149So, here it is. The continuing saga of Ben and Evelyn that I started in Perceptions.
Warning for slight sexual content.
I'm sorry I haven't gone straight into the immediate aftermath of the last chapter of that story but, you know me: I love a flash forward prologue! Apologies that it's short. The wee man and I have had a fluey type bug the last few days so I haven't had too much impetus to write. More will be coming soon!
If you are new to my fandom, please read Perceptions first or none of this will make much sense!
And please review if you can!
Prologue
May 1994
Hurting yourself with sex.
It was a strange notion; that an act that was meant to be pleasurable could be used essentially as an exercise in self-hatred...self-flagellation. Oh it was pleasant enough each time, she couldn't say that it wasn't, and each encounter brought something different. A slightly new position, a refined technique, an alternative texture, and yet...
None of them were like him.
None of them were him.
That was the problem.
Each time one of them touched her intimately, each time one of them slipped inside her, each time one of them groaned her name she would screw her eyes shut and will the tears not to come. What man wants to see his partner weeping?
But weep she did, even if only she knew it. She wept for what might have been, for what should have been.
She wept for him.
And she wept for herself, for throwing it all away, for throwing him away, for once again taking a path that she knew deep down was ultimately only going to lead to never ending unhappiness.
She rolled onto her side after it was over, wriggling to the far edge of the bed lest this one be the type that wanted to touch afterwards. He wasn't. Minutes later, she heard the gentle snort of a snore. Her cue to leave.
It made it seem all the more sordid, dressing in the dark, slipping away into the night, and as she turned to reach for her jacket, tossed casually on the chair at the prologue of their passion, and his profile suddenly became visible in the light coming in from the street, she realised that she wasn't even sure what his name was.
Not that it mattered.
There was only one name that mattered. Only one man that mattered, at that. One man that she would probably never see again, even if she wanted to. If he only knew...he would be so ashamed.
The night air hit her with a jolt, cool for May, and as she hurried down the steps to the street, she saw that most iconic of things, a red telephone box, standing silently on the corner. She paused, checking her watch. It would only be nine pm in New York. He would still be awake. He might even still be in the office.
There were several bags of loose change in her purse, a trick someone had told her about to save her from being the dumb American scrabbling around trying to tell a ten pence piece from a five pence piece while the line behind grew longer and more impatient. She pulled one out and hurried over to the telephone box.
The number was easy, burned into her brain, even with the international dialling code and as it started to ring out, she felt her heart start to beat faster and her palms grow sweaty. Four times it rang. Another four and then she would hang up.
The line clicked.
"Ben Stone."
She opened her mouth to speak and found that she had no words. What was she supposed to say? What could she say? After everything that had happened between them, words would probably never be enough.
"Hello?"
She closed her eyes at the richness of his voice. How she missed it. How she missed him...
"Evelyn?"
With a start, she ripped the receiver from her ear and crashed it back into the cradle before pushing open the door of the telephone box and stepping back out into the crisp night air. Her breath fogged in front of her as she hurried towards the main road, her eyes scanning for any sign of a vacant taxi.
The sooner she was back in her flat and in the shower, scrubbing away the nights activities, the better.
