Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 3, 2008 1:34:22 GMT -5
Title: In the Eye of Grief
Cast: Esmé and Jerome Squalor
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own Esmé and Jerome Squalor, or any of the places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Esmé receives some devastating news, and Jerome comforts her. Probably the saddest thing I’ve ever written. I blame it all on being my time of the month.
Jerome had just finished setting two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of chocolate chip cookies down on the coffee table in the sitting room when he heard the front door open. It was followed by the approaching sound of Esmé’s stiletto heels, and he sat down on the couch to wait for her.
When she arrived, he was about to race across the room and sweep her into his arms when he saw the grim expression on her face. Funny, but she hadn’t looked that way before leaving the penthouse apartment earlier.
“Is something wrong, darling?” Jerome asked. “How was your appointment with the doctor?”
Esmé acted as though she hadn’t heard him as she sunk down into a chair and lowered her eyes to the floor. Jerome leaned forward, watching her closely.
“Sweetheart?”
“The baby is gone,” Esmé said in a soft, trembling voice. “I miscarried.”
Jerome sat back, absolutely stunned. How could this have happened? They had done everything to ensure that the baby would come into the world unharmed. It would have been their first child together. But now…
As Esmé began to sob quietly, Jerome had to struggle to keep his own tears from taking over. He knew it wasn’t her fault, and that the only one to blame was fate.
“Oh, Esmé,” he said. “My darling, I’m so, so sorry.”He got up and circled the coffee table, putting his arm around his wife and ushering her over to the couch. As they sat down, she buried her face in his shoulder and continued to cry softly. It broke his heart to see her this way. As he thought about how excited they had been the day they’d received the news, two tears slipped from his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, afraid of how she would react if she saw that he was crying, too.
“I’m so… so sorry, Je-ro-ome,” Esmé sobbed. “This is… it’s all my fall-alt!”
Jerome nearly lost control of his emotions right then and there, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Don’t say that, my love,” he said, feeling his own voice shake with every word. “Please. Things like this happen. They’re terrible, yes, but they happen.”
“I wanted so much to give you something… something that you and I made together. I was hoping that if it were a boy, we could name him Jerome, then maybe… maybe…” She had to stop and laugh simply out of pure misery for the situation. “Maybe it would make up for all I did to hurt you!”
“What are you talking about, Esmé? I’ve already—”
Esmé looked up at her husband then, tears streaking her cheeks. “Don’t you see, Jerome? I’m not worthy of forgiveness, or even happiness! I’m a terrible person and I don’t deserve anything other than to be miserable for the rest of my life!”
Jerome went to wrap his arms around her, but before he could she tore herself away from him and was bolting from the sitting room.
He didn’t call out to her and he didn’t run after her. How could he? All forms of speech and movement had left him, at least temporarily. He needed time to adjust to the situation at hand, and he knew his wife did as well. After all, it was their child she had lost.
Jerome didn’t actually start to panic until he heard the front door slam, and he knew at once that Esmé had been more deeply affected by this tragic turn of events than he had initially thought.
“Esmé!” he called, and hurried after her.
Jerome drove around for nearly two full hours in the rain before he finally caught up to Esmé in the park. She was seated on a swing, the pair of metal chains tangled so that she spun back and forth in circles. It was an absolutely pathetic sight, which grew even sadder the closer Jerome got to her.
Esmé was absolutely soaking wet, her long, dark hair hanging in tangles about her shoulders. After untangling the swing so that she could face him for more than a few seconds, Jerome reached down to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, and was surprised to see how warm her forehead was becoming.
“Why, Esmé,” he exclaimed. “You’re burning up! How long have you been sitting here in the rain like this?”
Without meeting his eyes, she shrugged. “Does it matter?” she asked. “Now that I’m no longer carrying your child, nothing about me should matter.”
“Darling, please— don’t talk like that!”
Esmé sniffled right before making several desperate, high-pitched gasps, which all led up to one very sweet, high-pitched squeak of a sneeze. It came upon her so suddenly that she would have fallen to the ground had Jerome not caught her in his arms. After covering her face in kisses, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the car.
On the way home, the only sounds were Esmé’s occasional sniffle or squeak, followed by Jerome’s generous “Bless you.” By the time they arrived, she was shivering so much that he had to carry her all the way from the car and across the threshold of their apartment.
Jerome didn’t put Esmé down until they had come to the built-in bathroom of their bedroom. He set her carefully down on the seat of the toilet, taking a moment to kiss her on the forehead, nose, and cheeks, which were all ice to the touch like the rest of her, before helping her off with her wet clothes.
Once she was undressed, he took her by the hand and gently put his other arm around her, helping her carefully into the tub. As soon as she was settled, he went over to the sink and quickly washed out the little plastic cup Emma used to rinse her mouth after brushing her teeth. He brought the cup over to the tub and filled it with water, which he poured down the back of Esmé’s neck and shoulders. The sensation made her shiver, and it was at that very moment when she squeaked again.
Considering the grim circumstances, Jerome didn’t say anything about how cute that sound was, and instead leaned forward to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I love you, Esmé,” he said, nuzzling his nose against it. “And I’m so sorry about the baby. But please, don’t blame yourself, or take it as a sign that you don’t deserve to be happy. Because that’s all I want for you, my darling; your happiness, above all else.” He knew it was a cruel thought, but if he had to choose between his wife and a child related to him by blood, then he would choose Esmé. He couldn’t imagine living a life without her— he still had nightmares in which he lost her to that fire, and would often awaken with tears in his eyes.
Placing his large hand behind her head, he slowly and carefully guided it down until it was resting against the wall of the tub. As she began another series of desperate, high-pitched gasps, he kept his hand right where it was so that she wouldn’t hit her head, watching her long eyelashes flutter and the tip of her nose twitch in the sweetest way imaginable. When at last she squeaked, he couldn’t help noticing the way her belly— which had gotten so soft and lovely after Emma had been born —curved inward slightly. He couldn’t help himself, and he leaned down to kiss it. As Esmé sneezed a second time, and a third, Jerome felt her stomach curve inward and then outward from beneath his lips, and he thought for sure he would faint. The only thing stopping him was the movement of her leg as it splashed water in his face.
Tilting his head back, he met her eyes, which still sparkled from leftover tears. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Esmé’s reply was a brief nod, followed by a little sniffle. “I’ll be alright, Jerome,” she said. “You know me. I’m always alright.”
“Enough to follow me into the bedroom?”
Esmé nodded.
Jerome kissed her once more on the stomach and then handed her a fresh towel from the rack. Afterward, he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
While he waited for her, he stripped down to his boxer shorts and then buried himself so far beneath the covers that only his head was exposed. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and Esmé emerged, wearing nothing but the towel he had given her. He waited patiently as she walked over to the dresser and opened one of the top drawers from which she retrieved a pair of frilly lavender panties. As she slipped into them, Jerome placed his pillow in front of his face and watched her silently. If only Esmé knew just how hypnotizing she was to watch…
Just as she turned around, Jerome threw down his pillow and lay back down, feeling his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited for Esmé to crawl into bed beside him. Only then did he throw back the covers, and he could have cried for joy at the smile that appeared on her face at the sight of his round, prominent belly. If there was only one thing in the world that could get her to crack a smile— regardless of how upset she was —it was his stomach. As she snuggled down beside him, and he felt her arms literally hugging it, he began to cry. He knew his behavior would probably cause her to burst into tears as well, but he was comforted by the fact that she had him to depend on in situations like the one they were currently facing.
Jerome heard Esmé sneeze, and then felt her place an assortment of kisses all over his belly. When at last she lifted her head from beneath the blankets, he once more saw tears streaming down her cheeks, and he leaned down to kiss them away. In return, she kissed every wet spot on his face she could find, and then pressed herself closely against him until their respective stomachs were touching.
Before they knew it, they were sobbing in each other’s arms, clinging tightly to one another. They were grief-stricken, yes, but were also comforted by the fact that they weren’t alone.
They had each other.
Cast: Esmé and Jerome Squalor
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own Esmé and Jerome Squalor, or any of the places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Esmé receives some devastating news, and Jerome comforts her. Probably the saddest thing I’ve ever written. I blame it all on being my time of the month.
************************************************************************************************************************
Jerome had just finished setting two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of chocolate chip cookies down on the coffee table in the sitting room when he heard the front door open. It was followed by the approaching sound of Esmé’s stiletto heels, and he sat down on the couch to wait for her.
When she arrived, he was about to race across the room and sweep her into his arms when he saw the grim expression on her face. Funny, but she hadn’t looked that way before leaving the penthouse apartment earlier.
“Is something wrong, darling?” Jerome asked. “How was your appointment with the doctor?”
Esmé acted as though she hadn’t heard him as she sunk down into a chair and lowered her eyes to the floor. Jerome leaned forward, watching her closely.
“Sweetheart?”
“The baby is gone,” Esmé said in a soft, trembling voice. “I miscarried.”
Jerome sat back, absolutely stunned. How could this have happened? They had done everything to ensure that the baby would come into the world unharmed. It would have been their first child together. But now…
As Esmé began to sob quietly, Jerome had to struggle to keep his own tears from taking over. He knew it wasn’t her fault, and that the only one to blame was fate.
“Oh, Esmé,” he said. “My darling, I’m so, so sorry.”He got up and circled the coffee table, putting his arm around his wife and ushering her over to the couch. As they sat down, she buried her face in his shoulder and continued to cry softly. It broke his heart to see her this way. As he thought about how excited they had been the day they’d received the news, two tears slipped from his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, afraid of how she would react if she saw that he was crying, too.
“I’m so… so sorry, Je-ro-ome,” Esmé sobbed. “This is… it’s all my fall-alt!”
Jerome nearly lost control of his emotions right then and there, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Don’t say that, my love,” he said, feeling his own voice shake with every word. “Please. Things like this happen. They’re terrible, yes, but they happen.”
“I wanted so much to give you something… something that you and I made together. I was hoping that if it were a boy, we could name him Jerome, then maybe… maybe…” She had to stop and laugh simply out of pure misery for the situation. “Maybe it would make up for all I did to hurt you!”
“What are you talking about, Esmé? I’ve already—”
Esmé looked up at her husband then, tears streaking her cheeks. “Don’t you see, Jerome? I’m not worthy of forgiveness, or even happiness! I’m a terrible person and I don’t deserve anything other than to be miserable for the rest of my life!”
Jerome went to wrap his arms around her, but before he could she tore herself away from him and was bolting from the sitting room.
He didn’t call out to her and he didn’t run after her. How could he? All forms of speech and movement had left him, at least temporarily. He needed time to adjust to the situation at hand, and he knew his wife did as well. After all, it was their child she had lost.
Jerome didn’t actually start to panic until he heard the front door slam, and he knew at once that Esmé had been more deeply affected by this tragic turn of events than he had initially thought.
“Esmé!” he called, and hurried after her.
***
Jerome drove around for nearly two full hours in the rain before he finally caught up to Esmé in the park. She was seated on a swing, the pair of metal chains tangled so that she spun back and forth in circles. It was an absolutely pathetic sight, which grew even sadder the closer Jerome got to her.
Esmé was absolutely soaking wet, her long, dark hair hanging in tangles about her shoulders. After untangling the swing so that she could face him for more than a few seconds, Jerome reached down to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes, and was surprised to see how warm her forehead was becoming.
“Why, Esmé,” he exclaimed. “You’re burning up! How long have you been sitting here in the rain like this?”
Without meeting his eyes, she shrugged. “Does it matter?” she asked. “Now that I’m no longer carrying your child, nothing about me should matter.”
“Darling, please— don’t talk like that!”
Esmé sniffled right before making several desperate, high-pitched gasps, which all led up to one very sweet, high-pitched squeak of a sneeze. It came upon her so suddenly that she would have fallen to the ground had Jerome not caught her in his arms. After covering her face in kisses, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the car.
On the way home, the only sounds were Esmé’s occasional sniffle or squeak, followed by Jerome’s generous “Bless you.” By the time they arrived, she was shivering so much that he had to carry her all the way from the car and across the threshold of their apartment.
Jerome didn’t put Esmé down until they had come to the built-in bathroom of their bedroom. He set her carefully down on the seat of the toilet, taking a moment to kiss her on the forehead, nose, and cheeks, which were all ice to the touch like the rest of her, before helping her off with her wet clothes.
Once she was undressed, he took her by the hand and gently put his other arm around her, helping her carefully into the tub. As soon as she was settled, he went over to the sink and quickly washed out the little plastic cup Emma used to rinse her mouth after brushing her teeth. He brought the cup over to the tub and filled it with water, which he poured down the back of Esmé’s neck and shoulders. The sensation made her shiver, and it was at that very moment when she squeaked again.
Considering the grim circumstances, Jerome didn’t say anything about how cute that sound was, and instead leaned forward to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I love you, Esmé,” he said, nuzzling his nose against it. “And I’m so sorry about the baby. But please, don’t blame yourself, or take it as a sign that you don’t deserve to be happy. Because that’s all I want for you, my darling; your happiness, above all else.” He knew it was a cruel thought, but if he had to choose between his wife and a child related to him by blood, then he would choose Esmé. He couldn’t imagine living a life without her— he still had nightmares in which he lost her to that fire, and would often awaken with tears in his eyes.
Placing his large hand behind her head, he slowly and carefully guided it down until it was resting against the wall of the tub. As she began another series of desperate, high-pitched gasps, he kept his hand right where it was so that she wouldn’t hit her head, watching her long eyelashes flutter and the tip of her nose twitch in the sweetest way imaginable. When at last she squeaked, he couldn’t help noticing the way her belly— which had gotten so soft and lovely after Emma had been born —curved inward slightly. He couldn’t help himself, and he leaned down to kiss it. As Esmé sneezed a second time, and a third, Jerome felt her stomach curve inward and then outward from beneath his lips, and he thought for sure he would faint. The only thing stopping him was the movement of her leg as it splashed water in his face.
Tilting his head back, he met her eyes, which still sparkled from leftover tears. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Esmé’s reply was a brief nod, followed by a little sniffle. “I’ll be alright, Jerome,” she said. “You know me. I’m always alright.”
“Enough to follow me into the bedroom?”
Esmé nodded.
Jerome kissed her once more on the stomach and then handed her a fresh towel from the rack. Afterward, he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
While he waited for her, he stripped down to his boxer shorts and then buried himself so far beneath the covers that only his head was exposed. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and Esmé emerged, wearing nothing but the towel he had given her. He waited patiently as she walked over to the dresser and opened one of the top drawers from which she retrieved a pair of frilly lavender panties. As she slipped into them, Jerome placed his pillow in front of his face and watched her silently. If only Esmé knew just how hypnotizing she was to watch…
Just as she turned around, Jerome threw down his pillow and lay back down, feeling his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited for Esmé to crawl into bed beside him. Only then did he throw back the covers, and he could have cried for joy at the smile that appeared on her face at the sight of his round, prominent belly. If there was only one thing in the world that could get her to crack a smile— regardless of how upset she was —it was his stomach. As she snuggled down beside him, and he felt her arms literally hugging it, he began to cry. He knew his behavior would probably cause her to burst into tears as well, but he was comforted by the fact that she had him to depend on in situations like the one they were currently facing.
Jerome heard Esmé sneeze, and then felt her place an assortment of kisses all over his belly. When at last she lifted her head from beneath the blankets, he once more saw tears streaming down her cheeks, and he leaned down to kiss them away. In return, she kissed every wet spot on his face she could find, and then pressed herself closely against him until their respective stomachs were touching.
Before they knew it, they were sobbing in each other’s arms, clinging tightly to one another. They were grief-stricken, yes, but were also comforted by the fact that they weren’t alone.
They had each other.
The End