the lost generation; persephoneMature


chapter sevengravity.
persephone; by rhetoric

The longer she was around Gabriel, the stranger she thought he was.

All people had quirks, little ticks that made them slightly different from those around them.  Gabriel, she thought, must have had hundreds.

He always wore sunglasses for a full half hour after coming indoors.  He never went outside without them.   "My eyes are sensitive," he'd say, "they have to be given time to adjust to light changes."

They were sitting in the living room, her enormous cup of cappuccino warming her thighs.  He was stretched out over the other couch, leaning all the way back so his head was paralell with the floor.

Those enigmatic burgundy eyes followed the movements of a gnat that buzzed around near the ceiling.

He'd been watching the same gnat for an hour; meanwhile, she'd cleaned the kitchen and prepared the steaks they'd purchased the night before for dinner later.  She wondered about him sometimes.  But days like this, it was all she could do to keep her mouth shut, to not pester the patience right out of him as she questioned his every action.

She sipped her drink.

"What are we going to do today?"  She'd waited for him to address her, but in the ten minutes she'd been sitting on the couch across from him, he'd not said a word.  

He moved and shifted himself into a casual sitting position.  His eyes leveled at her and he gave her a wide smile.

"You look beautiful today, Persephone.  We should go somewhere that will suit you."

She stared at him.  Was he serious?  She smiled meekly, embarassed, and hid her thoughts behind another swig from her cup.

"What about the beach?"  He leaned forward as he spoke, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing the tips of his fingers against each other.

A steeple, she thought with a half-smile, not quite remembering a piece of her childhood.  Still, the reminder that she'd had one was comforting.  That some time, even if it was long ago, she'd been a different age.  A different person.


"The beach would be nice," she answered, ignoring her own thoughts and focusing on the good day that was developing.  It would be nice to have a good day.  An easy, warm day at the beach sounded nice.

And it was.  Gabriel always delivered, she had to admit.  In the eight weeks she'd known him, he had yet to disappoint her.  

There was something so forcefully compelling about him.  Sometimes, it felt as if she had discovered the living, breathing source of gravity.  His pull on her was unbelievably strong.  They hadn't been apart since they met; she'd stayed over at his apartment the first night and for the subsequent weeks they alternated apartments.

She woke up one morning, roughly a week and a half before, and walked out of his bedroom to find over twenty moving boxes sitting in his living room.  In the middle of them, shirtless and sweating, his hair a mess and smudges of various kinds of dirt covering him, he stood as she imagined a god would stand inside a sandcastle; too glorious for his surroundings to properly compliment.

He'd smiled from behind a stack of boxes and said, "I took the liberty, I hope you don't mind."  Then he'd gestured at the counter to a steaming pile of pancakes and a plate of bacon.  "I made you breakfast."

By the time she'd finished breakfast, the idea hadn't just merely settled into her mind - it had overgrown everything else.

She was home.


The End

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