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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


The air hit the back of her knees like a cool gust, where she had smeared the perfumed oil. Her thumb gently pressed against the vial’s circular entrance, the indentation upon her ridged skin, and then the release of the flow of mellow but pungent, woodsy fragrance with its underlying vanilla notes garroting and parching the back of her throat.

A slip of slate gray crown molding, a fleeting breath of the blare of the life outside her French doors leading out unto the balcony, to the ever there blackness marring the night sky- no stars this night.

There is a despondent look in her eyes as she mechanically rolls on a pair of stockings and proceeds to dress. Seated upon a hassock before the bedroom vanity, her reflection isn’t spared the hopelessness despite her not looking into the eyes of her mirror twin because if she does then the world might materialize and the brown warmth of her skin might disperse and there’d be nothing of her left.
~~~

A plate exchanges hands before her face and anxiously she tosses her head in a succession of dark curls with the light tinkering of tin streaming from each earlobe which suggests that she is- now somewhere foreign and distant that her flesh won’t accept. She shudders and shakes as though she can flash away the avarice of the submerging nightmare- but she recalls where she is and that at present a lively smile was supposed to be splayed across her fuck-me-red stained lips. And she manages to find one.

She brought the mulled cider to her lips- on account for the knocked up honoree- willing for the joy to somehow make it into her pessimistic eyes. She is surrounded by a chaos of the homely palette of chic browns, turquoises, maroon, and golden champagne upon wallpaper, furniture, and even the people themselves.

Suddenly, there was silence as one by one every head turned in a series of collagen lips and prodded never-sexless things to gawk in her direction, expectantly. But she could only manage to look past each souring expression, over a few head tops to her beaming “friend”- who was supposed to be a close companion and whom the ripe dawn of expectancy caressing her youth, beauty, and the hand close by her belly.

Her fingertips smoothened out the imaginary fluff before she registered her name being called.

“Evelyn?” A weighty pause. “Evelyn, it’s your turn.”

She laughed, “Oh, yes.” That laugh and light however did not make it to those brown, faraway eyes.

She could still see it on their faces, the contempt. Even pity. And for the life of her she could not discern why she was still here, amongst the throngs of self-important silver tongued liars, whores- those not unlike herself.

Evelyn reached her manicured hand beneath her leather-upholstered armchair and pulled out a bag stuffed with last minute tissue paper stuffed over fandangles. She didn’t even care enough for the reaction of the over-indulged woman; after all, she was only here at the bequest of the other friend Sara and her urging at it being right for “keeping up appearances”.

But she’d found herself falling more and more into said despondency. It had fed upon her eyes and now found itself wading in her belly.
~~~

A touch at her elbow brings her back down to earth.

“Evelyn, are you alright?” Sara. She was such a good friend but none of that mattered through her muddle.

She blinked, registering the woman’s existence. “Yes,” she lied- finding that it was just as easy as existing. She could do it with her eyes closed, one hand tied away, and dancing upon one leg and still retain her regal composure. Because Evelyn Marlowe, the woman, was a fraud.

“You know sometimes I don’t know who to believe,” Sara’s brow furrowed, “the Napoleon in your spine or the friend in me that’s concerned for you.”

Evelyn was taken aback. But this was after all Sara, her closest confident- were she to ever digress from her inner fixation with self-preservation. Her hand shook a little as she ladled a generous amount of spiced red punch into her tumbler, betraying the falter in her cool.

“Why would you say something like that,” she inquired unenthusiastically.

Her mouth drank deeply even greedily almost, her tongue playfully swishing about the wet in her mouth all the while rearing her heels refusing to be bested by even someone so close to her.

She continued, “If we were less great of friends I’m not sure if I could take that any other way than an insult.” The bluff.

Her friend’s eyes rounded- her voice lowering at the momentary intrusion of two leggy as they were chesty partygoers walked by. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well you sure as hell were insinuating that I was a liar,” she scoffed.

Any self acknowledged hypocrite knew they would crumble shamefaced, when spotted red-handed. But certainly not one who was bred and cultured under particular circumstances and was on the defense, confirming an evident deception despite the deflection.

“Babe, please. I’m only afraid for you. It scared the shit out of me the last time you went off,” the pair of them strolled away involuntarily unto the beach coast balcony out into the wild, open night. “Went off- for weeks without saying a word- what’s in your head? What is going on with you Evee?”

She again brought the glass to her lips in answer, resolved in keeping her quiet. The only sound was of the ice searching about the inside of the tumbler and the low moan of the wind passing over and around the apartment. The hem of the wine colored dress lapped at her thighs, the gust a tormented rapture upon her vulnerability.

“Fair enough,” replied Sara. “Knowing you, I suppose it’d be difficult enough.”

The night air was fierce in its stagnancy; the atmosphere sluggish, both moist and hot like breath upon their skins. There was no need to speak afterwards for Sara couldn't speak anything worthy enough to interrupt the finality of the recluse building within her friend.

After some time she spoke. “I had to take you out of there, it’s like you’re not even with me here.” Sara exhaled frustrated. Her long auburn locks curtained across her back as her breasts pressed into the wooden railing and her elbows bore down for a better look at the surf below.

The tide came in moon glazed, of almost molten glass-like tranquility disrupted and fraying at its fringes- riding in on lazy, frothy undulations and seducing both women into complacency.

“Why did you ask me to be here then,” Evelyn asked. “Sylvia could care less whether I’m belly up. She likes the attention and you’re an enabler. It’s disgusting.” There was now an acrid grin marring her face, she looked into her drink now that what was left of her was lost in the sea. She consumed the remaining contents in one gulp but still couldn't abate increasing disgust.

Sara reasoned, “I know you need the company.”

A breathy laugh escaped the other girl who suddenly had taken on austerity in her face. “Not you too, Sara. I hate this. You mean well, but you’re not helping. And I don’t want your pity, as a matter of fact I’ll hate you for it.”

“I stand here and I am everything that I’m ever going to be. You realize that?” Tears sprung up and Evelyn fought desperately to curb the flow. She wouldn’t cry, for she hadn’t done that for herself in many years.

“Look in there,” she pointed to the sliding door and further into the room of women whom she could no longer identify with. “That was never me, you can continue on with that because I do commend you for being able to do so. But I will no longer have any of it. Be that. I am done.”

She wanted to tell her friend that her affairs were in place, but between the hurt in her throat and the shaking of her hands she lost all fortitude. And then just like that the moment was gone and she’d find a way to sleep at night- this particular night.

Evelyn- she was beginning to question if life itself would be enough to pin her to the soil for she was so tired. She leaned into the warm body next to hers, out of sheer need for physicality and also perhaps to know that there was someone on this shit-filled heap that cared whether she was here or swept away by a tempest.

Their foreheads melded and hazel eyes delved into her depths forcefully, “Can we talk about it?”

Fingers pinned down her flighty soul as they fought to compel warmth into her skin.

Evelyn shook her head. No.

“Eve and her secrets,” her friend whispered.





Chapter End Notes:
I'd scouted Chamber months before and now that I've somewhat tired of fanfiction/press (too much superfluous content to find the "good ones") and have the cahones now I've decided on posting. I've recently gotten the bug to do an Inception fic and I'm excited. This is my first post so any helping hands with banner work (still figuring this all out), betas, etc will be gladly appreciated.
~~~
Thanks so far for the reviews guys and yes, I am working on cleaning up the frays in the story (editing never was my forte-eek) as well as narrative execution kinks.

This is somewhat of a vague insight to this character in particular as pointed out. I can allot some of the ambiguity to the nature of the state of mind at the moment, tunnel vision being the best way I could define it. She’s sort of surveying herself go through the motions with the fringe events not totally in focus nor her recognizing the significance of the blackouts/scene changes.

Nonetheless, the second chapter is much more refined, so do continue on.

Again, reviews/critiques welcome always (thanks Cholyn and baha_malo).

And there will be a great deal of JGL action.




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