Rachel McAdams Collection

Rainy Day

Author's Note:

Since it's raining here in my hometown, take a rainy shot. It's not very long, but I hope you like it. Enjoy reading!

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AUTHOR'S POV

Glaring at the windshield wipers as they slapped uselessly across the rain drenched glass, frustrated with their ineffectuality, the woman drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel. A major highway, an interstate for Pete's sake. . . limping along at forty miles per stinking hour. 

'It's just water,' she thought to herself as she surged forward into the other lane, 'not ice, snow, sleet, or hail. Just freaking water.' 

However, as she began to move forward in the other lane, her wipers became more of a failed attempt than a success, she realized just how hard the rain was coming down. Late morning, but the sky was dusk dark, lighting arced across the sky, thunder boomed so loudly that it shook her car and still she limped along the interstate, praying for a break in the flood so she could get where she needed to be.

Not impatient, really, more like single minded. Mid-forties, attractive, she was a woman you knew was pretty but couldn't really pin down why. She was a striking beauty, moved with purpose so even in motion, she commanded attention. But if you looked close enough, hard enough, or deep enough, you learned it was the eyes. 

Brown chocolate eyes, but with depths unfathomable. And in those depths, pain. You might never learn more about her, but you knew there was pain. The ones who looked rarely saw it, and she had worked a long time to see to that. 

Years of hellish nightmares taught her to hide herself under layers of brick and mortar. Simply put, even if you were lucky enough to have her, you had nothing. 

And there had been those who had tried. 

Looking at her, you saw the unattainable, not the reason behind it. So she became an object. Something to be had. But when it was all over, she was left feeling vaguely let down, detached. 

'You've touched me, held me, wrapped yourself in me, but you don't even know me.' She thought to herself.

Then she pushed them away. It wasn't that she didn't care or that she was heartless, she was just waiting for the one person who could have her. The one person who could touch her and in doing so, reach her.

The woman began fumbling with the radio, cursing under her breath, still stuttering along at a crawl, smiling a bit when she found a good song to sing along with. 

No, not one of her talents, but sing she did. . . loudly. And that good song flowed into another good song and before she knew it, she was at her exit. Flipping the signal, she merged into the exit lane and let her mind think ahead.

Her favorite person was waiting for her, likely lying on her bed, reading some poetry or maybe a book that she'd read a hundred times before. 

Smiling to herself, Rachel, saw Y/N lying there, one arm under her head, and the other holding the book. Smoke trailing from the cigarette Y/N surely had resting in the ashtray by the bed. An open can of soda just within reach. 

Y/N was a person of simple joys. 

Rachel was going to be late, almost an hour late, but Y/N would greet her at the door with a smile, a hug, and a kiss. She would just fold Rachel in her arms, tell her how happy she was to see her, and they would move to Y/N's bedroom, likely watch some incredibly stupid cartoon, and laugh. . . 

God would they laugh.

At each stop light, Rachel groomed a bit. She wanted everything to be perfect. . . she wanted everything to be perfect for Υ/Ν. She wanted to make sure her hair, lipstick and mascara were in place. 

But Y/N wouldn't care, but it felt good to look her best for her. 

Oh, she'd notice, sure. But she saw past that. 

Pretty trappings were fine, but Y/N didn't just look at Rachel's eyes, she saw them. By the time the beautiful woman hit the last block before road, she was stuffing the things she would carry in the house with her into a plastic grocery store bag that was lying on the floor of her car. 

It may not keep them bone dry, but it would help.

Smiling, feeling the tinge of anticipation zing through her veins, making her heart jump and her butt wiggle just a bit in the seat, Rachel pulled out on to Y/N's street. Watching the other drivers blow past, rushing to some place or another, miserable in their lives and not knowing why, she couldn't help the smug grin that crept across her face. 

These poor lonely miserable bastards were driving in this gloomy rain, this godforsaken downpour, all rushing to their respective nothing. Rushing, absolutely racing to the pills, the bitter acidic pills that their lives had become. 

But not her. Rachel was screaming her way to Y/N.

Flicking her blinker one more time, the goddess pulled into her driveway. She slung her computer case over one shoulder, grabbed the bag with her purse, cell phone, change of clothes, and makeup bag with the other hand and threw the car door open. She hit the pavement nearly at a run, trying in vain to dodge rain drops. 

The woman knocked and then, all the wait, all the rain, the idiot drivers. . . it all faded. 

Y/N was there, smiling, her own little smile. Her eyes saying, in more ways than she could express with words, how happy she was to see her woman. 

They made their way back to Y/N's room where, sure enough, she'd been reading, smoking, and drinking soda. 

'Somehow, it just works on her,' Rachel thought. 

The quiet, poetic smoker thing just fit her favorite human somehow.

Y/N pulled Rachel against her, one arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to her soft hair. 

"Hello angel." Y/N whispered, and Rachel smiled, suddenly calm and contented. 

Who knew that life could be this good, this complete?

Οnly they knew how much they loved each other. . . how much they are made for each other.

They loved each other like they loved rainy days.