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23 October 2006 @ 10:48 pm
Lower East Side, Manhattan: Isaac's Studio  
Open to Simone.




Isaac realised, blearily, that it was daylight because his eyelids seemed to be painted cadmium red on the inside, and that meant there was more light than just streetlights and starlights and the occasional police helicopter. Daylight meant getting up out of bed--was he even in bed? His back seemed to suggest he wasn't, so at least he was a step closer to the end goal. Daylight also meant that Simone would probably be over. She hadn't been by, not since the overdose. So she would be, more than likely. To pick up paintings or to lecture him on how much electricity he was using or something stupid that meant, in Simone-world, that she cared, that she was invested in him. Art was a language of subtleties, and he knew Simone's well. He should, after all this time. He knew her language and she knew his, and that should be enough to make sure they could communicate, but shoulds rarely panned out into actualities. That, Isaac had to admit, was frustrating. Spanish, English, body language, sketches, something should make sense. Something.

Groaning, Isaac opened his eyes and pulled himself upright. He was on the floor, and the latest canvas was there on the easel, completed, unremembered. It made Isaac's head hurt to look at it, so he just dragged himself to the bathroom to splash water on himself and try to remember which day it was. She'd probably ask if he knew, anyway, and having an answer would be a good first step.
 
 
Current Mood: groggygroggy
 
 
 
enabling on October 25th, 2006 02:28 am (UTC)
It was the easiest thing to do, give into the simple pleasure of his body close to hers, the warmth in him, the sound of his voice. Her eyes closed automatically and she gave a little shiver, somewhere between a supressed sob and a reaction to his closeness.

"No," she said, shaking her head even with her eyes closed. Her resolve was already slipping, and she knew it. "I.."
Isaac Mendez: Portrait of the artist//greyviridian_hue on October 25th, 2006 02:33 am (UTC)
"It's okay," he murmured into her ear, sliding his hands down to wrap around her waist and pull her gently flush with him. "It's okay, Simone, baby, it's okay, we'll figure things out, we will." It was all soothing, soft words that had more to do with quieting her than their real meanings. This, he knew how to do. He could make things better if he could hold her. His hands always knew what to do, even before his brain did, or the rest of his body. He could trust his hands.
enabling on October 25th, 2006 02:42 am (UTC)
If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend the paintings weren't even there. That he was still clean, and she was safe there with him. It'd felt so long since she'd allowed herself to let her walls down, let someone else comfort her or take care of her.

But can he? came the niggling voice in the back of her mind again. Always the kill-joy, over-thinking, over-analyzing. She turned her head so her left cheek brushed against his shoulder, body moving independent of her thoughts.
Isaac Mendez: Portrait of the artist//greyviridian_hue on October 25th, 2006 02:57 am (UTC)
Tenderly, Isaac murmured in Spanish, the words rolling like waves and he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She always smelled like what he thought the desert would smell like after it rained, earthy and clean with the hint of flowers, a promise of growth and life to come. Simone was life to him, somehow, something to make his desert bloom, make the wilderness sing with gladness. Old words, hymns or something, he couldn't remember, but they lingered there, along with her perfume. "Hoy te quiero más que ayer, pero menos que mañana," he said softly, kissing her head again, benediction and hope together.
enabling on October 25th, 2006 03:09 am (UTC)
All the little worries were gone, even if it would be fleeting. It felt too good to be in his arms, too good when his lips moved like a whisper against her skin. Even his words felt like a caress, chasing away the anxiety, rich and deep and lingering. How could he see such horrifying, terrible things when beneath it he could still make her knees weak? It was too easy to turn her face up underneath his chin, easier still to kiss his throat. Simone could just faintly feel his pulse, the stubble of the last few days without shaving the only buffer.

"I love you so much," she whispered, each word deliberate and heartfelt. "So much it hurts."
Isaac Mendez: Blues//down and outviridian_hue on October 25th, 2006 03:18 am (UTC)
"Love always hurts. We suffer for it. All the good things in the world, we suffer terribly for them," he whispered back. Sometimes, it seemed like there was a chasm between them, between the worlds they lived in, how pristine she was, well-born and well-made and well-kept, and his own, buffered by the abattoir he saw every time he closed his eyes, that he spilled across the canvas. But when she kissed him, when he could hold her like this, that chasm was gone, forgotten. "You're worth suffering for," Isaac added after a moment.
enabling on October 25th, 2006 03:28 am (UTC)
Her heart ached at the double-edged compliment, thoughts flickering back to their fight the day before, her ultimatum over the drugs or their relationship. Was this his way of letting go? Telling her he'd chosen her?

For that moment, she didn't care about the answer. Simone turned in his embrace, one arm sliding around his waist while the other moved over his chest, up his neck and into his hair. Kissing him sealed her thoughts away, pushed them into the back of her mind. All that mattered was that he wanted her, even if it only meant for now.