Post by xsweetnightmare on Jan 2, 2008 9:40:52 GMT
I've written a lot of stuff on FFnet (www.fanfiction.net/~sweetxnightmare) and they're also up on my LJ, but I thought I might post one of my current fics here, I have three chapters written and here's the first bit. It's written for a challenge community on LJ.
Temporary Insanity
Summary: She had thought the road trip was a bad idea all along, particularly when her husband abandoned her in Manhattan. Then she found help, in more ways than one.
“I think we should have kids.”
“I think you should grow up first.”
Sighing slightly, Chase Evans cast his wife a sideways glance. A look of obvious hurt flickered across his features when he noticed she hadn’t so much as looked up from her novel. He felt guilty. It was no wonder she didn’t trust him, but he was trying to get his act together. He wasn’t an idiot…well he was, he supposed, and he did realise he deserved the icy treatment he was getting from her. “Marissa.”
“What?” Her tone was colder than the temperature outside.
“I’m trying, okay?” Again, Chase was ignored. He tugged absently at his dark hair the way he always did under stress. Marissa was so cynical. She never used to be like that.
Nice job, jackass.
Okay, so she was a shadow of her former self thanks to him. That he knew.
Putting his own book – Curve Ahead, which was one Marissa herself had written – on the bedside table, he turned onto his side to look at her. She was twenty-six, tall, blonde, blue-eyed. A novelist, a quiet and respected one. Gorgeous. Chase, meanwhile, was twenty-nine (which he hated, because it was horribly close to thirty). He was one of those people that were famous for nothing but having a rich family. He was a playboy, something that had stopped when he married Marissa, and started again shortly later. He enjoyed the fact that he was attractive and women were constantly falling over him. That was until he found Marissa in the bathtub with her wrists slit, which was an extremely unpleasant wake-up call.
The press found out about it quickly, as they always did – Chase Evans’ wife tried to kill herself? Huge news. The constant taunts and low insults about weakness (what idiot, after all, would stay with a cheating husband?) that had dogged Marissa all through their marriage became a lot worse. By this point in time, only a month before, the last of the sparkle had faded from her dark blue eyes and she no longer cared about anything.
Marissa’s suicide attempt had been something like a bucket of ice water to Chase, who had been trying the past few weeks to fix the damage. He bought her things, stopped screwing around, and made an attempt to be her husband again. They had been married for six years, after all. Now it was nearing Christmas in Hollywood, Chase hoped that the holidays would cheer her up.
She was exceptionally shy, always had been. She was born to an overbearing, ignorant mother who pushed her into modelling until she was eighteen. Instead of the constant stream of pageants and competitions improving Marissa’s confidence, the pressure wrecked it instead. When she met Chase when she was just starting college, she was even more nervous. She didn’t realise how beautiful she was and was confused when a famous guy started chasing her. No pun intended. Eventually, they got married, and they were happy for six months or so. Then Chase found that he didn’t like having to turn down the women that were always trying to get at him. His affairs were made extremely public, he made no attempt to save his marriage or even apologise to Marissa, and bit by bit she started falling apart.
At the moment, his main concern was convincing her to take antidepressants. She simply refused them every time.
“What the hell are you staring at?” she snapped in her usual flat, clipped tone. It was a shame – once Chase got past her defences, she turned out to be a vibrant, multifaceted person. Maybe someone else could bring that out in her one day.
“You.”
“Look. If you’re that bored, go out and buy another classy hooker or something.” The heavy novel slammed, hard, down onto the small table at her side. Chase used his best 'optimistic' tone.
“You know what? We should go on a road trip.”
Ten minutes later, Marissa was packing methodically. She had her clothes selected, and she neatly folded each item and placed it in a certain pile. As she placed a pair of jeans in her largest suitcase, her husband’s voice distracted her.
“So.”
Marissa’s gaze flicked briefly up to Chase. “Where are we going?”
“Depends,” he replied. “Where do you want to go?”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. Wherever you want.”
“You haven’t been writing much lately.”
This was true. Shortly before Marissa had a sudden urge to take her last bath, the last of her inspiration had died completely. Her characters and their perfectly constructed worlds made her feel less alone, and when she was unable to write, or think, or get the most basic plotline onto a piece of paper, she snapped. She went through her days with dull indifference and ingrained politeness, and realised she should pay more attention to the man he married. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to go to other women. Still, Marissa hated him for pushing her so far and since she had been released from hospital, she had moments where she wasn’t afraid to show it.
“I’m just taking a break.”
“Maybe we can go somewhere that’ll inspire you?”
Despite their vague wandering all over the place, Marissa didn’t really find the road trip to be a thing of interest. Thankfully, the paparazzi were being reasonable and leaving them alone. They ended up in Manhattan. Marissa hadn’t been here before, and was unable to help but be fascinated by the snow. It was only one a.m. on Christmas Eve when, somehow, she got into an argument with Chase.
“That store looks nice. I might look at it later.”
Chase said something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“My wife is a robot.”
It never ceased to amaze her how easily his mood could swing. “Sorry.”
“See that?” Chase irritably hit the brakes at a stop light. “That’s the damn problem.”
Marissa actually opened her mouth to instinctively apologize again, but bit her tongue. There was no point in making him angry…angrier. Whichever. She decided to remain silent.
“No answer, huh? That’s what I thought. You can’t think for yourself, right?” Before Marissa could do much else, she had been forcefully shoved out of the sports car. Watching Chase drive off, she sighed and got to her feet. She wasn’t quite sure where she was and went to move across the street, only to flinch at the sudden flash of headlights and screeching brakes. She remained where she was, wishing she could evaporate, just disappear. Her thoughts drifted around absently in the cold cell that her mind had turned into.
“…you okay?”
She jumped again, and blinked mindlessly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She went to make a quick escape, but a warm, comforting hand on her wrist pulled her back. She suddenly wanted more of that touch. It was strange, but nice.
“You’re limping.”
Marissa took in the person; also blonde and blue-eyed, her height, probably her age, and he was obviously worried. “That? Oh, that’s from before.”
“Before…?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Wait,” his confused, curious voice stopped her yet again. “You’re Marissa Cooper, aren’t you?”
“Marissa Evans,” she corrected.
“You write under Cooper,” he pointed out. “And besides…Evans doesn’t suit you.”
“The name, or the person?”
“Both.”
Intrigued, Marissa ignored her silently vibrating cellphone. She always answered the phone when Chase called her. And it couldn’t be anyone other than Chase. “Well,” was all she could think of to say.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Marissa, why are you walking around Manhattan at one in the morning?” He stepped closer as he spoke, and the use of her first name wasn’t indecent or confronting, but perfectly casual.
She swallowed nervously. “My husband threw me out of his car.”
“Right.”
“I’m going to find a hotel…or something…” Marissa looked around at dark, worrying, graffiti-covered apartment buildings and tiny stores. A small group of teenagers across the street were sneering at her. “Or not.”
“If you need somewhere to stay – I’m not a psycho, or anything, but in this neighbourhood you don’t exactly come across five star hotels very often – you could stay with me. I don’t own a chainsaw and I’m not a mad axe murderer.”
Marissa pondered this, and decided that no way was she going to stay here and freeze. She nodded.
“I’m Ryan, by the way.”
Ryan Atwood was in a very weird mood.
He had been searching for his brainless younger brother last night when he almost ran over a famous person. Marissa Evans, no less. She was a great writer, but obviously, she was troubled. He wasn’t one to check out the tabloids, but anyone who hadn’t been living under a rock knew what was going on with her. Cheating jackass of a husband, suicide attempt…every magazine and newspaper was being incredibly malicious and always had been towards her. No wonder she gave up.
She was extremely shy, sweetly timid, and he hadn’t expected anything else. Ryan hadn’t planned on being overly sympathetic and treating her like a moron; she’d probably suffered enough of that. He had instead tried to be casual and make her feel at ease and he did think it had worked. He had assured her that he didn’t mind her sleeping in his bed, and now it was nearing eight a.m., he was making breakfast.
Glancing at the clock once more, Ryan went down the hallway and pushed his bedroom door open. Marissa was in his king size bed, still fast asleep, stubbornly remaining in one side of the bed. Ryan assumed it was her usual side in her usual bed. She looked so peaceful when she slept, he wondered if it was worth waking her up. Just then, his thought process was interrupted by a loud, arrogant voice.
“Where the hell are my car keys?”
“Shut up,” Ryan hissed at his younger brother. Damien looked at him mindlessly, probably half-stoned on something. He shoved past to look into Ryan’s bedroom. A look of immediate confusion took over his features.
“Isn’t she that writer who went crazy?”
“She didn’t go crazy. She tried to kill herself.”
“Because that’s totally normal.” Damien moved his eyes back to Ryan, his expression back to annoyance. “Where’s my keys?”
“The dog ate them,” Ryan answered dryly as he moved towards the kitchen.
“We don’t have a dog,” Damien chose to point out, as if Ryan were extremely slow.
In spite of himself, Ryan bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Damien scowled, managing to look exactly like Trey, the eldest Atwood brother. Ryan hadn’t seen Trey for ten years and didn’t care that much about him either. “So I leave you alone for one night and you end up banging a crazed author?”
“I didn’t have sex with her. It was one in the morning, her husband had literally thrown her out of the car, she was lost and confused and I almost ran her over. She needed somewhere to stay. Besides,” he added, “She was half an inch from getting mugged, or worse, seeing as your idiot friends were watching her from across the street.”
“But,” the seventeen-year-old said, but found himself unable to think of a retort. With ten years between him and Ryan, they rarely agreed on anything. “Zombie’s awake.”
Ryan shot him a look. “Be nice to her.”
“How old is she, five?” Damien scoffed.
“She’s fragile.”
“I am?”
Both brothers looked around to see a sleepy Marissa, who was looking amusingly innocent in her Care Bear pyjamas. Damien paused and stared at her, licking his lips absently.
Okay. That was enough.
“Here.” Ryan pulled the keys out of his pocket and pushed them at Damien, who looked like he had been brought out of a trance.
“Oh. Right.” The teenager left, casting a final, curious glance in Marissa’s direction as she left.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Why?”
“He was looking at me weird.”
“He’s seventeen. I’m pretty sure he stares at anything with breasts.” Ryan was pleased when he saw her smile. Actually smile. “I made breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Marissa accepted the plate, watching Ryan move over to the fridge. He was being so sweet and so considerate – she didn’t think those people really existed. Everyone she had known ended up using her, or attacking her, having some kind of hidden motive. He was just a normal person doing a nice thing for her. Better yet, he wasn’t attacking her for details about her personal life. She suddenly realised she had to be intruding and immediately began to apologise. “I’m sorry for annoying you. It’s Christmas Eve and um, I don’t usually sleep in this late.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ryan sat at the table opposite her.
“So that was your brother?” Marissa was suddenly curious about his life.
“Yeah. Damien. He is my brother, but he hasn’t got any sense.” Ryan somewhat moodily stared at his plate. “Are you going to go find your husband?”
“Actually…” She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s going to prove that I’ve gone mad but would you care if I stayed here? I mean I won’t be here long. I just can’t go back to him right now.”
Ryan considered, knowing there was really only one answer to that question. His eyes traced her delicate features. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” she added.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well…it’s your bed.”
“I’m sure if you’re that worried, we could share it.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he watched the blush creeping up her face. “Seriously. I don’t mind if you stay here.” He got to his feet, reaching for his jacket.
“What are you doing?” she questioned.
“I’m going out. Have you been writing much?”
Marissa shook her head, feeling dejected. “My inspiration died and went to hell.”
Even though he knew he shouldn’t find it funny, he couldn’t help but be amused by the way she spoke. He pulled her to her feet. “I’m a journalist, and New York is good for inspiration. And by the way,” he said as he opened the door for her, “Curve Ahead is my favourite thing from you.”
Temporary Insanity
Summary: She had thought the road trip was a bad idea all along, particularly when her husband abandoned her in Manhattan. Then she found help, in more ways than one.
“I think we should have kids.”
“I think you should grow up first.”
Sighing slightly, Chase Evans cast his wife a sideways glance. A look of obvious hurt flickered across his features when he noticed she hadn’t so much as looked up from her novel. He felt guilty. It was no wonder she didn’t trust him, but he was trying to get his act together. He wasn’t an idiot…well he was, he supposed, and he did realise he deserved the icy treatment he was getting from her. “Marissa.”
“What?” Her tone was colder than the temperature outside.
“I’m trying, okay?” Again, Chase was ignored. He tugged absently at his dark hair the way he always did under stress. Marissa was so cynical. She never used to be like that.
Nice job, jackass.
Okay, so she was a shadow of her former self thanks to him. That he knew.
Putting his own book – Curve Ahead, which was one Marissa herself had written – on the bedside table, he turned onto his side to look at her. She was twenty-six, tall, blonde, blue-eyed. A novelist, a quiet and respected one. Gorgeous. Chase, meanwhile, was twenty-nine (which he hated, because it was horribly close to thirty). He was one of those people that were famous for nothing but having a rich family. He was a playboy, something that had stopped when he married Marissa, and started again shortly later. He enjoyed the fact that he was attractive and women were constantly falling over him. That was until he found Marissa in the bathtub with her wrists slit, which was an extremely unpleasant wake-up call.
The press found out about it quickly, as they always did – Chase Evans’ wife tried to kill herself? Huge news. The constant taunts and low insults about weakness (what idiot, after all, would stay with a cheating husband?) that had dogged Marissa all through their marriage became a lot worse. By this point in time, only a month before, the last of the sparkle had faded from her dark blue eyes and she no longer cared about anything.
Marissa’s suicide attempt had been something like a bucket of ice water to Chase, who had been trying the past few weeks to fix the damage. He bought her things, stopped screwing around, and made an attempt to be her husband again. They had been married for six years, after all. Now it was nearing Christmas in Hollywood, Chase hoped that the holidays would cheer her up.
She was exceptionally shy, always had been. She was born to an overbearing, ignorant mother who pushed her into modelling until she was eighteen. Instead of the constant stream of pageants and competitions improving Marissa’s confidence, the pressure wrecked it instead. When she met Chase when she was just starting college, she was even more nervous. She didn’t realise how beautiful she was and was confused when a famous guy started chasing her. No pun intended. Eventually, they got married, and they were happy for six months or so. Then Chase found that he didn’t like having to turn down the women that were always trying to get at him. His affairs were made extremely public, he made no attempt to save his marriage or even apologise to Marissa, and bit by bit she started falling apart.
At the moment, his main concern was convincing her to take antidepressants. She simply refused them every time.
“What the hell are you staring at?” she snapped in her usual flat, clipped tone. It was a shame – once Chase got past her defences, she turned out to be a vibrant, multifaceted person. Maybe someone else could bring that out in her one day.
“You.”
“Look. If you’re that bored, go out and buy another classy hooker or something.” The heavy novel slammed, hard, down onto the small table at her side. Chase used his best 'optimistic' tone.
“You know what? We should go on a road trip.”
Ten minutes later, Marissa was packing methodically. She had her clothes selected, and she neatly folded each item and placed it in a certain pile. As she placed a pair of jeans in her largest suitcase, her husband’s voice distracted her.
“So.”
Marissa’s gaze flicked briefly up to Chase. “Where are we going?”
“Depends,” he replied. “Where do you want to go?”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. Wherever you want.”
“You haven’t been writing much lately.”
This was true. Shortly before Marissa had a sudden urge to take her last bath, the last of her inspiration had died completely. Her characters and their perfectly constructed worlds made her feel less alone, and when she was unable to write, or think, or get the most basic plotline onto a piece of paper, she snapped. She went through her days with dull indifference and ingrained politeness, and realised she should pay more attention to the man he married. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to go to other women. Still, Marissa hated him for pushing her so far and since she had been released from hospital, she had moments where she wasn’t afraid to show it.
“I’m just taking a break.”
“Maybe we can go somewhere that’ll inspire you?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Despite their vague wandering all over the place, Marissa didn’t really find the road trip to be a thing of interest. Thankfully, the paparazzi were being reasonable and leaving them alone. They ended up in Manhattan. Marissa hadn’t been here before, and was unable to help but be fascinated by the snow. It was only one a.m. on Christmas Eve when, somehow, she got into an argument with Chase.
“That store looks nice. I might look at it later.”
Chase said something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“My wife is a robot.”
It never ceased to amaze her how easily his mood could swing. “Sorry.”
“See that?” Chase irritably hit the brakes at a stop light. “That’s the damn problem.”
Marissa actually opened her mouth to instinctively apologize again, but bit her tongue. There was no point in making him angry…angrier. Whichever. She decided to remain silent.
“No answer, huh? That’s what I thought. You can’t think for yourself, right?” Before Marissa could do much else, she had been forcefully shoved out of the sports car. Watching Chase drive off, she sighed and got to her feet. She wasn’t quite sure where she was and went to move across the street, only to flinch at the sudden flash of headlights and screeching brakes. She remained where she was, wishing she could evaporate, just disappear. Her thoughts drifted around absently in the cold cell that her mind had turned into.
“…you okay?”
She jumped again, and blinked mindlessly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She went to make a quick escape, but a warm, comforting hand on her wrist pulled her back. She suddenly wanted more of that touch. It was strange, but nice.
“You’re limping.”
Marissa took in the person; also blonde and blue-eyed, her height, probably her age, and he was obviously worried. “That? Oh, that’s from before.”
“Before…?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Wait,” his confused, curious voice stopped her yet again. “You’re Marissa Cooper, aren’t you?”
“Marissa Evans,” she corrected.
“You write under Cooper,” he pointed out. “And besides…Evans doesn’t suit you.”
“The name, or the person?”
“Both.”
Intrigued, Marissa ignored her silently vibrating cellphone. She always answered the phone when Chase called her. And it couldn’t be anyone other than Chase. “Well,” was all she could think of to say.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Marissa, why are you walking around Manhattan at one in the morning?” He stepped closer as he spoke, and the use of her first name wasn’t indecent or confronting, but perfectly casual.
She swallowed nervously. “My husband threw me out of his car.”
“Right.”
“I’m going to find a hotel…or something…” Marissa looked around at dark, worrying, graffiti-covered apartment buildings and tiny stores. A small group of teenagers across the street were sneering at her. “Or not.”
“If you need somewhere to stay – I’m not a psycho, or anything, but in this neighbourhood you don’t exactly come across five star hotels very often – you could stay with me. I don’t own a chainsaw and I’m not a mad axe murderer.”
Marissa pondered this, and decided that no way was she going to stay here and freeze. She nodded.
“I’m Ryan, by the way.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Ryan Atwood was in a very weird mood.
He had been searching for his brainless younger brother last night when he almost ran over a famous person. Marissa Evans, no less. She was a great writer, but obviously, she was troubled. He wasn’t one to check out the tabloids, but anyone who hadn’t been living under a rock knew what was going on with her. Cheating jackass of a husband, suicide attempt…every magazine and newspaper was being incredibly malicious and always had been towards her. No wonder she gave up.
She was extremely shy, sweetly timid, and he hadn’t expected anything else. Ryan hadn’t planned on being overly sympathetic and treating her like a moron; she’d probably suffered enough of that. He had instead tried to be casual and make her feel at ease and he did think it had worked. He had assured her that he didn’t mind her sleeping in his bed, and now it was nearing eight a.m., he was making breakfast.
Glancing at the clock once more, Ryan went down the hallway and pushed his bedroom door open. Marissa was in his king size bed, still fast asleep, stubbornly remaining in one side of the bed. Ryan assumed it was her usual side in her usual bed. She looked so peaceful when she slept, he wondered if it was worth waking her up. Just then, his thought process was interrupted by a loud, arrogant voice.
“Where the hell are my car keys?”
“Shut up,” Ryan hissed at his younger brother. Damien looked at him mindlessly, probably half-stoned on something. He shoved past to look into Ryan’s bedroom. A look of immediate confusion took over his features.
“Isn’t she that writer who went crazy?”
“She didn’t go crazy. She tried to kill herself.”
“Because that’s totally normal.” Damien moved his eyes back to Ryan, his expression back to annoyance. “Where’s my keys?”
“The dog ate them,” Ryan answered dryly as he moved towards the kitchen.
“We don’t have a dog,” Damien chose to point out, as if Ryan were extremely slow.
In spite of himself, Ryan bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Damien scowled, managing to look exactly like Trey, the eldest Atwood brother. Ryan hadn’t seen Trey for ten years and didn’t care that much about him either. “So I leave you alone for one night and you end up banging a crazed author?”
“I didn’t have sex with her. It was one in the morning, her husband had literally thrown her out of the car, she was lost and confused and I almost ran her over. She needed somewhere to stay. Besides,” he added, “She was half an inch from getting mugged, or worse, seeing as your idiot friends were watching her from across the street.”
“But,” the seventeen-year-old said, but found himself unable to think of a retort. With ten years between him and Ryan, they rarely agreed on anything. “Zombie’s awake.”
Ryan shot him a look. “Be nice to her.”
“How old is she, five?” Damien scoffed.
“She’s fragile.”
“I am?”
Both brothers looked around to see a sleepy Marissa, who was looking amusingly innocent in her Care Bear pyjamas. Damien paused and stared at her, licking his lips absently.
Okay. That was enough.
“Here.” Ryan pulled the keys out of his pocket and pushed them at Damien, who looked like he had been brought out of a trance.
“Oh. Right.” The teenager left, casting a final, curious glance in Marissa’s direction as she left.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Why?”
“He was looking at me weird.”
“He’s seventeen. I’m pretty sure he stares at anything with breasts.” Ryan was pleased when he saw her smile. Actually smile. “I made breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Marissa accepted the plate, watching Ryan move over to the fridge. He was being so sweet and so considerate – she didn’t think those people really existed. Everyone she had known ended up using her, or attacking her, having some kind of hidden motive. He was just a normal person doing a nice thing for her. Better yet, he wasn’t attacking her for details about her personal life. She suddenly realised she had to be intruding and immediately began to apologise. “I’m sorry for annoying you. It’s Christmas Eve and um, I don’t usually sleep in this late.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ryan sat at the table opposite her.
“So that was your brother?” Marissa was suddenly curious about his life.
“Yeah. Damien. He is my brother, but he hasn’t got any sense.” Ryan somewhat moodily stared at his plate. “Are you going to go find your husband?”
“Actually…” She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s going to prove that I’ve gone mad but would you care if I stayed here? I mean I won’t be here long. I just can’t go back to him right now.”
Ryan considered, knowing there was really only one answer to that question. His eyes traced her delicate features. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” she added.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well…it’s your bed.”
“I’m sure if you’re that worried, we could share it.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he watched the blush creeping up her face. “Seriously. I don’t mind if you stay here.” He got to his feet, reaching for his jacket.
“What are you doing?” she questioned.
“I’m going out. Have you been writing much?”
Marissa shook her head, feeling dejected. “My inspiration died and went to hell.”
Even though he knew he shouldn’t find it funny, he couldn’t help but be amused by the way she spoke. He pulled her to her feet. “I’m a journalist, and New York is good for inspiration. And by the way,” he said as he opened the door for her, “Curve Ahead is my favourite thing from you.”