of: the last resort
Mar. 1st, 2007 04:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pretty_cynicalTitle: The Last Resort
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pretty_cynical
Fandom: None; original fiction.
Rating: 13+
Word Count: 1,066.
AN: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
picfor1000. My prompt is here. I tried to keep the story as close to the prompt as possible, but as I kept writing it strayed. I was unable to get it edited, so if there are errors, blame me.
Most bars are seedy places, but she’s comfortable in this one. She came here the last two times she was fired and bitched to the bartender about how she was fired for having “no talent”.
This time is different. She wasn’t fired for not having talent. She was fired because of her affair.
It had lasted six months. She was surprised, thought someone would’ve told by then. It wasn’t exactly a secret that her boss was having an affair – everyone at the office knew it, but it was unclear as to who it was with. There were tons of rumors – he was doing the underage actress from the hit TV show, sleeping with his married boss, anything that involved him doing things he wasn’t supposed to be doing with people he shouldn’t have been with. She could overhear her co-workers gossiping in the lunchroom or by the copier. She never said anything. They’d never suspect her of doing those things with him. She loved her job, and didn’t want to lose it.
The bartender kicked her out after four vodka tonics. She’s too drunk to walk home, even though her apartment is just around the corner. The bartender was nice enough to call her a cab.
As she arrives home, she wants to call him, tell him she’s sorry. It really wasn’t her fault; he was the one that dragged her into his office nearly every night to have sex on his couch. The decision was between him and her: he’d been working there nearly ten years and was respected by all his colleagues; she was a lowly writer hired less than a year ago that hardly anyone knew. The choice was obvious: she was the one that needed to be fired.
And worst of all, he was the one that fired her.
He said he was sorry, that it wasn’t his decision. She was angry at him. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that relationships between a boss and a subordinate weren’t allowed, so why didn’t he stop it? Why didn’t he say no?
He tries to explain himself, but she stops him; she’s heard every excuse. She tells him goodbye and leaves the office in tears, vowing never to see him again.
Now, phone in her hands, she stops herself. She shouldn’t be the one to apologize. He apologized to her, saying he was sorry, that he really did love her. She just needed to forgive him.
She knew he loved her, but how could she forgive him for firing her?
*
She’s in California now, living in a house that isn’t hers, married to a guy who has been dead for almost a year. She thought LA would be better, but she’s exactly the same as she was back in New York: lonely and unemployed.
She didn’t choose to marry him; he forced her into it. They’d only been dating a little over two months when he proposed to her. She was a young, failed writer; he was an older, well-known surgeon that everybody loved. She couldn’t tell him no.
They were married five years, and in those five years she never told him about her affair. It didn’t seem appropriate; it was a part of her past, a past she desperately wanted to forget.
Finally, she told him. He got angry, and she was scared. She’d never seen him this angry. He left that night, slamming the door hard enough to shake their wedding photo, the one taken five years earlier, on the wall.
That was the last time she saw or spoke to him. No goodbyes, no serving of divorce papers, nothing. He committed suicide the night he left.
His funeral was a few days later. As his wife, she was obligated to go, but she didn’t; she felt guilty, as if she caused his death. She didn’t – he was the one that killed himself.
She has feelings of guilt months after his death, thinking that if she never told him about her affair, he would still be here. Alive.
*
It was raining. Again.
She always thought that LA was sunny. At least, that’s what her friends told her. It never rained, the sun was always shining, and the people were always happy.
Today she wasn’t happy; she was depressed. She had lost everything by moving here: her job, her friends, and her love life.
She wanted to move away from LA. She only came here because her husband lived her. Now that he was dead, there was no reason to stay. She could stay for a job – there were plenty for writers – but she didn’t want one. She didn’t want what happened with him in New York to happen here in LA. It couldn’t happen if she wasn’t working.
Besides, she would probably be fired within the first weeks. She had recently realized that what her former bosses had told her was true: she didn’t have any talent.
Without a job, her days are spent watching CNN and baking. She doesn’t mind: she’s compiled a list of every anchors strengths and weaknesses, and she practically memorized the recipe for chocolate cake – she’s made it almost everyday.
Sometimes, she wishes she had people to talk to, people that understood her. She didn’t know her neighbors very well, and she’d grown apart from her friends in New York.
The nights are the longest for her. Staying all alone in her empty house, especially when it stormed, scared her.
She’d never been more scared or alone in her entire life. It made her miss him.
She was shocked when she answered the door one night to find him standing on the other side of it. She never thought she'd see him again, especially after he fired her. She thought that it ended when she told to go screw himself before leaving the office in tears. She thought that he’d forgotten about her.
And yet, here he was, standing on her doorstep, soaked from the rain.
He looked exactly the same as he did seven years ago. But something was different. He was taller, thinner, with different hair. He had changed as much as she had in seven years: His wife divorced him, he quit his job, he moved to LA.
All of a sudden, he kissed her. And at that moment, she realized that yes, he really did love her.
Author:
pretty_cynicalFandom: None; original fiction.
Rating: 13+
Word Count: 1,066.
AN: Written for
picfor1000. My prompt is here. I tried to keep the story as close to the prompt as possible, but as I kept writing it strayed. I was unable to get it edited, so if there are errors, blame me. Most bars are seedy places, but she’s comfortable in this one. She came here the last two times she was fired and bitched to the bartender about how she was fired for having “no talent”.
This time is different. She wasn’t fired for not having talent. She was fired because of her affair.
It had lasted six months. She was surprised, thought someone would’ve told by then. It wasn’t exactly a secret that her boss was having an affair – everyone at the office knew it, but it was unclear as to who it was with. There were tons of rumors – he was doing the underage actress from the hit TV show, sleeping with his married boss, anything that involved him doing things he wasn’t supposed to be doing with people he shouldn’t have been with. She could overhear her co-workers gossiping in the lunchroom or by the copier. She never said anything. They’d never suspect her of doing those things with him. She loved her job, and didn’t want to lose it.
The bartender kicked her out after four vodka tonics. She’s too drunk to walk home, even though her apartment is just around the corner. The bartender was nice enough to call her a cab.
As she arrives home, she wants to call him, tell him she’s sorry. It really wasn’t her fault; he was the one that dragged her into his office nearly every night to have sex on his couch. The decision was between him and her: he’d been working there nearly ten years and was respected by all his colleagues; she was a lowly writer hired less than a year ago that hardly anyone knew. The choice was obvious: she was the one that needed to be fired.
And worst of all, he was the one that fired her.
He said he was sorry, that it wasn’t his decision. She was angry at him. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that relationships between a boss and a subordinate weren’t allowed, so why didn’t he stop it? Why didn’t he say no?
He tries to explain himself, but she stops him; she’s heard every excuse. She tells him goodbye and leaves the office in tears, vowing never to see him again.
Now, phone in her hands, she stops herself. She shouldn’t be the one to apologize. He apologized to her, saying he was sorry, that he really did love her. She just needed to forgive him.
She knew he loved her, but how could she forgive him for firing her?
*
She’s in California now, living in a house that isn’t hers, married to a guy who has been dead for almost a year. She thought LA would be better, but she’s exactly the same as she was back in New York: lonely and unemployed.
She didn’t choose to marry him; he forced her into it. They’d only been dating a little over two months when he proposed to her. She was a young, failed writer; he was an older, well-known surgeon that everybody loved. She couldn’t tell him no.
They were married five years, and in those five years she never told him about her affair. It didn’t seem appropriate; it was a part of her past, a past she desperately wanted to forget.
Finally, she told him. He got angry, and she was scared. She’d never seen him this angry. He left that night, slamming the door hard enough to shake their wedding photo, the one taken five years earlier, on the wall.
That was the last time she saw or spoke to him. No goodbyes, no serving of divorce papers, nothing. He committed suicide the night he left.
His funeral was a few days later. As his wife, she was obligated to go, but she didn’t; she felt guilty, as if she caused his death. She didn’t – he was the one that killed himself.
She has feelings of guilt months after his death, thinking that if she never told him about her affair, he would still be here. Alive.
*
It was raining. Again.
She always thought that LA was sunny. At least, that’s what her friends told her. It never rained, the sun was always shining, and the people were always happy.
Today she wasn’t happy; she was depressed. She had lost everything by moving here: her job, her friends, and her love life.
She wanted to move away from LA. She only came here because her husband lived her. Now that he was dead, there was no reason to stay. She could stay for a job – there were plenty for writers – but she didn’t want one. She didn’t want what happened with him in New York to happen here in LA. It couldn’t happen if she wasn’t working.
Besides, she would probably be fired within the first weeks. She had recently realized that what her former bosses had told her was true: she didn’t have any talent.
Without a job, her days are spent watching CNN and baking. She doesn’t mind: she’s compiled a list of every anchors strengths and weaknesses, and she practically memorized the recipe for chocolate cake – she’s made it almost everyday.
Sometimes, she wishes she had people to talk to, people that understood her. She didn’t know her neighbors very well, and she’d grown apart from her friends in New York.
The nights are the longest for her. Staying all alone in her empty house, especially when it stormed, scared her.
She’d never been more scared or alone in her entire life. It made her miss him.
She was shocked when she answered the door one night to find him standing on the other side of it. She never thought she'd see him again, especially after he fired her. She thought that it ended when she told to go screw himself before leaving the office in tears. She thought that he’d forgotten about her.
And yet, here he was, standing on her doorstep, soaked from the rain.
He looked exactly the same as he did seven years ago. But something was different. He was taller, thinner, with different hair. He had changed as much as she had in seven years: His wife divorced him, he quit his job, he moved to LA.
All of a sudden, he kissed her. And at that moment, she realized that yes, he really did love her.
