where i end and you begin [warren]

[AMAYA WILLIAMS]

where i end and you begin

the sky is falling in[/center][/size][/i][/font]

She wasn't expecting that. Admittedly, the moment she opened her eyes and saw a sea of white surrounding her, her first thought was that she got drunk, killed Warren, got killed in turn, then ended up in heaven. A heaven without Warren. Well, wasn't that rich. However, she soon came to realize this wasn't what she initially imagined it to be. A neatly organized desk was there too, close to the opposite wall, a disgustingly green fern in a pot lounging for the frail rays of light that made their way through the equally white blinds, a doctor's coat on the back of the chair, an empty bottle of wine on the floor. These things made some images from last night come back into her mind and, uh, not that she didn't like what she saw (oh, she liked it for sure), she was now certain she wasn't in her own bed, in her own house. Nope. She was somewhere she soon came to recognize as Warren's office.

Her skin was in contact with the rough couch, and for a moment, it made her itchy, but she didn't move out of worry. ...wait, worry? What the hell was she worried about? The answer to that question was simple, yet blush-inducing. Amaya was afraid of waking up the person sleeping next to her. Not that she cared, oh no, not at all, she was just, well, she knew how hard he worked these days and his job wasn't easy. However, he kept doing it, day after day, night after night, leaving his side of the bed cold and leaving his wife alone. While she didn't complain about that, it was time the two of them had a serious talk. ...well, that was her intention last night too, when she brought the bottle of wine and thought they'd put it to good use. It obviously led to something that left Amaya with a terrible headache the morning after.

Slowly, she sat up and, to her surprise (or not?) noticed their clothes on the floor. ...that was awkward. At least the door to the office was closed, or so she hoped, seeing as she was in no mood to explain herself to a nurse or anyone else. It was Sunday anyway. Most people weren't supposed to work on a Sunday, right? Warren too, he was supposed to be free, unless something came up. That was part of the reason why she dared to bring alcohol to work. A small part of her was blaming herself for his slight alcoholism, but who was she to complain? She was shamelessly spending his money on whatever she wished, no matter the price. And that was something she was (secretly) sorry about. ...maybe.

[WARREN WILLIAMS]

Now who on earth had given someone the permission to keep a rock n' roll concert inside his head? To hell with the doctor's vow, if he found whoever was causing him this hellish, pounding pain he would kill them, oh he would so kill, butcher, massacre them. There were hardly any strong enough words to properly describe the suffering he would inflict upon...wait...a headache, a bitter-ish aftertaste in the mouth, quite the absurd sensitivity to light which he discovered upon opening an eye just a creak briefly; he was quite obviously having a hangover, and even that devilish woman that was his wife didn't really have any proper reason to just up and get him heavily drunk late at night. Only illegal, dangerous stores were open at night, and she often found all the more delight in using his money when he actually knew about it, especially when he was too busy being stuck at work to try do anything about it either. Indeed, though embarrassing to admit after his bit of a rage-filled mental fit, he had only himself to blame.

On second thought, was he awake after all? Though the discomfort was quite fierce, there was quite the lovely a woman beside him too, judging by how bare he saw her back to be wearing nothing else to cover herself except the blanket he too was under, ontop of a couch? Oh yes, a familiar couch it was indeed, the one he himself had chosen for his work office when he remodeled it a bit. Indeed, he had to be dreaming, he and the female by his side hadn't been there since quite a while ago, as long ago as before they were married even, during their nigh-uncontrollably wild days when the date approached...wait another moment...there was no wine involved that time, was there? So why was there a bottle of it on the floor, surrounded by their clothes? And why was her scent so very alluringly realistic, legs so weak as if he had been working quite so diligently? Needless to say, he quite flustered too when the memories began returning in bits and pieces, arousing little glimpses.

Oh, alright, he had lied. Though they admittedly had their issues, he adored Amaya like no tomorrow, a part of what made his work such a torment ever so often even though he liked helping people in need, seeing as on unfortunately many a occasion he was kept apart from her for far longer than he'd have liked, also a part of why last night inevitably went so quickly from nice and civilized to so heated and intense. He had no complaints, no, he just couldn't help but to feel embarrassed he so quickly and utterly lost control after she walked through his offices door. Ah well. He regretted none of it and loved all of it, so why brood over it?, thought Warren as he tried to rise up sitting too however quietly he could, slipping a warm little breath to his wifes neck as he leaned in close from behind, the hot air reaching a bit down her front too as he whispered a 'Good morning~'.

Even so, he couldn't help but to wonder just what had they been talking about last night exactly, his memory having a habit of being as full of holes as swiss cheese when alcohol was involved.

[AMAYA WILLIAMS]

Their story began a while ago, in a country she couldn't be bothered to remember anything about, an equally nameless street and a sea of faces. His was the only one that stood out. He was there, appeared from nowhere and utterly enslaved her. It might not have looked like it, but he was controlling her completely, she was at his whim, doing whatever he wanted her to do, which was quite an accomplishment, seeing as she was quite the cruel, obnoxious and stuck-up woman. Up to then, she listened to no one, did whatever she wanted without reason and, ah, it all ended in one moment, with just a look. They didn't change much. There were still the never ending arguments that persisted between them, but from her point of view, that was what kept the two of them together. He was the silent presence in her head. No words, no nothing. His presence lingered in her mind at all times, making it very hard for her to dispose of him. She had tried to pull herself away from this storm of a man. But in the end she always came back for more, like a drug addict.

As always, she felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, their closeness bringing even more bits and pieces of what happened last night. She slowly reached over and nudged the empty bottle with a foot, making it roll away, until it hit one of her red shoes. In vain she had tried to think of something equally shiver-inducing back to him. He was a pillar in the middle of a hurricane that wasn't going to be taken down with just a compliment here and there. Still, he was overlooking the fact that she was Amaya Williams, his one and only wife, and that she could always turn the tables around when he didn't expect it. "Good morning to you too, Mister Slow." That was a nickname she won't ever talk about in other people's presence, mostly because, well, it had to do with his way of teasing the hell out of her before getting to the actual 'work'. And she, such a terribly cruel woman, had to tease him back about such things. She often brought the best out of him. Sometimes, she regretted, sometimes she didn't. It was like a lottery: sometimes she won extreme delight, other times she won horrible back aches. It depended on the grade of teasing, really.

"What a night. Remind me never to bring alcohol to your workplace again." She said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. They both knew that was going to be a lie, because they were going to do it all over again next time. Life with Warren followed the most important philosophy: no regrets, no matter what. They slit each other's throats? No regrets. They conceived a child? No regrets. They had makeup sex at Warren's workplace while horribly drunk? No regrets whatsoever. The only ones that could live like that were the two of them. Being a radio announcer had it's perks too. She could easily insert subliminal messages, codes only the two of them knew about and thus make believe the two of them had an impossible relationship. She had wondered multiple times what he thought about her voice, if he listened to her when he missed her or such things, but she wasn't going to make a fool out of herself and ask him such a thing. Not yet. It wasn't the time, nor the place.

She slowly reached over for her underwear and put it on, then turned to take a good look at his face, a small smile blooming on her lips as their eyes met, just like the first time they saw each other.

[WARREN WILLIAMS]

Oh, that was his wife indeed, quite so very alive and real, definitely not his imagination. Certainly he could have quite the thoughts sometimes, especially if under a fuzzy, alcohol-induced burst of "creativity" like last night, but in her case the imaginary simply couldn't compare to the real thing. Not, the tiniest, bit.

'Mister Slow'.

No matter how hard he tried, attempt still every now and then despite the apparent futility of it, there was one term he simply couldn't get his head around whether to love or detest with a passion. On one hand was the nigh insufferable torment of her striking him with it in half-alluring, half incredibly aggravating whenever the oppoturnity presented itself. What, you think she only dared to in utter privacy? Quite the opposite, it was quite possibly her favorite manner to torment him so in public, voice barely low enough for only him to hear, quite fiendishly by the sight of him squirming and muttering death threats right back at her under his breath.

But what of the other side of the coin? Well...perhaps it was just him being secretly being a bit of a masochist, but in any case that same torment also ever so often made him feel so very special as well. She might appear quite docile, civilized too and especially if she was working or, say, at some a bit more formal party with him, true, but good god she was a fierce woman at heart. To that day he still wondered just how had he managed to do it, to slip past her exterior, get enough a glimpse of her heart to be able to avoid being simply burnt to a crisp in seconds by her volatile, potentially fiery temper. Don't get me wrong, she still more than often exploded right up his face, but he was actually capable of enduring the outbursts, repaying in kind every now and then too. One could have wondered if they were really married, or just playing the part for the sake of convenience, to be better able to wage their secret little war of which of them could more utterly control the other.

His pondering was disturbed by her comment about the alcohol, then broken to pieces when he spotted her shoes, not even to mention her equally red underwear, a shiver-inducingly vivid memory of him drawing it off her last night flashing through his mind. Quite a wonder it was to be honest, how fierce, how careless they were with their love, yet how they still hadn't yet created a life together. Most of him was actually glad about it, seeing as...well, honestly speaking, could you imagine those two as parents, much less their offspring? The remaining part however was secretly a little disappointed too, or more like had been, for in the recent years that small sensation had been nurtured by the realization that they were slowly but steadily getting older, grown large enough to give birth to something quite reminiscent to paternal feelings too.

...yup, he was crazy. But with a wife as alluringly shapely as her, who could blame him?

"Oh? But why dear, I thought we had such a nice, lovely evening together thanks to it~", such his bold attempt in repaying in kind for the tingly sensation she gave him in his chest was, but one look at his faintly red cheeks was enough to tell her she had won that round.

[AMAYA WILLIAMS]

Whenever the two of them were together, she was losing her mind, her rational thoughts, any kind of logic. With him around, she was living in an alternate dimension, a warped space and time with no one and nothing else that could possibly wake her up from her meditation. The thought of children scared her slightly, since she didn't know what it was all about and all that. Admittedly, she had thought it could have been her fault they weren't having children at all. Having gathered all her thoughts at one point, she even consulted another doctor about it and was told to wait a little longer. But how much longer? She was no patient woman and most people around her got to find that out in a rather unpleasant way. And still, she couldn't work up her courage to open the subject with Warren. He was the only one that could break through all her defenses and make her afraid of words.

Her delight came from other things, such as these small adventures they had now and then. Maybe he already knew about her fright of children or maybe he was oblivious to everything, an empty-headed man with no idea whatsoever about what it meant to be a woman. But he was a doctor and she was quite sure he knew how babies were made and brought into the world. Yeah, he was supposed to know. They were only humans after all and they were supposed to know such things, for the continuity of their race. ...that sounded so sick and twisted, really Amaya, what are you even thinking of?

She stared at him for a few moments, unsure of what brought her back into his arms every single time. He wasn't the most handsome man in the world, he didn't have any particular skill, he wasn't the most talented doctor around, he liked to drink and piss her off and still, the two of them fit in a way Amaya would have never even dared to think of. But life as we know it is made up of such mysteries. And somehow, she didn't regret not knowing all the answers to all her questions.

"Lovely? If only my head wouldn't hurt so badly, I'd show you something even more lovely." She said with a grin as she reached for her clothes, trying to get dressed as to prevent any nasty accidents. For decency's sake, Amaya, for that damned decency's sake. "So? You didn't get to tell me how's work. We got too busy before you could answer properly." Her gaze shifted back to his face and she could have sworn he was enjoying the show she was involuntarily putting up.

That was yet another thing she couldn't possibly understand: how the hell did this guy end up as a doctor, when he was an alcoholic, perverted jerk?