7techno beat (this love is just too fast)
Original, het & this love came way too fast
Once, on a cold winters day, he asks her to elope with him. At the end of the year, he said, the start of a new beginning. I love you, he said (as his heart constricted, and spoke: So much; it hurts).
He believes in love and forever. In those fairytales that they'd reenact in the woods just outside of town, sharing kisses that would break an imaginary spell. (And he knows-with his silly, romantic heart-that this could last.)
But she didn't, doesn't, know what to say. Not really. The words she wanted to say (I love you, so much, too much, too) and the words she needed to say (I-I can't, not now; we have our whole lives ahead of us), they wouldn't fall past her lips and leave her.
I-I don't know what to say, she admits, quietly, and feels like a fool. The air that leaves her comes out in white, fluffy clouds that drift upwards and fade.
She shivers in the cold, beside him, and he snakes a hand around her waist, and rubs her side, fondly.
There is small, unnoticeable to most people, smile that she loves. It makes her heart beat fast and her cheeks heat up; makes her feel special and lovely and that it's only meant for her.
Will you marry me…someday, than. He looks away, to the children racing down the snow slick block without a care, throwing snow balls and laughing, their noses red and their boots squeaking. His heart beats fast beneath his sweater, his cheeks red, and he doubts on Christmas whether or not they will spend their lives together. Whether he loves her too much and that she fears.
They are young and do not know what love is.
A lie, he thinks. A lie because he's known, I'll love her forever, since they where children. And it will be enough.
She bites at her bottom lip, her dark hair frizzy and a mess, tied up behind her, and turning to him, pressing her body to his and halting their march in the middle of the deserted street.
I-I will, she says, certain; her heart beating fast and there is no regret when she says it. No ounce of fear that lingers. Today, tomorrow, anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved someone before.
And he smiles, big and boyish, and takes her into his arms and twirls them about with the snow in their hair and their laughter drifting far in the wind, and their noses brushing.
Her mother frets about in the kitchen and there isn't a rock on her finger, or a stutter in her voice.
I'm getting married, she said, watching them in the living room. Her father sits watching the game with him on the opposite side, waiting for the perfect moment to let it out.
Her mother drops the pot of spaghetti into the sink, spilling the contents and splashing hot water everywhere in her shock, she doesn't register the biting pain that jolts through her as the water splashes her hands, her arms.
…You're kidding, right? She remembers her older sister, how she ran for a boy who didn't love her nearly as much as she did him and now they stay, in the deep south, with their children and a love that repeats over time. How her sister still calls, crying, with her doubts and her jealousies.
She doesn't want her to make the same mistakes.
I'm not, mother. Her tone is serious, questioning, (you will still love me the same, right?), as she presses ice to her arm to cool the small burn. She looks to the ground, her heart racing. I love him. I want it to last forever.
That's a lot to ask for, her mother says quietly. Hears the glass break in the living room and her father's booming voice-boy, do you know what you're getting yourself into?-and smiles small and fond.
She nods, I know. But…we'll make it work. We've made it work this long.
Her mother sighs, her eyes steely and her lips pursed in thought. You have my blessing and my love, she tells, and I hope you can make it work that long.
She squeals, wraps her arms tightly around her mother, and imagines forever.
Their wedding is small and several months later, due to her mother's insistence and their graduation from college. (She remember, throughout the ceremony, that she would glance at him from the opposite end of the row, from the corner of her eye, as the rock on her finger weighed her down the entire time.)
It rushes around them. The ceremony, the dresses, the champagne and joy. Her mother cries into her handkerchief and her sister, round with another baby, rubs her back and smiles, small, She's a big girl now. Her nieces and nephews dance, and his parents stare steadily in front of them.
He whispers in her ear, tells her it will all be alright, despite how they won't talk, won't listen to him. They think she stole him away, tied him down, won't let him live to his potential.
And it hurts, despite how happy the atmosphere is, in all, as her youngest nephew slips between them and wraps his tiny arms around her legs and presses his face to her dress. She laughs, her lipstick red and bright against her pale skin, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
I'll go get us some punch, he suggests, watching for a moment as she scoops him into her arms and they dance, and taps the photographer on the shoulder and points them out.
It's totally Kodak, the young man said. You're lucky.
And he smiles, almost smug, and nods.
Their loft is small and just outside of campus. The city lights are bright and burn through the curtains, washing them in fluorescent light.
She presses her hand to his chest, his hands at her side and caressing her skin, and can feel his heart beating beneath the skin, muscle, and bone.
And she smiles, feels whole and safe and warm and loved, Happily Ever After.
The pregnancy test reads positive.
She feels small and flighty and presses a hand to invisible swell.
He smiles, big and boyish and uncertain, and brushes the hair out of her eyes.
We'll make it work, he said, cups her cheeks in his hands and leans down. Seals their lips together and feels love engulf him, swamp him up in joy.
And she laughs, because she believes they will.
And they do.