Outbursts [Open] INACTIVE

[HEATHCLIFF SILIVASI]

The words pounced out at him from the shelves of every street vender he’d passed, almost blinking like a damn red alert light to catch his attention and after stubbornly, obstinately refusing to be drawn in by them his anger had finally got the better of him and snatching a copy of the New York Post from the hands of an unsuspecting commuter, he tore down the crowed street in a towering rage, the shouts and curses of his victim bouncing harmlessly like rubber balls off the top of his head.

“Cathy come home?”
_{"Eranshaw Heiress spotted worse for wear outside popular nightclub again”.}

The bolded headline stood out at him like a light in the black, screaming for his attention and in a fit of violent fury he dug his painted fingernails deep into the soft, inked pages and tore ruthlessly through the top of the page which depicted the image of Catherine and yet another lover staggering towards the open door of a waiting limousine, a satisfied, smug smirk on the mans lips…a smirk which fell to the grimy paving stones below Heathcliffs feet, the image of Cathy herself, still hanging limply from the torn page.

Whether or not she had actually done anything with the smug bastard didn’t matter to Heath. All he saw, all he ever would see no matter how many times he saw it, would be her – Catherine – clinging to a hand that wasn’t his, running her hands over skin that wasn’t his and that, that itself, that alone said enough, made her guilty of the crime and his judgment, would not be swayed nor his forgiveness easily given.

The paper still clenched in his hand, his knuckles white with the strength of his grip he made a sudden turn and cut through a group of lunching teenagers, bee lining for Central Park. Ahead of him a camera crew stood together in a tight knot, setting up for what would no doubt be another pointless news report and beyond that, an expanse of green, which would allow him to think clearly or at least a little more rationally.

Halting beneath a grove of large trees a little way of the main footpath, he stared up at the canopy, branches entwining as one tree invaded the others space and his cold eyes narrowed. Directing them down to stare at the tattered newspaper, he brought the document up to eye-level and almost ruthlessly ripped open it’s pages, his eyes searching for the continuation of the article splashed across the front page. He’d’ barley skimmed the text before another fit of anger overtook him and with a shout he tore the paper down the middle and scrunched it up into a ball, pitching it as hard as he could back towards the footpath without a care for where it landed nor who it may hit.

“Damn yeh…”

[/b] he muttered
“DAMN YEH CATHERINE!”[/b] his voice had reached a shout before he even realized it and roughly dragging his pale hands though his hair, his posture slumped and he collapsed down onto a near by bench. Bringing a hand up to his face he ran it across his forehead before leaning forwards in his seat, She would not get to him. He would not let her.[/blockquote]

[kitkat]

All Catherine had been doing for the past three days was studying. It was beginning to drive her a little crazy. She threw her pen down in exasperation and layed back on the bed. American History was just about the most boring thing she'd ever read, if it hadn't been a required course she never would have taken it. Try as she might, it just could not hold her interest. That's why in the past three days she'd soaked up about as much information as you'd get from a fortune cookie. The fact that her test in American History was the only school she had scheduled for this week did not help. If she had other classes to attend then she could have taken a break here and there, but with nothing else to do, she felt she had to spend all her time studying. Which, to be honest, was probably not good for her or her grades.

With a sigh she was sitting up to read over the Industrial Revolution yet again, when a sound at the window caught her attention. There was a pigeon on the ledge. She smiled and walked over, kneeling beside it and letting out a small laugh as it pecked the glass. She put her fingers to the pane and tapped back at it. The pigeon squawked and flew away, landing on another building across the street, then a sign down at street level. Catherine sat watching it for a moment before she remembered her studies. A grimace came over her face as she glanced toward the book lying on her bed. This was so not the mood to learn in. Maybe a break would be a good idea. Another look outside confirmed her decision, she would go for a walk. With a sudden spring in her step she jumped up to pull some shoes on, grabbing a light jacket as she walked out the door.

The day was beautiful, the sun had broken through the clouds, making everything look new and shiny. 'If everything in the city looks this pretty, then central park must be gorgeous', she thought to herself, making a turn towards the park. A walk through central park would certainly be longer than she'd originally planned, but it didn't matter. Now that she was out of her room she was in no hurry whatsoever to go back.

Finally she reached the park, it was a bit of a walk from her apartment. The grass was a vibrant shade of green, the trees were old and impressive, she loved it here. Her walk slowed to a stroll as she admired her surroundings. She took no notice of the people she passed, just enjoying the natural beauty of it all. As she walked through a particularly thick grove of trees, yes, she'd gone off the beaten path, the sound of someone screaming her name shocked her out of her revelry. She spun around to see a man sitting on a bench looking rather distraught, almost like he was about to cry. Of course she knew it wasn't truly her name he was yeliing, but the sight still affected her. She found herself walking slowly toward him, her kind personality making her unable to ignore someone suffering in front of her. Though she didn't know how, or if, she could help, she felt the need to at least try.

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