Post by Trevor Williams on May 11, 2010 14:58:01 GMT -8
Saturday, 28 May, 2011
11:32 a.m.
Love, Trevor had decided, moved like the seasons. In its early days, weeks, or months, it was like spring. Everything was new and exciting, intriguing. Nothing was better. Inextinguishable smiles were on the faces of the new lovebirds, and all they could do was talk incessantly of each other to their friends. "Aww, he's so cute when he does x!" All they wanted to do was be with each other and never have it end. Then, summer came. The relationship was no longer a novelty, but it was still new enough to not have every bit of it taken for granted. Still, things were headed in that direction. She stopped dressing up for him all the time. He stopped doing those awe-inspiring things that made her fall head over heels and grow butterflies in her stomach. Overall, things were still good. After that, came autumn. In autumn, the colors began to change. It grew easier to see one's partner's flaws and easier to be annoyed by what was once just as easy to overlook.
Lastly, came winter. For some, it was a comfortable, lengthy winter where things flourished as the cold of the outside forced them closer and to grow stronger. For others, the proverbial cramped corners caused arguments and distress to grow, and the thought of long-term commitment caused one or the other or both to flee to the safety of the non-confining, greener, fresher pastures of spring. This, naturally, left the other partner in the hold of winter, freezing and alone. In a way, this was an early winter, an abrupt end where hate and self-loathing coursed through one's veins. The fleeing partner became the bad guy and if one wasn't careful, it could consume him. Winter came at different paces for different couples. For some, it was definitely always early and abrupt. For others, it went on and on in a good way. And for yet others, it carried on in a drawn out manner as both avoided the inevitable end.
He and Morgana were in winter. He knew that for sure. The year of togetherness followed by nearly a year of being apart had seen to that. They were that old couple stuck back together, and he wasn't certain if it was for better or for worse. There were times when they would catch glimpses of their former selves, times when the antics of spring would sneak back in and those fiery battles of wit followed by long nights together in bed would follow. There were times when he could see promise of a better part of winter to come, the part where some warmth was beginning to sneak in, when he watched Morgana and Kiley playing or talking. But there was still the bitter resentment that they avoided talking about at all costs eating away at them. That night where he had accused her of killing Evie still loomed over them like a dark storm cloud, and the times they managed to truly escape it seemed far and few between. Still, they were trying. She was trying. He was trying.
But it was hard. What if this didn't work out? What if they were fooling themselves to even have decided to try? Perhaps it was selfish of him to have asked Morgana to accompany him to Bulgaria that day that seemed so long ago now, but it had been his way of showing good faith, of proving he wanted her in his life despite what she thought his prior actions involving Evie had proved. Nothing, naturally, could be proved in this situation. It was all "he said-she said," and there was no way around it but to accept that the other would not agree to one's own view on the subject and move on. However, he was finding that harder and harder to do.
To please a woman who thought he had loved another no matter how much he argued otherwise was difficult, and Trevor didn't know how much longer he could put up with it--or she, for that matter--before they both resented each other fully and it ended ugly. He didn't want that. He wanted them to be able to look back and say they gave it a healthy try for sake of old times but hadn't succeeded and still be able to go on and try to explore being friends after time had passed. Why? Because, when they were good, they had been good. Real good. Those nights plotting against Derrin White had been memorable, especially after they both admitted to feelings and he fondly looked back on the many battles of wit, but where was that now? Could that possibly be them now or at any point in the future? What if they were dragging out the inevitable?
He couldn't help but believe they were. But for sake of her feelings, he'd give it some time. It just...Wasn't five months enough? Perhaps it was possible five months was five months too many?
He sighed as he sat down on a park bench before a play set, smiling a little as he watched a young, blonde mother play with her small son, who was surely no older than three. The face transformed to that of Morgana for a moment as the woman looked toward him and he smiled, but the image quickly faded. Still, it was an image that he had dreamed about in the past when things had been good, an image he had thought would be true by now. She had promised him so many times a son whenever he killed Evie, but the day he had killed Evie had never came. Someone had beat him to it, and now it was all up in limbo.
"'xander, what are you doing?" the mother called out, drawing Trevor's attention back to the external world just as the little boy climbed onto the park bench with some effort and looked at him in wonder. "Leave the man alone," the mother chided. Obviously, she had yet to recognize what her son had.
Trevor chuckled quietly before looking up at the mother who stood before him, the slight breeze toying with the skirt of her sun dress and her wide-brimmed hat. "Really, it's no problem."
"L-lord Williams?" the mother questioned, and Trevor nodded. "I'm sorry. Alex likes to wander up to people all the time." She glanced nervously at her son who was still staring at Trevor with wide eyes.
"Well, ma'am--"
"Emily," she supplied.
"Well, Emily, really, it's no problem. I've received much less savory approaches from people recently. It's kind of refreshing to not be glared at."
The blonde smiled a little, her arms crossed in discomfort. "Well, still, I'm sorry to have bothered you," she replied, leaning over to pick up her son. "We'll leave you be. Let's swing, Alex." Her son nodded slowly, his eyes still on Trevor even as she walked away and put him in the swing and started to push him gently. Trevor sat back in the bench, his legs crossing comfortably as he loosely crossed his arms. Perhaps wasting time in the park wasn't ideal, but at least it was calm here, and he could think.