To Die Alone, Only That Would Be Death (Morticia <3 Gomez)

Chapter 5.

Finally got internet after living without it for four months. I think I deserve a medal or something. Anyone who can survive four months without internet after living with it- like- ALL the time, deserves something AWESOME! Writing and posting fanfics is a type of prize- so I guess I'll use that... :)

Morticia looks up at the stunning chandelier. Everything about this mansion was incredible. She knew it and knowing it made her feel so different. Whatever happened to her disgusted face at the sight of pastels? This palace was filled with disgusting colours! Every smile she gave away, every time she heard her first name- it all killed her inside.

“Tu l'aimes? How do you like it?” The Frenchman smiles at her but his smile was not returned. He looks at her strangely. “Are you feeling alright, Morticia?”

She shudders. “I think… may I go outside for a moment? I think I need a little fresh air.”

“Sure,” his strange look doesn’t disappear. “We can just go out onto the balcony. It has a beautiful view of the garden.” The look disappears and he smiles again and again expects another of hers in return.

But she frowns instead. “No, I think I need to go out alone.”

She walks without his assisting hand by (or below) her waist and opens the doors closely them quickly behind her. She leans against the doors sighing, breathing in the glorious night air. Then something out of the corner of her eye causes her to quietly gasp as she feels her heart skip a beat. A man leaning against a pillar nearby. A familiar man.

She watches her husband unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt until his chest hairs are visible. His sleeves are already rolled up revealing his incredibly muscular arms. Her fingers tingle just remembering how it felt to touch his body. And his dark eyes stare straight ahead into the thick vineyards as his lightly greased hair softly blows in the wind. Everything about him seemed familiar and yet it all seemed so different. So new. 

She knows that he has an equal power of her as she has of him and she knows that it is never obvious to other people- maybe even her husband himself. Everyone just expects a man to have power (over their wife) but her husband’s power was different. She wanted him to be powerful. And the way in which her husband used that power made her feel beautiful. More beautiful than any Frenchman could ever make her feel.

The doors behind her suddenly get pushed open and she falls forwards. “Morticia! I’m so sorry! I…”

She lost track of the Frenchman’s voice. The only thing she could think of was the sight of her husband looking up at the sound of her first name. A pang of guilt hit her stomach and twisted it round tighter and tighter as soon as she was on her feet and her husband’s warm eyes bore though her icy blue ones. She had never wanted to be near him more than at this very moment. (Maybe of course other than during their forbidden love affair.)  

“Morticia? Morticia? Morticia! Mrs Addams!” 

She suddenly awoke and without leaving her husband’s eyes softly answered: “Yes?”

“Are you quite alright?”

Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm. And it was not the warm, soft hand of her husband; it was a cold hand. One very much like her own. She swung around annoyed and shook it off. She turned to find a Frenchman’s face centimetres away from hers. She stepped back quickly, surprised.

“I am so sorry! Are you alright?” He looked sincerely worried. She quickly looked back at the pillar that used to be the perfect view of her gorgeous husband but there was no one there and all she saw was the shadow of a man walking back into the ballroom. She swings back suddenly to face the man-other-than-her-husband again.

“I really need to… Sorry, I really need to-” She gets cut off. 

“No, Morticia I really need to… to tell you something… I need to ask you something.” He looks nervous and it finally makes her honestly happy to see him uncomfortable. “Tonight, all these people are going to die.”

She looks at him with no change in expression. She had a very dark mind- but this was one of the few people who might have had not only a darker mind than her but also a certainly darker heart.

Surprised at her reaction, he continues. “There is a bomb in this building and all these ungrateful people will die for their greed.” His face becomes intensely angry and irritated. She is one to know that he has certainly gone crazy but still her expression does not change. “Their money will be left to the people who need it most. My son… people like his mother… like his mother was… But there is a way for you to survive. I like you Morticia.”

There’s the name again. Her face scrunches up slightly.

“We could run away with Frankie together. We could live in a palace very much like this one. And speak in French. We could live in France if you want! All you have to do is come with me. I think… I think I could love you… I could love you, Morticia.”

Now her expression changes. She looked at him increduslously.

“To you, my name is not Morticia! It is Mrs Addams! And you have no right to call me by my first name. That is my husband’s privilege! And how can you expect me to run away from my family? How do you expect me to leave them to die? My children? My husband? “She looks over at the empty pillar once again longingly. “My husband…”

She suddenly feels that terribly cold hand on her shoulder once again but it clutches to her so much tighter than before. And another clutches her other shoulder and forces her around to face a distorted face.

“Such a shame, Morticia.” He smirks as she struggles glaring at him for the use of her first name. “Such a shame… I really thought you were a charitable woman. I really thought you would understand.” He pretends to frown. “Looks like I’m just going to have to kill another selfish person.”

Morticia stops struggling. It is no use. She didn’t say anything either. All she could think about was her adoring but protective husband and her precious children dying in an explosion that they did not create themselves. And suddenly her whole life seemed so confusing to her. How was it that they didn’t mind whom got killed through their escapades and yet they were petrified of getting killed by somebody else? Maybe the monsieur was right, she was selfish. But she couldn’t call herself uncharitable. She and her husband did a lot of charity work but still she couldn’t see the reason. Gomez’s mother used to tell them that what would it matter what you felt when doing charity work? If you’re doing it because it makes you look good, the people in need still get helped.

The monsieur stares at her confused. Why was she not struggling anymore? Why was she not begging for his forgiveness? This woman aggravated him. They were so perfect for each other and he did not understand the choices she was making. Why did she choose her Spanish, million-dollar husband over him; the French, billion dollar man? He was the better man and if he couldn’t have her, no one could.

So exctied for summer though I know it's not going to be anything like in Australia,

...This is Australia...

CC;)