so...I was listening to the radio and this song came on...and I thought it would make a neat story. This is called V1 because I plan to write more than one fic set with this song as the backdrop.
The song is "Lips of an Angel" performed by Hinder (on mainstream stations) or Jack Ingram (country radio)
**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**
Honey why you calling me so late?
It's kinda hard to talk right now.
Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay?
I gotta whisper 'cause I can't be too loud
Well, my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice say my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She always takes that call. It doesn't matter what time it is, 2 in the morning or 4 in the afternoon, she takes that call.
3am, Thursday - sleeping
It's that call. She slips out of bed as the phone beneath her pillow starts to vibrate. She answers it without a word until she's down the hall and sitting in a chair, staring out the window.
“Hi, sweetie. It's late, are you okay?” She asks the woman on the other end of the line.
“Yeah. I'm fine. Just kinda missing you.” The conversation almost always starts like this.
“I miss you, too.” She says. It's true, she does. Every day, every minute. Despite the beautiful girl, her girl, sleeping soundly and unaware in the room down the hall. She misses the woman on the other end of the phone. Desperately.
“I'm sorry.” She can hear the tears in the other woman's voice and it breaks her heart.
“We've been over this. You made the choice you thought you had to make. I understood, still understand. We can't change what happened. Can't change what is.” She hurts as much as her beloved but she won't cry until they hang up. It would hurt the other woman more than it did her.
“What if . . .”
“Don't. There is no what if . . . all we've got is what is.” This is an old conversation as well. She sighs. It never gets easier, they both end up crying and making promises they can't hope to keep.
“I know. I'll let you go. Thank you for answering.”
“Always.” They leave the 'I love you's' unspoken as they hang up.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It's funny that you're calling me tonight
And, yes, I've dreamt of you too
And does he know you're talking to me
Will it start a fight
No I don't think she has a clue
Well my girl's in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on
It's really good to hear your voice say my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She always takes that call. It doesn't matter how long it's been, two hours or two months, it makes no difference. She takes that call.
9:30pm Wednesday - At a conference
It's that call. The phone rings and she excuses herself from the conference. The conference was running late and she was bored but that's not why she takes the call.
“Hi, honey. How are you? It's been awhile.” She says, concern warring with hurt for the top spot in her emotional roller coaster. She had no right to be hurt, but she was. It had been a month this time.
“I'm . . . oh, god, I'm so unhappy.” The other woman says, breaking down into sobs. “Nothing is the way I thought it would be and I miss you so much all the time and . . .” that voice again breaking into sobs, making her beloved unable to speak. And it broke her heart. The way it always did.
“Oh, honey.” She said sympathetically, not knowing what else to say or do.
“I – I just wanted everyone to be happy. I – I really thought I was doing the right thing but . . . I dream of you . . . and think of you all the time . . . he's not happy either . . . all we do is fight . . . a-and . . .” again, the sobbing cut off the talking.
“Does he know you're still calling me?” She asked, not sure why she wanted to know. Why twist the knife? “Will you end up fighting because of it?”
“No.” The other woman sounded embarrassed. “He doesn't. It would just be another fight.” There was big sigh. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't do this to you.” Whispered. Hesitation. “Does she know?”
She shakes her head. “No. She doesn't.”
A noise in the background distracts the other woman. Hurriedly, “I've gotta go. I'm sorry. Thanks for answering.”
“Always,” she answers, the “I love you's” once again unspoken.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It's really good to hear your voice say my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She always takes that call. It doesn't matter what she's doing, teaching a class or writing, making dinner or making love – she takes that call every time.
10am Sunday, showering
It's that call. Still wet, she grabs the phone and tells the other woman to hold on a moment while she puts her hair in a towel and dons a robe against the chill making her skin into goose flesh.
“Hi, honey.” It's been three weeks. “How are you? Things better?” She asked hopefully, unsure what she was hoping for.
“A-a little.” The other woman sounded tired. “It's so hard. I try not to call you but then I miss you so much and . . . and I have to.” Defeated.
“I understand. I miss you too.” This never gets easier. Why does she take this call? Why does she allow the other woman to do this to her. 'Because I love her.' Simple answer. Not so simple situation. “I'm glad things are better.”
“How are you? Everything good with you and, uh, your girl?”
She smiles at the hesitation. The other woman still gets jealous. The woman had no more right to get jealous than she had to be hurt, but there it is. “I'm not sure how to answer that. She moved out. I asked her to.” That's all she said. 'Her girl' wasn't really ever that at all. The woman at the other end was, and always would be . . . 'her girl'.
“Why?” Sounded curious and hopeful.
'Because it wasn't fair. Not to her, not to me. Because I love you, not her.' She thinks. What she says is, “it wasn't really working. Our schedules were too different and we never saw each other. It's better this way.” She sounded more sure than she was. She had been fond of the girl but that didn't make it right. The girl could never compete with the woman. She finally just accepted that and let the girl go, knowing the woman would, could, never be hers.
“I'm sorry.” There wasn't anything the other woman could say. “What if . . .”
“Don't.” She says. 'Not now. I can't do this now.' She thinks and then sighs. It hasn't gotten easier and, once again, they both end up crying and making promises they can't hope to keep.
“I've gotta go. Thank you for answering.” The other woman said.
“Always.” She answered, unspoken 'I love you's' still hovering between them as they hung up.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel
Honey why you calling me so late?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She always takes that call. It doesn't matter – time, date, place, activity – she takes that call.
1pm Sunday – working on her novel
It's that call. She's finally broken her writer's block but it never occurs to her to not answer it. It's only been a week.
“Hi, honey. How are you? Are you okay?” She asks, her mind now completely focused on the other woman.
“Uh, I guess that depends on what you say when you get your paper.” It sounded like fear and it chilled her to the bone. What had happened?
“Well, let me go get it so we can talk about it.” She said nervously, quickly making her way to the front door.
She opened the door and dropped the phone. Standing on the front porch, paper in her left hand and baby carrier in her right, was the beautiful red-head that owned her heart. She was juggling the phone between her left shoulder and her chin, a hopeful look on her face.
Without thinking, she pulled the other woman into a tight hug.
“Thank you for taking the call.” Willow whispered.
“Always.” Tara whispered back.