(a/n): Yay! Beta'd by the kick ass taylorswiftrox. Thanks lady, you're a life saver!
Just some solitary Donna time.
She takes a long, consoling drag off of her cigarette. The cold November air bites at her bare ankles. The sheer cloth of her pants are unforgiving in Wisconsin's autumn air. Her left hand betrays her body's cry for warmth, as she tilts the ice cold beer to help her lips to a long, satisfying gulp. Here she is. Here she can be.
And she knows it should not be this way.
Her husband sleeps inside; unaware of his wife's quiet time outside. Alone with her thoughts. She takes this time to herself because it is all she can do to feel.
Lately things had been changing. Though she could not put her finger on it, put in words exactly what was happening. But, God, could she feel it.
She could feel him. Seeping into her consciousness. Creeping up into the depths of her heart. A malignant, unspeakable guilt pressing into her chest. As unforgiving as the cold Wisconsin air, biting at her ankles.
All day she waits for her night time solitude. She runs through her routine like clockwork. Wakes up. Kisses him. He tries to deepen the kiss; he, her sweetest lover she is lucky enough to call her husband. She turns her head away and smiles. Because if she smiles it's not rejecting him. She dresses. Goes to work. Returns home and kisses him again. This time she deepens it. She has had enough time in the day to escape her dreams from the night before. She knows she needs him. He wants to make love.
And it is all she can do not to say his name.
("I don't know why. But for some reason I just can't get my head out of the clouds. I feel like my whole life is laid out in front of me, and I should be happy. I should be excited because that's what everyone wants, right?"
"Well it doesn't matter what everyone else wants, now does it?")
Rejection seems so terribly common now. Her excuses are offered. She tells him she just cannot do it. That it's not him. It's never him. It's just her.
And that is not a lie.
She tells him she doesn't feel like it. That something is wrong with her body, her 'hormones' and she no longer feels passion. He is understanding. Sometimes he leaves her alone with a kiss and a "Good night." Other times he presses because he needs it. He needs her. And she gives in, because she knows this. More often than not, she has to try desperately to pull something out of herself. She cries out hoping that if she yells his name enough, then it will become real and her body will scream for him again just as it did years ago. She is fruitless in her efforts and holds back her tears. Swallows the lump in her throat when he asks her if she got off, asks her what's wrong.
She says "yes" and then "nothing." Praying if she says it enough it will become reality.
The smoke billows past her lips. It dissipates in the air and she is bitterly reminded of her heart. Her fickle, womanly heart. She cannot understand why she feels this way. She thought she was stronger than is no reason for her to feel this burning. No reason for him to pull and tug on the strings of her heart as if it's some fascinating new instrument. If things were meant to be this way, they should have, would have happened a long time like this.
The guilt bears down her throat and into the deepest pits of her stomach where it churns and writhes trying to come back up. A verbal expression of unrealistic that can never come be.
And never should.
She tries to swallow the guilt back down and takes the last sip of her beer. His smile dances in her inner vision as she tries to pull her mind elsewhere. She smashes out her cigarette butt and composes herself before reentering the house, where she will crawl into bed. Taking care as to not wake her partner before she drifts away. Her heart bubbles with tiny forbidden expressions of her subconscious. Maybe he will come to her again tonight. Her heart will lift on a pillow of warmth as his presence cradles her.
("I feel so bored, you know? It's like now I'm here, and I worked so hard to get here… and now 'here' just isn't what I thought it would be."
"It never is, Donna."
"I just feel like I've lost my 'sauciness'. Like I'm just doomed to be this bitter old lady gossiping about the neighbors and shooting out kids to entertain myself. And that scares the shit out of me."
"Well, if it's any consolation, you're still saucy to me." His blue eyes smile behind sunglasses and, for one fleeting moment, she is happy.)