swallow the heavens

They both held vulnerability, a cavity within their hearts that clung to insecurity. It had been a journey, to make Alex a lighter man, for his experiences could make anyone surrender to grief and despair. He’d helped her too, in way she’d had never intended or asked for, although she couldn’t regret any decision - save one. Motherhood tormented her from the moment two children had been placed before her, sticky fingers outstretched and beginning to be loved. Foreign concepts had come from him, and she’d felt certain that her heart was not whole enough to fit them in. Sure, Violet often gave her a side eye, when she did something questionable, but somewhere along the way, Fallon decided to try.

“I don’t imagine that I’m some sort of expert on making marriage work, or even what’s the secret, but I’m sure that ours has got to be better than average.” She wonders what constitutes as a bad husband, Ramsay was a prime example of what not to do, going behind his wife’s back with a secretary…and then suddenly Kyla was in and the wife had become the forgotten figure. Was Dalton a good husband, or Vincent? Were they bad? Pedestals had been laid out before them, Alex lifted upon once, since she expected more - giving and gullible, her human teddy bear.

She placed a hand on his wrist, “Not always, not until that night. She said something about you, and I realised just how much of a devious bitch she was. One sentence summed up the meaning of her friendship, and I had never trusted her with any of my secrets.” Intaking a sharp breath, she thought of how best to deliver her news. The entire facade had been based upon the idea that her husband had been so excited, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him about the termination…and she still didn’t. Nasty habits are not easily broken. “She discovered something about me, about the baby, something she felt certain would tip you over the edge.”

Her stomach clenched, knowing how her next words would pain him. “About three weeks ago, I slipped getting out of the tub.  At first everything was fine, but I don’t know if it was the fall or something else, but then it wasn’t okay. I didn’t know how to deal with it, how to tell anyone, so I pretended everything was and it wasn’t. I lost of baby, Alex.” Lies slipped from her lips, with the best intention. Fallon would never admit that it had been a rash decision to the clinic which had been met with regret when she came home to find him beaming at her. “I know I should have told you when it happened, but I couldn’t bear to see your disappointment or sadness. You were so happy, Alex.”

He couldn’t help the grim chuckle that escaped him as he rubbed the back of his neck -- Ramsay cheated on his first wife, Dalton and his ( late ) wife ruined lives over appetizers, he wasn’t even going to touch upon Vincent and his wife. But then again, being his wife currently worked itself to around a 50% mortality rate, so he had little to say about how appealing of a spouse he was. Alexander didn’t voice any of his thoughts, content to listen for the moment, flinching when bitch dropped like heavy gold coins from the pursed seam of his wife’s lips, sniffing as it rattled around in his head. He flipped his hand to catch hers as it rested upon his wrist, thumb stroking gently over hers -- whether it was meant to soothe her or meant to just soothe himself was left unclear.

Rolling her shoulders, Fallon cringed at his foolish words. Stupid, stupid man. She proposed a serious conversation, and his mind immediately fell upon the prospect of divorce. Were they really that insecure about their relationship? It made her worry more, that they would one day break – strong as she was, Fallon wasn’t certain she’d survive that. “Do you really think that little of me? You think I want a divorce?” she whispered, voice mixed with a myriad of emotions. Telling her version of the truth caused her heart to ache, she never wished to cause him pain. Fallon had been credited with being the light in his life, bringing back joy when there was none.

“Come and sit with me,” she ordered, although the softness to her tone made it seem like a plea. She wanted to fold her arms over his back, to cradle his body close to her own, in a hug that she’d longed for, and not been able to request - in fear of discovery. Looking up at him, from where he’d been leaning, she swallowed hard. “I would not give up on us that easily, over something so small. Yes, I’m upset with you, but not enough to call the whole thing quits. You’re my family, Alex.”

Setting aside her mug, she curled her fingers into the blanket. “I need to tell you that the last time I saw Clara, I hated her. But first you need to know what happened to leave me so vulnerable in her company,” she begins, looking up at him. “I’ve been distant with you lately, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

"Oh thank god,” he sighed, practically crumpling in relief, exhaling all at once on a breath he hadn’t even known he had been holding, clutching at the railing like it was the last thing grounding him to the earth. Call him melodramatic, but gravity seemed to shift, like he was ready to float off the porch. Alexander rubbed at his eyes, tilting his face into the light for a brief moment, breathing in and out to normalize his heartbeat before removing his hand and taking a minute to let himself settle.

Ideas toyed in her mind, decisions on whether she should allow the argument to endure, or nip it in the bud. When Alex had left her, fears played cruelly on her mind, reminding Fallon of everytime that her parents had left her, promising to return soon…they often didn’t. Before Alex, she hadn’t cared about commitments, or the prospect of having a long term love, so it scared her to thing she could lose it. Weakness was not a trait she enjoyed, the resolve within her crumbling when she stared at him. “No Alex, what was a pressing matter, was the conversation I asked you to have with me afterwards.” 

Sighing, she took a further sip of her coffee, staring past him at the waves. “If you believe that your apologies and my disappointment through text resolves everything, then you don’t realise how much it hurt.” Naturally, she wanted him to feel guilty for what he’d done, leaving his wife stranded. Delicate, she was not, and Fallon had survived the remaining half-hour without her beloved husband there, but it had pissed her off that he had the nerve to leave her. 

“I hope you enjoyed yourself last night. I doubt you’ll be smiling later,” she started, staring down at the cup in her hands. Truth had always been what she made it, with a lie always caught in the mix. “I don’t say it to be hurtful, darling. But it is the truth.” Her gaze refused to linger on him, instead stuck on the fabric of the blanket he’d draped over her. At the funeral, Fallon had been determined, and was forced to spend the night thinking of how it would have all be over with, if he’d just come home with her that night. 

“We can have a conversation now,” he countered, brow furrowing slightly, as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Fallon, bless his wife’s soul, was infinitely more graceful in social situations than he was, tongue working smoothly over cohesive and complex sentences, each one designed specially to do her bidding -- but she worked in a roundabout way that he didn’t adhere to himself. And while it was a trait that Alexander usually loved and possessed the necessary patience to deal with, the tentative way she danced around a vague ‘conversation’ made him antsier and antsier as his thoughts grew more wild.

@alexcassidy when: 11th september where: cassidy home

Legs curled over the armrest, a steaming cup of coffee caught firmly within her grasp. Despite the usual warmth, there was a slight chill that had forced her to slip on a light cashmere cardigan, over her silk pajamas. Her mood had lessened in force, as night seemed to pull away the initial fury that she’d felt over Alex’s outing. When he returned home, Fallon had pretended to be asleep - just in case he tried to talk to her. The sight of the sea was soothing, a beautiful backdrop to her lavish living. He wasn’t the billionaire that she’d hoped for when teenage fantasies were all she had, but she was still showered in wealth - not that it mattered, in the grand scheme of things. 

Trepidation thrummed in her veins, an uncontrollable nausea which would only abait after she’d spoken to him, or so she hoped. It was boring, the facade, and the stress was giving her grey hairs - figuratively anyway. She sighed, taking a long sip of the caffeinated drink, enjoying it before the inevitable look of disdain painted her husband’s features. No coffee, no wine, a catalogue of limitations which restricted her everyday life, all under the guise of a well told tale. 

Waves rocked against the shoreline, although the tune could not disguise the footsteps behind her. Without looking back at the opening of the french doors which led out onto the deck, Fallon began to speak. “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”

He’d returned fairly early in the morning, punch-drunk and still reeling from everything that happened that night. Granted, Alexander was absolutely guilty of wishing for something interesting to happen during the reception so he didn’t have to think about Clara anymore -- but Ramsay falling off a balcony and dragging him to a strip club at the cost of his wife’s ire wasn’t what he had in mind, exactly.

Her honey silhouette, curled into his touch, craving the tender caress of his fingers upon her chin. Despite his continued presence in her everyday life, Fallon had never missed her husband more. Wedged between them were the lies, and despite the binds that ought to hold them closer, it was Fallon who continually pushed him away. Hold me. It was an internal plea that could not be fulfilled, not until he knew the truth, or her version of it that she desired to share. Lies were served with her morning tea, and even with Alex they’d become a nasty habit. Compliments were cherished from his lips, as she lifted her hands up to rest on his shoulders, “You have a way of making me feel beautiful, even on a low day.” 

His eagerness caused her heart to clench with a flicker of guilt, that happiness would fall away and despite her best efforts to prevent his excitement from dwindling, she had been unsuccessful. Pain would cloud them, hope snatched. “The kids will still be staying at their friends, so we shall be undisturbed. I love them, but we need this.” She pressed a kiss to kiss cheek, refraining from clinging to him further. Prior to her pregnancy, Fallon had always been affectionate with her touches, holding his hand often and showing the world that he was hers - it had stopped now, and he must have noticed. “I love you.”

Once again his eagerness to leave had been forced to the surface, phone already in hand to escape. “There are far too many people to say goodbye to. We can’t just leave with a phone call. In any case, we ought to stay for another half an hour…it would be rude to leave now. You can go and grumble with Ramsay, he seems just as thrilled as you are to be here.” 

He inhaled slowly, leaning into the gentle hands she rested on his shoulders, smiling gently down at her. “Low day or not, you’re always beautiful to me,” he cut in, acutely aware of how affection-starved he had felt as of late. She was never frugal with her affection before the pregnancy, made a point of lavishing him in it, holding his hand, gentle kisses, seeking out his embrace when she saw fit. But she’d been pulling away and he’d let her, chalking it up to hormones, telling himself that it’d be over after the first trimester.

   Thickness in the air was making it hard for Leyton to breath, half-coughing to himself as he navigated through the mourners, the sea of black, the tear or hidden giggle. How an entire town an chosen to throw on an act, all share a mask – it shocked Leyton, yet he, too, had joined the parade. Sickened, not only with them but himself as well, he was ducking through the crowd in attempts to escape outside for a smoke and breath of fresh air. 

    His plans were foiled nearly instantly, shoulder connecting with a thump with Alex Cassidy – a man Leyton honestly never felt much ill-will towards. He looked to his wife as someone who was simply mislead, though his favor for had declined during the witch hunt against his wife, Leyton still looked at the pair as a bit different from the others Clara had claimed. 

    The guilt in his voice only reassured Leyton of this notion, and he gave a breathy laugh – trying to whisk away his own anxiety. A few droplets had landed, but nothing serious. Alex’s suit, however, was likely quite ruined. “I’ve got two kids,” Leyton answered lightly, glancing for a close exit to a bathroom somewhere. “Who adore arts and crafts. I’m a bit of a master of getting out stains. Let’s try to find a bathroom – I’ve never been here before, in all honesty.”

Leyton Velasquez -- of all people he had expected to see at Clara’s reception, he was certainly not on the list. He had been doing fine for himself, book sales booming, muse at an all time high (or so he heard), but it had been Audra who was targeted in Clara’s smearfest, and Alexander had Leyton pegged as a man who loved wholly and dearly, be it his wife or boyfriend. And a man who had the capacity to love deeply was one who could hate deeply, so for him to show up at the reception? An interesting choice.

His breaths were staggered, heavy, as he stood before the Caldwell home, away from the prying eyes of Clara’s mourners. It was just the two of them now, which meant he could speak freely. “Dalton thinks I’m cheating on Kyla,” he huffed through the occasional wince. Movement was difficult, but maybe if he just stood still he could work through the pain. “So I suggested maybe Clara was cheating on him — not a far reach, if you knew the girl at all.” 

He attempted to offer a shrug, an action that sent a searing pain down his side, and a fuck under his breath. “Turns out I hit a nerve. He fucking sucker punched me right off the balcony. If that asshole didn’t have a pool I’d be fucking dead.” Dramatic? Perhaps, but correcting his hyperbole was surely the furthest thing from his mind.

As a taxi pulled into the driveway, Ramsay offered the car a wave, carefully sliding himself into the back seat and keeping the door open for Alexander. “You can go ahead and pop it back in,” he breathed, his tone not nearly as grateful as it should’ve been for the doctor he was lucky enough to call a friend. “We’re not going to the hospital, though.” With a nod towards the driver, his decibel increased. “Take us to that strip club on Main.” 

His attention turned back towards the man sat beside him as the car left the driveway. “I’m not waiting in the ER all night. We’re gonna go forget about all this bullshit — and I think you need to, too. Have fun at the funeral of the bitch that let your wife’s killer walk?”

Alexander tutted in disapproval, listening to Ramsay regale him with his rather dramatic side of the story. “He’s in a bad way,” he offered half-heartedly, knowing that Ramsay didn’t care for any of the flimsy excuses he could make for Dalton. “Not that it justifies, or that I even condone, violence-” He cut off, shaking his head to clear it and focus on the more pressing issue of Ramsay’s arm. “Just don’t go near him until everything’s settled.”

Her gaze was trained on him, as though he were the centre of her universe. Of course, the spell upon which she’d fallen under, had never lifted, and the loveless had drowned in the adoration showered from her darling husband. If light and dark clung to one another, she was certainly the latter, for Alex always shone by comparison. It was not as though darkness had penetrated every fragment of her heart, for unlikely love and a sense of family had made it golden, but nasty habits clung to her, pricking her with their steel thorns. His goofy attempts to create some form of raucous, so that they may leave early, only seemed endeering in her eyes. Fallon loved a well spun lie, but it was always the hardest with him. “My dress is fine. Black never really was my colour…I’d rather be wearing red.” 

“There are some things I must tell you, darling,” she began, brushing down the arms of his shirt as though the alcohol could simply be washed away with a mere flick of her hand. Being a homemaker did not come with a natural instinct, where she could reupholster her own furniture and create the finest pie in town, where many other mothers would beg for her recipe - although she could make a mean batch of cupcakes, but in any case, Fallon wasn’t bred for domestic work and never had been. “When today is over, we should sit out on our deck, maybe get the fire going and talk. With everything that’s happened recently, I don’t feel like we’ve had time to just be us.” 

His concerns for her well being were not unwanted, but the way he nurtured her would not last long given the circumstances. The child she housed was nothing more than a myth, her attempts to fall pregnant completely unsuccessful. Although from her private browsing, Fallon had come to understand that the more she concerned herself over it, stressing in the early hours of the morning with the negative tests and signs of mother nature,  the less likely she was to have a positive result. “I’m am quite tired, but this day is exhausting. I stay for Lily, she’s rather close with Landon.”

He hummed errantly, eyes twinkling with a suppressed smile he kept away from his lips, for fear of any nearby mourners. “Let’s agree to disagree, love. I think you make any color that has the luck of gracing your dress your color. But I do love you in red,” Alexander mused, hand reaching out to cup her cheek for a quick moment as she brushed down the arms of his suit, watching as her hands fussed with his shirt.

@alexcassidy

Through a tear in the arm of his soaking wet suit, his arm was fucking throbbing. He could still walk, though, which was more than enough to keep him going, forceful strides taking him back into the Caldwell home and through the halls, scanning crowds of concerned looking mourners for the one person he knew he could still trust amongst them, now that Dalton had swiftly crossed himself off his list.

He stopped himself at the Caldwell’s house phone — his own had fallen victim to water damage — to call himself a cab, but he wasn’t leaving alone. No, his night was only getting started, and he wasn’t about to waste another damn minute of it in the home of a man whose preferred method of hospitality included a complimentary trip off the balcony.

“Alex,” he barked from across the hall at the sight of his friend, storming towards him and grabbing the man by the arm. “Cab’s on its way. We’re getting the fuck out of here.” His furious steps took him down the hall, into the foyer, and out the front door, with the occasional glance behind him to ensure a confused Alexander still followed.

He heard the shouts as he worked his way through the living room, Fallon on his arm for the majority of the night, and spared a curious glance over before being tugged closer. Watching as Ramsay swam out of the pool, arm hanging limply at his side as he made his way through the crowd, Alexander pushed his way through the throng of curious spectators, sparing a glance where Dalton retreated from the balcony. “Jesus, let me through, I’m a doctor,” he said, trying to shove his way over to his friend.