If You Were (In My Movie)
Jul. 7th, 2006 09:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeIssues? What issues? I have no issues. I am issue free, no really. Lyrics from Suzanne Vega. Warning: contains references to some pretty bad things, veiled and not so veiled. I have no idea why I'm writing this. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
If you were in my movie
I'd have you as the doctor
Small black bag
And a big black coat
I'd have you make a house call
To the woman
You could lay your
Diagnostic hand
Upon her belly and her throat
"How do you feel?"
Her legs were crossed at the knee, not ankle over thigh as she was used to sitting. He could tell by the bit of wear in her pants leg just above her left knee.
"What do you think?" Her fingers played with the ring on her left hand, as though it meant something. He watched her fingers, slender and tanned, naturally and not in those burrito-wrap beds. Too well taken-care-of to work outside, even if her skin said she did. He still didn't know what she did for a living.
"It's my job to ask you these questions."
"Is it your job to be an insensitive jerk, too?"
"No." He smiled. "But I can try harder if you feel my bedside manner is lacking."
She didn't want to look at him but raised her eyes to his face anyway, after several minutes. To his lips, he knew. She watched as he formed the words with his lips, how are you doing.
"It's getting worse."
"Are you sure?"
She jerked her eyes away from his mouth. "Yes, dammit. Yes, I'm sure. I think I can tell when… I'm getting worse." Her voice dragged down to a whisper. "I can't stop."
"Lean back." He put his clipboard to one side, her file open and naked on the tabletop. "Close your eyes. We'll try a more aggressive treatment, this time."
She lay back on the table, obedient. The overhead whiteness was still comforting.
"Close your eyes. It's all right."
If you were in my movie
You could be the detective
You could sit behind the desk
With a question on your lip
Examine her for motive
Investigate the scene
In the ever present danger
Keep the holster at your hip
Everything about her was vulnerable. Her dress, the way her hands were clasped in front of her, the fall of her hat in front of her eyes that suggested a veil. The cut on her face, suggestive of a shaving accident had she been a man but he couldn't think how she would have gotten it short of being attacked. She didn't dart her eyes around like a woman who expected to be jumped. She didn't hunch her shoulders like a victim.
"I need your help."
"'course you do, doll," he said, smooth as milk going down. "Course you do. That's why you're here."
"No, I mean…" Her shoulders hunched, just a little. Maybe she was a victim. "I need your help. You came specially recommended."
"Now who would do a thing like that?"
"I promised not to say," she whispered.
He got up from behind the desk but didn't step out of the shadow. The sun sliced across the room from the window, and her toes inched back from the yellow line.
"I can't help you unless you help me," he said, holding out his hand so that the sunlight cut his wrist. Remember kids, it's down the street, not across the road. She probably had scars. Gals were more likely to do that.
She took his hand after a second to reach and another second to hold her hand out there in the air, waiting for a decision.
"All right," she said finally, breathless. "The man's name is…"
If you were in my movie
You could be the priest
Long black frock
White collar at the neck
You could come to the confession
You could give a girl a thrill
You could save her from her passion
Keep her body in check
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." She swallowed. "It has been four days since my last confession."
"Go on, my child."
It's a fake. It's all a fake.
"I've had… improper thoughts."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"About whom, my child?"
"You know who." It came out as little more than a whisper and she didn't know if it penetrated the walls. "The same. Again. I thought I was over this…"
No response.
"I don't mean to. I've gone for days without a twinge, days. It's been so long since I've thought… for more than a minute, and you can barely tell anyway. I just smile a little and I don't do anything untoward. I don't even say anything anymore, not hardly, that I want to take back. I've got myself under pretty good control, now."
No response.
"But I can't stop. Thinking, I mean. I've been crying in the showers. I know there's nothing I can do about it, I know I shouldn't say anything. I've said too much already. It's a sin, I know it is. And I know it's all in my head. But I can't seem to stop."
"I don't know whether it's right or wrong. Whether I should let it go or just keep it quietly to myself but…"
"I don't like feeling this way anymore, Father. I want it to stop."
No response.
"Father?"
She didn't know if her words had made it through the wall. If he was even still there.
"Father?"
If you were in my movie
You could be the gangster
Double-breasted pinstriped
Man with the cigarette
Go running down the alley
With a double-crossing blond
Explaining to the jury
That you hadn't done anything yet
She looked beautiful in her deep emerald dress, shimmering against her skin and cut low enough that most of the men on the jury weren't watching her face. He wanted to slap them all, and her for wearing that damn thing. She'd worn it the first night they'd met.
He listened while they all said yes, your honor, no, your honor. Wanted to ask where the fucking honor was in all the lies she'd told him, but he didn't. He kept the fake smile on his face and stared at her until she became uncomfortable and had to look away.
All the lies she'd told. That was what got him. Lying with her smiles and her glances and her oh so casual hand on his arm or his lapel, brushing away the nonexistent lint, with her kisses and her words and the way her body arched and glistened in the dim light of the bedroom. The way her nails scratched down his back. The way her curves shone afterwards.
He wanted to scream at her and call her a cruel fucking bitch as they dismissed her and let her walk off the stage, leave the courtroom, but it was crueler just to keep staring straight ahead. He watched her look for some sign, some kind of reaction, and smirked a little when her face fell at not finding one.
It wasn't until after he was convicted that he thought maybe she hadn't been lying after all, about any of it.
If You Were (In My Movie), 1000 words
If you were in my movie
I'd have you as the doctor
Small black bag
And a big black coat
I'd have you make a house call
To the woman
You could lay your
Diagnostic hand
Upon her belly and her throat
"How do you feel?"
Her legs were crossed at the knee, not ankle over thigh as she was used to sitting. He could tell by the bit of wear in her pants leg just above her left knee.
"What do you think?" Her fingers played with the ring on her left hand, as though it meant something. He watched her fingers, slender and tanned, naturally and not in those burrito-wrap beds. Too well taken-care-of to work outside, even if her skin said she did. He still didn't know what she did for a living.
"It's my job to ask you these questions."
"Is it your job to be an insensitive jerk, too?"
"No." He smiled. "But I can try harder if you feel my bedside manner is lacking."
She didn't want to look at him but raised her eyes to his face anyway, after several minutes. To his lips, he knew. She watched as he formed the words with his lips, how are you doing.
"It's getting worse."
"Are you sure?"
She jerked her eyes away from his mouth. "Yes, dammit. Yes, I'm sure. I think I can tell when… I'm getting worse." Her voice dragged down to a whisper. "I can't stop."
"Lean back." He put his clipboard to one side, her file open and naked on the tabletop. "Close your eyes. We'll try a more aggressive treatment, this time."
She lay back on the table, obedient. The overhead whiteness was still comforting.
"Close your eyes. It's all right."
If you were in my movie
You could be the detective
You could sit behind the desk
With a question on your lip
Examine her for motive
Investigate the scene
In the ever present danger
Keep the holster at your hip
Everything about her was vulnerable. Her dress, the way her hands were clasped in front of her, the fall of her hat in front of her eyes that suggested a veil. The cut on her face, suggestive of a shaving accident had she been a man but he couldn't think how she would have gotten it short of being attacked. She didn't dart her eyes around like a woman who expected to be jumped. She didn't hunch her shoulders like a victim.
"I need your help."
"'course you do, doll," he said, smooth as milk going down. "Course you do. That's why you're here."
"No, I mean…" Her shoulders hunched, just a little. Maybe she was a victim. "I need your help. You came specially recommended."
"Now who would do a thing like that?"
"I promised not to say," she whispered.
He got up from behind the desk but didn't step out of the shadow. The sun sliced across the room from the window, and her toes inched back from the yellow line.
"I can't help you unless you help me," he said, holding out his hand so that the sunlight cut his wrist. Remember kids, it's down the street, not across the road. She probably had scars. Gals were more likely to do that.
She took his hand after a second to reach and another second to hold her hand out there in the air, waiting for a decision.
"All right," she said finally, breathless. "The man's name is…"
If you were in my movie
You could be the priest
Long black frock
White collar at the neck
You could come to the confession
You could give a girl a thrill
You could save her from her passion
Keep her body in check
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." She swallowed. "It has been four days since my last confession."
"Go on, my child."
It's a fake. It's all a fake.
"I've had… improper thoughts."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"About whom, my child?"
"You know who." It came out as little more than a whisper and she didn't know if it penetrated the walls. "The same. Again. I thought I was over this…"
No response.
"I don't mean to. I've gone for days without a twinge, days. It's been so long since I've thought… for more than a minute, and you can barely tell anyway. I just smile a little and I don't do anything untoward. I don't even say anything anymore, not hardly, that I want to take back. I've got myself under pretty good control, now."
No response.
"But I can't stop. Thinking, I mean. I've been crying in the showers. I know there's nothing I can do about it, I know I shouldn't say anything. I've said too much already. It's a sin, I know it is. And I know it's all in my head. But I can't seem to stop."
"I don't know whether it's right or wrong. Whether I should let it go or just keep it quietly to myself but…"
"I don't like feeling this way anymore, Father. I want it to stop."
No response.
"Father?"
She didn't know if her words had made it through the wall. If he was even still there.
"Father?"
If you were in my movie
You could be the gangster
Double-breasted pinstriped
Man with the cigarette
Go running down the alley
With a double-crossing blond
Explaining to the jury
That you hadn't done anything yet
She looked beautiful in her deep emerald dress, shimmering against her skin and cut low enough that most of the men on the jury weren't watching her face. He wanted to slap them all, and her for wearing that damn thing. She'd worn it the first night they'd met.
He listened while they all said yes, your honor, no, your honor. Wanted to ask where the fucking honor was in all the lies she'd told him, but he didn't. He kept the fake smile on his face and stared at her until she became uncomfortable and had to look away.
All the lies she'd told. That was what got him. Lying with her smiles and her glances and her oh so casual hand on his arm or his lapel, brushing away the nonexistent lint, with her kisses and her words and the way her body arched and glistened in the dim light of the bedroom. The way her nails scratched down his back. The way her curves shone afterwards.
He wanted to scream at her and call her a cruel fucking bitch as they dismissed her and let her walk off the stage, leave the courtroom, but it was crueler just to keep staring straight ahead. He watched her look for some sign, some kind of reaction, and smirked a little when her face fell at not finding one.
It wasn't until after he was convicted that he thought maybe she hadn't been lying after all, about any of it.
If You Were (In My Movie), 1000 words