Bad Day
Author: Kinkyhobbit
Pairing: EW/DM
Genre: RPS
Rating: M (for language)
Warnings: Sexual tension, drugs, language, angst.
Disclaimer: I
don’t own the rights to these characters, I’m just
playing with them.
Summary:
Not long after EW’s return from filming Try17. Dom’s POV.
Notes: Written
in two hours immediately after reading Housemouse’s fic challenge on CTB.
Monday
The meeting went much longer than expected and
although nothing’s certain, I got a good vibe from it. A
great vibe. Now I’m walking killing time, just watching people and
looking in windows and browsing through shops. I don’t usually do this, I can
only do it when I’m really happy and right now I am. So
fucking happy.
Monday
You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.
Where are you? I bet you’ve forgotten we were meeting here for lunch, you
slacker. Bet you’re at home. I call you but you don’t answer. You’re probably
running late and you’ve probably forgotten your phone again. Doesn’t matter,
I’m still riding the high from that meeting. I’m happy and I want to share it
with you, so get your arse here pronto.
Monday
I’ve waited to meet you for lunch for nearly an
hour. I’m not riding that high anymore, instead I’m starting to worry about
you, wondering where you are. I’ve started looking for you, glancing up every
time a car stops nearby or someone walks past. I’ve caved in an ordered a
sandwich because I’m hungry and can’t wait any longer.
Monday,
I’m home. You’re here. You never left. I was
worrying about you, actually worrying that something might have happened to
you, and all the while you were fucking her. I’m shocked and upset and…I don’t
know what.
You had told me it was all over. Just a fling. “I didn’t think”, isn’t that what you said? Seems like you’re still not thinking. Or at least, not
thinking of anyone else, only your bloody self.
Did you think I wouldn’t know? She’s gone now,
but I know. I could smell her in the house as soon as I walked in, I could
smell her on you. She was still in
your eyes when you looked at me, and I swear I could taste her on your lips
when I kissed you. Then you realised there was no way I couldn’t know, and you
apologised, of course. You always do.
So, were you fucking her while I was waiting
for you? Did you come just as the waitress brought the menu?
You’d been so happy yesterday when I told you I
was having breakfast with someone from Warner to talk about my and Billy’s
script. Now I wonder if you were happy for us, or if you were happy I’d be out
of the way for the morning so you could arrange your little rendezvous.
Was it the first thing you thought of doing? Did
you call her or did she contact you, surprise you with a call or a visit to let
you know she was in town? Was it all her idea? I prefer to think of it
happening like that. It would be easier to think of her as a complete bitch, because she’s not the one I’m in love with.
Monday,
I don’t get a chance to grill you because
Hannah is bouncing at the door. Your brother is here with some mates for a
visit, and you’re grateful for the excuse. She won’t leave me behind, though,
and grabs my hand to make sure I come into the main house to join the fun.
Now we’re in your mum’s house and I have so
many questions I want to ask, so many things I want to pull out of your head
and lay out on the floor, to see what you’re thinking and how I feel about it.
So much to go through but this isn’t the right time or place, so I just sit
here pretending nothing is wrong. I feel like I’m caught
in the middle of some weird world where only I know what’s going on. I look up
and Hannah is laughing, your mum is reading over my shoulder, your brother and
his mates are in the kitchen making milkshakes and clowning around.
You’re in the picture somewhere. I'm not
looking at you. I'm reading the morning paper, throwing occasional comments to
others around us. You're not talking to me.
I'm not going to look at you, see the awkward
apology in your face, or worse, your usual face as if nothing was wrong.
Fuck you. And fuck her, too. But you already
did. Ha ha. At least my sense of humour is intact.
Monday,
I keep it locked away until we’re back in our
place. I don’t want to fight with you, I just want to
know where I stand. But as usual it turns into a fight because you don’t like
being questioned and you’re angry enough with yourself. You’re such a bastard when
it comes to this and you bring out the bastard in me. I don’t stay long enough
to see you cry this time because I know it will start me crying too, and that
won’t help us to work this out. I just want to drive, to get out and get away
and find some space to think. Then we can talk when we’re both calm and
rational.
I shouldn’t drive when I’m
hyped up and mad, though. We both know that, and I can hear the panic in
your voice when you ask me where I’m going. You’re worried I’ll do something
stupid. We’ll see.
Monday,
Well wouldn’t you know it sweetheart, it’s not
even hour later and here I am flat on my back on the road, surrounded by chaos.
Too fast and too careless.
“Negligent”, I think they’ll say. That’s the official legal word for being
stupid. I figured taking my anger and frustration out on the car was safer than
taking it out on you. I saw the speed limit sign and went faster. I saw the
warning about the corner being tight and I ignored it. And the tree! That poor
tree didn’t know what hit it.
Now the ambulance is here and they’re talking
to me, and there’s so many flashing lights it’s like a
disco in my head. The police are here too.
Everything hurts. Everything.
I’ve heard about people who are in accidents and just go numb, they’ve got limbs
missing and they don’t feel a thing. Well I can fucking feel this now, every
part of me is screaming at every other part and I think I might die from the
pain, and I think that would be good. I’ve never wanted to die before, but the
pain…I can hear someone screaming and it just might be me.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse I
get a surge of feeling in my fucking legs and I nearly pass out. I want to see
if they’re actually still there, I expect a mangled mess of blood and flesh and
crushed bone. I raise my head long enough to see a whole lot of blood and
unnatural angles, but it doesn’t look as bad as it feels. Then the whole
universe spins and pushes me down again.
If I died, I wouldn’t have to deal with all
this other shit either. With you and your bloody confusion and your dick that
does your thinking for you, and with her, and with the cops scowling at me and
making notes, and the passers-by gawking like kids at the fucking zoo, and the
paramedics with their caring hands and detached eyes.
At least the road is warm against my back. It
feels nice.
More warmth is surging through me, like a wave
crashing over me. The voices and the lights fade, and I think at last I’m
dying. Everything feels so peaceful, I won’t have to
worry about anything anymore.
I think I might miss you.
Tuesday,
More waves, but different now. Darkness thick and choking. I can’t breathe, my throat
burns. It’s weighing on me, and hands are grabbing me and pulling at me. It
strikes me that perhaps I’m not going to die after all, that these hands are
trying to stop me. I feel so fucking angry and cheated. I’m not going through
all this again. I don’t want to. I’ve had enough. I want to fucking die.
I try to scream but nothing comes, I start
struggling and writhing but the hands hold me tight. I’m frightened, and I know
I’m totally alone. I keep struggling and finally, at last, manage to scream.
Every ounce of desperation and fear is in that one sound. One
word.
Your name.
I didn’t expect that to happen. Obviously I
need you more than I realise. I’m a little shocked to say the least.
Tuesday,
I feel something touch me in the darkness,
something human. I know it’s you reaching in to pull me out. Your hand is small
but strong, and I recognise your touch from that of all the others. It grasps
mine and holds on, and the darkness draws back like it’s afraid of you, and now
I can see your face.
You are going to stop me from dying, and you
know what? I think I want you to.
You smile and I’m blinded.
I can hear you calling me, but it doesn’t match the smile. There’s pain in your
voice and I realise how much it will hurt you to see me die. How come I didn’t
think of that before?
You call me again with tears in your voice and
now I feel an overwhelming desire to take your pain away, banish it, drive it out so nothing can ever break your smile. It should
stay, so I can nurture it and love it and make it grow. I’m not angry with you
anymore.
There is still the light blinding me, but it’s
not your smile, it’s the sun coming through the window. I can’t feel anything
except a dull, distant pain in my head and my legs, and something soft and warm
in my hand.
The thing in my hand moves and the light dims.
I stop squinting and you’re standing by the window, all awkward shame and fear,
your hand still on the curtain. The smile is gone and your eyes are red and
blue.
I remember what we talked about, how you said
you still thought we had something. I let you convince me, and looking at you
now I know I’ll let you convince me again. It will probably be easier this
time.
You sit beside me and take my hand. I can see a
million things swirling around behind your eyes, thoughts and words that won’t
come together right now, so you just cry instead. Cry and hold my hand, and I
can feel your tears on my fingers. I can feel everything, but I can’t make my
hand move. I want to squeeze your hand, brush the tears off your cheeks and
feel your warm breath as you sigh against my skin. I want it so badly, but my
damn fucking hand won’t move.
I can’t speak either, and I laugh in my head at
the irony of it all. You can speak but don’t know what to say. I know exactly
what I want to say, but I’m so drugged up my mouth won’t work.
I love you.
I tell you with my eyes, I stare past your hair
and into your head, burying that thought somewhere safe so you’ll always have
it with you. My gaze wavers and I feel dizzy but I don’t think of anything
else.
I love you.
You look up, finally. No need
to find another way in now, your eyes are open and welcoming. I tell you
everything without saying a word.
I love you.
If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here, I’d have left a
long time ago.
“Can you hear me?”
You’re still crying.
“I love you, Dom. I need you, don’t you fucking
die on me.”
I’m not going anywhere now.
“I’m so sorry.”
I know.
“I love you so much, I really do.”
I know.
“Talk to me. Dom? Sblomie? Say something.”
You shake my shoulder gently, gazing at me with
that little-boy frown of yours.
“Dom?”
You wave your hand in front of my eyes.
Fuck, maybe I’m more spaced
out than I thought. I still can’t speak. You haven’t heard a word, it’s all been in my head. You don’t know it’s all
going to be okay. I want to tell you but I can’t. I want to hold you and kiss
you and make you stop crying.
But I can’t.
You sit down and lay your head on my hand,
still holding it tight. Your hair is a mess and you haven’t shaved and you look
so tired. You’re going to fall asleep, and now I don’t want to move my hand at
all, I want to leave it locked in your grasp.
I want to get inside your dreams and tell you
everything I couldn’t say while you were awake.
Or maybe I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
We’ll see.
Kinkyhobbit 2002
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