ONE BY ONE THE FLOWERS IN MARY ALICE’S GARDEN HAD WITHERED, and with each petal that fell to its demise against the soil that had once nurtured it, a fragment of your light was stolen. again and again, until you, like the once fruitful yard adjacent to your own, became dreary and dull. life had run on autopilot for so long - an array of tasks to complete each day for husband, children, the house. the script in which your lead your life gone undisrupted until the day you moved onto that lane, when you set eyes on her. the infatuation had started out innocent enough, with a desire to impress, to bring forth a smile to her lips. wildly it had grown into something far more detrimental for your sanity. her eyes becoming the first you seek out in a crowded room - look at me, look at me, look at me - a silent prayer, desperate to draw her attention, her acknowledgement. for years this had continued : stolen glances, fingers meeting at hand offs, hips brushing unnecessarily past one another. often left wondering if it was only you who incited these touches. all until that night. you still haven’t decided if that marked the day you fell from grace, or when you finally had practiced the purest form of devotion.
HOW LONG CAN A PRECIOUS MEMORY BE NURSED ? at what point will it no longer spark a chemical reaction of emotions, ranging from sorrow to elation ? she has kept them bottled up all this time, and the cork is starting to erode, causing ribcage to shatter against lungs. that night had been branded into her thoughts, and she was cursed with the inability to stop its reenactment every night she laid her head to rest. she can still feel the warm breath against her cheeks, see the dilation of arousal in mary alice’s eyes, and taste the red tang of wine against her tongue. it is that millisecond that she often replays, when what they had just done hadn’t properly registered - before logic has finally come to reclaim them. in that moment, bree remembers thinking that for the first time in her entire adult life ‘ this is what happiness is supposed to feel like ’. she almost let these words escape, almost gutted herself to spill the words that had been swallowed for so long … just leave ! its shrill cry rings in her ears. it is then that the fantasy ends, and she is left with nothing but grief and a damp pillowcase.
THE PRESSURE OF HER HAND IS PLEASURABLE, proving that this is not a figment of her imagination, and it takes every ounce of restraint to not turn palm over into it. the mature, rich warmth of her voice lulls bree’s racing heart, and soothes her panicked breaths. lips are parted, eager to respond, but she finds herself mute - only manage to nod in agreement. i would go anywhere with you, i would follow you to the ends of the earth.
SILENCE — but those eyes and that subtle nod said plenty enough for the moment . With a stroke of her tongue along nude , painted lips , Mary Alice clutched tightly to Bree’s hand and led her out of the shop without another word . Her morning treat would have to wait for another day — or she’d have to find herself another coffee shop to enjoy , in another town far , far away from there . It all really DEPENDED on how this reconciliation of sorts played out . She kept those bright embers on the sidewalk , navigating through the small crowd of the usual morning rush ; lost in her mind and her thoughts as to what she could possibly say after . . . after everything .
It had to be THE ONE HOUSEWIFE she knew she had hurt the most .
Without realizing , her thumb swayed with a gentle caress over the pristine flesh of the redhead’s hand — soothing , s a v o r i n g , doing all that she could to comfort her in that short trek made to the nearest neighborhood where a two - story , pastel green home stood with a beautiful garden leading up to a cozy porch . Only then did her footsteps start to slow , FALTERING , as she neared the door ; taking only a second to reach into her purse to retrieve the key before stepping in and gently tugging Bree with her . This was no discussion to have in a public setting , not with their . . . h i s t o r y .
Once the door to her home shut them away from the world outside , Alice’s eyes had finally sought Bree out whilst releasing freeing her hand at last . And what speech she had prepared on the way — it was lost in the void between them as she took in those porcelain features all over again . Still breathtaking , still . . . OH , BREE .
Forcing a dry swallow , she found herself fiddling with her hands ( mostly to keep herself grounded ) . “ I never meant to hurt you , Bree . ” The admission came quietly — all while the weight of their worlds collided all over again . Glossed eyes fluttered down to the lips that had been on hers many moons ago that plagued her dreams with unmistakable affections she had been FORCED to bury in an empty casket with another false identity in the dust . “ I don’t expect you to forgive me , but I — I only wanted to protect you . . . ” From me . Surely she would understand that . . . wouldn’t she ? A melancholic smile graced her as she teetered between the simple need to nurture ( to kiss and back it all better ) , but life could never be THAT easy , could it ? “ Sweetheart , ” she sounded again — doing all that she potentially could to lull her out of her shock , “ — please , say something . ” A n y t h i n g .
She could would take it , whatever Bree threw at her .
dailybridgerton
titsay
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
areudirty
snowghoul
romaincrisis
