Fateful event
Jun 23, 2015 20:13:00 GMT -5
Post by Nina Fortner on Jun 23, 2015 20:13:00 GMT -5
There was no reason to think anyone was awake yet, though she could never be certain about her father. Though no one had pressed her too hard when she'd come back at the end of the evening, ember-colored streaks of sunlight drowning in the sea on the horizon, sandy and touseled and exhausted, she suspected Adrian would ask her where she'd been if alone with her, if he saw her leave.
When she was with Raoul she never, never considered devoting herself to him anything but natural, but hot shame flooded her when she was among the others. She felt unclean a little. They didn't know any of this about her, and she had come to Greece for a family vacation, innocent hand-holding with Curt (nevermind that innocent hand-holding had not been her desire with Curt when she'd arrived; somehow everything seemed naive and idealistic and chaste compared to Silva) and bonding with dad - not this debauchery.
She'd have to tell them eventually, likely when she was discovered out of her bed and nowhere within earshot on the beach. She had the sanity of mind to pin a note to the outside of her door, with a deceptive smiley-face, explaining she wasn't alone and going to drown, not to worry - but only the knowledge that Adrian would picture her lifeless and facedown in the sea somewhere if she left no note allowed her to keep it up, her nerves wracked. "Raoul Silva tracked my cell's gps," she pictured saying sheepishly. "I've told him I love him. He's sweeping me away on his yacht. Don't worry, we're leaving very early in the morning so I'll have most of the day to be normal and pretend I'm not some harlot, dad."
(Her brain was still protecting her from breaking the news to Curt. She didn't know whose feelings would be more torn up by it. She suspected her own; she couldn't picture Curt had hoped for much from her.)
In the greatest display of ridiculousness, she took a knapsack and climbed from her window like a true delinquent out to meet her forbidden hunk. The sun was just coming up. She hadn't slept as much as she wished, but she pictured Raoul hardly ever slept, even on the nights she knew for a fact he had. She saw the yacht from a distance before she'd come up to the pier, and it was docked and waiting for her when she arrived.
She'd planned to be sophisticated, change into some of his gaudy expensive things from some elegant ex-girlfriend with suspiciously similar coloring to her own, and so on, so forth, but she hadn't changed out of her shorts and off the shoulder t-shirt when he handed her that delicious freshly pressed coffee with chilly pure cream. It was supposed to wake her up, and she was supposed to be sophisticated, but somehow the weight of her sadness found her anyway, and all she wanted to do with Raoul was catch up on her sleep, and she dozed off under his arm.
When she was with Raoul she never, never considered devoting herself to him anything but natural, but hot shame flooded her when she was among the others. She felt unclean a little. They didn't know any of this about her, and she had come to Greece for a family vacation, innocent hand-holding with Curt (nevermind that innocent hand-holding had not been her desire with Curt when she'd arrived; somehow everything seemed naive and idealistic and chaste compared to Silva) and bonding with dad - not this debauchery.
She'd have to tell them eventually, likely when she was discovered out of her bed and nowhere within earshot on the beach. She had the sanity of mind to pin a note to the outside of her door, with a deceptive smiley-face, explaining she wasn't alone and going to drown, not to worry - but only the knowledge that Adrian would picture her lifeless and facedown in the sea somewhere if she left no note allowed her to keep it up, her nerves wracked. "Raoul Silva tracked my cell's gps," she pictured saying sheepishly. "I've told him I love him. He's sweeping me away on his yacht. Don't worry, we're leaving very early in the morning so I'll have most of the day to be normal and pretend I'm not some harlot, dad."
(Her brain was still protecting her from breaking the news to Curt. She didn't know whose feelings would be more torn up by it. She suspected her own; she couldn't picture Curt had hoped for much from her.)
In the greatest display of ridiculousness, she took a knapsack and climbed from her window like a true delinquent out to meet her forbidden hunk. The sun was just coming up. She hadn't slept as much as she wished, but she pictured Raoul hardly ever slept, even on the nights she knew for a fact he had. She saw the yacht from a distance before she'd come up to the pier, and it was docked and waiting for her when she arrived.
She'd planned to be sophisticated, change into some of his gaudy expensive things from some elegant ex-girlfriend with suspiciously similar coloring to her own, and so on, so forth, but she hadn't changed out of her shorts and off the shoulder t-shirt when he handed her that delicious freshly pressed coffee with chilly pure cream. It was supposed to wake her up, and she was supposed to be sophisticated, but somehow the weight of her sadness found her anyway, and all she wanted to do with Raoul was catch up on her sleep, and she dozed off under his arm.