john -- cause i'd rather pretend

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 697 words , outfit here , kinda rambly, sorry [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] arianna tossed in her bed for what seemed like the billionth time on her bed, letting out a frustrated sigh as her ocean blue eyes glanced at the alarm clock by her bed. seven in the morning. that's great. she did not have one wink of sleep. she grumbled as she sat up, her blonde curls frazzled in different directions. she rubbed her tired face. this was not the first night she hadn't been able to sleep. in fact, it seemed this happened a lot. ever since... she shook her head. no, she couldn't think about him. he wasn't worth the time. but her mind couldn't help but replay the scene she had seen. her heart clenched tightly as if causing real physical pain and she had to gasp at the emotion she felt just thinking about what he had done to her. how could he? he knew she wanted to wait till marriage. she just wasn't ready. there wasn't anything wrong with that, right? he had known she wanted to wait when they first started dating. he had said that was what made her so special, so different from all the other girls. he had told her he was okay with it. was it all lies then? she didn't know. she didn't want to think about it, but her mind wouldn't couldn't forget everything that revolved around him. she had thought that moving to los angeles would give her a fresh start. it would stop reminding her of that wretched place because she wouldn't run into him in every corner of the street with his new girlfriend hanging off his arm. he had said he loved her. that thought alone brought on a batch of tears to her face. why? he had barely acknowledged her when she had barged into their shared apartment. she had been out for the day with her parents and when she got back to her apartment, all she saw were a trail of clothes on the floor. there were used condoms in every possible garbage can that they owned. and when she saw them on the bed, laughing and smiling, he barely had time to look at her. and when he had noticed her shocked expression, he didn't even offer an excuse. no. he only gave her one glance before continuing what he had started. arianna reached behind her for the pillow and shoved it against her face before screaming in grief, tears pouring down the side of her cheeks. it had been months. she should be over this. she had to be over this. when she was sure she had cried out all her tears, she forced herself to take a shower and change. she glanced at her reflection, noting her red puffy eyes from all the cry. she closed her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again as if the sure signs of her tears would be gone. she sighed, turning away from the reflection she was so sick of seeing before applying light make up to her face. she didn't know where she was going, and to be honest, she didn't care. she just needed some fresh air. something distracting. she bounded down the stairs and immediately paused mid-stride at the last of the steps. there, standing in front of her, was her frighteningly intimidating bodyguard. "j-j-john! i-i-i mean j-jack... h-h-h-hi! i mean uh... g-good morning." she stuttered nervously, her gaze immediately dropping to the tiled floor, her fingers playing with the hem of her white lace shorts. "i was just umm... i was going to..." she trailed off, her voice choking up again. she could feel the panic seizing up in her again, the butterflies churning in her stomach. she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, starting over again, "i was just going to um... wake you." she lied lamely. she knew she was a terrible liar, and she shouldn't even try, but it just came out. "i'm um... going to get breakfast and then uh.... go for a um... walk. d-did you want to come with me?" she asked, even though they both knew that it was his job to follow her everywhere she went [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

Jack had been working for Ms Fairmont for just long enough to establish himself a routine. Every day, he woke at 5.30am. He lay in bed until 6am, when his alarm went off. He got up. He worked out for half an hour – cardio on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, muscle groups on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays (on Sundays, he allowed himself the half hour to read the paper instead). At 6.30am, he showered in lukewarm water, shaved over the sink and brushed his teeth. At 6.45, he ate breakfast: two slices of toast with marmalade and half a grapefruit. By 7am, he’d be out of his accommodation and going over the day plans – did Ms Fairmont have any pre-booked social engagements? Did he have any venues to scout? The usual. By 7.30, he’d generally be waiting downstairs for Ms Fairmont to make an appearance.

Sometimes she kept him waiting a long time. That was okay. He wasn’t there to dictate how she came and went, only to make sure that whatever she spent her days doing, it was done safely and securely. Today, however, he’d only barely reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard her light footsteps coming down. Jack closed his eyes momentarily. He supressed a sigh, and put on his usual mask of indifferent apathy, ready to greet her. Already, there was a headache building at his temples. A solid band of pressure squeezing tight around his brain. It was going to be one of those days, he could just feel it.

She reached the bottom stair and froze almost comically mid-stride, looking at him and then very quickly not looking at him. Like if she made eye contact he’d attack her or something. She was very wary of him, still. He supposed he was frightening – he’d been told this before, it was part of what qualified him for his job, after all. And she… she was not frightening. Just a silly little girl. The kind of girl who had everything she could ever even conceive of wanting. The kind of girl who didn’t know what it was like to suffer. Little more than a child, no matter how old her birth certificate claimed she was. Sometimes he hated her for her innocence so much he could barely look at her, just as she could barely look at him.

She wished him good morning, stuttering badly all the while. He inclined his head very slightly in response, responding in a low, even voice: “Good morning, Ms Fairmont.” She went on, starting, stopping, stammering away. He waited patiently for her to finish, expressionless for the most part. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow briefly when she lied about coming to wake him – she was awful at it, a terrible liar; but even if she’d been competent, he could smell a liar a mile away. He made a quick mental note to shift his routine back by fifteen minutes or so, so that he could be up and waiting for her earlier. Just in case her trying to give him the slip started to become a regular occurrence.

“I’m um… going to get breakfast and then uh… go for a um… walk. D-did you want to come with me?” She managed to get out finally. Jack gave her a second, brief nod, even though the question was almost rhetorical. Of course he had to go with her. It was his job to go with her. He got absurd amounts of money deposited in his bank account every month just for following her around. “And where exactly will you be going for breakfast and your walk?” He asked mildly. He knew most of the places she went to. Had mental maps of them, with all the entrances and the exits fixed clear in his brain. He knew the staff at her favourite restaurants and coffee shops. He knew every twist and turn on every route she liked to take through the city. He only really asked out of courtesy, and to narrow down the details of the morning’s excursion in his mind.

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 809 words , outfit here ,ari = awkward turtle [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] arianna knew what people thought of her. she was blonde, tall, had blue eyes, modeled, and had a rich daddy. needless to say, it was easy to stereotype her. it didn't help that her daddy loved her and would give her the world if he could. her father was one of the richest men in america, owning multiple companies around the world. and when you're a man of money and power, many men feared him, ready to fall at their feet to please him. but with people who fears him comes people will no doubt hate him. and what better way to get back at the man than to target his most prized possession? when she was six, she had fallen victim to a kidnapping. it was cliched, really. she had been done school and was making her way home alone because her mother was off doing whatever she did throughout the day, and her father had been too busy with work to come pick her up, it hadn't been the first time she had been neglected by her parents. so as she was walking home, in comes a dark van, the door opens and a man comes and grabs her. she would be lying if she said she hadn't been scared. she was six, and there were men dressed in black with masks over their face. they had kept her in the basement closet for four days. four long days. after that incident, her dad had kept her close to his side. she was never allowed to be out of his sight. she was never allowed over at a friend's place- even for a school project. no, they had to come to her's and even then, they weren't too pleased with the security process they had to go through just for a silly little school project. slowly, she had all but one friend- the in house nanny. if ari ever did leave her father's side or he had to go on a business trip, his personal bodyguard would be the one to keep her company. she had lived her whole life sheltered, protected. all through high school and college, although, it was slightly less overbearing in the latter part of her life. her father's protective nature had made her give off the vibe that she was too important to be talked to just by anyone. from her lack of friends to the bodyguards to her silent persona, everybody automatically assumed she was your typical head bitch in charge. they thought she was shallow, her head was a little hollow, all she cared about were luxuries, and that she was a cold hearted bitch. and she knew, for a certain, that jack probably had some of those thoughts when it concerned her. all he saw was a girl who was spoiled beyond belief. but that was all anyone ever saw. they never saw the tears she shed, the loneliness she felt, or any pain she ever experienced. she never talked about the kidnapping. she never mentioned the times her father's enemies cornered her into a back alley and laid their hands on her. she never showed anything except that constant smile that was plastered on her face. so it was no suprise when she swallowed the lump in her throat at the sight of jack, trying to stop the tears from falling down her face again, and forced the smile she had perfected over the years on her face. she bit down on her lip to distract her brain from thinking about him for a second and concentrated on what was going on around her. she sniffed slightly, hand rubbing her eye to hide the tears while her golden locks provided a sort of veil. "o-oh umm..." her fingers continued to play with the hem of her shorts nervously. she didn't know why she was so nervous or shy. she knew he wouldn't hurt her. his job was to protect her. but like everybody else, he was just a stranger. she didn't know him. she didn't know anyone. she bit her lip, taking in a deep breath as she tilted her head up a little so she could glance at him through her lashes, trying again, "i was " she paused, one hand trailing up to her elbows as her nails dug deep into her skin, speaking slowly. "thinking um..." she trailed off again, speaking slowly, her nails digging deeper each time she spoke, "h-here for br-breakfast and ummm a-around the neighbourhood f-for a walk." she mumbled, trying to ignore the physical pain her nails were causing, but she couldn't help herself. it was what helped her concentrate on what she was saying instead of stumbling and stammering like a moron. although, it didn't seem to be working much at the moment, "if that's um... okay with you o-of course." [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

Just before she answered him, she sniffed a little. He tracked the movement of one hand to her eye, a gentle rub, barely noticeable through the protective shield of her hair. He looked a little closer, and saw the evidence of what had probably been tears. The girl had likely been crying. Did it fall within his jurisdiction to say something? He knew he was supposed to protect her from physical harm. Was emotional harm included? He doubted it. It hadn’t been specified in his contract. But then, wasn’t he honour-bound as a fellow human being, to ask her if she was all right?

No, he decided a moment later. Because he didn’t care. Ms Fairmont embodied a lot of the things he didn’t really like about the world. And what did she have to cry about, anyway? What great sadness had befallen her this morning? Nothing. She was just a spoilt girl who’d run away from her home after her boyfriend dumped her. Worse than that – she was the kind of blonde, perfectly proportioned girl who’d haunted his sister during their childhood. The army lifestyle meant constantly moving, and always being the new kids meant constant bullying. It had been all right for Jack. Boys, when they bully, just take you behind the bike sheds and give you a black eye or a kick in the stomach. And they’d quickly stopped doing that to him when it emerged he was stronger and faster than they were. But for Penny, his beloved sister, his best friend, girls like Ms Arianna Fairmont had been a constant source of agony. She was bullied so badly she came home every evening in floods of tears. Their mother had told her to ignore these girls, their father had told her to sock ‘em one in the jaw next time, and Jack had said nothing. But he’d watched her every night, head bent, crying silently over her homework and hoping no one noticed. Ms Fairmont was the kind of girl who'd made his sister cry every night of their adolescence. In Jack’s eyes, she had no right to cry herself.

“- h-here for breakfast and ummm a-around the neighbourhood f-for a walk.” It took her a long time to formulate a response, and it wasn’t even anything exciting. Jack concluded it’d be another ‘home day’. She didn’t make being a bodyguard very exciting. A lot of the time she seemed to stick in the area close to her house, rarely venturing outside it. “Very well.” Jack said neutrally in response, but now he was thinking – not just about the sheer amount of home days she had, but about how very few people she came into close contact with. He rarely had to do background checks on any friends, and god forbid – any lovers. When he’d been doing his second bodyguarding assignment, for this catty little girl in New York, she’d been in constant touch with everybody in the entire city (or so it felt like). All the times he’d found himself sat in the corner of a bar, watching her shriek and down shots with a crowd of vapid friends. All the times he’d sat in an adjacent room, reading the broadsheet, while she’d had obnoxiously loud sex with casual boyfriends in the next room. Ms Fairmont didn’t do this things. She was a lot less social, for someone who fell under the same category of ‘socialite’. And suddenly he almost felt sorry for her. He felt like he really ought to ask her why she’d been crying.

“Are you all r-r-right?, Ms Fairmont?” He asked after a brief hesitation. A stab of frustration burnt through him immediately at the emergence of his stutter. His bloody brain – it hadn’t been the same since his third tour of duty, when he’d been shot. He’d learnt to avoid most triggers for this annoying little symptom, but saying sentences that weren’t in his usual repertoire was usually enough to do it. He briefly closed his eyes in irritation, then tried again. “Are you okay, this morning, Ms Fairmont? You look upset.”

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 928 words , outfit here , heh... kinda long [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] her hands were itching to grab the sunglasses from the top of her head. even with the light make up that she had on, anyone who looked close enough would have noticed the telltale signs of dried tears. arianna was not a fan of people seeing her cry. she had grown up with the mentality that if you cried in public, it only meant you were weak. and she didn't want to be weak. she was already many negative things. she didn't need weak to be added on top of that. when you're the daughter of a fairmont, there were a lot of expectations for her to turn out like her mother or even like her father. everybody had thought she would grow up confident, beautiful, fashionable, socialable and striving. and much to her parents disappointment, she wasn't any of that. except maybe fashionable, but even that was debatable. she wasn't headstrong like her father. she would be too passive to get a business deal done. she wasn't scary enough to get people to get things done for her. she wasn't a social butterfly like her mother. she didn't know how to draw in a crowd and make a million friends within seconds. she couldn't make people fall in love with her with just one smile. she was a strange case indeed. despite knowing how much her father loved her, she could still see the disappointment in his eyes. he had hoped for so much more in his daughter. he had hoped for a mini him to take over the family company. instead, he got her. god knows she's tried everything to be more like them. she's seen countless doctors, psychiatrists, counsellors, etc. but not one knew how to cure her stuttering or shyness. people in general scared her and that made her nervous. she couldn't help it if her brain was constantly on flight mode when she was around strangers. she was the kind of girl who preferred to be alone because that was how she grew up. it was how her father had raised her. he had alienated her from her childhood friends. even if she could remember what it was like to have friends, she wouldn't even know how to make one to begin with. it was a strange concept for her. and when you're the kind of girl who keeps to herself and walks down the hall with your head hung low, people often picked on you because you were an easy target. and that she was. she never talked back and never told anyone about it. she just let people do what they wanted with her and hoped that it would end soon. when she first went to high school, people had already assumed that she would be the popular girl that everyone pretended to love but feared. she would be the one who got the quarterback and won prom queen. but she wasn't. she wasn't the girl who picked on people to make herself feel better. she didn't get revenge on people who made her life miserable. no, she was just another victim to high school miseries. and while she could drown in her sorrows and complain to the world about how everyone was treating her unfairly and how she hated her life, ari preferred to do it alone on her own terms where no one would judge her. but when she was in the public eye,s he would give the world no satisfaction. she would continue smiling as if she hadn't been crying moments before. she bit down her lips shyly as she decided she should finish her last stride to the bottom floor, eyes still fixated on the ground. sometimes she felt bad for jack because her father had picked him to protect her. she didn't know if jack was the type of guy who preferred action, but she did know that he would rather have someone more normal. instead, though, he got her. he got the girl who only went to places that were familiar. she only visited restaurants where she knew the people. she only ventured through paths that were recognizable. she never went to parties or even hung out with friends. if she didn't have a photoshoot or an ad to film, then she was normally at home. the only time she was out of the house was when she felt the need to sketch. so if we were to say she was a rather boring person, it would be a rather big understatement. "very well" he said in his normal emotionless voice. she glanced at him for a brief second before falling to the ground again, "unless it umm conflicts with your own um schedule..." she stammered, "w-we don't h-have to. y-you can umm do what you had umm planned to do and i will uh... stay in the back porch and err... sketch or something." she offered. she didn't want him rearranging his own schedule just because she wanted to go for a walk to clear her mind. she had a lot of negative qualities, but being selfish was not one of them. she looked up at him in surprise, almost to a point that it was staring, but she quickly recollected herself and smiled kindly at him, "do i? i'm sorry, i didn't mean to." she mumbled, barely noticing her lack of stutter, "thank you for umm asking though." she said as she started to make her way to the kitchen before pausing to glance at him, "would you like some breakfast, jack?" [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

She started in on her typical ingratiating ‘unless it conflicts with your plans’ speech. Jack didn’t have plans. He didn’t have so much of a schedule as his morning routine and then whatever her schedule was. Being a bodyguard was a full time occupation. You didn’t get into it because you wanted short hours and weekends and holidays off. In some ways, it was like being a soldier. When you were on tour, on some squalid Middle-Eastern base, you were a soldier all the time. Dawn ‘til dusk and all night long, besides. Even if you weren’t on duty, it was mandatory that there was some corner of your brain still on duty. His new occupation was similar. You didn’t switch off. It wasn’t nearly as intense: he doubted he’d get shot at or taken prisoner or killed while hanging around a mostly housebound little girl, but the long hours and the sense of never really switching off were familiar flavours to him. He liked it. It was comforting. To always have something to occupy your thoughts. So no, it didn’t conflict with his schedule, because he didn’t have one. She was his schedule. She was almost his entire life. “My plans are your plans, Ms Fairmont.” He stated crisply. “As usual.”

It had taken a lot out of him to even ask her if anything was wrong. She probably didn’t appreciate that – she probably didn’t know. These things just didn’t come easy to Jack nowadays. He’d spent so long in a cocoon of silent professionalism that he felt out of touch with social norms and niceties. Every time he spoke to his mom, she pestered him – was he seeing someone? A shrink. A brain doctor. Someone. Because he’d never used to sound so flat, and he’d never used to struggle with finding the right things to say. Whenever he spoke to his sister, she’d just keep clicking her fingers down the phone, shouting, ‘Can’t hear you, can’t hear you, not until you turn off the robot voice and become a real boy’. So he really felt like he ought to get a more concrete response, rather than just “Do I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The ‘do I?’ had been rhetorical, he knew – he wasn’t so far out of touch – but he answered anyway. Solely because he was unsatisfied with her answer. “Yes. You shouldn’t apologise for things beyond your c-control, and you should answer my question. Are you all r-r-right? Has something or someone upset you? Would you like me to call anyone to talk to you – a friend, your mother or f-father, perhaps?” And there it was. Jack was on the case. He almost wished he’d never asked at all, but if she was going to be evasive, he’d have to chase it up.

She started to make her way towards the kitchen. Jack followed, a respectful two steps behind her, then came to a prompt and immediate stop when she paused and looked round at him. She asked him if he’d like breakfast. Oh for God’s sake. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t wrong about her. Maybe she wasn’t the vapid bully he supposed. Maybe she’d somehow just fallen into this life she led. But the thought was grating for him. It rubbed against all his values and preconceived notions the wrong way, and he didn’t like too much independent thought all at once. Why was she asking him if he wanted breakfast? It was altogether a little too thoughtful. It suggested she’d actually at least considered the fact that he was a human being, in which case he was doing his job all wrong. “No, thank you.” He hesitated, and then suggested, attempting to be nice to her in return, “but perhaps I can wait outside the kitchen, if you’d prefer.” He often got the vibe that she’d much rather he wasn’t there, hovering over her while she attempted to live her everyday life. She’d treated him civilly and this morning he happened to feel sorry for her, so why not offer her a meal in peace? He was almost positive that nothing would happen to her in her own kitchen if he left her to her own devices.

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 806 words , outfit here , lalala [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] arianna frowned slightly, pursing her lips at his answer. his plans were her plans? that was sad. she had known that was how the bodyguarding world worked, but it still saddened her. how do people live lives like that? then again, who was she to say anything? her whole life had been planned out by her father. ever since she was sick, she had lived by her father's schedule. if there was a dinner function, then she was expected to be there. if there was a charity event her mother was hosting, then she would be there. she had lived her entire life through her parent's schedule. not like she had much choice in the matter. she was the good daughter after all. she did whatever her parents told her to. if they told her to dress up nicely, then she would. if they told her to stop eating so much, then she'd eat less. if they told her to marry a man she disliked, then she would obey. "i'm sorry." she mumbled quietly, her blue eyes still fixated on the floor. she bit her lip, not know what to do with his questions. she wasn't used to sharing information about herself to other people. especially when it concerned her own feelings. she was never sure whether to downright lie or tell them the truth. where did you draw the line? if someone was only asking you how you are out of courtesy, do you play polite and lie? or was she supposed to tell the truth? but if she did, and told them she was feeling down, would that make for an awkward conversation because they, most likely, don't care to begin with? how do you tell? because she, for one, was not really a fan of lying or liars. not that she was good at lying anyways. but most of her father's friends usually overlooked it when they asked after her wellbeing and she had blatantly lied about being good. it was rare that anyone really cared about how she felt. her ex-boyfriend had been one of those rare cases, but now, after all that's happened, every word he's spoken to her seems like a lie. she didn't know how to tell whether or not someone was being genuine with her or if they were just getting a kick out of asking. but she figured jack was pretty genuine. for the past months that she had known him, he had never really asked about her wellbeing. given, he had never seen her cry. his sincerity definitely touched her heart though. she had to smile a little at his concern. it was a nice change. "s-sorry." she stammered, apologizing even though he had told her just a second ago not to apologize for things that were out of her control. she just couldn't help it. she was just one of those girls that apologized for everything. her eyes widened a little at his suggestion as her eyes quickly landed on his own, "oh n-no that's okay. i don't umm... i don't want to bother anyone. it's umm no big deal, really. i'm just uh... being silly i guess." she said, trying to be convincing. she was sure he didn't want to hear her sob story about how her boyfriend cheated on her because she wouldn't put out. he had better things to do. plus, he probably didn't really truly care. he was only asking because he was human. and humans are constantly asking one another how they were. some asked out of curiousity. some asked out of politeness. some asked because it was a routine. she didn't know which category he fell under, but she guessed it didn't matter. all that mattered was that he had the decency and courtesy to ask. "thank you, though, for um asking. i really do appreciate it." she said, giving him a small smile before her gaze dropped back down to the ground, shuffling her way into the kitchen. she hadn't thought he would take up her offer for some breakfast when she asked, but she figured she'd ask anyway. just in case he changed his mind today. he was human too, and like any normal person, he'd need breakfast too. but she supposed she wouldn't force him if he was going to say no. she nodded slightly before proceeding to the new inductive kitchen stove. she glanced back at him, "o-oh um... a-anything w-w-works for me. if u-umm you'd rather umm give yourself some uhh time to do y-your own th-things while i make br-breakfast, that's um... f-f-fine with me." she said before starting up the stove and quickly popping two slices of toast in the toaster while the stove heated up. "a-a-are you s-sure you don't want uh... anything?" she asked one more time, just in case. [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

She frowned a little at his answer. Jack thought he sensed pity in her gaze, and he supposed he understood that. His chosen occupation might seem strange to some. But that didn’t mean he liked it. No, he certainly didn’t. Pity had always rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t stand it. It reminded him of those first few months he’d been back from Iraq. Just another broken soldier, shuffling dazed and confused around a hospital, trying to remember his own name without having to look at his identity bracelet. The nurses had looked at him with such sympathy it’d made him want to recoil away, shut himself in some dark place where their pitying eyes couldn’t see him. But here, now, far away from the shell of a man he’d been, there was no reason at all to feel sorry for him. He’d chosen his job, and he liked it, and many people should be so lucky to have such satisfaction in their day-to-day lives as he did. A sort of lonely satisfaction, yes, but satisfaction nonetheless.

She apologised again. At least twice. Each iteration of that weak word ‘sorry’ made him want to wince, but he restrained himself. Poker face as usual. She professed that she was being silly. He started to part his lips to argue – he was on the case, he wouldn’t let it drop, if something was wrong he ought to know… but then she smiled a little, and actually looked up to meet his eyes. Surprise almost made him flinch. She rarely met his gaze, and this may have been the first real smile she’d spared him. It was a sweet, genuine smile. It looked nice on her face. It also made him uncomfortable. The first thing they tell you when you take on your first assignment as a bodyguard is to keep a healthy distance. You’re to be spending nearly 24 hours a day around another person, but you’re never supposed to befriend them. It makes things… complex. He hoped he hadn’t opened a door by asking her if she was all right. If they were going to start smiling and looking at each other, perhaps he ought to turn up the chill in his demeanour. She now thanked him for asking, and he immediately replied, “You’re welcome. Part of my contract is to ensure your wellbeing. I’d hope you might tell me if anything was wrong.” Neutral again. Back to the stiffness and formality of his usual robot voice.

“o-oh um... a-anything w-w-works for me. if u-umm you'd rather umm give yourself some uhh time to do y-your own th-things while i make br-breakfast, that's um... f-f-fine with me.” She said in response to his offer. He decided very quickly that if it was all the same to her, he would go with her anyway. He felt better to be in the same room. So he could watch her. Who knows? Maybe something awful could happen to her if he left her alone for ten minutes. Her father seemed to think so. Her father seemed to think kidnappers and rapists lurked around every corner. Perhaps there was one such villain hiding in the fridge. Best not risk it. “Well then, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep an eye on you.” Perhaps if he had ‘his own thing’ to do, he might be more keen to leave her. But he didn’t. His morning routine was done. He now had no personal affairs to attend to until later this evening, after Ms Fairmont had disappeared into her room and he was back in his quarters. She asked him once more if he wanted anything. “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten.” He answered (more firmly now, so that she ought not ask again), all the while automatically performing a quick visual sweep of the obviously empty kitchen. Still confident that there wasn’t any danger lurking, he sat at the kitchen table and withdrew his book from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. She was upset today – so he would give her just a little precious privacy by not watching her every move as he usually did.

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 1153 words , outfit here , heh. blah. (x [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] she studied him slightly from her peripheral vision like she did on most days. she was still unsure what to make of her new bodyguard. he was definitely unlike any other bodyguards she's had previously, and he was definitely not like clay, her father's personal bodyguard. clay had pretty much watched her grow up, and he had always been by her side when her father was out traveling for business. he was generally a very nice guy- almost like a second father to her, but he was always more dedicated to her father than he was with her. he was only ari's temporary bodyguard. that was, until her father decided it was time to get her her own bodyguard. and on some occasions, more than one. and while most of them were generally professional, they were unlike jack. some were all about business when she and her family were out, but when they were at her house and the environment was relatively safe, they were less stiff and would offer a smile or two and even make small conversations with her. with jack though, he seemed to be on business every minute he was with her- even when their environment posed no danger. she supposed that was why daddy had hired him instead of a few bodyguards. still, she was curious as to why he was the way he was. why was he so cold? sometimes she thought he hated her, but she didn't even know what she had done so wrong that he would feel so strongly about her. he probably already thought he figured out what kind of girl she was, she supposed. he, much like everyone else, had made a quick judgement of her personality just through her personalty and her ties. although, she guessed, in a way, he was kind of similar to her. he didn't seem to say much, and that was coming from a girl who was preferred to keep to herself. he was distant and absolutely refused to open up himself to anyone. she didn't know. maybe she was passing too quick of a judgement on him too. for all she knew, he could be a really nice guy when he wasn't on the job. she wouldn't know. she didn't think she would get that chance either. she noted the brief surprise on his face when she had smiled at him. she knew it wasn't often that she looked someone in the eye because god knows that made her nervous as hell, but her smiling wasn't that rare of a case, was it? she guessed it was if he was going to react like that. forcing a smile on her face on a daily basis had become second nature to her. sometimes she was even unaware of doing it. and if she were to be honest with herself, even she couldn't tell the difference between a genuine smile or a fake one sometimes. perhaps her genuine smiles were a little different. she didn't know; it wasn't like she studied the different smiles she had on the mirror. still, she was a little shocked that jack would be so surprised. she made a mental note that she should smile more. she didn't want jack knowing he had to take care of a girl who was constantly unhappy. still, she guessed the smile was slightly for rewarding him for his kind gesture. but then her smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared the second he said that part of his contract was to ensure her wellbeing. right. of course. he didn't really care; why would he? it was just part of the job description. how could she possibly think that he cared? she was no one to him. just a girl he got paid to protect. how very very silly of her. "r-right. of course." she said, trying to hide the hurt as she turned away from him, "well i-if anything was physically umm wrong, you'll b-be the f-first to know." she bit down hard on her lower lip, once again trying to distract her over active mind. she was stupid to think a stranger would actually care about her tears. once a fool, always a fool, she supposed. “well then, if it’s all the same to you, i’ll keep an eye on you.” she gave him a brief glance before nodding, murmuring a quiet, "okay" before she proceeded to make her way around the kitchen. it didn't make much difference if he were with her in the kitchen or just the next room over. they were still home alone, and there were no dangers. although, her father seemed intent on thinking that the whole world was out to get his daughter. she loved her father dearly, but he seemed to be more afraid of her getting hurt than she was. you would think the one that actually got kidnapped and had multiple men try to do the same or even touch her in the slightest of ways would be more inclined to have someone to keep her safe. and while arianna wasn't all too trusting of the world, she wasn't paranoid enough to think that people would actually waste two seconds of their time on someone like her. she wasn't that important. in fact, she really wasn't important at all. at least not in her eyes. she shook her head, trying to rid those thoughts too. it seemed like she was in a very negative state of mind today. she sighed to herself before nodding at jack, oh, well.... umm... all right." of course he had already eaten. they never ate breakfast together. or any meal together. she always ate alone. today wouldn't be any different. well, no, that was wrong. usually he would watch her every move throughout her process of cooking, but today, instead, he had sat on the bar stool and pulled out a book to read. it, achingly, reminded her of him. she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, fighting back the tears before moving to the fridge to grab a couple of eggs and placing them in the small bowl next to the stove. she couldn't shake the thoughts of him from her mind. she wanted to snap out of it. to just forget it. people made it sound so easy, but she was trying, and he just wouldn't seem to leave her mind. memories of him were with her everywhere. she crouched down to grab the frying pan from the cabinet, mind still focused on thoughts of him while teetering on the balls of her feet. she laid a hand on the stove to keep herself balanced, forgetting that she had originally turned it on and immediately recoiled her fingers, biting back a yelp in pain. "fudgesicles!" she exclaimed, her uninjured hand clutching her burned fingers as tears sprang to her eyes. today was just not her day. [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

Jack watched the smile slip off her face at his words, and felt kind of… well, bad. He’d said it intentionally, stressing the ‘contract’ concept as a means to stop her from doing this whole smile plus eye contact thing. Smiles were fine, eye contact was fine, but when you put them together that’s an invitation to be nice to each other – and he wasn’t sure he was okay with that. But honest to God, the brief flash of hurt across her face just made him want to wither up into nothing. She’d probably been happy for someone to ask how she was, and he’d immediately taken that away again. He knew he could be nasty sometimes – speak too firmly or harshly. Never with being cruel as his intention, but sometimes as an inevitable consequence of speaking only to protect himself.

It was hard, this. The personal, social aspect of the job had always been hardest for Jack. Spending every waking minute with the same person and never being anything more than neutral acquaintances with them. He’d had to leave at least one other charge for the sole reason that she’d gotten much too familiar with him. Especially when she was drunk – which she often was. That had been his last assignment with the agency, before he’d been found and offered the job by Mr Fairmont. Maybe it was because he was so fresh off of that nightmare that he was even more awkward and paranoid with with Arianna. Why he had to put her in her place despite her fragile feelings.

“Well i-if anything was physically umm wrong, you’ll b-be the f-first to know.” She said, biting down on her lip. He merely gave her a nod in the affirmative, no longer trusting himself to speak. But he resolved to keep a closer eye on her from here on out – not just her person, but her changing moods. If there was something truly, deeply wrong with her state of mind, he might have to take it further. Either by himself or by calling her parents and reporting to them.

Now in the kitchen, he listened to but didn’t acknowledge her brief, quiet replies to his earlier statements. Just ‘okay’, ‘all right’. Acknowledgments that he’d spoken. No need to respond. Though he didn’t say anything, he watched her. He tried to read – he really did. It was a good book. Oscar Wilde’s ‘A House of Pomegranates’. A collection of children’s stories that his sister had sent him, citing he might enjoy them as much as his niece had done. Well, he was halfway through the collection and had come to the conclusion that if his three year old niece had liked these stories, she would grow up to be a very strange, twisted creature indeed. But then, he’d never met his niece. Penny sent him pictures of the girl, and told him anecdotes on the phone every week about what she got up to and what a clever girl she was. But Jack had never met her. His family was back in England, and he was here, and he hadn’t been home at all in three years. He’d drifted with his parents – his mother still phoned him a couple of times a month, and his father passed him occasional messages through his mother, but they still spoke, he supposed. It was only really Penny he had any kind of substantial relationship with – where they had set times where they regularly phoned each other, where they had this kind of transatlantic book club. Books had been the only thing they’d ever mutually loved. And Wilde’s House of Pomegranates was a good book. But he couldn’t read it. He kept his head down, one finger laid flat on the page to keep his place, but his eyes frequently darted up from the page to watch Ms Fairmont move about the kitchen. He knew, logically, that there was nothing at all harmful here, but he just couldn’t make himself stop –

“Fudgesicles!” She suddenly yelled. Jack was on his feet in an instant. He’d happened to glance back at his book and had missed what happened – so now his eyes went to the closed windows, the empty door frame, tracking for assailants, before finally fixing on her and seeing her standing by the stove, clutching one hand, eyes budding with tears. He dropped his hand from where it had gone immediately to rest on the holster of his gun by his side, feeling both relieved and a little put out that nothing more serious had happened. A nervy jolt of adrenalin pulsed uselessly through him. He went to her, took her injured hand and pulled it gently towards him, so he could see it under the light. Fine. Painful, sure, but she’d live. He laughed, a low cautious sound almost unfamiliar to his own ear. No doubt it was because of the careless adrenalin making him feel strange, or maybe just because he’d never heard a grown woman say the word ‘fudgesicles’ in perfect seriousness. He commented, “I think I might have said worse than ‘fudgesicles’ if it'd been me.” Then he immediately felt strange again, for laughing at all, and frowned a little at himself. He half-glanced away from her, then still holding the wrist of her burnt hand, led her towards the sink and turned on the cold tap. “Hold it under there. Where’s your first aid kit? We’ll put a bandage on it.”

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 1117 words , outfit here , it's um.... long x.x [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] sometimes arianna was really good at unintentionally making people feel guilty. she had this way of wearing her emotions on on her face. she doesn't mean to, but sometimes, like lying, she wasn't very good at hiding what she was feeling. it was always in her eyes. it didn't matter whether she smiled or pouted, but it was the ways her eyes looked at you or didn't look at you. even if she was averting people's gazes by looking at the floor, you can still catch her locking eyes with you for a brief second, and that brief second was really all you needed to know to decipher what she was feeling.and no matter how hard she tries to hide her emotions, bits and pieces of it still lingered. if you were lucky enough to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds and really looked, there was a profound sadness in her eyes that just really kills you. and it was because all those reasons that her father was putty in her hands. all she really had to do was give him a look and he would do or give her anything she wanted. but it wasn't like ari did it on purpose. in fact, most of the time she doesn't even know she's doing it to begin with. it was just the way she was. it was how she carried herself, and when you're so accustomed to your own thing, you barely notice anything about yourself. however, if you were to tell her that she was making you feel guilty, you can bet that she'll apologize like crazy. if there was one thing she hated more than her ex-boyfriend, it was making people upset in any sort of way- guilt included- even if it wasn't intentional. which, in turn, would make you feel even more guilty by the look she has on her face. it was like a never ending circle of guilt tripping one another. but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt anybody. which is why it was probably better that she didn't know jack felt bad for his choice of words. it wasn't his fault, really, she was just being sensitive. she had always been easily affected by words. he had said nothing wrong. it was part of his contract to ensure her wellbeing. he wasn't paid to be her friend. she was fooling herself if she ever thought she could be friends with him. it wasn't his job to play nice with her or play with her at all. he was just there to keep her safe because her daddy had paid him to. maybe she was just expecting too much. she knew they would be spending a lot of time together and had stupidly thought that they could get to know one another. but it made sense, she guessed. they lived under the same room, pretty much spent every minute of every day together. although, she could take a hint. it was clear that he didn't want to be friends with her or even try to get to know her. she guessed it didn't make much difference to her, friends or not. she was used to being on her own. just her and her sketchbook. sometimes it got lonely to a point of being pathetic, but she didn't really mind it all that much. she loved drawing and she loved knowing she wasn't forced into having a conversation with someone. she was a bigger fan of silence than she was of noise anyway, so maybe the loneliness suited her. although, she guessed she wasn't really alone. she glanced over at her bodyguard for a second. she had jack. did he count as company? maybe, but she would be sure to stick by her words. if she were in any physical danger, he'd be the first to know. emotional wise though, she would rather keep those to herself like she has done so for the past twenty two years of her life. he wasn't paid to protect those. but even if he was paid to do so, there was nothing to protect. her self confidence has been turned into oblivion and her heart was too broken for any more damage. he was safe. she, on the other hand, probably wasn't as safe considering her history of unintended injuries. it wasn't her fault she was clumsy, easily distracted or forgetful. well, she supposed it was. her fault, that is. it seemed everything was her fault. god knows he always blamed her for everything, and who was she to believe otherwise? this time, though, there was no one to blame but herself. her and her distracted mind. her in house nanny had always told her to stay focused when she was cooking. but if her mind was going to decide to wander, there wasn't really anything she could do. much like this time. she really should be more careful, but at the moment, she was too busy nursing her fingers than lecture herself. she's had worst injuries, but when you hurt yourself, at the moment, all you can do is concentrate on the pain you felt now, not compare it to previous injuries. the burn stung and her hand was was already starting to red and blister. she cringed slightly, coiling back a little as he took her hand to assess it, teeth biting down on her lip. She glanced up from her tear stained lashes when he started to laugh. She couldn't deny that she kind of liked the way it sounded. It was such a contrast to his usual personality. She hasn't even seen him crack a smile at her, so laughing came to a big surprise to her. He, though, didn't seem to know what to make of it. She chuckled softly at his comment, hiccuping from her slight tears, "My mom says it's unlady-like to swear." she muttered softly. when she had first learned the swear word, and said it, her mother nearly had a heart attack. needless to say, arianna never used that word or any swear words again. she pursed her lips when he frowned, "i umm... you uh...have a nice laugh." she added as if that would chase away the frown on his face. she followed him obediently as he led her toward the kitchen sink, teeth chewing her lip as she stuck her hand under the cold water. She made a humming noise as she thought about it. Did she even have a first aid kit in here? To be honest, she wasn't all too sure. She frowned a little, crinkling her nose before her eyes brightened, "oh! in um...the bathroom c-cabinet." [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

Jack could almost see the flesh of her hand starting to blister. He immediately began to doubt his primary assessment - was it all right? And were you supposed to put bandages on burns, or let them breathe? He’d said it with confidence, sure, but only because he’d learnt that if you say things with enough confidence, no one will question them. The fact of the matter was that Jack was good with certain situations - violence, exterior threats, and the like. But he wasn’t a babysitter and he wasn’t a bloody nurse, either. It seemed that Ms Arianna Fairmont would maybe do better with a nanny or a medic than a bodyguard. He had no idea what to do if his client burned themselves on a stove. He was so intent on the wound and his own sudden self-doubt and unpreparedness that he barely noticed her laugh, and only glanced at her face when he heard her hiccup. “My mom says it’s unlady-like to swear.” She said softly. Her eyes were brimming with tears. He knew from extensive experience that it felt good to swear when you were in pain - like a relieving of an enormous pressure - and it was just another unfortunate indicator of how repressed she really was that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He felt another stab of pity somewhere in his gut, and glanced down again, fixing his attention back on the wound. “Well, it is.” He agreed idly. “But your mum isn’t here. It’s just me, and I assure you that I can take whatever you can come up with.” He was, after all, a soldier. Well… no, no, not anymore. But he had been, and in his mind he still was, and he still thought of the dusty mess halls of his youth with a mixture of fondness and revulsion. His fellow soldiers hadn’t been the politest bunch - but what would you expect? He was suddenly nostalgic for the rabble of crude conversation on all sides. Cuss words had been the soundtrack to his years of service.

She told him that he had a nice laugh. He supposed it was a compliment, but he just felt foolish for letting it slip at all. Hadn’t he just decided to keep things even cooler between them? She was pursing her lips at him now, but before she’d even laughed a little herself. He allowed himself to admit that it’d been nice to hear - that she had a nice laugh. And that hearing it had eased his guilt somewhat for being sharp with her. For the moment, he didn’t chastise or dissuade her for her friendly compliment. He merely said, with sincerity but not warmth, “Thank you. You do, too. You should do it more often.” This was a compliment of the highest order from Jack, but the lack of feeling in his voice might well have made her think otherwise. He couldn’t help that. It’d been uncomfortable enough for him to say it. He wouldn’t have at all… except for the sudden strange mood that had overtaken him. For a moment just after she’d burnt herself and cried out, he’d genuinely thought that something might be happening. That after the long weeks of inactivity, he might have a bit of excitement rather than just his usual babysitter-cum-shadow role. The instinctive jolt of adrenalin that had leapt through him at that moment lingered on, and had left him with a strange energy he didn’t know how to disperse. He supposed it was making him more talkative.

He watched the cool water rush over the angry red welt on her hand, and stopped thinking about her and started thinking about how to treat burns again. He was almost positive it ought to be covered with something. Were you supposed to use a salve, or just cool water to soothe it? And he knew that if you got burnt in certain places you were supposed to see a doctor. Was a hand one of those places? He wasn’t sure. She told him where the first aid kit was, and he decided to just continue with pretending to know what he was doing. “All right. Hold it there, under the water.” He left her standing by the sink without a backward glance, took a quick but unharried stride towards the bathroom, and returned moments later with the small and probably poorly stocked first aid kit. He set it on the kitchen counter and picked assuredly through its contents, still as if he was sure of what he was doing. He found a roll of gauze, and then hesitated with it in his hand, suddenly awkward about how to proceed. He’d just gone ahead and grabbed her by the wrist before - but that had been in the heat of the moment, when he was still half-panicked that she’d come to serious harm. He didn’t think they’d ever made physical contact before, and now he was hesitant about just initiating it again. After a brief pause, he leant over her to turn off the tap. Then hesitated, stumped again, before he picked up a kitchen towel from the counter and wrapped it cautiously around her injured hand, meaning to pat the offending limb dry before he bandaged it. It felt strange and almost intimate, touching her at all, and God knows he didn’t like that. Definitely no eye contact now. “How painful?” He asked mildly. “On a scale of 1 to 10.”

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 1089 words , outfit here , they're kinda really cute [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

[/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] arianna was no expert on treating injuries, but she was rather familiarized with it. she was no good at healing, but she supposed that knowing how to treat something temporarily was better than nothing at all. she had never taken any classes nor did anyone really teach her. she had just kind of learned on her own through experience. she observed people when they treated her or others because that's what she did. she just sits there silently and watches. it was how she learned. it was how she read people. then again, she was very accident prone. and when you hurt yourself on a daily basis, it's better to know a little about treating your wounds than nothing at all. her father was never too happy about this trait of her's either. he was a man who was constantly under the public eye. one mishap and it would be all over the front page of the next magazine or newspaper. he and his wife carried themselves with poise. and no matter how much ari attempted to do the same, she still ends up tripping over her own feet or bumping into photographers. so how was a clumsy girl like her ever going to make it to the runway? to be honest, even she wasn't too sure. she had never thought she would be a model. she never thought she was pretty enough or confident enough. she figured she'd take over her father's business or at least help out with it one day. if her father had known what she really wanted to do was become a sketcher of sorts, she was sure he would have an aneurysm. her mother, on the other hand, would have a very good laugh at the thought of her daughter being an artist. needless to say, as a stylist, her mother was absolutely in love with the idea of her daughter being a model. a part of ari was sure that her mother was only living vicariously through her oh so fabulous life because it was her dream to be a model. but it didn't matter what she wanted. she only did what her parents told her to and she would never disobey or betray them. which is exactly why, when jack suggested her mother wasn't around, all she did was give him this doe-eyed wide look as if that was the most scandalous thing she has ever heard. she smiled shyly at him, giggling very quietly, "that's true," she said, but she said nothing more. a part of her was really tempted to curse, just once. but the bigger part of her was afraid that her parents would find out. although, it was ridiculous to think that because they were thousands of miles away and surely too busy to pay attention to every word she said in los angeles. still, her fear stopped her from doing what she wanted to do- much like it always did. she didn't know much about jack's background- her father wasn't too keen on sharing- but she knew he was from the military. or was, at least, and she was sure he has heard many different curses, much worst than she could ever think of, but still. that was different. they didn't have controlling parents that can scare you to your core with just one disappointed look. plus, it wasn't like the army life was the definition of gentle, people loving people. they were trained to kill and to protect. their lives were constantly on stake out in the field and there was no time in situations like that to censor your words. arianna wished she had the courage to say everything she wanted to, but that required her to have the confidence that did not exist in her bones. nor did she have enough anger in her body to truly curse out loud. she was a gentle person. she didn't get angry, throw tantrums or swear. she glanced over at jack for a second before looking back at her hand. plus, she supposed the moment and time frame that really allowed her to express her pain was gone now. the stinging was still there and the cold water was numbing, but it was nothing compared to the initial burn she felt when her hand first touched the stove. "maybe next time." she muttered, although she was sure that the swearing wasn't going to happen next time either. her cheeks turned pink as he complimented her own laugh, "o-oh. th-thank you." there was not much emotion in his voice, or any, really, but she knew that it was a compliment nonetheless. he didn't seem to be the type to just hand them out on a daily basis. the fact that he had complimented her to begin with was the biggest compliment she could receive. she was a firm believer of the saying "it's what's inside that counts." and to her, despite his stiff and guarded exterior, he did seem to be a very kind and caring man. perhaps it was rarely shown or it was only shown to people who only mattered to him, but she knew it was there. then again, arianna was known to be the kind of person who thought everyone in the world was good. she glanced at jack again when he spoke, nodding slightly, doing exactly what she was told. she watched curiously as he picked through the first aid kid. he seemed unsure of what he was really looking for, but at the same time, didn't want to show that he was at a lost. for some reason, ari found it completely adorable. she smiled to herself while his back was still toward her. "i-is there u-ummm any polysporin in um.... in there?" she offered discreetly, trying to be helpful. she bit on her lip as he came back to her and reached over to turn off the water, grabbing the towel to pat her hand dry. she winced, wanting to withdraw her hand from the towel. instead, though, she just bit down on her lower lip and tried not to think about it too much. she couldn't help but notice how close he really was, and how intimate this gesture seemed, but she supposed that was just her mind running wild again or that she was just imagining it. she hesitated for a second, her mind too concentrated on the pain she felt and his proximity before she looked up innocently at jack with her bright blue eyes, "u-uhm.... f-five?" [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]

[pun2]

After he pointed out that her mother wasn’t here, she gave him this real innocent wide-eyed look. It was as if he’d said something really surprising or horrifying. But then she smiled shyly and gave a muted little giggle, admitted it was true and presently promised, “Maybe next time.” Jack wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, except he thought… maybe, he was a little disappointed. Not in her inability to swear - that couldn’t really be perceived as a bad thing. But at her in general. She was what? Twenty two, twenty three? Pretty, living comfortably and mostly alone in Los Angeles, with endless opportunities branching before her, and she couldn’t seem to enjoy any of it. Too scared to live. As if anytime she enjoyed herself, the spectre of parental menace might swoop in and set her quickly and harshly back on track. He knew her type. He knew her parents’ types. Some of it he recognised from his own life - he was no stranger to parental pressure; he, who’d only ever joined the army because it was what all the men in his family had done for generations, and he didn’t want to be held responsible in his father’s eyes for breaking the chain. He knew the dangers of living for somebody else. Some of it he recognised from his more recent experience, months here and there spent guarding spoilt little daddy’s girls who were kept relentlessly under thumb. Even the most rebellious among them were only kicking back a little, pushing the limits, testing the waters… and at the end of the day, they were still under perfect, unbroken control. But he could never articulate this to Ms Fairmont. How hypocritical would it sound? He only wanted to tell her to speak up now and again, to do what she wanted to do… but from him it’d be meaningless. He never spoke his own mind, and all his days were spent doing activities entirely dictated by somebody else. He didn’t know any other way to live. So after a beat’s pause, he agreed, “Yes, maybe.”

She thanked him for the compliment, and he glanced up just in time to see her cheeks flush pink. It was - oh, all right, he’d admit it. It was sweet. She was sweet. He didn’t want to think that about her. He didn’t want to think anything about her at all. But he couldn’t help it that his internal judgment of her kept updating. Changing. She was hard to pin down, hard to slot it into one category: to ‘like’, ‘tolerate’, ‘dislike’, or ‘hate’? From day one, he’d had her filed away under ‘tolerate’. He’d assumed he knew her type, but time and time again she showed him he hadn’t quite got it right, so because she was so fluid and she hadn’t really done or said anything to make him actively dislike her, he’d just tolerated her. But maybe she’d been growing on him. Just a little. Maybe. And he definitely didn’t like that, so he decided on a whim to invent an entirely new classification for her. Ms Fairmont was ‘mold’. Because she was growing on him, and it was unpleasant for him, and she had no permission to do so whatsoever. He didn’t like this at all. But her blush, he liked that. It was damning and sweet, and he almost laughed a little at it, but suppressed the urge down to a very thin smile. He hoped she wouldn’t see it.

“I-is there u-ummm any polysporin in um… in there?” She asked, as he pawed through the first aid kit. He wasn’t sure if she was just innocently trying to be helpful or if she’d picked up on the fact that he was bluffing his way through this. Either way, the remark was undeniably of use to him, and he continued his search with the new directive. “Uh, polysporin… polysporin… yes. Polysporin.” He turned the tube over in his hands, studying it briefly. He didn’t recognise it, but that didn’t mean anything, considering his lack of expertise on the subject. He surmised from the label that it was antibiotic, so he thought it safe to assume she was right and it would be useful in this situation. After he’d patted her damp hand as dry as it was going to get with the towel - he tried to be gentle, but he saw her wince a couple of times - he went back to the polysporin. He wanted to tell her she was doing very well, being very brave and all that, but he didn’t want to sound condescending. And he didn’t want to talk either. It was odd for him to be so physically close to her and it’d taken away his voice somewhat. He unscrewed the cap of the ointment and dabbed a little onto her burn, still not looking at her. God, this was weird. Maybe he should have let her just handle this herself, but he supposed it'd be pretty hard to treat your own burn one-handed. Still, this was difficult. It was difficult for him to be so near to another human being. And the smell of the ointment was threatening to trigger him - it was that cool, medicinal smell that reminded him of hospitals, brought back memories he’d rather not relive. He closed his eyes for a little longer than a standard blink, trying to block it out, but that smell… “U-uhm… f-five?” Ms Fairmont said hesitantly. He quickly opened his eyes again, but she was looking right at him, so he dropped his gaze again immediately. Focus on the wound. He had the gauze in his hands now, working by instinct, and was carefully wrapping the wounded section of her hand. “Five.” He repeated. Typical - right in the awkward middle. Anything lower, he would have given her some painkillers. Anything higher, he thought a trip to the emergency room might be prudent - much as it would pain him to go there. But no, Ms Fairmont was awkward. She was mold. He supposed he might as well give her the choice, in that case. “Would you like some aspirin, or would you like me to take you to see a doctor?”

[ruby1]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400px, true][atrb=style, background-color: transparent;] [/style] john holden , 1226 words , outfit here , this, is. garbage... [/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align:center;]why don't you be the artist and make me out of clay

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,height: 50px;] there were many moments where arianna wanted to speak up, to just stand up for herself and say no. but every time she had the urge to speak up or defend herself, her palms would get sweaty, the butterflies in her stomach would go berserk, her throat would go dry and all she wants to do is throw up. her father once told her that if she believed she could do it, then it will happen. "mind over matter" he said. if only it were that simple. no matter how many times she told herself to just take in a deep breath, construct a sentence in her head and just say it, the words still got stuck at the tip of her tongue and she would immediately clamp up. the fear of spilling contents of her stomach rather than words always stopped her from saying what she really wanted to. that, and because she was not a big fan of her parents' disapproving looks. she knew how much her parents cherished their professional reputation. they took glory in the lives they led and how they never got any bad press. anything bad that ever happened was often kept hidden. while she didn't approve if it, she would never tell her father that she knew he paid people to keep their mouths shut. needless to say, it was probably safer if she just kept her mouth shut. that way, the chances of her saying something wrong or stupid were diminished. she idolized her father and would never want to disappoint him. maybe it was just the way she was raised that made her think that way, but at the same time, her father was a very successful man who went from nothing to one of the richest men in america. that was a very admirable trait. if only she had that drive and confidence. maybe then she wouldn't constantly feel like she was standing on the edge of cliff every time she talked. glancing up though, she could easily recognize the same disappointed look jack had on his face. it was brief, but she saw it. her gut clenched and twisted unpleasantly. her eyes dropped to the floor, teeth biting harshly on her lower lip. she was at a lost. whether she said something or didn't say it, people still got disappointed with her. she didn't know what to do to change all that. she wished there was a way that she could please people instead of having them look at her like that. you would think she would be used to it by now from the amount of disappointed looks she's received, but instead, it just seemed to hurt more and more each time. but at least if she was doing the things people wanted her to do, then there was less of a possibility for her to disappoint them, right? if she held her tongue and just let people say whatever they want, then she wouldn't risk hurting their feelings by speaking up. it seemed perfectly logical. plus, she was good at doing what people told her to do. and while she was extremely sensitive to what people said to or about her, at least she had enough self control to not break down and cry about it until she was alone. that had to count for something right? she wasn't sure, but she supposed it could count if it really made that much of a difference to her. it didn't though. then again, she was a bit of a negative nancy when it involved her. she saw the good in everyone around her but herself. she didn't hate anyone. she couldn't even say she hated men who kidnapped her or had their hands on her or even her ex-boyfriend. she was sure they all had a really good reason for doing the things they did. and while she thought she was justfied in saying no to her ex and telling him that she wasn't ready, she supposed she couldn't really blame him for cheating on her with another girl. he was a hot blooded male after all. and if he couldn't get it from her, it made sense that he would go find someone else who would give it to him. maybe she was too forgiving, but that didn't stop arianna from hating herself for it. maybe if she hadn't kept him waiting and just let him do what he wanted with her, he wouldn't cheat on her. maybe he was right. it was her fault. everything was always her fault, after all. maybe if she had been enough, he would have been sorry and felt remorse. maybe if she was prettier, better, skinnier, more confident, and smarter, he would have begged for her forgiveness. but she wasn't any of that. she wasn't good enough for him. she was too average. she's considered changing, but the thought of change absolutely scared her to her core. maybe it would be worth it though. maybe if she was skinnier, he would come back to her. maybe if she gave him what he wanted all along, she'd be able to keep him this time. she jumped slightly when the cool ointment was painted on her burns, briefly forgetting that jack had been there. she quickly wiped all thoughts and emotions that her ex-boyfriend had brought up before jack could could see it, afraid that they were all displayed on her expression for him to analyze. she didn't want him to know. even her dad hadn't known the real reason she left vancouver. he just figured she wanted to try something different for once. she gave jack a two second glance, "th-thanks jack. i uh.... i know umm nursing m-me isn't really umm p-part of y-your job description." she mumbled quietly. she wasn't sure if she was speaking loud enough for him to hear or whether or not her words were too jumbled for him to understand, but that didn't stop her from continuing, "i-i... i'm sorry f-for causing s-so much trouble." she was sure this wasn't what he expected when he first took on the job. he probably thought her life would be more interesting. maybe full of parties, drinking, and men. but arianna was just a girl who had no friends, wouldn't touch an alcoholic drink to save her life unless it was wine or champagne at a party her father forced her to go to, and cannot, for the life of her, chase away her innocence. he was sadly out of luck if he had wanted interesting. she was the most boring person out there. she nodded slightly at him when he repeated her response. he didn't seem too pleased with her answer, but maybe that was just the negative nancy in her trying to over analyze everything. her eyes widened in fear, quickly shaking her head, "n-n-neither. i uh.... i'm o-okay. j-just p-polysporin is um f-fine" it wasn't that she was afraid of either of those two options, but there was no aspirin in her house, and if she went to the hospital, it would probably show up on her medical records. and that was not good. if it showed up on her records, then her father would know, and he would not hesitate to force her to move back to vancouver with him. [STYLE=font-family: georgia; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing:; font-size: 11px; padding-bottom: -10px; text-align: center;]why don't you be the writer and decide the words i say [/style]