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50 Ways to Say I love You *2* [Nov. 5th, 2006|11:30 am]
shiparkerfics
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[mood |amused]
[music |Kelly Clarkson - Breakaway]

I know, not even close to be as good as The kiss... oh well, sweat a lot trying to fing a good second chapter this is the best I could do .

Title: 50 ways to say I love you
Rating: PG-13
Author: Shirley Parker
Spoilers: None
Summary: 50 stories about love.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. If they were I would probably have money.

A/N: To every single chapter I'll give you a quote and a video. Please, watch the video too. It was a pain save them all in my youtube. It can even give you ideas for fics. The videos feature scenes from movies/tv shows and it's about love too.

Thank you to andj44 for beta this fic. I love our late talks and your fic honey!

Quote: “Okay here it is. Your choice. It’s simple. Her or me. And I’m sure she’s really great. But Derek… I love you…. in a really, really big … pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window…unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me. Choose me. Love me” ~ Grey’s Anatomy

Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBoXNket2pQ – I was feeling very reluctant to post this video because I don’t think people saw the movie. But I didn’t either and I love the simplicity of this scene. It’s very mundane yet beautiful scene from David Lynch movie (one of my favorite directors) Blue Velvet.


#2: Inevitability

"Everything proceeds to an unchangeable inevitable pattern. When you know enough about any situation its future is entirely predictable. All events are predictable, therefore inevitable and all events are inevitable, therefore predictable" ~ Inevitability theory

His fingers traveled around her body and with superficial touches he made silent promises: to love her endlessly if she allowed, and respect her forever. The fingertips barely grazed the soft skin, making virtually no contact, still held powerful unspoken words. He was glad she couldn’t rebate or flinch at the significance of his gesture, the lullaby indeed had a spell on her and she was merged in dreams. It was a secret he kept from himself, how much she meant to him and in those moments he wanted to preserve her unconscious state prolonging the existence of their union.

The touches poisoned him at some extent, the bittersweet feeling of those small moments was almost unbearable and he honestly questioned why he kept punishing himself so much, why he touched her knowing the synchronic sway of her body when he did it, knowing Samantha would squirm softly.

And murmur a name that didn’t belong to him.

She seemed so oblivious to the truth, so abstracted from the reality of that ridiculous situation that the intense games of denial made her sympathetic in his eyes. He almost pities her ignorance, succumbing to thoughts that tell him it wasn’t really her fault. Maybe he couldn’t hate her, that’s why he said to himself she was just naïve to believe she didn’t nurse any more feelings for the other man in her life.

He smiled, a sad smile, there was a possibility denial could be applied to him too, after all, saying there was no resentments when she called another man’s name in her bed was definitely an understatement. Mixed feelings usually surfaced when he looked at her angelic face; in the first second he feels washed by sorrow and love, the next second that follows the first second is tainted by the name he hates. Part of him wanted to leave her before she does, the other half needed to stay still because the love he nursed seems enough and the crumbles she gave him managed to maintain their relationship.

They seemed happy sometimes, perfect for each other in many ways. But like every single good fraud, things outside didn’t reflect the truth and time would make them demand something more than shallow touches.

She once told him everything about her previous relationship, confessing it was somehow cathartic and liberating finally letting go of things. But as he watched her reverie about her ex he could tell things were far from over.

Her POV was full of a subtle admiration and love and despite the fact every single word was hurtful he listened her in order to help her heal; learning in the process more about her than she usually let him. Now he knows how the whole secrecy secretly killed her inside, how she usually felt her fingers numb after making love to him (The word love resonates and he wonder if she really used this word… Samantha Spade don’t say love, he muses). He even let her narrate the night where she held and kissed his clammy skin (covered by cold sweat produced by bad memories that haunted him) telling him she would protect him from all his ghosts.

He concluded in that moment she would never be completely his, she would never divagated using such a fantastic arsenal of details, bringing layers, colors, smells, sensations and feelings into a well constructed story teller.

Maybe she already knew, deep down.

“Did he break your heart when he left?” he quizzed her. He holds a great amount of respect for his rival and occasionally conversations about him surfaced. Unfortunately, he was a good man.

She paused and judging by her expression he finally managed to get into her skin. It was cheap to use her memories to trigger some kind of emotion, but he needed to see if she was really human, sometimes her controlled façade enabled him to read her making him assume she was just a cold hard bitch.

“The concept of “broken heart” is ridiculous, emotions are produced by chemical reactions in our brains, not our hearts,” she mocked his stupid question.

She didn’t need to say another word.


Still she was there and he kissed her every single night before going to bed.

She is mine, she is mine. He lied, feeling possessive and selfish when he touched her intimately. There was no poetry in unrequited love, just void, humiliation, heart breaking situations. The abyss was deeper than the words could even describe.

She woke up three hours later, happiness being was almost radioactive, making him nauseated. He knew her secret reasons, he knew why she was glistening, she dressed for the other man in her life. She just couldn’t recognize the signs could she?

“You really love him don’t you?” he asked mildly. It’s the first time he is really honest with her.

Samantha didn’t even falter at his question, her eyes only displaying genuine confusion. Unbelievable, he thought, but in character, ignorance was a common place for her.

Jack warned him, Vivian warned him, Danny warned him: he was falling in love with someone that was already taken. It was blunt, painful, but he appreciated the honesty.

He could easily open her eyes; he could be the better man and let her be truly happy, complete. But he didn’t have the courage to confront her, he would vie for her ‘til the last minute knowing it was almost a lost battle.

“So what are you doing today?” he asked, despite the fact he could almost predict her answer.

“Martin and I will race a bit, want to join us?” she stretched a bit and smiled like a high school girl. Samantha Spade doesn’t usually giggle, but she chuckled today and he knows its love, deep and no matter what he does it’s not directed at him.

He feels he knows better, and feels he will be wiser by the end of the experience because unlike her he learned the importance of putting your heart in line. When he watches them from a distance it’s more emotional than really physical, he knows he is not even in the middle of something, he is only someone that is on the sideline watching feelings being developed; He is on the bench since day one.

Things are inevitable in the end. It would eventually happen: the end, the pain, her realization, the reunion of old lovers. On a lonely day Samantha would have an epiphany and she would instantly discover she wasn’t over the kisses, the mornings, the nights and the unprofessed love she felt for Martin.

The only two people that didn’t know Samantha loved Martin were Samantha and Martin.

Plastering his best smile, he stands up and hastily started to search for his tracking shoes.

XXX
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