Jakes
~It doesn't mean much
it doesn't mean anything at all~
Dillon slouched into the bar, checking out the bartender carefully. It was a trick he’d perfected with his friends back home. First thing you always did if you wanted a drink was size up the bartender. Fake ID or no, you had to play your cards right. And, he was his mother’s son. Who knew a thing or two about cards.
He smoothed his fingers through his hair, made sure his shirt was tucked in. This was an older-lady bartender. With the older woman types, you stood a better chance if you looked clean-cut, like pretty college boys with twinkles in their eyes. Dillon could play that. He walked over to the bar smoothly, lightly, and leaned against it, smiling. “Excuse me, ma’am, could I get a beer, please?”
Jake looked up and sighed, wearily. When the hell had her joint become the local chapter of Teenage-Alchoholics-R-Us? “Sure, kid, sure,” she held out her palm, and Dillon started to dig in his pocket for cash. “Soon as you show me some ID.” She stood, arms folded, as he handed her an ID stating he was Dean Thompson, age 23, from the great state of Utah. Jake barely glanced at it before pulling a pair of scissors from under the bar and cutting it in half.
“Hey!” Dillon protested. “What the hell--”
Jake slid the pieces across the bar to him. “Come back in three or four years, kid. Until then....” She lifted an eyebrow and pointed to the door.
Dillon pushed back, the twinkling smile becoming a dark scowl in a heartbeat. “Fine. You don’t want my money; I’ll find someone who does.”
Rolling her eyes, Jake deftly uncapped two beers and slid them down the bar to Bruno, who acknowledged them with a grunt and a wave. She sighed as she turned back to the kid. Damn if she wasn’t a sucker for the poor little rich kids with the sad eyes; enough of them came into her bar, she could spot one in a heartbeat. “Hey, kid, I’ll take your money. Just won’t give you beer for it. You want a cherry coke or a Shirley Temple,” her mouth twisted in wry amusement, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Dillon turned away, ready to storm out. But then it occurred to him -- to where? Home sucked. He was here to get away from home. And, every other damn bar in this two-bit town, his grandfather owned. He turned back. “Rum and coke,” Dillon ordered. He grinned suddenly; a dimple appeared in one cheek. “Hold the rum.”
Holding the drink she passed across the counter, Dillon downed it as if it were liquor, trying to wash the bitter taste of the earlier scene at the mansion out of his mouth. Why the hell had they left the city? He had loved New York. New York City was great at impersonal; Dillon could be whoever he wanted to be -- the city didn’t give a damn. Not like this stinkin’ inbred city that couldn’t leave you the hell alone. Port Charles always made him feel like he had to fight to breathe; everyone wanted something from him here, demanded he be their vision of him through rose-tinted glasses. His mother, his brother, his grandfather... At the thought of the old man, Dillon grimaced again and turned away from the bar, looking for distraction.
He found it.
Dillon turned rapidly back to the bar, getting Jake’s attention from the far side. She moved slowly towards him, already regretting letting the kid stay in her bar. He ignored her disgruntled expression; in point of fact, he barely saw it. “Her.” Dillon indicated the blond in the corner, his brain suddenly incapable of forming whole sentences. “Who?”
Jake followed his gaze, then threw back her head, her low laugh ringing out. She shook her head. “Forget it, kid.” She patted him lightly on the arm. “Trust me on this one.”
Dillon trained his full glare on Jake, his Quartermaine blood roused the moment someone told him ‘no’. “Why the hell should I?” he demanded then turned back to the girl. “She looks younger than me, so that’s not a problem. Thought you had a policy against minors.”
“In her case,” Jake grinned, “I make exceptions. Connections’ll get you everywhere.” She wiped the bar in front of Dillon down, displacing his elbow. “It’s an important lesson, kid; learn it young.” Responding to a call for a beer halfway down the bar, Jake started to say something, then just shook her head, a half-smile on her face. Since when was she in the advice-givin’ business, anyway?
Dillon saw neither the head-shake nor the grin; he had already risen and started towards the girl in the corner. A shimmering fall of blonde hair skimmed her shoulders, falling to the middle of her bare back as she danced around the pool table, lining up a shot. Her hips, encased in skin tight jeans, swayed from side to side; she bent over the table, biting her bottom lip in concentration, and let the pool cue slide from her fingers. Finally, her hand darted out, the girl grabbed the cue ball, laughing, and she re-positioned it to her liking before taking a perfect shot, sinking three balls into three separate pockets.
As he paused to watch her, Dillon’s lips slowly began to curve upwards in a very unfamiliar expression. A moment later, when she turned to face someone standing behind her in the shadows, sticking out her tongue, Dillon heard himself laugh out loud. At that, the girl’s head lifted, and Dillon felt his heart pound as she started in his direction.
Within seconds, she was standing in front of him, blue eyes sparkling in delight. She glanced over her shoulder, and Dillon had time to see -- something enormous -- unfolding from the corner, and then, as her hands lifted to cup his face between her palms, he saw nothing at all but stars. Her lips curved alluringly upwards, and suddenly, she was kissing him, her hands twined in the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck, her body pressed hard against his.
Shocked would have been the understatement of the century when it came to Dillon’s state of mind, her lips sweet under his. However, he had never in his life been accused of not taking advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves. His arms rose to hold her, and all too soon, she twisted her face away from his, her lips grazing to her ear. “Thanks for the save; tell Trevor I’ll bring his car back in the morning,” she murmured, then in one dancing step, slipped away.
“Who--” was all Dillon had time to get out before he felt his arm snatched up from behind. Spun around so fast he stumbled, within ten seconds, Dillon found himself bent back over a rough wooden table, one arm held behind his back, facing a giant hulk of a man with what could, if one were very, very kind, be called a scowl crossing his face. Dillon extended his free hand towards the elephantine man and smiled weakly.
“Trevor, I presume?”
Skye’s hotel room
~the life I've left behind me
is a cold room~
Skye made a small noise, almost a sigh, as she turned over on her stomach, reaching out in her sleep. As her groping hand encountered nothing but empty air, she journeyed the rest of the way to awake, her eyes fluttering lazily open.
He was gone. She bit her lip and turned again, rising to a sitting position with her knees clasped to her chest. It was -- she wasn’t sure if it could be called a rule. It simply was what it was. He never spent the night. Even when she stayed at Wyndemere, there would come an hour of the night where she would awake, and he would be gone. He never spent the night, and he always left-- She looked at the pillow, picking it up and touching the petals lightly with a single forefinger. He always left her this, a single flame-colored rose.
Lovely as it was, she would have rather had him, at her side, through the night.
Skye sighed and dropped the rose on the night table, carelessly. She leaned back against the headboard, raking her fingers through her hair. She hated the middle of the night. All her doubts, all the things Stefan made her forget when he was with her, they haunted her in the night. Roses didn’t do a thing to make midnight-born fears go away. In the moonlit room, his pillow already grown cold, Skye felt like nothing so much as the unwanted, lonely little girl she’d spent half her life trying to stop being.
Impulsively, Skye reached past the discarded rose for the phone and dialed a number.
The voice that answered was obviously sleep-thickened and more than a little gruff. “’Lo.”
Skye paused, too long. The voice became slightly clearer. “Who is this?” The demand was sharp.
She closed her eyes. “Daddy?”
“Haley?” Skye could hear the love and worry throbbing in Adam’s voice, and it cut her to the core. “Are you alright? Is the baby?”
“No, no, Daddy, it’s not Haley. It’s -- it’s me, Skye.” She was already cursing herself for calling, but it was far too late to hang up now.
“Skye?” There was a long pause. “Do you know what time it is?” There was another pause, this one more ominous. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Adam’s voice was weary.
She let out the breath she’d been holding; there it was, then. There it was. “No, Daddy, I’m not. Maybe for the first time, ever, I’m not. You know, if you knew what I was up to, I’m betting you’d actually even be prou--”
“Skye.” Her father’s voice cut across hers. “Can we save this for a more livable hour? It’s three in the morning. I have to go into the office in the morning.”
“Of course you do,” her voice was very quiet. “I’m sorry; I won’t do this again, don’t worry.” Her knuckles were white on the phone. “Give Colby a kiss for her big sister, okay? Bye, Da-- Adam.” Quickly, not wanting to hear his response, she replaced the receiver, and her hands rose to cover her mouth.
There was a lump in her throat as she swallowed once, then twice, hard. But, there were no tears. Skye refused herself even the option of crying over Adam Chandler; truth be told, she wasn’t even sure she felt the need. What she felt was something a lot closer to -- relief. She had called her father wanting comfort. And, just like always, it had been denied to her. And, now, she was free. To let him go. To let that life go.
Adam Chandler was her past. Skye wasn’t sure where her future lay, yet. She picked up the rose, tracing the line of her lips, and slipped back down under the sheets. She wasn’t sure where her future lay, but knowing where her past lay, she finally had a clear path ahead.
Sonny’s PH
~ I've crossed the last line
from where I can't return
where every step I took in faith
betrayed me
and led me from my home~
The silence in the penthouse was deafening. Heavy. Oppressive. Only thing that broke it was their harsh breathing, hanging thick in the air. Wordlessly, Carly rolled over, sitting up, and reached for her sweater, her back to Sonny. She shrugged it on then rose to her knees, busying herself with attempting to put her hair back in some kind of order. After a moment, she gave up the ghost and sank back down to a sitting position, looking at him over her shoulder. She held his gaze a long moment before she spoke. “I didn’t come here for this.”
Sonny rose in one fluid motion; he had already pulled his pants back on. He crossed to the liquor cart and poured himself a brandy. He didn’t offer her one. He took a long pull on the drink before looking at her. “Been here before.” Sonny’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be. More raw.
“I guess we have.” She, too, rose. “It won’t end the same way, though.” Her smile hurt to look at. “I’m on the pill. And even if I weren’t-- we can’t go back.”
“No.” Sonny drained the glass. There was, again, silence. “Were you fucking him?”
“What?” Carly was genuinely puzzled. “Who?”
A sharp explosion of air let loose from between Sonny’s teeth. “The guy you’ve been living with these past four months, Caroline. Todd Manning. Were you sleeping with him? That why you’re on the goddamn pill?”
Bitter laughter filled the air. “Guess we are regressing. Back to the ‘Carly’s a whore’ days, huh?” Carly shook her head once, sharply, and zipped up her skirt, the laughter stopping. “Go to hell, asshole. I’m not gonna answer that question, and you know what? You don’t get to ask it.”
“You’re my wife, Carly,” he snapped.
She looked at him, incredulously. “Not anymore, remember? You’re the one who wanted that.”
Sonny banged the glass down on his desk, furiously. “You left me.”
“After you threw me out,” Carly retorted, equally as furious, taking a step towards him.
“You betrayed me!”
“And, you couldn’t keep me safe!” Carly’s final accusation hung in the air, the both of them frozen. She broke the stillness, rocking back on her heels, her voice softer but no less sure. “You couldn’t, Sonny. You didn’t.”
Sonny made a dismissive motion. “Don’t make this about that, Carly. It’s bullshit. You lived this life, you lived it with Jason, and never once did you go to the damn Feds.”
“Never once, living with Jason, did my baby end up with a bomb in his hands.” Her fingers clenched into fists at her side. “I got scared, I panicked, and -- I found a way out. I even opened the door for you. Maybe I knew that it wasn’t a door you could walk through, but I had to get out, with my child, and I loved you enough and was selfish enough to want you with me.” Carly fell silent then looked up defiantly. “And, I’m sick and tired of apologizing for being who I am. Irony there, huh? You were the one man I thought I’d never have to do that with.”
He shook his head once, sharply, a slightly cruel smile on his lips. “You can’t blame all the problems in our marriage on me, Carly.” Sonny held up his hand, ticking off items on his fingers. “You lied, you couldn’t keep your nose out of my business, you’re loud, you’re crazy. You screwed up just as much as I did, sweetheart.”
Carly’s entire body flinched with each accusation, but her eyes never dropped from his. She paused for a long beat after he’d finished speaking, and when words did form, her voice was very soft. “You’re a cold man, Sonny Corinthos. I used to think you and I were so much alike, both broken, both scarred in so many of the same ways. And, maybe we are, but--” She stepped past him, and sat down, hard, in his desk chair. Her legs were far too wobbly. “There’s this frozen place inside of you that I don’t know, and I can’t touch. You say things like what you just said,” she turned her head to face him, “and maybe you’re even sorry, I don’t know. But, you say it on purpose, and there’s a part of you that likes it when you hurt people. And, I’m not like that. Or at least,” Carly twined her own fingers tightly over the back of the chair, “I don’t wanna be.”
Sonny threw up his hands, in a burst of anger. “So why the hell did you come here, Carly, huh? To fuck me for old time’s sake? To point out every one of my flaws, let yourself off the hook?” His breath was fast and hard. “Dammit, Carly, what the hell do you want?”
Carly’s response was quick and sharp and hard. “Not you.” She turned away again, her palms splayed flat against his desk. The words she spoke a moment later were softer but no less final. “This is it, Sonny. This is the end. For real, this time. We’ve gotta be apart from each other, or we’re gonna destroy each other. And, there won’t be any fixing, afterwards.” She lifted her eyes to his, held them for a long, longest space. “Goodbye, Sonny.”
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Had no reason to. There was nothing left to say. And, looking at her, hearing her voice, Sonny knew that it would matter if there were; she wouldn’t hear it.
Wordlessly, she rose. Wordlessly, she walked to the door. He followed her. At almost the last moment, Carly turned abruptly and placed a hand gently on his arm. She was who she was, and he was in pain. And, then she was gone.
Goodbye. Goodbye and goodbye and goodbye. <
i>~It doesn't mean much
it doesn't mean anything at all~*
*”Sweet Surrender” -- Sarah McLachlan
