| Behind Closed Doors Chapter IV |
| Michael looked at his watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. This meeting was dragging on for much longer than the three hours he had been promised, and it was getting late. Almost 10 pm already. �Michael? Michael! Are you listening?!� His manager whispered to him in an urgent tone. �Yes, of course I�m listening� His response was automatic, and he knew that Jerry knew that he didn�t have a clue what had just been said. It didn�t matter, really. Nobody else was paying attention, either, and the people speaking were just reading aloud. They had been there for nearly five hours, and everyone was getting restless. �Okay, well, as the average attention span of a human being is 20 minutes, and we have all been here for a damn sight more than that, there doesn�t seem much point in dragging this out. I suggest we call it a day, and continue next Thursday� At these words from the Vice President of Epic there was a murmur of approval. There was a rustling of papers and the sound of chairs being pushed back, as people gathered up their things and headed towards the door. Michael was just about to do the same, when someone patted his shoulder. �What�s wrong with you?� Michael turned round to see Jerry looking at him. �Nothing. Why would you think that?� �Oh, I dunno, just that you seem very eager to leave today� Eager isn�t the right word. Desperate, more like, Michael thought, but at the same time he answered: �Just tired� �You�re sure that�s it? There�s nothing else bothering you?� Jerry looked sceptical. �Nothing� Michael smiled, and tried to sound reassuring, but he could tell his manager wasn�t buying it for a second. �Hm. Well, if there is anything you wanna talk about, you know where to find me, alright?� �Sure� Jerry patted him on the shoulder before turning and walking out the door. Michael waited until he was out of sight, before rushing out to the elevator. Normally, he took the stairs, so as to avoid any discomfort, but it was 20 flights, and he was in a hurry. The ride down took forever, and by the time he was in his limo it was almost 10.45. As the limo snailed it�s way through the traffic, Michael was on the verge of screaming. Who knew there�d be so much traffic at 11 o`clock at night?! At this rate it would be at least midnight before he was home. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn�t be a problem, but tonight was different. Danny was throwing a strip poker-party, Michael knew, and guess who had to strip. She had told him how it usually happened. At the end of the night, at around 11.30, when Sara was finally totally naked, all the guys could have their way with her. When Michael had first heard this, he had wanted to cancel the meeting immediately, but she had insisted that he shouldn�t. Finally, he had given in, reasoning that he would be home in plenty of time to be there for her. Even when the meeting had dragged on a bit, he had told himself that she could let herself in, she had a key. It hadn�t been until half an hour before the meeting ended that he remembered that the locks were being changed, and, so far, he was the only one with a key. That was when he had started to fight back panic. Michael looked out of the window. It was the middle of Febuary, and it was bitterly cold. If she had to stay outside for very long, she would surely freeze. Michael noted the heavy snowflakes begin to fall, and suddenly had a burning desire to smash something. He swallowed it as best he could, and bit his lip till he tasted blood. It was almost one in the morning when they finally pulled up in front of the main house. It had stopped snowing, but there was still a thick layer of white on the ground. It had frozen by now, and Michael almost slipped several times as he bounded up the stone steps to the front door. He reached the massive oak door, and looked around. The light was on in the hall, and it shone out through the frosted glass panels that framed the door, casting a warm glow on the sparkling snow outside, but there was no sign of her. Michael turned around on the spot, and looked out into the darkness. It was a beautiful sight, with the tall dark pine trees tipped with snow that glittered in the silver light of the full moon. Beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful, but cold. Unwelcoming. Michael stopped his musings. He turned back to the door again. On either side there were two huge stone pillars, one place slightly lower than the other, in following with the line of the steps that led down from the door in a semi-circle. Michael took two steps down to the left, and suddenly saw her. She was lying huddled between the two pillars to the left of the door, wearing nothing but a skimpy little cream satin nightdress. For one terrible moment, Michael was sure he had lost her. It was so cold, and she was so small, and wearing so little, it didn�t seem possible that she should still be alive. Slowly, and biting his lip to keep from crying out in his agony, Michael approached her. The three steps towards her seemed to take hours, and Michael felt like he was in a dream, like this wasn�t really happening to him. Like it couldn�t be. Suddenly, she moved. She pulled her legs closer to her chest, and whimpered in her sleep. Granted, it wasn�t a lot, but it was more than a corpse could do, and thereby enough to brake the trance, and bring Michael back to reality. He crouched down and reached out to pick her up. Suddenly, he stopped. His arms still out, he sat and stared at her for a moment. She looked so fragile, so delicate, like she was made of glass, and the slightest touch might break her. For a fleeting moment, he was almost afraid to pick her up. Eventually, he reached out to brush a few stray hairs from her face, and got up. He went to open the door, before coming back and gathering her up in his arms. He marvelled at how light she was, and how surprisingly warm. She couldn�t have been out here for very long. He cradled her against his chest, and hurried inside. He stumbled up the last few steps to the first floor, and made his way down the carpeted hallway to his bedroom door. Grateful that the door wasn�t fully closed, he turned slightly and nudged it open with his shoulder. In the dark, he walked over to the bed and set her down on the left side. He went to switch on the light before coming back and standing next to the bed, staring at her. She was curled up in a foetal position, hugging her legs to her chest as though her life depended upon it. Now what? Suddenly, he heard the front door banging against the wall downstairs, and he remembered that he hadn�t closed it when he came in. He had to go and close it, but he couldn�t just leave her here like that. He stood, indecisive for a moment, before picking her up again, balancing her in one arm, and pulling back the covers. He set her down in the sheets beneath, and pulled the covers, covered in a deep red embroided quilt, back up over her. He looked at her again for a moment then rushed downstairs, closed the door, and sprinted back up again. As he re-entered his room, he reflected on just how much he liked it. Originally, he had, of course inhabited the master suite, but he had moved out when he and Lisa were having problems, and had never seen the need to move back in again. Besides, he liked this room much more than the oversized pastel coloured room in the centre of the house. This one was much smaller, and set off to the side. He had a view of the main drive, as well as of the forest behind, which suited him just fine. It was a relatively small room, but very cosy. A king-sized bed dominated the room, and opposite it, set into the wall, was his closet, with all his day-to-day clothes. When he lay on his left side in the bed, he could see the huge window, and on the far side of that, the large armchair, with a small elegant table next to it. When he lay on his right side, he could see the door. On the left side of the closet was the door to his bathroom, but between the closet and the bathroom there was a passageway, which led through to the second half of his room. In structure, this was a reflection of the first half. In content, it was not. This part had a fireplace, set into the same wall as his closet on the other side. Facing the fireplace was another armchair. There wasn�t much else in this bit, except a small sewing table under the window. Michael had found it once at a flea-market in Europe. Both parts of his room had an almost Victorian feel to them, and the colour scheme was warm, dark reds and pale browns. Yes, he liked his room very much. Michael stopped his musings, made his way past the bed, and sat down in the armchair by the window. He stared hard at the figure on his bed. He couldn�t get past how fragile she looked, how in need of protection. He sat quietly for a little while, unsure of how to proceed. Their relationship, based on mutual need as it was, more specifically her need for comfort, and his need to be near her, was still very fragile, and he wasn�t quite sure of what was expected of him, nor what would be acceptable. In short, he had no idea what to do next. As he pondered this all important question, she suddenly tensed and whimpered, reaching out as she did so. She curled into a tight little ball and shuddered a little. That did it. Without really realizing what he was doing, Michael got up and moved over to the bed. He lay down on top of the covers, and reached out to stroke her cheek. At his touch, she relaxed immediately, and he drew back his hand and looked at her. She really was beautiful, with her huge sapphire eyes, high, delicate cheekbones, and long dusty blond hair. A perfect picture of elegance, even if she was rather petite. Except she never smiled. Not really, anyway. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes, those beautiful dark eyes, remained sad. Michael wanted to see her smile with all his heart, but then Michael wanted a whole lot of things he couldn�t have, regarding her. He wanted to dress her in long, elegant ball gowns, and take her to all the most excusive parties. He wanted to be able to walk up to her and kiss her, and know that she wanted him. He wanted to get her everything she had ever dreamed of, and treat her like she deserved to be treated; Like a queen. But most of all, Michael wanted her to love him, the way he loved her. Because he did. And the more he thought about it, the more obvious it became that he had always loved her, right form the very beginning, even though he hadn�t admitted it to himself until quite recently. It was sad, really. He had only realized it when he read a quote in some magazine that said �You know you�re in love when you can honestly say that you�re not good enough for the object of your affections�. It had hit him like a bullet. Up until that point he had always thought that he had loved Brooke, and Lisa, but now the very idea seemed absurd. He hadn�t known whether to laugh or cry when he realized that the only person he could really say that about was the only person in the world he knew for sure would never love him back, no matter how hard he tried. He gazed at the sleeping figure in front of him, and his eyes fell on the large bruise on the side of her face. Michael prided himself on being a peaceful man, but one of these days, when she finally saw sense and left him, Danny was going to pay. He reached out and stroked her hair back from her face. Suddenly, his hand touched something . . . . He didn�t know quite how to describe it, but it was a sort of fragile crust. Michael pulled back, and looked at his fingers. There was an ever so light coating of red on two of them, and he realized that what he had touched was, of course, blood. She had been bleeding, and now it had dried and formed a crust. He looked from his fingers to the seemingly lifeless creature before him, and he couldn�t stop the lyrics form popping into his head: She lie there so tenderly, Fashioned so slenderly, Lift her with care, With the blood in her hair It seemed to fit the moment so well, but another line formed in his mind, before he even realised it was there. She knew no one cared. . . . . That one really chilled Michael to the bone. He had never thought about it like that before. He had known for a little while now that her boyfriend didn�t love her, but he had never considered that she might be one of those women who looked for the same amount of affection in adult relationships as they had received as children. . . It frightened him that it was even a possibility, but he reminded himself that that was all it was, a possibility. . . . He looked at her again, and it broke his heart to think that she might never have know what it felt like to be loved. Michael had had a tough upbringing, fair enough, but he had always always known that both his parents loved him. Michael reached out and rested his hand on her cheek. In her sleep, she nuzzled into it. �Has anyone ever loved you?� He half whispered the question. Again, Michael reminded himself that it was only a possibility, and in no way certain, but still, it would make perfect sense: Maybe that was why she seemed convinced that Danny cared, and why she thought Michael was out to get something from her. She had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to feel like. She had probably even convinced herself that she loved the bastard. Michael suddenly hated himself for thinking her cold. Hated himself for not seeing it. He pulled his hand away, making her whimper. He wanted to be the one to take care of her now more than ever. To be the one to show her love. Even though he would never be able to do it the way he wanted, there were more ways than one of showing another person you cared, and Michael made a silent promise to her there and then that he would show her what it felt like to know that someone cared. �I love you, you know� He told her simply, and, even though there was no way she could have heard him, she reached out for something. He took her hand in his, and moved closer to her, wrapping his arms and legs around her tiny figure. He cuddled her for a moment, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. She moved closer, and pressed herself into him as far as she could. Finally, he was lying with his whole body wrapped tightly around her, and his face buried in her hair. He breathed deeply, savouring her scent, before drifting off to sleep. |