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“What is taking you so long?”
He could smell the clattering of bottles and could smell the various perfumes, ointments, and powders that filled them. It made him lightheaded if he thought about it too much. This was why he didn’t like going into cosmetic shops. (But Elektra had all her make up imported, so he never had to go with her) It was the middle of December so Manhattan was busier than usual. Different voices, languages, smells, if he stepped out of his Columbia dorm room. Which was not a hard thing with Elektra around.
They frequented two holiday parties already, courtesy of her expensive pedigree. They got drunk and made fun of the old farts in fancy suits, sometimes failing to remain indiscreet. Matt even took her to a little law mixer in the university. That one was fun- Elektra made sure rub at least half of his colleagues the wrong way, humoring them with her own opinions on justice, which Matt secretly agreed with.
This would be the last party before Christmas, Elektra promised him. But, it was the biggest one. She actually seemed nervous when talking about it.
“I want to look nice,” came her voice from inside the porcelain bathroom.
“You trying to impress someone?”
“Of course. You.”
“Very funny.”
The door opened and Elektra came out, smelling like lavender and something more aromatic than usual. He could hear her gold bracelets clatter against her thin wrist as she raised her hand up to smooth out her dress.
“Zip me up?”
Matt happily obliged, taking extra time to dip his nose into the crook of her neck, feeling her soft hair on his face and the warmness of her skin against his. He placed two gentle kisses on her bare shoulders before zipping the back of her dress.
“You look beautiful.”
“So do you.” She kissed him lightly before pulling him downstairs into their limousine.
----
At the party, Matt shook hands with a few more people than usual and got some offhand comments about how impressive it was to be a blind lawyer. He still overheard the usual judgments about his and Elektra’s relationship, how maybe she was taking pity on him or wondering what rich family he heralded from.
“You’re a good dancer,” Elektra noted, as they swayed on the marble floor.
“I know.”
“You never told me that.”
“It never came up.”
“Lots of practice dancing with girls, Matthew?”
He smirked. “Maybe I was just practicing for you.” She giggled and shook her head.
Foggy said that he never saw Matt smile this much since…ever. At first, Fogger attributed to the recent upgrade in living room furniture, but quickly realized it was probably due to the lipstick marks on Matt’s neck and the weird flowery smell that came off his clothes all the time.
When Foggy asked about it, Matt just shrugged. “Well, I’d like to think you’re smiling on the inside when we’re together then,” Foggy reminded him.
When he told Elektra that Foggy said this, Elektra added, “I love your smile.”
He could feel Elektra’s eyes on him as they swayed together on that dance floor. A crooked grin crept across his face as she leaned into his neck, nestled under his chin.
He loved this. This freedom he had with her, the ease of their conversations and their lack of. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that made him so elated. She was beautiful, no doubt. He’s been told that many times, but also could tell from the way her face feels, the angle of her cheek bones, and the texture of her hair. She was also broken. There were things she hadn’t told him yet, he knew. He could sense the mystery in her past, the way she skirts past certain subjects and becomes quiet when he mentions childhood memories. Then again, he was the same way. Maybe they were the same kind of broken.
----
Elektra loved his sheets. They were custom ordered from Dubai, and the one thing in his apartment that could be considered luxury. Even in college, his bed sheets were of top quality. It’s because of how sensitive his skin was, which she appreciated when they would spend long hours on his bed.
Now, she was wrapped in his blankets, in his shirt, on his bed, recovering from a poisoned stab wound. Yet, she couldn’t feel more at peace. She breathed in his scent on the pillows and blankets. She was surrounded by him. And she felt safe.
He came in to check in on her often, but Matthew, the good Catholic boy he was, refused to rest with her in the bed. She found it sweet he would give her this courtesy, even after all the intimacy they shared.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Matthew.”
He lingered a little longer before leaving her alone.
There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him. She knew this, yet she did not know exactly what love meant or what she needed to do to prove her love. All she knew was she had only ever felt this way with Matthew.
She turned her face into his pillow and imagined a time when they would share a bed together again. Not even sexually and they didn’t even have to talk. She wanted him with her, she wanted to hold him as he slept and feel the lines in his face, memorize the color of his eyes.
He was the only one who ever believed in her. The only one who treated her like a person and not a porcelain doll or a prophecy or a solider.
----
Matt organized her funeral. He gladly did it, but it was only when he called for the arrangements did he really realize how alone she actually was. Who was he supposed to tell? Would she even want anyone to come? Did anyone else care that she was gone?
“And your relation to her?” the director asked.
Matt hesitated before confirming, “Just put the payment under Matthew Murdock.”
“Of course. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Murdock.”
He picked a simple template for the program, not knowing if anyone would come anyways. He didn’t have any pictures of her (of course), so he didn’t include any. He sat at his kitchen table, deliberating the bible verse he would have on the gravestone and the program.
I mostly found that I was alone,
He fiddled with the pen in his hand, musing over those words. Perhaps he was just delaying the inevitable. He would have to bury her, listen to them shovel dirt over her grave, and then leave her. If she had come back, if she had returned to his dorm room after Roscoe Sweeney, would he have taken her? Of course. There was no question about it now.
Maybe he would have torn himself over it at the time. Foggy would have some serious words on not falling for the crazy ones, even if they are crazy hot. But after the first few weeks without her, no matter how much he swore he would have been repulsed by her presence again, he knew he missed her.
She died for him that night. She threw herself in front of Nobu’s blade. He could still hear the breath escape her lungs when the metal pierced her skin. He remembered the life slowly draining from her body, her breaths becoming more labored and her heartbeats slowing down.
And then, he couldn’t feel her at all.