InsaneJournal

Who: Ella and Vaughn Leah
What: A new living arrangement
Where: 905
When: Immediately after this
Warnings: Internal Vaughn crazy? None

Ella was sitting at the typewriter in the guest room, working on chapter two of her novel, when the knock came. She'd taken to writing on the old machine - after hunting down ribbon for it. There was something real about writing this way, something immediate, and despite the strikeouts and the scribbles, she liked it.

Chapter Two She didn't know his name, but in her mind she called him many things: friend, confidant, confessor, teacher, mentor and muse. She stopped there, because it seemed macabre to feel anything more for someone who was dead. Because there was one thing she was certain of: there was no life remaining in this apartment she'd stumbled into. It was as cold as a grave and just as permanent. Even with all that, she knew she was going to think about him that night when she found the warmth of her bed. Even as she denied it in her own mind, she knew this man would not pass from her thoughts like sand through a child's fingers. Not this man. She tried to imagine his face wh

When the knock came, she thought it would be Ed. Ed who she'd pushed too far.

She wasn't sorry, if she was honest with herself. Sometimes tough love was important, and she thought that might be the case with Ed. She didn't exactly understand the loss that must come with not being able to play music, but she could imagine what would come of not being able to write. She also knew that if that happened to her, if she couldn't read or put thoughts to paper, she'd have to find another outlet for that part of her. If she didn't, she would go crazy with it. Ed was doing that, she thought, going crazy with it. So Ella wasn't sorry for the tough love; not if it helped in the end.

She hadn't heard back from Daniel, and a futile hope bloomed as she walked to the door that it was something from him. That he'd found her address somehow, sent her something back here instead of at the Publishing House. She laughed at herself. Ella, you're not a princess in a fairy tale, and men are not princes on horses. They don't hunt down your home address just because you send them Jane Austen books, she reminded herself, but it was an entertained smile that was on her lips when she opened the door.