Title: "Sugar and Spice"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: 'R', ficlet, POV, angst, language.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, nope.
Summary: Just a ficlet ruminating on Sonny and Jax and the enmity therein.

He represents everything you never were, will never be. Tall and golden and perfect. Not Brooklyn and Cuba and Mike in his voice, no. Just Australia and gold and oil. One of those kids who never had to wear hand-me-down shoes and high collars to hide the bruises. The ones that didn't know how to play in the water from the hydrant on the street corner and would've walked over you just like they walked over puddles given half the chance.

You call him "Candyboy" because he's spun like cotton candy...delicate and perfect and sticky-melty on your fingers. Not like Brenda's kisses on your belly. Not that spicy pepper kick of her rich little cock sucking lips. But he swallows you up just the same.

You tasted the edge of metal when he was graying and dying, bleeding on the cottage floor. Thought, for just a minute, that you would finally be free of him as he lay sprawled beneath the woman you both fucked and were fucked over by.

He can't ski anymore. Can't ride the lift with his neurotic redheaded wife. And that should be vindication. Because you never had the money to ski. Never had the power to marry. Not until you grew up and stole a silver spoon for your mouth and learned to live with your own hypocrisy, to live with it and profit from it.

And watching his toe twitch beneath the hospital sheets gives you the stupidest little thrill. The rush of challenge in your veins. Because Brenda is sitting there between you again... spitting bitter sparks...still...protecting him from what she thinks is a threat.

She has no idea that the only threat is her.

That all you want is to remind him that you're better than him now. To make him accept it.

Because you were equal once. And not before that.

But all the reminders in the world won't change the simplest fact...

He's still perfect.

And you're still you. Wearing high collars to hide the bruises.


October 23, 2002.

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