Looking back at their failed marriage is a bittersweet feeling, to say the very least. He had loved too hard, too deep—- and in the end, that EXACT flaw had ruined them and him in the process. Sure, they relationship had never been perfect, but if there was something the FBI agent was proud of ( and was certain in life ), was that whatever they’d shared had been R E A L. He had loved her harder than anything, had imagine and cemented a lifetime by her side; only to see it completely shattered. He is the first to accept that the bad times they shared were the lowest points in his life. Chaotic, painful and DESTRUCTIVE. A volcano meeting a tornado, leaving nothing but destruction and pain. But Christian is also the first to point the highs. The calm before the storm and the sunny days. Those days where it felt like maybe if they tried hard enough, they could make it through. Alas, both paths are now a memory, and all that’s left is a pit on his stomach he had tried to fill with as many things as his brain had imagined and the knowledge of just how much of a M E S S he can cause on a person he once loved. Nothing more, nothing less. Not like he’s the type to show it to the world, which only enhances his tiredness. Dues to pay.
Sadden ( yet not completely surprised ) by his ex-wife’s reaction, Christian sighs in response ❝ You LET me have New York? I had to LEAVE New York the minute we parted ways! And you’d NEVER liked Chica—- You know what? We can’t fight over cities, Priscilla ❞ he muses tiredly. ‘Not tonight’ his mind implies but his lips fail to express. Why is tonight different from the rest of the times post-divorce? It shouldn’t be. But can he be at fault? For years, he’s wonder—- alone at night on an empty apartment only lit with moon light and almost no memories to show on the walls, ‘had the sacrifice been worth it? Was she alright? Was she HAPPY? Breathing?’ The middle query is the hardest to pin-point, but at least Priscilla was still breathing, intact, and if even for a brief second it feels like it has. ‘At least she’s okay, at least she’s H E R E. The bitterness within her words is evident and even though Chris is known to have no self-preservation instincts when it comes to his ex-wife, he dares not to point it out or drag attention to any detail that could spark a reaction from her. Instead, he brings his fingers to the bridge of his nose as the brunette makes baseless accusations. IT STINGS. More than a few of the stuff she’s said in the past. It stings to know that’s how little she thinks of him, it stings knowing she despises him. ❝ Of course not. It’s just a coincidence ❞ he has to even remind himself. ‘BE MINDFUL’ a mantra he often needs to remind himself is long overdue. And then, the fire subtly dims and instead of igniting another fight he’s met half way with a shrug, the furthest he has managed to reach for years. ❝ Of course I will. I can get you your drink and be gone right after if that’s what you want. It’s the least I can do ❞ he confides, pointing towards the bar to give Priscilla time to walk, following behind. Once he’s reach the bar, he calls the attention of the bartender with a hand and asks for a double Old Fashioned, turning around to face the face he had been trying to forget for years. ❝ Bourbon? ❞ he inquires, because he can smell it on her clothes. He could’ve easily suggested another type of alcohol, whatever would’ve been her favorite all those many moons ago, but Christian doesn’t dare to imply the person he once met is the same person standing next to him.
MARRIAGE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AMIABLE. for chris and priscilla, there would be no malleable recoup that’d fix the occurrence of atrocities, the foundation of trust was DEMOLISHED. there was no coming back after that, and priscilla had tried ---- tried so damn hard that the blood staining an inflexible grip was from her heart and she hated that THIS is what’s left in the wake of divorce. disgusted with acquired weakness and cynic beliefs, what option did she have but to reignite a flame of rage that made all she touched likely to COMBUST ? as fate would have it, love was discovered to be an intangible thing; while secluded in faithful matrimony, priscilla would swear that what she and chris shared was real. sure, one may believe the gal was eternally scorned, but there’s euphoria found in chris’ presence. sure, that euphoria was hastily replaced by chafing aggro and soon anguish, but she had been so used to pushing emotions away during the first sign of despondence, the dame never had to lurch in it as abruptly as this. it wasn’t that she despised christian ( pent acrimony came close ), though it WOULD be easiest to move on if he’d admit how wrong the assumed cheating had been.
“ what’ta joke ... you didn’t have’ta leave new york ! if you would have told me you were leaving, i wouldn’t have moved to this trash heap. ” perhaps arguing over cities was juvenile ---- did priscilla care about that ? definitely not ! she was annoyed and willing to share any dismissive input. “ YEAH ? and why the hell not ? you must have forgotten that i can argue about anything. ” a once hopeful introspective fades with a fast-pace and reveals reality. in ten years, this argument with chris wouldn’t make a difference. she would still be THE priscilla versace. divorcee and probable man-eater. but was the spite worth its weight on her conscience ? could she move on and allow herself to love again ? so close to chris ... maybe he held the answers to the dead-end inquiries of her heart. has chris moved on ? well, the thought alone brings thick, green JEALOUSY to the surface so perhaps straying far from discovering that possibility might be for the best. “ a COINCIDENCE ? bullshit. ” vowels HISS as the raven-crowned dame REARS back as if chris’ truth bitch-slapped sensibility into her ---- now comprehensively aware the male hadn’t sought out priscilla, lips form a coherent O, arms cross vigilantly over her midriff while the boorish gaze adverts elsewhere. “ what are ya doin’ here then ? ” she’s concerned, however fleetingly ( never something a VERSACE would admit ! ). when they were together, they’d seemed to take joint custody of new york, and rightfully so ---- new york was naught but a memoir for all categorized in relation to the VERSACE-MELOY dyad. countless firsts, forgotten prosperity and bliss. so, from an ostensible perspective, avoiding contact with priscilla, and any indication of her existence, would require a change in location to somewhere she hated ... and chicago was it. be gone right after. gone again ? the quaternary words are on replay over and over and over until, “ can you make that offer irreversible ? ” priscilla didn’t mean that ... did she ? suddenly movement is initiated and the woman is turning to walk in the inverse orientation, toward the bar previously parted from. reeking of alcohol and what would certainly be a terrible compromise coming to rest, priscilla sat now with christian at her side in the deserted tavern with an overly apprehensive demur keeping her grounded. “ Yes, BOURBON. ” unless paying close enough attention, feminine speech would be drowned out by imperious pop music. before the bartender turned from them, a grip is placed upon their forearm. “ with a slice of lemon. ” just like that, attention is cast toward an ex-husband cordially ( as if priscilla can stomach the sight of a phantom ). “ tell me, christian, what has become of you ? ”
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