She sat there on the edge of her bed, her delicate fingers tracing little lines along the edges of Old Red. How long had it been? Time played tricks with her withered mind. Ten years or fifty it made no difference, time was something she regretted. It was the one thing no amount of money or nights crying could return.
She planted a kiss on the ruby centerpiece of the pendant. Her closed eyes shot open. How could it still be so warm? Tears rained down her cheeks, digging furrows along her powdered face. They were dark like the wines she so often drank, dark with years of mascara and troubled thoughts.
Looking up she spotted an old hag in the reflective surface of the aged looking glass, another gift from him. Her once beautiful mane was a dull gray, her face a white raisin, and her eyes haunting. What had she become, and once more why did she let herself go or when? Time stole that too.
The heart beat softly in her hand. It was his heart. Placing a hand against her breast, a long slow thumbing numbed her fingers. It was their heart.
"Oh, Spike..." she sobbed.
"He could have been yours," a voice said, cold and spiteful.
Her hair bounced as her head shot up. Through the looking glass the hag flashed a wicked smile. Only she wasn't a hag, she was Rarity as she once was; her skin glowing like pearl, her mane gleaming like amethyst, deep pools of icy water were her eyes.
"You!" spat the elder, "How could you do that! How could you break his heart?" Rising to her feet, her old bone popped and groaned like wood. Steeling herself against them, she winced. She laid the heart down gently on the bed as if it was a sleeping child and then she turned towards the spiteful young lady. "It's your fault! You did this; you took him away from me."
"Darling, you are as much to blame as me," the younger chided.
Rarity gasped, "No, I didn't. I would never."
"Yes, you did and would do it again."
Blood red lips trembled. The lass was right! It didn't mean it didn't hurt. Needles, thousands of them pierced her heart: a veined pincushion. All the years of anger, of deliberate self-indulgence, and self-pity poured out. A vile mess charged out of her chest and caught in her throat.
Her knees slapped the floor. Prostrated before the looking glass she gashed her teeth. Those tiny claw-like fingers found her hair. Gray bits snowed from above, and in a matter of minutes it looked as though she was kneeling in hair balls. Hot fire prickled over her scalp, she hissed.
She reached up and took hold of her eyelashes. Another hiss erupted from her throat as she pealed the fake things off, like pealing an orange with bare fingers. They were fake but so was she.
"WHY!" her voice called out raw and pained.
"Tha-thunk," white knuckled fists hit the floor followed by her head. Bowing, she whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," his voice answered back. It brought back a memory. A memory, time would not let her forget.
It was always raining. The sky's tears bounced off the pavement. A flash of lightning illuminated his ebony face. His lips curled into a smile as he stood on my door step under an umbrella in his dress blues, pressed, ready for anything. The storm was waging war on that quiet spring day, but her heart never knew more peace.
"May I come in?" he asked, knowing full well he didn't have too.
Stepping out, she wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him inside. Pulling away for just a moment, he put the umbrella away and the two of them retired to the den.
Her place was the same as ever. Everything was tidy. But, even her den had a sewing machine and a few mannequins. A bit of cloth was thrown over the shoulder of one of them. An unfinished dress or blouse he figured.
Tearing his eyes away from the place he spent so much time, he locked eyes with her. Her ivory white teeth bit down on her lower lip as she her eyes darted from his lips to his eyes and back again. He smiled, and then leaned down to kiss her.
Kissing him always tied her stomach in little knots. Her face flushed. And she felt hot in places she shouldn't have, but did. His lips stretched into a smile as he kissed her. It was their little game. Her tongue traced along the edge of his lips asking to be let in.
Pulling away, he took a deep breath. He never would really kiss her. It wasn't proper and she was proper.
"Rarity, I... I love-" a finger pressed against his lips.
"I know," she said her eyes smiling.
Spike shrugged.
"You look good," her fingers traced the brass buttons of his coat. Her eyes found his rank on his shoulder, two bright yellow chevrons pointing up, "My word, you're a corporal!"
"Not as good as you," he blushed and then cupped his hand over hers, "Yep!"
She pulled away and turned her face. Biting her lip again she turned back, "I'm sorry... I didn't attend the graduation ceremony with the others. I didn't. I couldn't."
"I understand, Rarity. Jeez, you don't have to apologize," He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, "We could get in trouble for this. Big trouble and I don't want that for you."
Her eyes found the floor. It was awful, having to love him in secret. The world wasn't ready for them or any like them. The times were changing, but they weren't changed yet. And even if it were different, he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her career. So much of her career rested on her image.
"I can't help it Spiky Wikey," she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, "I wished sometimes that I could just throw it all away. Forget about what the world says is right. I want you, Spike."
She kissed him again, it was a hungry kiss. Her fingers slipped behind his head. Throwing a leg over him she straddled him, pressing her lips harder against his. She gasped as his hands found her waist. His lips parted and—
"Stop!" he said sternly as he pushed her away.
Pulling back she looked at him. He gazed into her eyes and saw the ice in them had cracked. Her lips trembled. He had never spoken that harshly to her before.
"Why?" she asked lowly, her shoulder slumping.
"If you want me, then let's go away together. We could go somewhere else, somewhere we can get married and have kids." He said hopefully, with a grin the promised the world, "My friend West Wind says that he knows a couple of mixed couples in Connecticut. I'm sure with my connections I could get transferred there—"
"Stop, Spike." Rarity cut him off, "Its a nice thought, but I can't leave. This is where my shop is, this is where I will always be. I've tried living in that world of silver tongued promises. I won't live there again."
She climbed off of him and walked to the window, "When I said I wanted you, I didn't lie. I do, but not like that. Not yet."
Spike jumped to his feet, "What died in you? Did all the dreams of romance and marriage die when things fell through with Blue Blood?"
"No, Spike," her posture stiffened, "I want to get married."
"So, it me...." he walked over to her and took hold of her wrist pulling her around so he could see her eyes, "You don't want to marry me."
"No... I..."she muttered.
He released her hand and marched to the door, "I can't believe you; I loved you."
He opened the door and the storm poured in. The rain quickly soaked the carpet and the wind played havoc with her drapes, knocking over a lamp in its wake.
Looking over at her, he saw the tears in her eyes. She held a hand up, putting it against her mouth and through closed fingers she said, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he hissed before he walked out into the deluge.
That was the last time she saw him alive. Weeks later Twilight got a call from the Memphis police department. Apparently, he had gotten drunk and asked a white girl to dance. Several of the other patrons didn't like a black man asking a white woman to dance. One thing had led to another and Spike died alone and afraid in the parking lot of that seedy dance club, all because he was hurting for someone to love, someone like her.
She deserved to die. And for the next forty years she died one drink and one fuck at a time. All because she couldn't put away her reputation, cast aside her own image for something more, something more beautiful than she could ever create without him. He was the one that got away, and she would never forget that or forgive herself for losing him.
Pulling herself off the floor, she sat at her vanity. The woman in the mirror mirrored the woman inside, ugly, tired, so very tired. Opening a drawer she pulled out a silver thing, beautiful and deadly. She laid it on the surface and then got up to fetch the necklace.
Pulling it on she returned to her seat. The red stood out brilliantly as it hung between her breasts against the white of her gown. She pulled the silver beauty up to her temple and whispered an apology.
"Don't be," he said again.
She smiled and pulled the trigger.
