Post by Brighitta on Dec 4, 2006 10:44:48 GMT -5
My first real attempt at romance. ;D
This is almost all of the story, minus the ending, which I am unsure of. Can't decide if it should be happy or sad. Anyway, unedited and raw, but hope you like it!
Anne rushed into the auditorium, panting. Looking hurriedly at her watch, she cursed under her breath. Late. Again.
The empty hall was semi-dark. She always did find the rows upon rows of empty chairs – six hundred of them – intimidating. And even more so when they were full, she thought. The dusty curtains hung limp and pale, held back by wide, black ribbons. A piano peeked shyly from behind the right-wing curtain, black and glossy. The chandeliers, half of them unlit, cast long, ghostly shadows, giving the cavernous theatre an air of timelessness. As if the walls reached out in all directions, as if the ceiling was sky-high.
'Anne, d**n it, you're late again!' a man in an immaculate black suit rushed up her, shuffling through a pile of papers as he went. His face wore a smile though, and there was no anger in his comment.
'Sorry, James, I am so sorry,' Anne shrugged her coat off her shoulders and looked at the producer apologetically. 'Traffic, and I am still sick...'
'Never mind that,' James Ickins took her arm, 'I've a little surprise for you.'
'Really?' Anne raised an elegant eyebrow.
'We found our Romeo,' James winked at her. Anne gasped.
The fact that she was going to play Juliet in the new production of 'Romeo and Juliet' had been known for months. The problem was Romeo – there seemed to be no actor in the troupe who could play the role. No-one who seemed right. In the past week, even the rehearsals had come to a hiatus – they had rehearsed the scenes so much that there was simply nothing they could do without Romeo.
James grinned, too her waist and spun her around.
'Let me introduce – Alex,' he said.
A man rose from the shadows. He was a good head taller than her, with longish, chocolate-brown hair, thin lips and grey eyes. He smiled shyly, like a timid little boy. Although not conventionally 'pretty', there seemed to be something in this man Anne could not quite pin-point.
'Hi,' she said, lamely, feeling strangely stupid. 'I'm Anne.'
'Alex,' a ghost of a smile touched his lips, a strange mix of emotions blossoming on his expressive face. Hope, fear, nervousness – all moulded into one.
Anne stepped closer. Their troupe was an exceptionally tight-knit one. They were not colleagues, not even friends – they were family. And to accept a total stranger was... well, scary, really. An understanding between actors took months, sometimes years to form, and with the premiere in sixty-three days...
* * *
'Anne, you staying?' Kelly, one of the chorus girls asked, thrusting her lip gloss into her bag.
Anne dabbed at her make-up, and shook her head.
'No, but my car's broken down, do you think you'll be able to give me a lift home?'
'Sure thing... Good rehearsal today. And that Alex is a darling...' Kelly remarked dreamily. 'You are lucky, you know.'
Grinning dubiously, Anne set to removing the remainder of her heavy stage make-up. As the girls around her continued to twitter about the new member of the troupe like a gang of birds, she examined her reflection. A tired, heart-shaped face. Hazel eyes that were red-rimmed and heavy. Lips that seemed too pale without the lipstick. Auburn hair that were lank now that she had brushed the hairspray out. She sighed. No, she was no beauty.
Rising, she took her bag and looked at Kelly expectantly.
'I'm ready.'
'Okay, I just -'
The girl's voice trailed off, her eyes travelling to something behind Anne. Anne turned around, and saw the aforementioned Alex standing behind her.
The man smiled uncertainly.
'I wanted to ask you a favour,' he addressed Anne with an unnecessary formality, 'can we - ?'
He gestured at the door. Anne took her coat and cast a wary glance at the quiet girls. God knows what they will think, she thought tiredly. But she followed him nonetheless, only too aware of a good two dozen pairs of eyes on her back.
'Anything wrong?' she asked when they were safely out of ear-reach.
'No, nothing's wrong. I just... Well, can't seem to get the death scene right,' he said guiltily, 'do you think you could spare some time, just so we could maybe run through it together.'
'Sure,' she thought for a little, 'do you drive?'
He looked taken aback.
'Yes.'
'Good. Then, unless you have other plans, could you pass by my house tonight and we could get a start on it? I'm afraid I'm not going to have much more then an hour or so once or twice a week.'
Alex's face lit with gratitude.
* * *
The more they rehearsed together, the more Anne became sure that pretending to be in love with this man was going to be so easy. He was incredibly talented, albeit inexperienced, and his acting was raw, intense when it did not need to be. But that was what she was like in the beginning, and it did not worry her. They still had time.
He even challenged her status as the resident workaholic – the man seemed to live in the theatre. He was there when she came and there she left. And what she admired most of all – Alex was incredibly, impossibly enthusiastic and positive. The troupe, even the men, who had first perceived him as a rival, had accepted him into their little family, and all the girls were besotted with the new Romeo. All, it seemed, but one – Juliet.
In the evenings, they rehearsed. She taught him the fineries of acting, sharing the secrets that the producer simply could not tell Alex of.
On one such evening, they were sitting on the carpet. Scripts lay on the floor and they just sat in a comfortable silence, like old, old friends. There was no need the speak – the magic of the play still hung upon them, its fine veil making the world seem different. And it was almost as thought the slightest movement will destroy it.
'Who is that?' Alex spoke, his quiet voice bringing Anne out of her reverie. Her fingers tightened around her cup of coffee. 'There, on that photo.'
Anne felt cold.
'My husband,' she answered, 'Erik.'
She did not see Alex's face – her eyes were fixed on the floor.
'He's in America now, working there. Heart surgeon,' she began talking, not really knowing why but feeling an intense need to, 'we've been married for three years now.'
No reply came. With her side vision she could see her colleague, sitting some inches away from her.
'He looks like a good man,' Alex commented at last.
'He is. Nice, hard-working, clever. It's just that -' she stopped suddenly, becoming aware that she was about to tell him her innermost thoughts. 'Never mind that. Let's run through the scene once more?'
But as the weeks passed and the night of the premiere neared, Anne became more and more aware of their attachment. She felt as thought she knew Alex, knew him in a way that she had never known her husband. When they acted, she was relaxed – relaxed liked she had never been with another co-actor. A perfectionist, she always felt responsible for others' mistakes, but for the first time she was simply sure that Alex will do nothing wrong. Maybe it was because Alex was genuinely talented, or maybe it was due to the fact that he was so infinitely careful with everything – she did not know.
What was more, their private rehearsals bonded them further. They were no longer actually rehearsing, but spending hours simply talking, talking about everything and anything, debating religion, ethics, politics, sharing their opinions about music, books and movies. Laughing at each other's jokes.
When she looked back at those days, years alter, she could not believe that she did not realize she was in love. There was something deeper than just a connection of two people who understood one another; but at that time, Anne refused to see the tenderness and affection in those eyes, refused to acknowledge the warmth that ran through her with each kiss they shared on stage. She told herself that as a good actress, she was simply in her character, and that was that. Tried to make herself believe that they were nothing just friends. After all, she was married – there was nothing else that they could be.
It was Kelly who opened her eyes. The girl cornered her in a corridor after the dress-rehearsal, her hands planted on her hips.
'Anne, you blind fool, what do you think you are doing?' her friend asked indignantly.
'What?'
'Alex. Stop doing that to him.'
'Doing what?'
Kelly made a sound of exasperation.
'He. Loves. You. Loves you. Don't you see it? Every time you're on stage, every kiss – don't you see it in his eyes? I've been around brilliant actors long enough to know that acting has it's limits. And so believe me when I say that that emotion is not acting.'
Anne took a step backwards, realization hitting her like an avalanche.
'I -I -'
'Am a stupid, cold-hearted, blind fool? You've been teasing him, Anne. Private rehearsals, huh? Stop torturing the poor boy if you know it's not going to go anywhere.'
Tears welled in Anne's eyes and she began to run, her heels making a thunderous sound in the empty hallway. She ran into one fo the dressing-rooms and collapsed into a sobbing, shaking wreck of the woman she had been but a minute ago. She did not know how long she spent there – her mind seemed to refuse to work.
The next thing she knew, the door was opening and Alex walked in, wearing an expression of outmost concern. He sat down next to her.
'Are you alright?'
She shook her head, afraid that any attempt to speak would result in another bout of tears.
'Want to talk about it?'
Something clicked in her mind. She raised her bloodshot, but dry eyes and when she spoke, her voice did not shake.
'Alex, don't you understand that nothing can happen? We can't -can't... I'm sorry, but... my husband. No matter how wonderful you are, no matter what I feel for you, duty comes first.'
He took her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met.
'You're the best thing that's happened to me, Anne. And I will never dream of forcing you to choose. Never. Know that. Say the word, and I will disappear the minute the curtains fall tomorrow night.'
'Do – do you really love me?'
'I do. I spent years looking for the one. Naïve of me, I know, but wanted a fairy-tale. Then I realised there are no princesses and fairy-tales. I gave up looking. The irony is that when I almost forgot all those silly dreams – I met you. The dream come true. I wish I could turn back time, so that we could meet five years ago, but... Well, I'm just sorry. Sorry if I've done anything to make you upset. Sorry for everything.'
There was such an infinite bitterness and sadness in his voice that her heart ached. She reached out and placed her hand on his.
'They say all actors inevitably fall in love,' she smiled sadly, 'I guess this is the first time it really happened to me.'
Alex's eyes became surprised. Then a hope lit in them, against his will.
'Thank you for all you've taught me,' she said, 'I thought I married Erik out of love, but now I know that it wasn't love. No-where near it. Respect, care, maybe. But not love. He really is a good man, good in every way. But I am married to him, and I will not break his heart. This infatuation will wear off, and we'll laugh about it in years to come.' She smiled, trying to encourage herself. 'I'll be alright. It'll be alright.'
* * *
As always before a premiere, she locked herself in her dressing-room. Her reflection seemed calm, but her fingers were curled into fists and her knuckles were white. She raised a shaking hand and straightened her auburn curls, and began to examine herself critically. Even thought she was now wearing more make-up than she ever, the pale lip-gloss and silver eyeliner gave her delicate face a sort of fragility and innocence. She tried to smile, but her eyes immediately began to water and the attempt appeared grotesque. Sighing, she gave up.
Even the indescribably lovely dress she wore – all white lace and weightless silk – did not lighten her mood. She felt horrible; like she was being pulled in two directions. On the one side was a man she felt secure with, the person to whom she had given her vows, with whom she was planning to have children some day. Who meant security, sureness, stability. And there there was someone who made shivers run down her spine by just looking at her, who was kind and gentle and honest. Alex and Erik. Love versus duty. Stability versus connection.
She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. The choice – if it really was a choice – was impossibly. Unfair. How could she choose? How could she cause one of the men such pain? How could she know what would make her happier?
The third bell rang someone down the corridor. Anne rose and, ignoring the weakness in her knees, exited the safety of her refuge.
The wings were in a flurry of movement and last-minute preparation. Amongst the rushing, giggling, talking, shouting and commanding one figure stood out, a single pillar of serenity. He looked startlingly different in the loose, wide-sleeved white shirt and close-fitting black trousers. He smiled calmly at her, inclining his head a little. She leant against a piece of wood and tried to stop her heart from attempting to leap out of her chest.
'Annie, look out there -' James touched her on the shoulder, parting the curtains a little.
She peeked into the auditorium, and saw her husband sitting in the front row. So he had come. She looked away. Her heart did not ache when she saw him. Her blood did not rush. She did not feel as though she had wings. For some reason, she was not even sure she was glad to see him here.
Immediately, she scolded herself for the thought. Of course she was glad to see him, she was just nervous. She had to admit, she did look forward to going back home and seeing what he had brought for her, to hearing his amusing stories and to just talking to him.
The fourth and final bell rang.
And it began.
She played like never before, for the first time in her career not playing the part. No, she was living it. So much that every blush, ever kiss, and touch and every declaration of love was not acting – it was genuine, real, coming from the heart. She bared her soul in front of the awestruck audience. She was in love, she let herself admit it for the duration of the play.
It was the only on stage that she did not feel guilty. Here, she could tell herself that she was simply playing, that it was not real. She deluded herself, she knew it, but it made her feel better. Made the guilt less intense.
Alex shone as much as her – he too was Romeo, and every word he spoke was the truth. A love shone in his eyes, a love that could not be acted, could not be pretended. For those hours, they saw nothing and no-one but each other. And like between two live wires, electricity passed between them.
It passed in a haze and soon, too soon, it was over. Alex helped her rise, smiling at her encouragingly. Her face burnt feverishly as she rose, hot under the layer of foundation. He held her hand in his warm and strong one, and they turned to the audience. Which was quiet. Too quiet. And then, a terrifying moment later, they all rose. A thunderous applause assaulted her ears.
The ovation lasted for minutes. Flowers flew their way. In a bout of exuberation, Alex took her in his arms and spun her around. She wrapped her hands around his neck and laughed, not noticing that tears were running down her face. And soon both were laughing and crying at the same time, standing under the rain of flowers and hearing nothing over the deafening applause and whistling. Her very soul ached with joy and infinite despair as she looked into Alex's face, wishing, wishing desperately, foolishly, stupidly, that this night would go on forever, that she would never have to leave this stage. That she would never have to leave him.
TO BE CONTINUED
This is almost all of the story, minus the ending, which I am unsure of. Can't decide if it should be happy or sad. Anyway, unedited and raw, but hope you like it!
Anne rushed into the auditorium, panting. Looking hurriedly at her watch, she cursed under her breath. Late. Again.
The empty hall was semi-dark. She always did find the rows upon rows of empty chairs – six hundred of them – intimidating. And even more so when they were full, she thought. The dusty curtains hung limp and pale, held back by wide, black ribbons. A piano peeked shyly from behind the right-wing curtain, black and glossy. The chandeliers, half of them unlit, cast long, ghostly shadows, giving the cavernous theatre an air of timelessness. As if the walls reached out in all directions, as if the ceiling was sky-high.
'Anne, d**n it, you're late again!' a man in an immaculate black suit rushed up her, shuffling through a pile of papers as he went. His face wore a smile though, and there was no anger in his comment.
'Sorry, James, I am so sorry,' Anne shrugged her coat off her shoulders and looked at the producer apologetically. 'Traffic, and I am still sick...'
'Never mind that,' James Ickins took her arm, 'I've a little surprise for you.'
'Really?' Anne raised an elegant eyebrow.
'We found our Romeo,' James winked at her. Anne gasped.
The fact that she was going to play Juliet in the new production of 'Romeo and Juliet' had been known for months. The problem was Romeo – there seemed to be no actor in the troupe who could play the role. No-one who seemed right. In the past week, even the rehearsals had come to a hiatus – they had rehearsed the scenes so much that there was simply nothing they could do without Romeo.
James grinned, too her waist and spun her around.
'Let me introduce – Alex,' he said.
A man rose from the shadows. He was a good head taller than her, with longish, chocolate-brown hair, thin lips and grey eyes. He smiled shyly, like a timid little boy. Although not conventionally 'pretty', there seemed to be something in this man Anne could not quite pin-point.
'Hi,' she said, lamely, feeling strangely stupid. 'I'm Anne.'
'Alex,' a ghost of a smile touched his lips, a strange mix of emotions blossoming on his expressive face. Hope, fear, nervousness – all moulded into one.
Anne stepped closer. Their troupe was an exceptionally tight-knit one. They were not colleagues, not even friends – they were family. And to accept a total stranger was... well, scary, really. An understanding between actors took months, sometimes years to form, and with the premiere in sixty-three days...
* * *
'Anne, you staying?' Kelly, one of the chorus girls asked, thrusting her lip gloss into her bag.
Anne dabbed at her make-up, and shook her head.
'No, but my car's broken down, do you think you'll be able to give me a lift home?'
'Sure thing... Good rehearsal today. And that Alex is a darling...' Kelly remarked dreamily. 'You are lucky, you know.'
Grinning dubiously, Anne set to removing the remainder of her heavy stage make-up. As the girls around her continued to twitter about the new member of the troupe like a gang of birds, she examined her reflection. A tired, heart-shaped face. Hazel eyes that were red-rimmed and heavy. Lips that seemed too pale without the lipstick. Auburn hair that were lank now that she had brushed the hairspray out. She sighed. No, she was no beauty.
Rising, she took her bag and looked at Kelly expectantly.
'I'm ready.'
'Okay, I just -'
The girl's voice trailed off, her eyes travelling to something behind Anne. Anne turned around, and saw the aforementioned Alex standing behind her.
The man smiled uncertainly.
'I wanted to ask you a favour,' he addressed Anne with an unnecessary formality, 'can we - ?'
He gestured at the door. Anne took her coat and cast a wary glance at the quiet girls. God knows what they will think, she thought tiredly. But she followed him nonetheless, only too aware of a good two dozen pairs of eyes on her back.
'Anything wrong?' she asked when they were safely out of ear-reach.
'No, nothing's wrong. I just... Well, can't seem to get the death scene right,' he said guiltily, 'do you think you could spare some time, just so we could maybe run through it together.'
'Sure,' she thought for a little, 'do you drive?'
He looked taken aback.
'Yes.'
'Good. Then, unless you have other plans, could you pass by my house tonight and we could get a start on it? I'm afraid I'm not going to have much more then an hour or so once or twice a week.'
Alex's face lit with gratitude.
* * *
The more they rehearsed together, the more Anne became sure that pretending to be in love with this man was going to be so easy. He was incredibly talented, albeit inexperienced, and his acting was raw, intense when it did not need to be. But that was what she was like in the beginning, and it did not worry her. They still had time.
He even challenged her status as the resident workaholic – the man seemed to live in the theatre. He was there when she came and there she left. And what she admired most of all – Alex was incredibly, impossibly enthusiastic and positive. The troupe, even the men, who had first perceived him as a rival, had accepted him into their little family, and all the girls were besotted with the new Romeo. All, it seemed, but one – Juliet.
In the evenings, they rehearsed. She taught him the fineries of acting, sharing the secrets that the producer simply could not tell Alex of.
On one such evening, they were sitting on the carpet. Scripts lay on the floor and they just sat in a comfortable silence, like old, old friends. There was no need the speak – the magic of the play still hung upon them, its fine veil making the world seem different. And it was almost as thought the slightest movement will destroy it.
'Who is that?' Alex spoke, his quiet voice bringing Anne out of her reverie. Her fingers tightened around her cup of coffee. 'There, on that photo.'
Anne felt cold.
'My husband,' she answered, 'Erik.'
She did not see Alex's face – her eyes were fixed on the floor.
'He's in America now, working there. Heart surgeon,' she began talking, not really knowing why but feeling an intense need to, 'we've been married for three years now.'
No reply came. With her side vision she could see her colleague, sitting some inches away from her.
'He looks like a good man,' Alex commented at last.
'He is. Nice, hard-working, clever. It's just that -' she stopped suddenly, becoming aware that she was about to tell him her innermost thoughts. 'Never mind that. Let's run through the scene once more?'
But as the weeks passed and the night of the premiere neared, Anne became more and more aware of their attachment. She felt as thought she knew Alex, knew him in a way that she had never known her husband. When they acted, she was relaxed – relaxed liked she had never been with another co-actor. A perfectionist, she always felt responsible for others' mistakes, but for the first time she was simply sure that Alex will do nothing wrong. Maybe it was because Alex was genuinely talented, or maybe it was due to the fact that he was so infinitely careful with everything – she did not know.
What was more, their private rehearsals bonded them further. They were no longer actually rehearsing, but spending hours simply talking, talking about everything and anything, debating religion, ethics, politics, sharing their opinions about music, books and movies. Laughing at each other's jokes.
When she looked back at those days, years alter, she could not believe that she did not realize she was in love. There was something deeper than just a connection of two people who understood one another; but at that time, Anne refused to see the tenderness and affection in those eyes, refused to acknowledge the warmth that ran through her with each kiss they shared on stage. She told herself that as a good actress, she was simply in her character, and that was that. Tried to make herself believe that they were nothing just friends. After all, she was married – there was nothing else that they could be.
It was Kelly who opened her eyes. The girl cornered her in a corridor after the dress-rehearsal, her hands planted on her hips.
'Anne, you blind fool, what do you think you are doing?' her friend asked indignantly.
'What?'
'Alex. Stop doing that to him.'
'Doing what?'
Kelly made a sound of exasperation.
'He. Loves. You. Loves you. Don't you see it? Every time you're on stage, every kiss – don't you see it in his eyes? I've been around brilliant actors long enough to know that acting has it's limits. And so believe me when I say that that emotion is not acting.'
Anne took a step backwards, realization hitting her like an avalanche.
'I -I -'
'Am a stupid, cold-hearted, blind fool? You've been teasing him, Anne. Private rehearsals, huh? Stop torturing the poor boy if you know it's not going to go anywhere.'
Tears welled in Anne's eyes and she began to run, her heels making a thunderous sound in the empty hallway. She ran into one fo the dressing-rooms and collapsed into a sobbing, shaking wreck of the woman she had been but a minute ago. She did not know how long she spent there – her mind seemed to refuse to work.
The next thing she knew, the door was opening and Alex walked in, wearing an expression of outmost concern. He sat down next to her.
'Are you alright?'
She shook her head, afraid that any attempt to speak would result in another bout of tears.
'Want to talk about it?'
Something clicked in her mind. She raised her bloodshot, but dry eyes and when she spoke, her voice did not shake.
'Alex, don't you understand that nothing can happen? We can't -can't... I'm sorry, but... my husband. No matter how wonderful you are, no matter what I feel for you, duty comes first.'
He took her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met.
'You're the best thing that's happened to me, Anne. And I will never dream of forcing you to choose. Never. Know that. Say the word, and I will disappear the minute the curtains fall tomorrow night.'
'Do – do you really love me?'
'I do. I spent years looking for the one. Naïve of me, I know, but wanted a fairy-tale. Then I realised there are no princesses and fairy-tales. I gave up looking. The irony is that when I almost forgot all those silly dreams – I met you. The dream come true. I wish I could turn back time, so that we could meet five years ago, but... Well, I'm just sorry. Sorry if I've done anything to make you upset. Sorry for everything.'
There was such an infinite bitterness and sadness in his voice that her heart ached. She reached out and placed her hand on his.
'They say all actors inevitably fall in love,' she smiled sadly, 'I guess this is the first time it really happened to me.'
Alex's eyes became surprised. Then a hope lit in them, against his will.
'Thank you for all you've taught me,' she said, 'I thought I married Erik out of love, but now I know that it wasn't love. No-where near it. Respect, care, maybe. But not love. He really is a good man, good in every way. But I am married to him, and I will not break his heart. This infatuation will wear off, and we'll laugh about it in years to come.' She smiled, trying to encourage herself. 'I'll be alright. It'll be alright.'
* * *
As always before a premiere, she locked herself in her dressing-room. Her reflection seemed calm, but her fingers were curled into fists and her knuckles were white. She raised a shaking hand and straightened her auburn curls, and began to examine herself critically. Even thought she was now wearing more make-up than she ever, the pale lip-gloss and silver eyeliner gave her delicate face a sort of fragility and innocence. She tried to smile, but her eyes immediately began to water and the attempt appeared grotesque. Sighing, she gave up.
Even the indescribably lovely dress she wore – all white lace and weightless silk – did not lighten her mood. She felt horrible; like she was being pulled in two directions. On the one side was a man she felt secure with, the person to whom she had given her vows, with whom she was planning to have children some day. Who meant security, sureness, stability. And there there was someone who made shivers run down her spine by just looking at her, who was kind and gentle and honest. Alex and Erik. Love versus duty. Stability versus connection.
She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. The choice – if it really was a choice – was impossibly. Unfair. How could she choose? How could she cause one of the men such pain? How could she know what would make her happier?
The third bell rang someone down the corridor. Anne rose and, ignoring the weakness in her knees, exited the safety of her refuge.
The wings were in a flurry of movement and last-minute preparation. Amongst the rushing, giggling, talking, shouting and commanding one figure stood out, a single pillar of serenity. He looked startlingly different in the loose, wide-sleeved white shirt and close-fitting black trousers. He smiled calmly at her, inclining his head a little. She leant against a piece of wood and tried to stop her heart from attempting to leap out of her chest.
'Annie, look out there -' James touched her on the shoulder, parting the curtains a little.
She peeked into the auditorium, and saw her husband sitting in the front row. So he had come. She looked away. Her heart did not ache when she saw him. Her blood did not rush. She did not feel as though she had wings. For some reason, she was not even sure she was glad to see him here.
Immediately, she scolded herself for the thought. Of course she was glad to see him, she was just nervous. She had to admit, she did look forward to going back home and seeing what he had brought for her, to hearing his amusing stories and to just talking to him.
The fourth and final bell rang.
And it began.
She played like never before, for the first time in her career not playing the part. No, she was living it. So much that every blush, ever kiss, and touch and every declaration of love was not acting – it was genuine, real, coming from the heart. She bared her soul in front of the awestruck audience. She was in love, she let herself admit it for the duration of the play.
It was the only on stage that she did not feel guilty. Here, she could tell herself that she was simply playing, that it was not real. She deluded herself, she knew it, but it made her feel better. Made the guilt less intense.
Alex shone as much as her – he too was Romeo, and every word he spoke was the truth. A love shone in his eyes, a love that could not be acted, could not be pretended. For those hours, they saw nothing and no-one but each other. And like between two live wires, electricity passed between them.
It passed in a haze and soon, too soon, it was over. Alex helped her rise, smiling at her encouragingly. Her face burnt feverishly as she rose, hot under the layer of foundation. He held her hand in his warm and strong one, and they turned to the audience. Which was quiet. Too quiet. And then, a terrifying moment later, they all rose. A thunderous applause assaulted her ears.
The ovation lasted for minutes. Flowers flew their way. In a bout of exuberation, Alex took her in his arms and spun her around. She wrapped her hands around his neck and laughed, not noticing that tears were running down her face. And soon both were laughing and crying at the same time, standing under the rain of flowers and hearing nothing over the deafening applause and whistling. Her very soul ached with joy and infinite despair as she looked into Alex's face, wishing, wishing desperately, foolishly, stupidly, that this night would go on forever, that she would never have to leave this stage. That she would never have to leave him.
TO BE CONTINUED
;D