"Screw love," She preaches to the toilet on a Monday morning, when she's supposed to be getting ready for work. All of those early conference calls and runs to McDonald's for breakfast are ceased. All because of this.
"Bones?" Her husband calls from the bedroom. He knocks on the door. He's clueless. She curses him and his ability to have amazing sex with her. "Bones?" His voice is concerned now and damn right it should be, because here she's kneeling on the cold tile, face-to-face with something she normally puts her ass on. Her husband's ass on. Her face crinkles in disgust.
"I'm fine," Out comes her robotic response.
"You're a terrible liar," She's mouthing the words as he's telling her them. Doesn't he think that she already knows that? Otherwise, they wouldn't be married, because he knew that when she told him they were just partners, she was just scared and blowing him off. Or when every single time she brought up the line- he knew that she was mentioning it so it would stay in his mind, and hopefully, be erased from it.
Her hand reaches out for the door knob as her other flips the lever down. Whoosh. A spray of cold mist dashes across her face. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you sick?"
"No."
"You're throwing up. Unless you're trying to lose weight- which I doubt because you're stunningly beautiful- there's no other reason for you to be throwing up on a Monday morning. Even you wouldn't let the flu stop you from going to work."
"Shut up."
"I'm right and you know it." She wants to reply to his smug comment- she knows he is right, indeed- but her toast and over-well egg appears before her in a stream of dense colors. "Seriously, Tempe, are you feeling bad? Because I'll call Cam and tell her that-"
"You're an idiot." She can tell by the silence that several scenarios are running through his mind. She didn't marry this man because he was an idiot, though. She married him because he could always see the underlying truth of whatever she was telling him.
"NO WAY!"
"Yes way. The proof is in the toilet, Booth."
"You're- nuh uh!" To prove her point, more breakfast appeared. "BONES! BONES! Do you know what this means?"
"That you're going to be making some late-night runs for yogurt and pickles?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
"This means we're going to have a baby! A baby! A little you or a little me."
"Statiscally, a child having only one of the parent's DNA and attributes is impossible."
"I love you," He blurts out, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on her shoulder, on her neck, on her stomach. "And I love you," He tells her bare stomach, as he lifts up her shirt and his eyes are locked to the area where another heart beats- his child's heart beats.
Then she's sticking her head back into the commode and he's transforming, evolving. What was it that she heard? Men get married, have a baby, and then fall in love? If there ever were a study for that, she would place Booth up as a theory- no hypothesis needed. He's holding her hair back and cooing soft sounds, calming sounds, and as she catches his eye, seeing the sparkle in them and the grin on his face, she wonders why she ever cursed such a beautiful thing- this love, this affection, this trust- in the first place.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Backwards
This excerpt is not even close to the beginning. I just need to get it out onto something, even though it will probably change once my mind sets back into motion. Truly, this may not even be part of the story. I'm just typing this to help pass the time while my sister and I watch Wolverine, and since I've already seen it, I figured I would get on here. Enjoy.
The truck ride back from the hospital was a bumpy one and it seemed that every single pot hole in Wilsard County decided to be on the specific road Nathan took. The tires jostled, allowing the truck to shake, rattle, but luckily not roll. Other than the pot holes, the ride was uncomfortably silent. Not even a carving knife could have cut the tension, as cliche as that sounds.
"Well, are you going to say anything?" I scooted closer to the door, my fingers tapping against the old leather.
"There's nothing to say, Nate." He chuckled wryly.
"Nothing to say? That's funny. You know, I'm thinking that you're lying again, like you do all the time, because I definitely know there's something for you to say."
"And what would that be?" I turned sharply towards him, eyes narrowed and my fingernails stabbing into my palm.
"That you're sorry for all the trouble you've caused the past month you've been here, Cale! That you're sorry you've put my baby sister in a hospital because of you and your paparazzi. That-"
"Oh, shut up, Nate," His eyes widened from my outburst, "She's going to be fine, you heard the doctor. You're just disappointed in me- like you always are- because I'm not perfect like your fiance. Just admit it. She was everything you wanted, smart, schooled, and charming. And now she's gone so you're taking your anger for her out on me."
"You are more screwed up in the head than I thought-"
"No, Nate, you are," I gasped for a breath as I felt the anger I had built up for the past four years explode inside of my chest, "You can't let go of her so you decide to blame me for every single one of your problems. Guess what? I AM actually sorry for you, Nate. I'm sorry she cheated on you and left you for a boy-band wanna-be who owns three cribs in Maui. I am sorry. But I am not sorry for the crap you've blamed on me- saying that I almost killed your sister, when in fact, the only one who was in danger was me, but I'm not holding that against you."
"Stop throwing your mushy bull in my face. You at least have to own up to the fact that none of this would have happened if you hadn't left. If you hadn't abandoned your father after your mother-" Another emotion was mixing with my anger, something I didn't want to feel. I had tried my hardest for grief to stay out of my system, but somehow, like it was my addiction, it kept coming back, in waves and waves.
"Don't you dare talk about her, Nate. Don't play that card with me. You have no right."
"Just like you had no right trying to murder my sister and leaving me without a word?"
"I told you exactly what I was doing! You knew how much I hated being here, with everyone telling me how sorry they were. I got fed up with it, so I just had to leave."
"The only reason you left was because your mom wasn't holding you back anymore. You even admitted that to me the night you left." The door handle was warm underneath my touch; surprising, because a guy as cold as Nathan deserved a cold-hearted automobile. The pavement whizzed past on the side of the road, trees, bushes, fences all becoming a blur to me. I was spinning and spinning, like I had that breezy afternoon, the day my mom left me behind, as I swang innocently on the swing set in the backyard. That was before the gun shot. Before the ambulance and my father crying silently on the front porch. "You just need to own up to what you've done. I know I have. I've forgiven Hannah for cheating on me and I've forgiven myself for letting you go." The breath in my lungs went out with a whoosh.
"Letting me go?" The truck jostled again.
"I hated myself for letting you run away. If I had stopped you, maybe we would be in a better place."
"You can't live in the past, Nate," the ground was so close, just right there below me. He probably wouldn't even stop and check on me. I could just disappear on the road, like the white lines and road markers. "You've got to let go." And with that, I tugged on the handle and watched the overgrown grass of a horse pasture scrape at my bare feet.
"Cale, what are you-" The earth beneath me stung- after all, Nate had been going down the road about 45- but I tucked and rolled to a stop against the base of an old hickory tree. Up ahead, I saw the brake lights flash in the drizzling rain. Within ten seconds, my entire body was soaked and I heard my dad's voice, telling me I was going to catch a cold. "Cale! What the hell are you thinking?!" I don't know what I was thinking. Well, maybe I did. Right then, though, it didn't matter.
"I need to get out of here." I told myself and rolled into a sitting position, the rain stinging my face and the wind pushing my hair as it whistled and whipped past.
"Cale!" I sprung up onto my feet and took off down the road, glancing back only once to see Nathan- my best friend, my best bud, my best... whatever he was now- standing in the rain, alone, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his brow furrowed, and his mouth half-open. Perhaps he was going to call me back to him. And perhaps it would have worked. Maybe I would have stopped. But, then, we'll never know, because just like me, no one else can go back and take the words, take the moments back.
He did call after me, he did chase after me, but I was gone- far too gone- for anyone but himself to hear his pleas or see the road swallow me up as I sprinted around the bend and was gone from sight.
If I had heard him, sure, I might have stopped. But it's just one of those things I'll never know.
Like I said, this is just a very, very, very rough draft of my story. If nothing makes sense, good, because you probably won't understand it anyway. By the time I really type this out, this scene and every single word in this passage will probably have changed. but whatever. I just need something to bide my time with.
-Kaila Nicole
The truck ride back from the hospital was a bumpy one and it seemed that every single pot hole in Wilsard County decided to be on the specific road Nathan took. The tires jostled, allowing the truck to shake, rattle, but luckily not roll. Other than the pot holes, the ride was uncomfortably silent. Not even a carving knife could have cut the tension, as cliche as that sounds.
"Well, are you going to say anything?" I scooted closer to the door, my fingers tapping against the old leather.
"There's nothing to say, Nate." He chuckled wryly.
"Nothing to say? That's funny. You know, I'm thinking that you're lying again, like you do all the time, because I definitely know there's something for you to say."
"And what would that be?" I turned sharply towards him, eyes narrowed and my fingernails stabbing into my palm.
"That you're sorry for all the trouble you've caused the past month you've been here, Cale! That you're sorry you've put my baby sister in a hospital because of you and your paparazzi. That-"
"Oh, shut up, Nate," His eyes widened from my outburst, "She's going to be fine, you heard the doctor. You're just disappointed in me- like you always are- because I'm not perfect like your fiance. Just admit it. She was everything you wanted, smart, schooled, and charming. And now she's gone so you're taking your anger for her out on me."
"You are more screwed up in the head than I thought-"
"No, Nate, you are," I gasped for a breath as I felt the anger I had built up for the past four years explode inside of my chest, "You can't let go of her so you decide to blame me for every single one of your problems. Guess what? I AM actually sorry for you, Nate. I'm sorry she cheated on you and left you for a boy-band wanna-be who owns three cribs in Maui. I am sorry. But I am not sorry for the crap you've blamed on me- saying that I almost killed your sister, when in fact, the only one who was in danger was me, but I'm not holding that against you."
"Stop throwing your mushy bull in my face. You at least have to own up to the fact that none of this would have happened if you hadn't left. If you hadn't abandoned your father after your mother-" Another emotion was mixing with my anger, something I didn't want to feel. I had tried my hardest for grief to stay out of my system, but somehow, like it was my addiction, it kept coming back, in waves and waves.
"Don't you dare talk about her, Nate. Don't play that card with me. You have no right."
"Just like you had no right trying to murder my sister and leaving me without a word?"
"I told you exactly what I was doing! You knew how much I hated being here, with everyone telling me how sorry they were. I got fed up with it, so I just had to leave."
"The only reason you left was because your mom wasn't holding you back anymore. You even admitted that to me the night you left." The door handle was warm underneath my touch; surprising, because a guy as cold as Nathan deserved a cold-hearted automobile. The pavement whizzed past on the side of the road, trees, bushes, fences all becoming a blur to me. I was spinning and spinning, like I had that breezy afternoon, the day my mom left me behind, as I swang innocently on the swing set in the backyard. That was before the gun shot. Before the ambulance and my father crying silently on the front porch. "You just need to own up to what you've done. I know I have. I've forgiven Hannah for cheating on me and I've forgiven myself for letting you go." The breath in my lungs went out with a whoosh.
"Letting me go?" The truck jostled again.
"I hated myself for letting you run away. If I had stopped you, maybe we would be in a better place."
"You can't live in the past, Nate," the ground was so close, just right there below me. He probably wouldn't even stop and check on me. I could just disappear on the road, like the white lines and road markers. "You've got to let go." And with that, I tugged on the handle and watched the overgrown grass of a horse pasture scrape at my bare feet.
"Cale, what are you-" The earth beneath me stung- after all, Nate had been going down the road about 45- but I tucked and rolled to a stop against the base of an old hickory tree. Up ahead, I saw the brake lights flash in the drizzling rain. Within ten seconds, my entire body was soaked and I heard my dad's voice, telling me I was going to catch a cold. "Cale! What the hell are you thinking?!" I don't know what I was thinking. Well, maybe I did. Right then, though, it didn't matter.
"I need to get out of here." I told myself and rolled into a sitting position, the rain stinging my face and the wind pushing my hair as it whistled and whipped past.
"Cale!" I sprung up onto my feet and took off down the road, glancing back only once to see Nathan- my best friend, my best bud, my best... whatever he was now- standing in the rain, alone, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his brow furrowed, and his mouth half-open. Perhaps he was going to call me back to him. And perhaps it would have worked. Maybe I would have stopped. But, then, we'll never know, because just like me, no one else can go back and take the words, take the moments back.
He did call after me, he did chase after me, but I was gone- far too gone- for anyone but himself to hear his pleas or see the road swallow me up as I sprinted around the bend and was gone from sight.
If I had heard him, sure, I might have stopped. But it's just one of those things I'll never know.
Like I said, this is just a very, very, very rough draft of my story. If nothing makes sense, good, because you probably won't understand it anyway. By the time I really type this out, this scene and every single word in this passage will probably have changed. but whatever. I just need something to bide my time with.
-Kaila Nicole
Burdens
A different ending to Bones' "Wannabe in the Weeds."
There's not a feeling in the world that competes with the agony than knowing you couldn't save your partner.
Losing your parent or child, that's hard. But it's still not your fault. Having your partner look you square in the face and tell you that they want you to complete their last wish- that's like lighting your body on fire and figuring out that you're not flammable. You feel the flames licking, but you can't escape from it.
That's the burden. But these burdens, they have more than enough weight to let you know they're there. They feel like bricks, thousands of bricks crushing you until there's nothing left but your five senses: you can see the thick, red liquid pouring out of your best friend, you can smell the stark gun powder, you can hear the ragged breaths, you can taste the copper in your mouth, and you can feel the blood pouring out and it amazes you that a person could hold that much inside of them. You think their body is filled with stupid jokes and useless information, but still, there's the other stuff that keeps them alive. The stuff that's running out. Their time is running out. You preferred the times you couldn't see the blood, but now you can and it's useless trying to get away from it, trying to run away from it, even though that's what your brain is telling you to do.
"Bones, we've got to get help." I tell her, plead to her, but she keeps shaking her head.
"Don't leave. Don't leave." And I don't. Because I'm her partner, because I'd die for her and I'm pretty sure she would throw herself in front of a train to save me- and I would never allow that to happen. Of course, here we were and I am eating my words. They don't taste good, mixed with the taste of her blood, and I want to throw up everything inside of me. Including my heart because it's always been hers and right now, right here, is the only appropriate time we have left for me to hand it over.
"Don't leave. Don't leave." We're both repeating this, now, mine in the same tone as hers. "Damn it, Bones, don't leave me behind. Don't leave me behind."
She never was good at listening to me.
-Kaila Nicole
There's not a feeling in the world that competes with the agony than knowing you couldn't save your partner.
Losing your parent or child, that's hard. But it's still not your fault. Having your partner look you square in the face and tell you that they want you to complete their last wish- that's like lighting your body on fire and figuring out that you're not flammable. You feel the flames licking, but you can't escape from it.
That's the burden. But these burdens, they have more than enough weight to let you know they're there. They feel like bricks, thousands of bricks crushing you until there's nothing left but your five senses: you can see the thick, red liquid pouring out of your best friend, you can smell the stark gun powder, you can hear the ragged breaths, you can taste the copper in your mouth, and you can feel the blood pouring out and it amazes you that a person could hold that much inside of them. You think their body is filled with stupid jokes and useless information, but still, there's the other stuff that keeps them alive. The stuff that's running out. Their time is running out. You preferred the times you couldn't see the blood, but now you can and it's useless trying to get away from it, trying to run away from it, even though that's what your brain is telling you to do.
"Bones, we've got to get help." I tell her, plead to her, but she keeps shaking her head.
"Don't leave. Don't leave." And I don't. Because I'm her partner, because I'd die for her and I'm pretty sure she would throw herself in front of a train to save me- and I would never allow that to happen. Of course, here we were and I am eating my words. They don't taste good, mixed with the taste of her blood, and I want to throw up everything inside of me. Including my heart because it's always been hers and right now, right here, is the only appropriate time we have left for me to hand it over.
"Don't leave. Don't leave." We're both repeating this, now, mine in the same tone as hers. "Damn it, Bones, don't leave me behind. Don't leave me behind."
She never was good at listening to me.
-Kaila Nicole
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