Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 06

"This...," Sam sputtered.

"Yeah," Miranda replied numbly; never in her life had she ever received such an object that could have only been a combination of tremendous time and effort coupled with peerless skill. It was a work of art and, more importantly, it was hers. It could not be mistaken for anyone else; this thing, this gift belonged to her alone.

The ache inside became a dull roar and Miranda unconsciously rubbed at her chest.

"Uh, Miri?" Sam called out.

"Yes?" the other girl replied between numb lips.

"Your birthstone is sapphire, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Could you come here please?"

Miranda staggered towards the table, her senses still reeling as she processed that someone had done this, worked this hard and this well for her.

Grey...

She sniffled a little as she peered down at her orange-yellow duplicate through the lens.

"Look at the hair," was all Sam said.

There was a small blue point of light within her hair, like a jewel in a crown. Exactly like a jewel, in fact.

"Sam, please get me whatever books you can find on mineralogy and gemology."

"Yeah, good call."

Gently, Miranda rubbed her finger against the cheek of the statuette. The material seemed to possess a warmth to it, as if it were a living thing.

Is this how beautiful I am to you, Grey?

Blinking back tears, she coughed once and turned to face Sam as the other girl wheeled in and handed her a book.

"Here, I've already marked the entry for sapphires."

"Thanks, sweetie," Miranda took the girls hand and kissed it, squeezing affectionately which brought a cheery smile to her lover's face.

"Yeah, well, you can show your appreciation later tonight, preferably naked."

Miranda smiled wryly, "One-track mind."

"Says the girl with the puzzle fetish and monomaniacal tendencies."

"Such big words."

"Shut up and figure this out, would you please?"

Miranda chuckled and began examining the stone and checking it against the book. It didn't remain a puzzle very long.

"This isn't a sapphire," Miranda said quietly.

"Then what is it?"

"A blue diamond, probably from South Africa."

"A diamond?! He put a freakin' diamond in that?"

"He did."

"But why, I mean obviously the guy is loaded, but a diamond?!"

"He probably thought sapphires were too common," Miranda touched the small gem gently; "It's the snob in him, like you said earlier."

"Oh yeah, no, I totally understand," Sam waved her hand in mock dismissal, "Sapphires are like pennies, I just chuck 'em whenever I find them, are you fucking kidding me?"

"Evidently not."

"How much does one of those go for anyhow? And how do you know it's from South Africa?"

"The internet can answer the first question, as to the second," Miranda couldn't refrain from grinning slightly, "It wouldn't be funny otherwise."

"'Funny'?" Sam wheeled over to her laptop and returned, "This is his idea of a joke?"

"More like wit," she shot the girl a sideways glance, "He listened. He remembered and apparently cared. How many people have you dated that weren't capable of any of that?"

"Way too many," Sam muttered as she fired up her computer and typed furiously.

"Value is determined by carat; how much it weighs," Miranda explained, "Color; the colored diamonds are almost always more expensive, clarity; that one's self explanatory and cut; how well the diamond is crafted, usually determined by the number of facets a gem possess; a better cut equals better facets which translates to a higher price tag."

Miranda scrutinized the gem carefully, "It's small, obviously, but the color is lovely and it's clear as could be," she frowned, "the cut is strange though; I count twenty-four facets, triangular shape but with a circular outline, flat base, pointed tips, and all of it symmetrical."

"Yeah, you think he made it himself? Flew to South Africa, found a piece of coal and turned it into a diamond just so he could brag about it?

"No," the other girl laughed, "He's good, but he's not that good: the level of skill to work a diamond in this fashion can only be done by someone who has spent a lifetime doing it, it's not something that one can just 'pick up' as a hobby. He probably outsourced it to someone—"

"Fifteen thousand dollars?!"

Miranda spun to face Sam; who looked like she was about to have a seizure.

"Fifteen-thousand dollars, Miri," she gestured at the figure on the desk, "For that."

"Well, let's keep it in perspective; he did just leave us a check for twice that."

"That's for things like airfare and surgery and admittance into some of the most prestigious hospitals in the world," she waved her hand at the desk, "That is a rock the size of a Skittle."

"I doubt he paid that much. One: like you said, it's small and two; do you really see him paying full price for anything?"

Sam considered that, "Given his methods, no, probably not, I'll give you that one."

Miranda sighed, "It's impressive—"

"Miri, don't be an idiot, it's awesome bordering on insane and you and I both know it, so don't feel that you need to coddle me regarding it."

Miranda nodded, "Okay, yes, it is a marvelous work of art," she picked up the figurine and held it up to the light, "I just don't understand the significance: I mean yes, it demonstrates an incredible sense of aesthetics and skill to create, but for what? In the end, what is he trying to say?"

"'Look at me! Look at me! I'm entirely too fucking talented for my own good which is why everyone hates me!'?"

Miranda snickered, "Possibly, but unlikely. Everything he's done has been for someone else, not for his own self-gratification," she peered at the tiny copy of herself in her hand, "I think."

"Uh, hey Miri?"

"Hmmm?" Miranda said, deep in thought.

"Are diamonds supposed to change color?"

The dark-haired girl frowned, "No, why?"

"Because it's red now."

"It's what?" Miranda turned the figurine over in her hand and examined it from every angle.

"Sammy, the diamond's blue."

"It's red I tell you and don't call me Sammy. Here," Sam wheeled over to her side of the desk, "Give it here," she took the figurine and held it up to the light as Miranda had, "Okay, now go to the other side of the table and look up at it from where I was."

Miranda obliged and moved around to kneel opposite Sam; she craned her neck up to look at the figurine. At this angle, the light shown through the figurine.

Moreover, the diamond was red.

"How?" Miranda asked quietly.

"I've got this one short-stack," Sam cleared her throat, "It's not a blue diamond, it's clear. The way that it's cut with all those strangely shaped facets you were talking about, combined with the angle in which it was mounted into the statue and the light-altering qualities amber can possess means that someone looking one way at it, say where the amber is thinnest would see blue, based on their viewpoint. Whereas from a different angle, through the thicker parts of the amber the clear diamond becomes a red one."

"The level of precision required for that: the cut of the diamond, the mounting, gauging the density of the material..."

"Yeah, enormous," Sam regarded the figurine, "Starting to believe that his grasp on physics might not be utter bullshit after all."

Miranda's brow furrowed as she studied the figurine in this new light. The angle with which it caused the diamond to shine red, made the remaining, unfinished portion of the figurine to glow. Lines and details that couldn't be seen before now shone forth in stark contrast to the rest of the material.

"I don't believe it."

Sam frowned, "What now, is there an emerald in there or something?"

"Just, come over here and don't block the light."

Sam wheeled over to her lover and focused on the figurine, "What?"

"Just, focus on the diamond for a bit and relax your eyes, then look at the statue from the top down."

Sam grumbled but did so, squinting at the glowing scarlet gem and the amber crown within it, she relaxed her eyes and saw that the crown was, in fact, long strands of hair that were woven together before cascading down...

"Fuck me running! That's me!"

An image of Samantha stared back at the pair, her chin jutted out defiantly and her eyes held an imperious look to them, as if she were prepared to come to life at any moment and take them both on.

She was nude from the waist up and this time Grey had spared no effort on capturing Sam's anatomy accurately.

Sam blushed, "Guy sees me naked once and proceeds to give me tits like that. Figures."

"You don't approve?" Miranda asked still in awe of what she was saying.

"Well no, they're just kinda..." she examined herself, her breasts sat high upon her chest and were indeed proportionately large, each tipped with a golden nipple, "...epic? Like something out of a Vallejo painting."

Sam continued to examine her diminutive clone; she was clad only in a pair of ragged pants that stopped short of the knee. Her legs, she noticed, were long and muscular, perfectly depicted right down to tiny marks to indicate the scar and her feet were bare.

But the stance, the way she was standing she was "aggressively female" was the only term she could think of.

Meanwhile, Miranda examined the statue in a new light and saw what had been done: the back of the Miranda figurine flowed easily into Sam's: hair was woven together, elbows and knees were conjoined, it was difficult to spot exactly where one ended and the other began. She realized that her copy wasn't just leaning against random bits of amber; she was leaning against Sam in a gesture of affection and a desire of safety whilst on the other side, Sam stood like a wall, protecting the girl at her back with nothing more than a domineering gaze and a small pair of amber fists.

Sam found herself getting choked up as the other Sam looked back at her: proud and fierce; a Sam that had never heard the words 'brittle bone disease' or 'handicapped.'"

A Sam that she would never know.

"What--," Sam said hoarsely and attempted to swallow back what she was feeling, "What does this mean? I mean, is he making fun of us or complimenting us? I mean what's his angle?"

"Probably a little of both, love," Miranda gently ran a finger across the golden copy of Sam in her hand, "He's got a good eye."

"Then why do I want to punch him in it? Repeatedly."

Miranda exhaled, "The same reason I do: he has a way of deducing whatever is most intimate or most personal about you; wherever you happen to be vulnerable, and just dragging it up and staking it out in front of you for you to see with your naked eye. There is no inner coddling or justification, no filters of any kind. Just the most raw and brutal truths about you; presented in a manner that is neither judgmental nor remorseful. It simply is.

Sam thought about that for a moment.

"But it's okay to still want to beat the shit out of him, right?"

"Completely."

"Good, thought so," Sam gestured at the figurine in her lover's hand, "So, what are we supposed to DO with it? Just sit back and marvel at Grey's talent?"

Miranda shook her head, her black hair swishing back and forth slightly with the movement, "I don't think so. That's too easy," she sent Sam a sideways look, "Also for that kind of ego gratification, you need to first put value in the opinion of others."

Sam snorted, "Yeah, okay good point, clearly not the case here."

"Clearly," Miranda frowned as she touched the bottom of the figurine; the legs of both women tapered down into a base that was completely circular and polished until it gleamed and was as smooth as silk or—

Miranda's head jerked up in realization and she nearly dropped the figurine, "Shit!"

"Miri! You swore! And in English no less!" Sam looked positively scandalized.

"Sam, get the checkerboard," Miranda said in a quiet voice that contained a shocking amount of intensity, "I know exactly what this is and why he did it."

"Oh this should be good," Sam hurried off and returned a few moments with the board: it was a simple thing made of cardboard that folded up.

Miranda placed the statuette in the center of the board.

"It's a chess piece."

Sam stared at it in shock, "Holy hell!" But it was, indeed, a chess piece: the dimensions of its base conformed perfectly within the borders of the square, "How did you know?"

Miranda picked up the piece and flipped it over, exposing the bottom for scrutiny, "The bottom is polished completely smooth, way beyond what would be necessary for simply providing a stable base for the rest of the work. I thought to myself that it felt as smooth as silk..." she looked over at the chessboard, "...or felt."

"A tiny statue with a felt bottom, yeah, that's a chess piece," Sam gave another low whistle of appreciation; both at Grey's handiwork and her lover's skill in deciphering it, "I wonder if he's got a whole chess set that look like you and I. That would be impressive...and a little creepy," she took the piece from Miranda and examined it, "So what is he saying, that you're—"

"Not 'me' Sammy, 'us'. Your body is in that sculpture as well."

"Flattering, my point is: is this his way of saying we are his, what, his queen?"

Miranda frowned and shook her head again, "No, no the queen serves to control the board and protect the king and I don't think he sees as like that."

"Then what?"

Miranda examined the piece again under the magnifying glass, "Sweetie?"

"Yeah babe?"

"What's the symbol in chess for the queen?"

"A crown, why."

"How many points on the crown?"

Sam mentally counted, "Five."

Miranda beckoned and picked up a small laser pointer as Sam rolled up next to her. The other girl activated the laser and placed a red dot at the very top of the statues head.

"The hair is woven to look like a crown, see? Here and here. Same on the other side."

"With you so far, though I'd like to know how he managed to make a crown out of hair as short as yours."

"A great deal of artistic license springs to mind, but my point is; look at the diamond setting, a single bit of material at the very top of the crown. In fact, even though the sculptures have different, stylized crowns, they share that one point at the very top." Miranda leaned against the table, "A crown with a single point isn't the queen," she gestured at the piece,

"We're the king, Sam."

"We're what now?"

"The king, the most valuable piece on the board. We're not the protector, we're meant to be the protected."

"Okay, you're getting all that from a chess piece?" Sam asked incredulously, "Are we certain we are not projecting, just a little?"

Miranda sighed, she suddenly felt exhausted; unraveling Grey's handiwork was almost as draining as being around the man himself, "Certain, not really, but it fits and it, well it feels right, for lack of a better term."

"Instinct? Okay, I can get behind that."

Miranda then closed her eyes and her expression started to crumble.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the fuck?" Sam gripped her lover's hands tightly, "What's going on?"

"I get the message," she whispered very quietly and it hurt Sam to hear her sound like this.

"What message?"

"Have you ever read any Dumas? Count of Monte Cristo?"

"Yeah, saw the movie too, so?"

"So, 'King's to you'."

Sam inhaled through clenched teeth: "Oh, that can't be good."

Miranda gestured at the board, "It was after I cursed at him and threw him out that he put this on the table," Miranda shook her head sadly, "'King's to me,' right."

"Still not following."

"'King's to you,' has a double meaning: in the Count of Monte Cristo, the main characters say it back and forth to each other, it essentially means 'point for you' or 'score one for you', follow?"

"So far."

"In chess, it is said when one opponent has surrendered the game and demonstrated so by physically handing their piece to the other player," Miranda made a sweeping gesture towards the piece on the board, "'King's to you' or simply 'I forfeit'."

"So, what's he's saying..."

"The fact that I spoke to him the way he had spoken to us, that I had sunken down to his level, he was saying 'King's to you'," Miranda glared at the amber statue, "Or to put it a different way, 'A point for you for being goaded into sinking down to my level.'"

"Prick."

"And the fact that he left it there means...he gives up," saying the words aloud did something to Miranda. It made her hurt, in a manner she was not prepared for, "He quits, he forfeits, and he's gone!"

"Sweetie," Sam looked up into her lover's violet eyes and was troubled to see that unshed tears shimmered just on the surface, "We agreed, it's better this way. Whatever his deal is, it's just not something we can be a part of."

Miranda sniffled and nodded, "I know, Sammy, I know, it's just hard."

"Me too, Miri, I cared about him for a little while back there too."

Miranda looked stunned, "You what?"

"Don't look so shocked, I said more than one prayer that he would live through the night," she sighed, "Maybe that was a mistake."

"I don't know."

"Look Miri, you're not going to get over this if you're constantly worried about pissing me off," she gestured at the board, "So just do what you need to do to get it out of your system, okay?"

Miranda smiled and wiped her tears away before hugging Sam fiercely.

"I love you so much, baby."

"I know," Sam wrapped her strong arms around the other girl and squeezed, "I'm going to step out, you do whatever you need to, then come join me and we can go to school, okay?"

"Okay. And Sam? Thank you."

"Like I said, I'll be extracting a great deal of satisfaction from that luscious body of yours in due time as compensation."

Miranda laughed again and was still laughing when Sam wheeled herself out of the apartment and closed the door behind her.

Then there was only her, the light, and the tiny statue on the board.

Miranda spent a long time watching how it glowed in the light; how beautiful it was.

Her hands began to shake as she placed her hand over the top of the figurine.

"Please," she whispered, "Please don't...don't do this, please. Please don't be gone. For me. Please."

The silence was her only answer, but it was the only answer she needed. There was one sob, just a single spasm of grief and hopelessness and then it was gone, leaving only saltwater upon cheeks.

"I can't do this," she said with a slight whimper, "Please..."

Nothing.

"Goo-," she swallowed and tried, "Goodb-".

She nearly choked then and a lance of pain shot through her; just like that kick to the chest. She wiped her eyes and placed a single fingertip on the chess piece.

It's better this way.

"King's to you, Grey."

She very gently tipped the piece onto its side, walked out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.