The Boy is Mine


delia_icon.gif nicole3_icon.gif

Scene Title The Boy is Mine
Synopsis Delia needs to give it up. Nicole's had about enough. It's not hard to see that Logan is… whose?
Date February 17, 2011

The Corinthian: Rose Garden

The Rose Garden is both that as well as greenhouse, glass walls and rooftop ceiling off this little getaway from whatever weather happens to be uselessly battering at it. When the snow falls, it makes a flurry against the glass, an inverse snow dome, but right now it's clear, with a smoggy, starry night domed beyond. The outside courtyard that lies between its closed doors and the opened ones of the warm and bright hotel interior is empty of people save for those moving back and forth, a temporary and interstitial space.

It's warm in here, and smells of dirt and fragrant flowers, crowded with beds of roses, miniature explosions of colour and thorny stalks alike. Dense Indian Hawthorne hedges below the height of a knee create an artful and polite barrier between flowering displays and the gravel pathways, of which there are six coming together into a star-like pattern. The center of this starburst arrangement holds a small three-tiered fountain, bringing with it the scent and sound of trickling water. There are benches around the edges, wooden slats left naked of paint and new to look at, polished smooth.

There is something to be said about having privilege provided by one's position, and the abuse of that privilege. Closing the Rose Garden so two young women can have an hour alone amongst the flowers is definitely an abuse of privilege.

One woman, darker and older, with eyes a brighter shade of blue if only because they're glowing, pushes a wheelchair along in front of her at a slow stroll. She's giving the younger, thinner, but decidedly more fiery woman seated as much chance to admire the flowers as her chaperone's taking herself. This is one of the elder woman's favourite places to be. To think.

And Nicole Nichols has a lot to think about.

"I gave your brother a ring," is one of those thoughts. "Now he's avoiding me."

Once the paths favor gravel rather than the bumpy cobble of stones, Delia lifts herself up from the chair and reaches to Nicole's arm for support. "He does that," she utters in reply, possibly more unhappy about the revelation than the other woman was delivering the news. "He shuts himself away because he thinks he's poison to everyone around him."

There's a lift of Delia's chin and eyes if only to look from the ground to Nicole. "Why do they make things so difficult? It's like they want to be miserable." She's not talking just about her brother, that much is evident. "I'll never understand that."

The labor of actually walking a good distance around the indoor garden is daunting, at least to the redhead. To that end, the fourth bench they pass is the one she chooses to take a seat at, to rest and recover for the next trip. She's been avoiding looking at Nicole as much as possible, probably due to her own betrayal. "He— the first time I met him in a dream," she doesn't talk much about them to anyone. She hasn't since she woke up. "He was alone on an island, sort of alone… There was a harpy there."

Nicole doesn't fuss about how she thinks Delia should stay seated, or seem bothered by having to help support her weight. She's pleased to see her future sister-in-law (maybe) so eager to be up and about. She helps her settle in to sit on the bench, with great care, but without treating Delia as though she's fragile.

"It's not their fault." Men. "They're brought up to believe they have to be strong, and solitary, and apart from everything else." Some girls are, too. Nicole knows this too well. "I really… thought he cared about me. It's like I made the whole thing up in my head." She sighs heavily, eyes casting skyward. "He's making a fool of me. I am never going to live down this stunt in the press."

"Why did you do it?" Curiosity gets the better of the redhead as she glances at the brunette for a short while. "I mean… I'm happy that you did, it's nice having someone to talk to— someone sane, someone that makes sense without trying so hard that it hurts to even be in the same room." There's a shake of Delia's head before she lets loose a long sigh. "I don't know anything about the press, though, I can't help you there. I barely know anything about Brad except things— things that I found out in his dreams."

It's possible that the younger woman is offering a sparse level of insight, though with her own failing toward the man, it's doubtful that she has much to give at all. "He said his heart doesn't belong to him anymore… It belongs to someone else. I think he's fooling himself though, he just doesn't want to try or put the work in that it needs."

"Because I thought he was different." Nicole folds her hands in her lap, smoothing out a wrinkle in her dark pants, pinstriped in blue. She stares down at them, as though there were something interesting about the way her hands fit together. "But he's all false smiles and lies, just like any other. I really thought there was something to him. Something… worth trying for.

"Brad doesn't want a wife. He wants a manager. He'd have convinced Kristen to marry him years ago if he actually wanted a wife." Not having seen Russo with Lina outside of what the papers reported, it's unfair of Nicole to think she truly knows his mind in this matter. But it's easier to dismiss him when she pretends she does. "I'm losing… Losing Logan because I took Brad up on his schemes. I'm such an idiot."

Nicole lifts her head and fixes her gaze on Delia. "I think he's going to leave me." She doesn't specify which. "If he isn't already gone."

"I don't know Kristen, he sort of kept me away from that part of his life." For good reasons, the younger woman can't deny that. "But if she was around, I'm not sure if he'd want her either… Maybe the reason he didn't convince her to be his wife is because it's better for him to think that it's safer and easier not to. Because he thinks he'll just wreck it."

She lets loose a long breath of air through her nose at the mention of Logan, her insides tumble like little gymnasts in her body. Heart flipping, stomach dropping, her lungs are unable to fill with enough air to keep her going. "No— " she manages weakly, her palms suddenly going clammy. Her already pale features blanch even more, looking sickly pale. "Y-you're not losing." It's all she says in that regard, perhaps indicating a defeatist's role in the triangle. "He's difficult."

"Funny how he didn't seem to care about wrecking me before," is all Nicole has to mutter on the matter of Russo's treatment of her. She's switching gears now, focusing on Logan. She sniffs. Somewhat derisively. But only at herself. "If I weren't losing, he wouldn't have slept with you. He did try to destroy Brad's face, you know. Logan would have ruined his career because he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. That would have been… my fault."

Nicole's eyes shut tightly, a deep breath is inhaled through her nose. She wants a cigarette so badly. She picked the most stressful time to give up the habit. Then again, when is she ever not stressed. "You knew I loved him." Her voice is stretched thin over those syllables, like it's everything she's got just to get the words out. "I know what he's like, Delia. And I know if he decides he wants you, he'll have you. But you knew. And you did it anyway."

Perhaps she can't summon the energy to be angry with her. What she can be is sad, and Nicole is. Immensely. "Why?" When she looks over again, there are no tears, but also absent is the spark of rage. Instead, Nicole just looks tired, and older than her twenty-nine years.

"Because it wasn't about you.." The answer is weak in reason and delivery. Delia still hasn't managed to look back at Nicole but a sidelong glance would show her downcast eyes staring at her feet. "It was about me. It was about how the first time since I woke up there was someone there that wasn't treating me like… a problem. Or some kind of… " There's a pause as the redhead swallows audibly, the lump in her throat refusing to go anywhere, still insisting to make her voice crack. "Charity case or thing to pity."

Taking a long breath inward, she clenches her jaw shut and presses her lips into an unhappy line. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did that to you, but— You know what he means to me too." The king of everything, something precious to be put on a pedestal and worshipped from below. "And he knows what he means to me…"

He's mine! Nicole snaps, rising to her feet to glare down at Delia, all fury and imperiousness. You knew that! I was here long before you were, little girl! And that's all you are! A little girl who doesn't know what she's dealing with!

At least… that's how it plays out in Nicole's head for the space of several seconds of sense silence in which she's taken to rubbing the fabric of her trousers between her fingers for lack of a neck to wring. "Of course it was," she responds instead to the first statement. "Maybe not for you. But it's all about me, and all about him."

Her shoulders roll back, sitting up straighter. "You compliment him." Now, her tone is colder, betraying a sneer she doesn't let touch her lips. "You tell him he smells nice, and that he's so perfect. You don't even have to work very hard to get his attention. You're young and you're pretty and you're so quick with the adoration. You don't act like an equal. You don't try to treat him like a person." Nicole's eyes narrow, and now she lets her lips contort into that scornful shape. "The King of All. What does that make you?"

With a shake of her head Delia manages to choke out just one word at first. "Nothing." Still she can't manage to look up at Nicole, the other woman being much better in every aspect that she sees herself. "Or just another one of the girls."

Folding her hands together, she tucks them between her knees and hunches forward, her chin sinking down until it almost reaches her chest. "— probably just one of the girls… and nothing." The glimmer of hope held in her heart is the fact that he said he likes her. There's a shake of her head as she denies the one good quality Nicole accuses her of having. Being pretty. "You're right," she utters, blinking away any waterworks that might be forming, unwilling to allow the other woman the chance to see the display. Words are enough in this case. "I'm not his equal, I don't deserve it. I'm a horrible person and I do horrible things."

Being something of an invalid, the young woman is robbed the opportunity to storm an exit. The fact that the place is closed to all others but the two of them forces her to listen to any abuse or truth thrown at her.

"That's where you're wrong," Nicole states sharply. "You are not nothing. You're so blind." Delia can't stand, but Nicole can, and she does. She paces back, crosses her arms under her chest. "You need to think of him as an equal, and not as someone above you, because he isn't." Perhaps this is the kind of clarity that one only finds when they're giving advice about a situation from an outside perspective.

"Logan's done horrible things that you can't even begin to imagine." Probably mostly because Delia doesn't want to. The image of Logan as perfect is much prettier pill to try and swallow. "You deserve better than that. What about that Mister York of yours? I've seen how he looks at you. I've seen how you look at him. Logan will discard you the next time he finds another pretty young thing to distract him." If Delia brings up the dog, Nicole swears to God

There's a limp one shouldered shrug from Delia as she turns her head away from Nicole, to avoid looking at her. Another thick, nearly painful, swallow follows and Delia closes her eyes to the distraction of lovely flowers and pretty scenery around them. It may seem that she's shutting the other woman out, except for the slight hum of acknowledgment injected to Nicole's words every once in a while.

"Nick is my friend," the near whispered explanation is given in regards to the other man. Not an excuse, by any means, but just a reason. "We're not— We're just… not. We're just friends." No matter how she looks at him.

"You should consider being just friends with Mister Logan, Delia." Nicole turns her gaze away from her rival not because she can't stand to look at her, or because it's somehow difficult, but for Delia's sake. So she can feel less scrutinised. "I like you, sweetie. When Brad said he was giving up, I was furious. And I told him I wouldn't give up on you. And I won't. But you do not want to compete with me on this. Not with me, and not with all the other girls."

When Nicole swallows the lump of emotion forming in her throat, it isn't easy. But neither of them wants to start crying in front of the other. "I could handle all the others. They're empty-headed window dressing." Drapes. "You're nothing like them." Or like how she perceives the others to be. For all she knows, there are others like Delia. But she doesn't know them. Doesn't have a bond with them.

That's what makes this harder.

"You're pretty, and you're caring, and you're smart. And you think you can see through him, past the role he plays. You need someone you can talk to, Delia." So does Nicole, but she got by so many years without that. She just needs to relearn how to do it again. "If you open up to him, he'll withdraw. If you tell him your worries, your fears, he'll walk away."


It's so easy. Perhaps part of what makes it fun but nothing like a real accomplishment. Like a bull with a brass ring through it's nose, Delia is easily led from one place to another. It might be just the part of her that needs to see everyone happy, and not gone. "You're not going to make me leave, are you?" The thought crosses her mind that it might get Nicole into Brad's better graces if he managed that, but the redhead is still somewhat unwilling to leave the safety of this mountain made of diamond.

"It's just… I'm getting better. Mister Logan said I'll be gone soon." Yes, Mister Logan, not John or Logan but Mister. "I won't be in the way for too much longer, I promise."

"You're doing well here. I want to see you better. And I don't care if you want to be friends with him. But Jesus Christ—" Nicole's expression changes then, and the tears start to well up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. "Don't you have any pity in your heart?"

It's perhaps strange that someone is asking Delia for pity, rather than giving it (unfairly, and freely) to her. "Logan is the only man who looks at me that way. You used to have Jaiden," Nicole hasn't seen him around recently, and she doesn't see Delia as the type to cheat, "and regardless of what you say, Nick is very fond of you. You are surrounded by people who love you. Please don't take Logan from me."

As if she ever had him.

The redhead's chin angles so that she can catch a periphery glance of the older woman, just after the word pity is thrown at her. Her face screws up into an unpleasant expression of despair and she simply nods, closing her eyes. "I— I already said okay. I won't— " The bigger bridges haven't been crossed yet. "You'll— I'll— " A shake of her head is what completes the thought and she pushes herself to a stand, this time not looking for any aide to get back to her chair.

"I'll get out of the way soon. I'm going home to take care of the rest of them— " It's easy for Nicole to assume who them is. Delia doesn't stop until she's slumped into the seat of the wheelchair and pushing the wheels along the bumpy path. "I'll see you around."

Apparently, that's the end of it.

Nicole stands still as Delia moves past her and reclaims her chair. She keeps her back to her even, until she hears the doors leading out swing open and closed again. "When did you get to be so weak?" she growls at herself. Then, she sinks down onto the bench and buries her face in her hands.

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