Nike Crawford-Marine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nottheshoe) wrote2012-01-06 01:35 am
nottheshoe) wrote2012-01-06 01:35 am
Poco a Poco
Summary: Marc's thoughts on Nike
Rating: PG
“It’s my fault.”
The muggy air dampened her voice, her words, her emotions.
“No, it’s not.”
He stood there with her, watching her; the sparkler dangled out of her hand glittering and glowing, serving as the only light to assuage the darkness around them. He watched her with sadness, loneliness, and so many emotions he couldn’t find the words for. He had so many questions: why did you disappear, why did you leave us, why did you leave me?
He found he didn’t have the courage to ask her a single question.
“It’s not why I left.” She looked in his direction, but not at him. She hadn’t looked at him once since he saw her today. “Her death… it’s not why I left.”
“Then why?” The question left him before he had a chance to steal it back. There was a long silence between them; the sparkler fizzed out but her eyes continued to focus in its direction. Her silhouette nearly faded into the night, the backdrop of the city serving as the only indication that she was there. Her stillness bothered him, much more deeply then he would ever admit.
“I had to.”
Was that it? That was the only answer she could give him?
Three years, three long years of wondering what happened to her, if she was okay, if she was even alive. It had been three long years of wondering where that young, vibrant girl he had known had been.
Then again, maybe she was dead. Maybe she had died that night with his sister.
He still remembered receiving the news. A uniformed officer had come to his family’s house on that cool May evening; he’d never forget the look on his mother’s face.
“¡Dios Mio!” She had cried out.”Mi hija... ¡Mi pobre hija!”
She had worked so hard as a single mother to raise her children that for her most beloved and only daughter to die—she had never been the same after that. No matter what he had done, what he had accomplished, she always looked through him, searching beyond him for his sister’s smile.
When Nike had been implicated in the murder, his family turned into a pack of scavengers, picking, prying, and preying upon her emotions. She had been found innocent in a court of law, but not in his family’s eyes. He had tried to reach out to her, beyond their claws; however she had been shuttled away to some unknown safe house before he could help her.
That brought him to the present; he had found her, by chance really. She had been standing there among the sparks of the fireworks and the sulfurous smell of the matches, and at first he hadn’t recognized her, her hair had grown, her eyes had dulled, but her stance, that pride, had not changed. Even at the awkward age of fifteen her posture had set her apart. She stood up straight and tall, like a woman beyond her years. She had always known what she wanted, she had never been afraid to race after it, but now—to understand that she had disregarded him…
“You could have told one of us.” He was frustrated and tired. He wanted her to hug him, to look at him with those adoring eyes she once had. “You could have given me an address, a numb—”
“I didn’t though.” Her shoulders slumped and her head fell. She was silent for another few moments before she spoke again, “I’ve changed.”
There was nothing he could say to that.
“She wouldn’t like me any more.” Her voice was the one that rung out next. “She wouldn’t want to be my friend.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t know that.”
She licked her lips and stood up slowly. “You’re right. I don’t.”
She crossed in front of him, still not looking in his direction, and looked out over the city that glittered and was full of life; the buzzing glow of the lights never quite reached her face. He couldn’t tell what was on her mind, he couldn’t read her. This used to be so easy, she used to be so open to him, every emotion painted on her face, every worry showed in her eyes.
But now she was a blank sheet of paper, one that had been scrubbed at with an eraser until you couldn’t write on it any more, and you couldn’t tell what it used to say.
He wanted her to cry, to sob, to beg for him to hold her. He wanted all those things she used to be so willing to give, but he had taken for granted.
“But I know…” She was hesitant. The first bit of passion she had shown all night, “I don’t like myself very much right now.”
He wanted to scoff and say some biting remark. One which would wake her up, the real her, and rile up some sort of reaction. He wanted her to hate him in this moment, hate him as much as he hated her.
But he couldn’t do that, not to her, not to that girl who had once been there. She was a ghost now, one who had been cursed to wander this earth until some invisible force forgave her.
Or maybe, just herself.
“I should go.” Her voice startled him.
“No. You can’t.”
She looked at him, finally.
“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice, a danger.
“Because,” he spoke slowly, carefully, “you look like you are about to disappear.”
She was going to. He could tell. Her eyes weren’t with him in this moment, in this place. They were stuck in a memory, reliving it over and over and over. Enough that she would lose her light, flicker out in a brilliant finale. She did not want to commit to the present, because she felt she had no future.
“I’m tired.” Her voice cracked and her eyes welled, “I’m so tired.”
He didn’t know how to react, not to this girl. Three years ago he would have let her come to him, lend an ear.... but now she didn’t make a move, not a single motion as she stood there weeping. He wasn’t used to this; he wasn’t the one who had to move forward with her. He was always the one being dragged along while she had been a free floating spirit.
For him to be the one that moved forward, it scared him. He had liked the status quo, he had liked things the way they were.
But she had changed.
He would have to change for her.
His arms encircled her. Not to comfort her—he wasn’t sure he could do that—it was to make sure she wouldn’t run away, to make sure she would not evaporate like steam again. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Come back.” His voice came out much more softly than he had anticipated, “Come back to us.”
To me.
She laughed, she dared laugh in the face of all of this. The humidity which had served only to choke his voice let her voice ring out loud and clear.
“You can’t always get what you want.” She practically sang that line, in a melodious hum.
It made him sick. The words stuck in his throat; maybe it was the air’s fault. Maybe... he was supposed to let her go.
She made the choice for him and pulled away.
In the distance rockets and fireworks burst in the sky, allowing him to see the outline of her face. An apologetic smile, which didn’t quite reach her eyes, adorned her features.
“I should go.”
“Will I see you again?” He hated sounding desperate.
The fireworks beyond them sputtered and sizzled. Her figure melted into the inky darkness of the night.
“Who knows.”
Rating: PG
“It’s my fault.”
The muggy air dampened her voice, her words, her emotions.
“No, it’s not.”
He stood there with her, watching her; the sparkler dangled out of her hand glittering and glowing, serving as the only light to assuage the darkness around them. He watched her with sadness, loneliness, and so many emotions he couldn’t find the words for. He had so many questions: why did you disappear, why did you leave us, why did you leave me?
He found he didn’t have the courage to ask her a single question.
“It’s not why I left.” She looked in his direction, but not at him. She hadn’t looked at him once since he saw her today. “Her death… it’s not why I left.”
“Then why?” The question left him before he had a chance to steal it back. There was a long silence between them; the sparkler fizzed out but her eyes continued to focus in its direction. Her silhouette nearly faded into the night, the backdrop of the city serving as the only indication that she was there. Her stillness bothered him, much more deeply then he would ever admit.
“I had to.”
Was that it? That was the only answer she could give him?
Three years, three long years of wondering what happened to her, if she was okay, if she was even alive. It had been three long years of wondering where that young, vibrant girl he had known had been.
Then again, maybe she was dead. Maybe she had died that night with his sister.
He still remembered receiving the news. A uniformed officer had come to his family’s house on that cool May evening; he’d never forget the look on his mother’s face.
“¡Dios Mio!” She had cried out.”Mi hija... ¡Mi pobre hija!”
She had worked so hard as a single mother to raise her children that for her most beloved and only daughter to die—she had never been the same after that. No matter what he had done, what he had accomplished, she always looked through him, searching beyond him for his sister’s smile.
When Nike had been implicated in the murder, his family turned into a pack of scavengers, picking, prying, and preying upon her emotions. She had been found innocent in a court of law, but not in his family’s eyes. He had tried to reach out to her, beyond their claws; however she had been shuttled away to some unknown safe house before he could help her.
That brought him to the present; he had found her, by chance really. She had been standing there among the sparks of the fireworks and the sulfurous smell of the matches, and at first he hadn’t recognized her, her hair had grown, her eyes had dulled, but her stance, that pride, had not changed. Even at the awkward age of fifteen her posture had set her apart. She stood up straight and tall, like a woman beyond her years. She had always known what she wanted, she had never been afraid to race after it, but now—to understand that she had disregarded him…
“You could have told one of us.” He was frustrated and tired. He wanted her to hug him, to look at him with those adoring eyes she once had. “You could have given me an address, a numb—”
“I didn’t though.” Her shoulders slumped and her head fell. She was silent for another few moments before she spoke again, “I’ve changed.”
There was nothing he could say to that.
“She wouldn’t like me any more.” Her voice was the one that rung out next. “She wouldn’t want to be my friend.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t know that.”
She licked her lips and stood up slowly. “You’re right. I don’t.”
She crossed in front of him, still not looking in his direction, and looked out over the city that glittered and was full of life; the buzzing glow of the lights never quite reached her face. He couldn’t tell what was on her mind, he couldn’t read her. This used to be so easy, she used to be so open to him, every emotion painted on her face, every worry showed in her eyes.
But now she was a blank sheet of paper, one that had been scrubbed at with an eraser until you couldn’t write on it any more, and you couldn’t tell what it used to say.
He wanted her to cry, to sob, to beg for him to hold her. He wanted all those things she used to be so willing to give, but he had taken for granted.
“But I know…” She was hesitant. The first bit of passion she had shown all night, “I don’t like myself very much right now.”
He wanted to scoff and say some biting remark. One which would wake her up, the real her, and rile up some sort of reaction. He wanted her to hate him in this moment, hate him as much as he hated her.
But he couldn’t do that, not to her, not to that girl who had once been there. She was a ghost now, one who had been cursed to wander this earth until some invisible force forgave her.
Or maybe, just herself.
“I should go.” Her voice startled him.
“No. You can’t.”
She looked at him, finally.
“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice, a danger.
“Because,” he spoke slowly, carefully, “you look like you are about to disappear.”
She was going to. He could tell. Her eyes weren’t with him in this moment, in this place. They were stuck in a memory, reliving it over and over and over. Enough that she would lose her light, flicker out in a brilliant finale. She did not want to commit to the present, because she felt she had no future.
“I’m tired.” Her voice cracked and her eyes welled, “I’m so tired.”
He didn’t know how to react, not to this girl. Three years ago he would have let her come to him, lend an ear.... but now she didn’t make a move, not a single motion as she stood there weeping. He wasn’t used to this; he wasn’t the one who had to move forward with her. He was always the one being dragged along while she had been a free floating spirit.
For him to be the one that moved forward, it scared him. He had liked the status quo, he had liked things the way they were.
But she had changed.
He would have to change for her.
His arms encircled her. Not to comfort her—he wasn’t sure he could do that—it was to make sure she wouldn’t run away, to make sure she would not evaporate like steam again. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Come back.” His voice came out much more softly than he had anticipated, “Come back to us.”
To me.
She laughed, she dared laugh in the face of all of this. The humidity which had served only to choke his voice let her voice ring out loud and clear.
“You can’t always get what you want.” She practically sang that line, in a melodious hum.
It made him sick. The words stuck in his throat; maybe it was the air’s fault. Maybe... he was supposed to let her go.
She made the choice for him and pulled away.
In the distance rockets and fireworks burst in the sky, allowing him to see the outline of her face. An apologetic smile, which didn’t quite reach her eyes, adorned her features.
“I should go.”
“Will I see you again?” He hated sounding desperate.
The fireworks beyond them sputtered and sizzled. Her figure melted into the inky darkness of the night.
“Who knows.”