Real Life Romance Novel: Alone With Her Thoughts
Into every romance some tension must fall, and even once the love story is established, there are often moments of doubt, self loathing, anger... And loving someone can be a complicated business. This one went in a different direction than I'd thought when I started. far more introspective, and a little darker. Again, though the sense of reality is something I'm really trying to achieve in my fiction.
Time was crawling. In the twelve hours since he'd left with his brothers, she'd emptied the dishwasher, switched the laundry, walked the dog; she'd done a hundred tasks, and not one of them took her mind off his absence.
It wasn't that he didn't deserve a day out, a baseball game in the city with the boys. It wasn't as if she resented not being included. Did she? With twilight falling, and the cell phone sitting quiet beside her, she wasn't so sure anymore.
When had he become so necessary to her mental health? She had always prided herself on her independence, her strength. They were the perfect foil to her vivid, romantic imagination. How had this man not only taken up residence in her heart, but benevolently undermined her sense of self?
Or was she only worried because it was hours later than she'd expected to have him home beside her, warm and solid on the sofa? She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and have him tease her about having a sharp head, digging into his collar bone. She craved the extra warmth of his arm around her, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.
And then she understood the black mood for what it was. He had gone off to spend the day with his brothers, and rather than come home to her as she desired him, he would, more likely than not, be exhausted, a little drunk, and oblivious to her inner turmoil. Not what she needed from him at all, and through no fault of his own. He would arrive home, later and different than she wanted, and she would be angry with him; even more so if she chose to keep the feelings to herself. She was, in short, jealous of something far more dangerous than another woman or a bad habit. She was jealous of her own secret needs.
A headache clawed at the space between her eyes, seeking to blossom into something more vicious. She inhaled against the throbbing, and got up to find some Advil.
Time was crawling. In the twelve hours since he'd left with his brothers, she'd emptied the dishwasher, switched the laundry, walked the dog; she'd done a hundred tasks, and not one of them took her mind off his absence.
It wasn't that he didn't deserve a day out, a baseball game in the city with the boys. It wasn't as if she resented not being included. Did she? With twilight falling, and the cell phone sitting quiet beside her, she wasn't so sure anymore.
When had he become so necessary to her mental health? She had always prided herself on her independence, her strength. They were the perfect foil to her vivid, romantic imagination. How had this man not only taken up residence in her heart, but benevolently undermined her sense of self?
Or was she only worried because it was hours later than she'd expected to have him home beside her, warm and solid on the sofa? She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and have him tease her about having a sharp head, digging into his collar bone. She craved the extra warmth of his arm around her, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.
And then she understood the black mood for what it was. He had gone off to spend the day with his brothers, and rather than come home to her as she desired him, he would, more likely than not, be exhausted, a little drunk, and oblivious to her inner turmoil. Not what she needed from him at all, and through no fault of his own. He would arrive home, later and different than she wanted, and she would be angry with him; even more so if she chose to keep the feelings to herself. She was, in short, jealous of something far more dangerous than another woman or a bad habit. She was jealous of her own secret needs.
A headache clawed at the space between her eyes, seeking to blossom into something more vicious. She inhaled against the throbbing, and got up to find some Advil.
Labels: RealLifeRomanceNovel, Writing
posted by Cameron | 1:42 PM
1 Comments:
Two phrases that I really love here:
"He would arrive home later and different than she wanted"
Ten powerful words conjuring a world of disappointment and unmet expectations. Excellent!
And this:
"seeking to blossom into something more vicious"
As a description of a threatening migraine, and as a metaphor for the souring of a relationship, just lovely.
So happy you have gone darker! I like darker!
Post a Comment
<< Home