[spoiler]<o1 Stare long enough into the abyss, and the abyss stares back>
Maybe it had been longer than months at this point. Long enough to frighten Kismet, regardless when the first inkling of doubt sprouted in an otherwise devoted heart. Time took care of those feelings, erased what had been and filled the new opening with what was; a painful situation. Spiteful glances were exchanged towards Allen, the man she had once thought of as her soul mate, because he had conjured up this miracle cure for their ailments. A retreat for the two individuals, aimed at rekindling a flame long dead between them – A truly selfless act on her husband’s part. Still, selfish as recent times had often found her, Kismet felt cornered. The psychiatrist was probably the source of her inner rebellion, being he had often sounded biased in their marital problems. Never once had he asked her how she felt, or what she had hoped to achieve, without Allen present.
So never once had Kismet been forthright when it came to her expectations. In her mind, things had been over for some time.
“I know he knows.” Sprawled across foreign sheets, eyes lidded with remnants of lust and fatigue, Kismet Rodion nibbled her bottom lip. The accomplice to her side was an escape of sorts from her usually stressful life, the current fling to hide from society, as well as Allen. He was younger than her by a handful of years, still impressionable when it came to sordid acts and often questioned her when it came to her husband. Now the two lay entwined in the covers with guilt looming overhead like a weighted pendulum. Each moment they spent in silence dragged the feelings lower, deeper into their evening until finally the blond managed to add with a half hearted smile, “But things between him and I don’t matter.”
“Did they ever?” Asked the boy, his dark eyes meeting hers for a time before he looked away to the mirrored ceiling. Their two figures gazed down at the couple in the bed, hollow and haunting in their assessments of the scene. Kismet’s nude form shifted to pull away, a blond sheen scattering over her shoulders in a whipping fashion, masking her upper back and the small nail marks that had been made. Her stomach had already sank to her feet as a solo set of digits pushed strands of her bangs from hunter green hues, and while the boy waited for a response, Kismet took to standing in hopes of shirking off such a huge burden. Talking about Allen didn’t make it easier, and what she did… She knew it was wrong. Nothing she had ever done would top this monument of neglect and depravity; no other act would hurt him in such an intimate fashion.
“Look, I’ll text you or something next time I’m free.” Mumbling, Kismet was on autopilot – all she wanted then was to get the hell out of the small loft her current lover resided in. It hurt to see the aftermath; the glow there would have been was instead seen as a filthy spew of imagery, like a train wreck she couldn’t tear her attention from. Allen never made her feel like she had sold her soul, but each new fling did, and the repulsion seemed to catch up with her after each rendezvous. Knowing full well the eyes of the boy were firmly planted in her back like incorporeal knives, she didn’t take her time as she might otherwise have. Instead she dressed and made sure to grab her purse before stepping out of the apartment and back into the dark corridor of the hall. It was written on her face what had happened, was still clinging to her skin like a growth. Almost like she had been violated, Kismet had to get away from the scene of the crime, if only to ease her worrying conscience.
Allen would never know what terrible things she did because Kismet couldn’t understand the extent of her faults. Maybe it was better this way.
It was strange what the years had done to the couple, taking a love she had once found almost impossible to fight and crushing it. Allen worked ungodly hours that interfered with her plans, and she in turn took up hobbies that kept her just as busy. The two had never had children, and sometimes Kismet found herself longing for that opportunity, even if Allen wasn’t involved in the process. It was that sort of distancing that had driven her far away from the mundane contentment the two once shared and with each passing day, she thought up new reasons to throw in the towel. It wasn’t at all his fault things had gone wrong, but she tried to make it seem like he should apologize. Such was her way, too afraid to take control and even more frightened of taking the blame, Kismet Rodion often struggled to make peace with her own actions. So when Allen had found out just how deep a hold she had dug for herself, it didn’t surprise her that he had opted for therapy and counseling vice simply demanding her to leave.
Allen was a better man than Kismet deserved.
She made it home with the usual traffic and entered their apartment building with a nod from the guard. They lived decently off the money Allen brought in, and though he seemed too often fret over their financial issues, it was never a deciding factor in why she wanted to leave. Her heels sounded across the tile until she reached the elevator and before long, she had boarded it alone – make up slightly worn and hair unkempt. Catching her reflection, Kismet studied the image in hopes of understanding why she was so jaded towards her husband. If only she understood where the hate came from, where all this pent up anguish was going… Where her heart vanished to. All she saw was the delicate features of a woman who still wore her youth despite her age. She was thirty now, the big 3-0. It had been so terrible in retrospect, the wait up until the day it came, but had quickly left her life as any other small crisis might. Now she felt no older and didn’t appear to have wasted away just yet; it was almost like she had been cheated out of the nights she spent fretting the inevitable.
Upon reaching the top floor, she exited the elevator and began her travels once more until reaching a familiar address. Her home, Allen’s home – a shared residence. Hesitant at first, Kismet took a deep breath and turned the knob, noting it had been left unlocked in wait of her arrival. It was almost too much for her, sensing he knew she’d be home much later than he cared to stay up, but the blond powered through the waves of self hatred to enter and shut the door. Treading the darkness, her heels were removed before she glided from the hall to the bathroom, which she entered and locked behind her. For 20 or so minutes, Kismet did nothing but stand in the water, not bothering to move or speak or sing or even cry; those times were not required now. She just wanted time to wash away invisible sins, and as if knowing the delicate line he walked, Allen didn’t appear on the other side of the door with questions.
It wasn’t until she exited the warm bathroom in only a towel did she notice her husband’s soft snores from the other room. She followed the sound to their bedroom and briefly glanced over his sleeping form before deciding it safe to join him. How horrible it was to have to meet his eyes when he asked where she had been, because despite how simply the words would have been, she swallowed them away for another time. One day she’d say it was over and when that day came, she wanted to be perfectly sure she meant it. Crawling through the linens to ease next to Allen’s back, Kismet laid quietly in thought for some time before she finally drifted to sleep. The morning would bring another counseling session and more arguments between them, as well as a plan concocted by their therapist. It was all a mystery to the woman at that moment, but one thing was assured, no matter how irrational it may have been: Kismet felt trapped in her marriage.
The drive had been a quiet one, met only with the soft thumps of rain against the exterior of the car. She hadn’t tried to ask questions as to why he was taking them where she believed he was, nor did she fight the plans like she had anything better to do. She didn’t. Really, if wanted to try his hand at wooing her, Kismet would play nice and let him. This wasn’t a power struggle after all, just something both of them were too small to fight; divorce had proven a powerful distraction from other, smaller life issues. Manicured fingers tapped along the window, sounding off with the same familiar clicks as her heels, done only to fill the silence. At least until Allen pulled over with the oncoming heavy rains, his voice finally cutting through the tense atmosphere of the front seats.
“If the rain has let up by then, sure.” But how it was said seemed bland, like she couldn’t fake the enthusiasm she half expected him to show. “But I’m curious why we’re here, Allen. It’s not our anniversary.” Kismet chose to play coy, like she didn’t understand his true motives with their little adventure, because it caused less conflict between them. Besides, she couldn’t really blame Allen for giving it his all; he always had and probably always would.[/spoiler]
Maybe it had been longer than months at this point. Long enough to frighten Kismet, regardless when the first inkling of doubt sprouted in an otherwise devoted heart. Time took care of those feelings, erased what had been and filled the new opening with what was; a painful situation. Spiteful glances were exchanged towards Allen, the man she had once thought of as her soul mate, because he had conjured up this miracle cure for their ailments. A retreat for the two individuals, aimed at rekindling a flame long dead between them – A truly selfless act on her husband’s part. Still, selfish as recent times had often found her, Kismet felt cornered. The psychiatrist was probably the source of her inner rebellion, being he had often sounded biased in their marital problems. Never once had he asked her how she felt, or what she had hoped to achieve, without Allen present.
So never once had Kismet been forthright when it came to her expectations. In her mind, things had been over for some time.
Eight Days Earlier
“I know he knows.” Sprawled across foreign sheets, eyes lidded with remnants of lust and fatigue, Kismet Rodion nibbled her bottom lip. The accomplice to her side was an escape of sorts from her usually stressful life, the current fling to hide from society, as well as Allen. He was younger than her by a handful of years, still impressionable when it came to sordid acts and often questioned her when it came to her husband. Now the two lay entwined in the covers with guilt looming overhead like a weighted pendulum. Each moment they spent in silence dragged the feelings lower, deeper into their evening until finally the blond managed to add with a half hearted smile, “But things between him and I don’t matter.”
“Did they ever?” Asked the boy, his dark eyes meeting hers for a time before he looked away to the mirrored ceiling. Their two figures gazed down at the couple in the bed, hollow and haunting in their assessments of the scene. Kismet’s nude form shifted to pull away, a blond sheen scattering over her shoulders in a whipping fashion, masking her upper back and the small nail marks that had been made. Her stomach had already sank to her feet as a solo set of digits pushed strands of her bangs from hunter green hues, and while the boy waited for a response, Kismet took to standing in hopes of shirking off such a huge burden. Talking about Allen didn’t make it easier, and what she did… She knew it was wrong. Nothing she had ever done would top this monument of neglect and depravity; no other act would hurt him in such an intimate fashion.
“Look, I’ll text you or something next time I’m free.” Mumbling, Kismet was on autopilot – all she wanted then was to get the hell out of the small loft her current lover resided in. It hurt to see the aftermath; the glow there would have been was instead seen as a filthy spew of imagery, like a train wreck she couldn’t tear her attention from. Allen never made her feel like she had sold her soul, but each new fling did, and the repulsion seemed to catch up with her after each rendezvous. Knowing full well the eyes of the boy were firmly planted in her back like incorporeal knives, she didn’t take her time as she might otherwise have. Instead she dressed and made sure to grab her purse before stepping out of the apartment and back into the dark corridor of the hall. It was written on her face what had happened, was still clinging to her skin like a growth. Almost like she had been violated, Kismet had to get away from the scene of the crime, if only to ease her worrying conscience.
Allen would never know what terrible things she did because Kismet couldn’t understand the extent of her faults. Maybe it was better this way.
It was strange what the years had done to the couple, taking a love she had once found almost impossible to fight and crushing it. Allen worked ungodly hours that interfered with her plans, and she in turn took up hobbies that kept her just as busy. The two had never had children, and sometimes Kismet found herself longing for that opportunity, even if Allen wasn’t involved in the process. It was that sort of distancing that had driven her far away from the mundane contentment the two once shared and with each passing day, she thought up new reasons to throw in the towel. It wasn’t at all his fault things had gone wrong, but she tried to make it seem like he should apologize. Such was her way, too afraid to take control and even more frightened of taking the blame, Kismet Rodion often struggled to make peace with her own actions. So when Allen had found out just how deep a hold she had dug for herself, it didn’t surprise her that he had opted for therapy and counseling vice simply demanding her to leave.
Allen was a better man than Kismet deserved.
She made it home with the usual traffic and entered their apartment building with a nod from the guard. They lived decently off the money Allen brought in, and though he seemed too often fret over their financial issues, it was never a deciding factor in why she wanted to leave. Her heels sounded across the tile until she reached the elevator and before long, she had boarded it alone – make up slightly worn and hair unkempt. Catching her reflection, Kismet studied the image in hopes of understanding why she was so jaded towards her husband. If only she understood where the hate came from, where all this pent up anguish was going… Where her heart vanished to. All she saw was the delicate features of a woman who still wore her youth despite her age. She was thirty now, the big 3-0. It had been so terrible in retrospect, the wait up until the day it came, but had quickly left her life as any other small crisis might. Now she felt no older and didn’t appear to have wasted away just yet; it was almost like she had been cheated out of the nights she spent fretting the inevitable.
Upon reaching the top floor, she exited the elevator and began her travels once more until reaching a familiar address. Her home, Allen’s home – a shared residence. Hesitant at first, Kismet took a deep breath and turned the knob, noting it had been left unlocked in wait of her arrival. It was almost too much for her, sensing he knew she’d be home much later than he cared to stay up, but the blond powered through the waves of self hatred to enter and shut the door. Treading the darkness, her heels were removed before she glided from the hall to the bathroom, which she entered and locked behind her. For 20 or so minutes, Kismet did nothing but stand in the water, not bothering to move or speak or sing or even cry; those times were not required now. She just wanted time to wash away invisible sins, and as if knowing the delicate line he walked, Allen didn’t appear on the other side of the door with questions.
It wasn’t until she exited the warm bathroom in only a towel did she notice her husband’s soft snores from the other room. She followed the sound to their bedroom and briefly glanced over his sleeping form before deciding it safe to join him. How horrible it was to have to meet his eyes when he asked where she had been, because despite how simply the words would have been, she swallowed them away for another time. One day she’d say it was over and when that day came, she wanted to be perfectly sure she meant it. Crawling through the linens to ease next to Allen’s back, Kismet laid quietly in thought for some time before she finally drifted to sleep. The morning would bring another counseling session and more arguments between them, as well as a plan concocted by their therapist. It was all a mystery to the woman at that moment, but one thing was assured, no matter how irrational it may have been: Kismet felt trapped in her marriage.
Present Day
The drive had been a quiet one, met only with the soft thumps of rain against the exterior of the car. She hadn’t tried to ask questions as to why he was taking them where she believed he was, nor did she fight the plans like she had anything better to do. She didn’t. Really, if wanted to try his hand at wooing her, Kismet would play nice and let him. This wasn’t a power struggle after all, just something both of them were too small to fight; divorce had proven a powerful distraction from other, smaller life issues. Manicured fingers tapped along the window, sounding off with the same familiar clicks as her heels, done only to fill the silence. At least until Allen pulled over with the oncoming heavy rains, his voice finally cutting through the tense atmosphere of the front seats.
“If the rain has let up by then, sure.” But how it was said seemed bland, like she couldn’t fake the enthusiasm she half expected him to show. “But I’m curious why we’re here, Allen. It’s not our anniversary.” Kismet chose to play coy, like she didn’t understand his true motives with their little adventure, because it caused less conflict between them. Besides, she couldn’t really blame Allen for giving it his all; he always had and probably always would.[/spoiler]
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.