo." She offered his coat to him, and he carefully accepted it, pulling it on. "Can I have a hug today, Apollo?" The woman asked, watching as he stared at her again.
"I... I don't..." He avoided looking at her now, staring at the wooden floor. She shook her head, going to the door and opening it for him.
"It's fine, Apollo. You can go, now. The car is waiting to take you to your apartment."
.-.-.-.-.
"Are you angry?"
"No, Apollo, I'm not angry."
"Are you sad?"
"No. I'm just watching you, Apollo. Keep reading."
"And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed on you.--To you, lord governor,
Remains the censure of this hellish villain;
The time, the place, the torture,--O, enforce it!
Myself will straight aboard; and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate."
It amazed her to no end that a man who did not understand emotions could read the finishing lines of Othello with such emotion. She had given up on trying to understand him, and yet, that was her job. It was a contradiction, but so was Apollo. As gentle as a lamb and as shy as a hummingbird one moment, but if touched or disturbed, he was as violent and spontaneous as a drug addict, and so she had been entrusted to caring for him.
She was fit into his schedule, and knew that she would not be able to ruin that. Until the day he died she would have to be here for him for the second half of his day. He came by after lunch, and they would talk about his day even though it was always the same. Then he would read... always Othello. She'd watch him and listen to the range of voices he gave to the characters, enchanted by how... normal he seemed.
Then she would prepare them dinner, and until recently it had always been the same. Identical salads and lemonade. If she ever tried to change anything about hers, he would get horribly nervous and insist that she remake it so it was just like his. She obliged, fearing what would happen if he ever lost his temper with her.
After he left (at exactly nine every night) she would eat another dinner that was the only change she made in her daily life after noon. She hadn't done anything but dealt with Apollo for five years now; no men had been in her life, no friends had been by to see her. Her hair was even worn the same way every day so he wouldn't panic.
She was wasting her life away for a man who did not understand that, and yet, she didn't care. He was pleasant to her and had never hurt her to date. He was good company, and while she was tiring of Othello, she loved listening to him and how he managed to be normal for those few hours.
.-.-.-.-.
Pale jeans hugged his thin legs as Apollo climbed the familiar stairs, coming to the door of her apartment and raising his left hand, tapping twice against it. In exactly fourteen seconds, the door was opened, and he was greeted with the smiling woman who he saw every day. Sarah. She was his favorite part of the day, and he loved their routine. She never questioned it, but that was how things were supposed to be. Right?
"Hello, Apollo."
"Hello, Sarah."
Greetings exchanged, the timid man stepped into her little apartment, taking off his jacket and placing it over the back of the same chair that he always put it over- the one under the window. He faced Sarah, hands pushed into the pockets of his dark jeans.
"How has your day been, Sarah?" He asked in that blank tone- Apollo was reciting the question. He didn't know what the words meant, or what her answer would mean. Everything was recited when it came to conversations, but he was getting better.
