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This
is a work of fiction, loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. No
insult or injury is intended, this story is for entertainment purposes only. This
story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual
situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any
"discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these
situations.
Remission by:
©
11/2004 Chapter 7
He can stay for a whole week.
He's been back to Nana Glen to get some of his things, clothes, books, his
laptop. And he's brought Honey, his horse. They take long rides together. He's
constantly teaching her. Showing her the beauty of the land and the dangers.
Pointing out the different species of trees and animals, clearly loving this
land with all his heart. She's taking it all in, can't get enough of his
stories, falling more deeply in love with him every day. Trying hard to dismiss
the voice of her conscience. He's the one doing the cooking,
loving it more than she does. They spend long, peaceful evenings together on the
veranda, just talking. Or they cuddle up on the couch in her media room,
watching the news or old movies. And they make love all the time. Oh, their
lovemaking. She can't get enough of him. He's started teasing her. Calling her
his 'little nympho'. She doesn't care. She can't help herself. Her hands just
need to touch him. Tomorrow he's leaving for
Melbourne. He's scheduled some meetings with people who will help him train for
the new movie, one of them a famous violinist. "Mari, I've been thinking.
Come to Melbourne with me tomorrow? I have to meet some people, but we will have
enough time to see the town. There are lots of galleries. And they just opened
this great exhibition of outdoor artworks. You would love that. I could show you
around, we could go out, see a show...you know." Shit! She didn't see that coming. "I would love that, but I can't." "Why not?" He's not
liking it. She starts feeling very uncomfortable. "I have to go to Sydney
the day after." "Sydney? Why?" "I'm meeting the director
of SOHO galleries. He wants to see my work." His eyes bright-green and angry,
piercing into hers. "And you were gonna tell me....when?" "I
forgot." "You forgot?" He spits
the words out. "Something very important is happening in your life and you
FORGOT to tell me?" His jaw line tense. He's getting very angry. "Tell
me, Mari. What am I to you? Huh? A pair of strong arms to pick you up when
you're down? A good fuck? Like hell you forgot!" She's getting angry too. What
does he think attacking her like that? She had wanted to talk to him about it,
but had decided to wait until she was sure that Richardson's interest would
translate into something more tangible. And
you wanted to keep it to yourself for a while.
"OK, I didn't forget. I
chose not to tell you." He steps in closer, his face
very almost touching hers. "Why the fuck not?" She's never seen him like this.
It frightens her, making her feel trapped. She lashes out: "Because it's MY
appointment, about MY work. Because you don't need to know every fucking thing
that's going on in MY life!" She mutters something under her breath. "What? I didn't hear that.
What was that?" "I said that I don't get
why you're making such a great fucking fuss about it anyway." He breaths in hard. Deep. She can see how he is constraining his anger. He turns his back on her. His shoulders so tense. She's fighting the impulse to touch him. When he turns to face her again his eyes are sad en his voice flat. "Yeah, that's the sad thing. You really don't get it, do ya, luv?" And he walks out of the door. He's leaving! Tell him you didn't mean a word of it! Stop him! She can't move. Can only watch him walk away.
Chapter Eight or Index for Remission
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