Sparkling Diamonds
Meeting Mark Gatiss.
I don't know how long I remained in the shower but when the water started to go cold, meaning i had used up all the hot water in the house, and the sun creeped through the venetian blinds, did I force myself out of the soothing touches of the shower and into the cold, bleak surroundings of the bathroom.
I knew that I would have to pull myself together like I idid every other time but as the years passed, and as my husband and I drew into our sixth year of marriage within a matter of days, it was getting harder and harder. Some of the bruises that he had left had started to become a permanent part of my body and the scars that I had crossing vertically over my lip, leaving a small chunk out of the side of my mouth, and the scars that criss-crossed over the rest of my body was something that make-up could never hide. Not like I used much of the stuff, anyway.
I turned to get the clothes from the previous night that had been ripped and torn by my husband as he tried to claw his way into my pants, I saw myself in the mirror. To my own eyes, I looked ugly and I was pretty sure everyone else saw me the same way because I hardly heard a good comment about my appearance.
I had dirty blonde wavy hair that had been cropped short just around my shoulders. with big almond shaped eyes that were a golden brown. One of my arched eyebrows were tattered from the new scar that had embedded itself in there from last nights events, but other wise, my face remained quite smooth -- save for the freckles upon my cheeks, of course.
My body, however, I wouldn't really consider very beautiful because of all the scars and bruises that had been left there but even without them, I wouldn't have thought very highly of myself, either. By dating my husband in the early years, I had hoped that he would raise the such low opinion that I had of myself. It worked for a while but soon enough, I only realised that I was kidding myself. We had gotten married and my self worth had dropped through the floor, further than it had ever had been.
I wasn't the person for cutting because another scar upon my body would have just been ridiculous and its not like I needed to hurt myself in a way that I could just be hurt by my husband. Instead, I tried to deal with myself mentally -- a battle that I had been raging with ever since our honeymoon.
I pulled a bathrobe around my, warming my cooling wet body from the hours I had just spent in the shower. Picking up the tattered clothes, I left the bathroom and walked through the bedroom to get into the rest of the house. My husband's muscled body lay sprawled across the bed, his bottom half covered by the bed sheets. There was a fresh bottle of beer with its liquid seeping out the top near his hand on the floor by the bed.
I was glad that we had wooden floors because that meant that I wouldn't have to do much cleaning once he had left for work. I moved as quickly as I could from the bedroom for the rest of the house.
We lived in a small one bedroom apartment in central London, close to where I worked but a fare distance from where husband worked. Not like it bothered either of us because that would mean that he would spend long periods of time away, sometimes up to six months, and I could have the apartment to myself.
He worked in construction and went wherever the jobs took him. Usually, it wasn't in London, which I was glad for, but right now it happened to be in one of the periods where he would be spending at last up to two weeks back at home before head headed over to Manchester to start construction on some new buildings.
I threw the tattered clothes into the bin and shut it quickly, as if it was contagious. I didn't want to head back into the bedroom incase my husband woke up when I was trying to get changed. The last thing that I wanted to happen was a repeat of last night events. I would already get a repeat tonight once he came home from the bar with his friends.
I had always had a bag of clothing stored away on one of the cupboards and made sure that I changed things around when I had the chance and he was out of the house.
I pulled on the underwear and the clothes that I had packed, spraying on a can of deodorant that I had packed before I then let myself out of the house without a sound. I moved quickly down the hallway to the lifts and furiously pressed the down button but it didn't arrive fast enough so I decided to take the emergency staircase down to the bottom floor.
There was a small foyer but it wasn't filled with much -- only doors to other apartments and the two lifts that hoisted people between floors. I did up my warm jacket once I stepped out into the snow of London, heading up towards where I worked.
It was early in the morning and the sight, as well as smell, of peak hour traffic could be seen.There would be no use in hailing a cab to work because even though I would have the warmth of the car, it would take me twice as long to get there and more money than I dare spend. Beside, if I used my card, my husband would question why I made such an unnecessary spend.
I walked a few blocks over to the BBC headquarters. We had just finished filming "Wallander," which was sad because we had been filming mainly overseas and that would mean more time for me to stay over in Sweden, where we were filming, and away from my husband. Unfortunately, also, I didn't have the money to continue staying over there, especially when I didn't know anyone or the language. Reluctantly, I returned to the UK two days ago to a kind and caring husband who greeted me with a hard hand.
I was returning to the BBC headquarters for the next contract I would undertake as apart of the production design team. I had never taken control of anything myself but had always had a strong role within the team. I was hoping when I went into today, something with a leadership role had come up.
I walked into the beautifully decorated foyer, a definite contrast to that of my building. I took out my ID for the building and swiped it against a turnstile to get into the lifts. I gave a small wave to security as I walked passed and I was greeted with a warm smile -- it was one step forward in brightening my day.
I headed up to one of the level where much of the meetings that I took part in were held. There was hardly anyone else in the elevator that I travelled in but when I got to the level I desired, it was bustling with people moving in between desks and offices with editing and sound equipment.
I hardly knew everyone but when I headed into a board room, I found the friends that had convinced me to marry my husband five years ago. I smiled at them softly as I joined them in a leather high back chair.
Bianca, a girl with bright red hair and blue eyes had a happy go lucky nature. She was one of my closest friends, one that I had since high school. We lived together before I moved in with my husband, so we were pretty close and still are. Eliza was the other one of my friends that sat next to Bianca, a black haired asian that had moved over from Japan when I just started with the BBC.
"You finally returned to your natural colour, Eliza?" I questioned her, motioning to her hair.
Eliza gave me a beaming smile, flicking her hair from side to side, and saying, "My hairdresser said that I needed to leave it for a while before I change colour again."
"Oh she didn't…" Bianca said, sarcasm seeping through each of the words she uttered.
We all giggled as one of the bigger producers for one of the hit programs at the BBC entered the room. By this stage, the room had become full with various crew that I had never really seen before. What I did notice was how quiet the room got when a second producer entered the room.
It was like everyone had become starstruck and I was the only one that was left out, completely unaware of who these people were or what television show they were responsible for. They took their seats at the head of the table and set out a folder of paper in front of them.
"Good morning everyone," said one of the tall, scrawny producers.
There was a scattered "morning" from everyone in the room. I looked to Bianca and Eliza, giving them a questioning glance and whispered to them, "Who are they?"
"I am Mark Gatiss, new face," said the tall scrawny man who was looking directly at me when I turned back around at the sound of his voice. "And you must be Dianna Wilson, the production designer for this series, I'm assuming?"
I knew that I would have to pull myself together like I idid every other time but as the years passed, and as my husband and I drew into our sixth year of marriage within a matter of days, it was getting harder and harder. Some of the bruises that he had left had started to become a permanent part of my body and the scars that I had crossing vertically over my lip, leaving a small chunk out of the side of my mouth, and the scars that criss-crossed over the rest of my body was something that make-up could never hide. Not like I used much of the stuff, anyway.
I turned to get the clothes from the previous night that had been ripped and torn by my husband as he tried to claw his way into my pants, I saw myself in the mirror. To my own eyes, I looked ugly and I was pretty sure everyone else saw me the same way because I hardly heard a good comment about my appearance.
I had dirty blonde wavy hair that had been cropped short just around my shoulders. with big almond shaped eyes that were a golden brown. One of my arched eyebrows were tattered from the new scar that had embedded itself in there from last nights events, but other wise, my face remained quite smooth -- save for the freckles upon my cheeks, of course.
My body, however, I wouldn't really consider very beautiful because of all the scars and bruises that had been left there but even without them, I wouldn't have thought very highly of myself, either. By dating my husband in the early years, I had hoped that he would raise the such low opinion that I had of myself. It worked for a while but soon enough, I only realised that I was kidding myself. We had gotten married and my self worth had dropped through the floor, further than it had ever had been.
I wasn't the person for cutting because another scar upon my body would have just been ridiculous and its not like I needed to hurt myself in a way that I could just be hurt by my husband. Instead, I tried to deal with myself mentally -- a battle that I had been raging with ever since our honeymoon.
I pulled a bathrobe around my, warming my cooling wet body from the hours I had just spent in the shower. Picking up the tattered clothes, I left the bathroom and walked through the bedroom to get into the rest of the house. My husband's muscled body lay sprawled across the bed, his bottom half covered by the bed sheets. There was a fresh bottle of beer with its liquid seeping out the top near his hand on the floor by the bed.
I was glad that we had wooden floors because that meant that I wouldn't have to do much cleaning once he had left for work. I moved as quickly as I could from the bedroom for the rest of the house.
We lived in a small one bedroom apartment in central London, close to where I worked but a fare distance from where husband worked. Not like it bothered either of us because that would mean that he would spend long periods of time away, sometimes up to six months, and I could have the apartment to myself.
He worked in construction and went wherever the jobs took him. Usually, it wasn't in London, which I was glad for, but right now it happened to be in one of the periods where he would be spending at last up to two weeks back at home before head headed over to Manchester to start construction on some new buildings.
I threw the tattered clothes into the bin and shut it quickly, as if it was contagious. I didn't want to head back into the bedroom incase my husband woke up when I was trying to get changed. The last thing that I wanted to happen was a repeat of last night events. I would already get a repeat tonight once he came home from the bar with his friends.
I had always had a bag of clothing stored away on one of the cupboards and made sure that I changed things around when I had the chance and he was out of the house.
I pulled on the underwear and the clothes that I had packed, spraying on a can of deodorant that I had packed before I then let myself out of the house without a sound. I moved quickly down the hallway to the lifts and furiously pressed the down button but it didn't arrive fast enough so I decided to take the emergency staircase down to the bottom floor.
There was a small foyer but it wasn't filled with much -- only doors to other apartments and the two lifts that hoisted people between floors. I did up my warm jacket once I stepped out into the snow of London, heading up towards where I worked.
It was early in the morning and the sight, as well as smell, of peak hour traffic could be seen.There would be no use in hailing a cab to work because even though I would have the warmth of the car, it would take me twice as long to get there and more money than I dare spend. Beside, if I used my card, my husband would question why I made such an unnecessary spend.
I walked a few blocks over to the BBC headquarters. We had just finished filming "Wallander," which was sad because we had been filming mainly overseas and that would mean more time for me to stay over in Sweden, where we were filming, and away from my husband. Unfortunately, also, I didn't have the money to continue staying over there, especially when I didn't know anyone or the language. Reluctantly, I returned to the UK two days ago to a kind and caring husband who greeted me with a hard hand.
I was returning to the BBC headquarters for the next contract I would undertake as apart of the production design team. I had never taken control of anything myself but had always had a strong role within the team. I was hoping when I went into today, something with a leadership role had come up.
I walked into the beautifully decorated foyer, a definite contrast to that of my building. I took out my ID for the building and swiped it against a turnstile to get into the lifts. I gave a small wave to security as I walked passed and I was greeted with a warm smile -- it was one step forward in brightening my day.
I headed up to one of the level where much of the meetings that I took part in were held. There was hardly anyone else in the elevator that I travelled in but when I got to the level I desired, it was bustling with people moving in between desks and offices with editing and sound equipment.
I hardly knew everyone but when I headed into a board room, I found the friends that had convinced me to marry my husband five years ago. I smiled at them softly as I joined them in a leather high back chair.
Bianca, a girl with bright red hair and blue eyes had a happy go lucky nature. She was one of my closest friends, one that I had since high school. We lived together before I moved in with my husband, so we were pretty close and still are. Eliza was the other one of my friends that sat next to Bianca, a black haired asian that had moved over from Japan when I just started with the BBC.
"You finally returned to your natural colour, Eliza?" I questioned her, motioning to her hair.
Eliza gave me a beaming smile, flicking her hair from side to side, and saying, "My hairdresser said that I needed to leave it for a while before I change colour again."
"Oh she didn't…" Bianca said, sarcasm seeping through each of the words she uttered.
We all giggled as one of the bigger producers for one of the hit programs at the BBC entered the room. By this stage, the room had become full with various crew that I had never really seen before. What I did notice was how quiet the room got when a second producer entered the room.
It was like everyone had become starstruck and I was the only one that was left out, completely unaware of who these people were or what television show they were responsible for. They took their seats at the head of the table and set out a folder of paper in front of them.
"Good morning everyone," said one of the tall, scrawny producers.
There was a scattered "morning" from everyone in the room. I looked to Bianca and Eliza, giving them a questioning glance and whispered to them, "Who are they?"
"I am Mark Gatiss, new face," said the tall scrawny man who was looking directly at me when I turned back around at the sound of his voice. "And you must be Dianna Wilson, the production designer for this series, I'm assuming?"