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fellowshippers2004-08-28 12:20 pm
cool-like-dom.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-08-28 12:20 pm
"no man is an island"
title - “no man is an island.”
author - eri
pairing - monaboyd.
rating - R
warnings - language. angsty angst. implied self-abuse. toe-stubbing.
disclaimer - am stuffed with lies. believe nothing i say.
summary - a very bitter dom’s perspective. beta’d by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
septentrio.
written for the Inspiration v.4 challenge. inspired by the icon in use. “closing time” is by semisonic, and the lyrics are theirs. “mad world” is by gary jules, and the lyrics are his.
They all fucking said it. What a way to start out, with all your friends giving you bad omens.
”You won’t be happy there.”
I don’t remember who it was first. Maybe Viggo, with his all-knowing mind powers. Or maybe Sean said it first. He’s always the one to look out for his fellow Hobbits.
Kinda think it was Billy, though.
“Yeh won’t be happy there, Dommeh,” he said, hands in his pockets, looking past me to the security checkpoint at the terminal.
“Come on. I’ll be fine.” I grinned, I think. “New city. New jobs. New people.”
“New people?” Billy said. He frowned, just enough for me to catch.
I slung my arm across his shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “C’mon, Bills. You know I don’t mean you.” I reached up to ruffle his hair with my other hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, now, you don’t have enough hair to have it falling out with stress.”
Billy smirked a bit, and wrapped his other arm around me to give me a last embrace.
“’Sides, I’ve got Lij with me,” I said.
“That’s what Ah’m worried about,” he replied, voice muffled in my jacket.
“Don’t worry, we’ll call you when we plan to wreak havoc. Wouldn’t be the same without ya.”
“Well, that’s all Ah ask.”
I pulled away, as they announced my flight departing. This was it, then.
“I gotta go.” I picked up my bag, took a step back.
“Ah know.” Poor, sad Billy. No one left to drink with.
“Come visit, yeah?”
“Of caerse. Ya dunnae have a choice.”
I grinned again at him, and started the long walk down to the gate. Right before I cleared the metal detector (and had to remove most of what I was wearing to pass through), I looked back, hoping to see him giving me a grin of encouragement.
Instead, he looked like he was watching me be led to my execution. And then, the crowd swelled in front of him, and he’s gone. Just like that. Leaving me on my own.
Fucker.
---
It used to be great. Lij and I would hang out, play video games, drink, flirt with women. Or men. Whatever. We’d go to clubs, we’d get smashed and stumble home, staying vertical through sheer force of will.
And then he kept getting film offers. And I was happy for him, of course. If anyone needs something to do with their time, it’s Elijah. Acting’s his life. I couldn’t see him do anything else. He wouldn’t be happy otherwise.
That’s the thing, right. Actors need to act. Simple, huh. Funny, cos it sure didn’t seem to simple for me. Hard to get a job when people don’t even know which “hobbit guy” you were. And no, I’m not Billy Boyd, thanks for asking, he’s back home living a happy life with some bird who likes to shop and hates the taste of beer, thankyouverymuch.
Killing the same damn people on Playstation over and over gets tiring after a while. Not like I had anything else to do with my time.
Hey, Elijah, you want to go out for a drink? Early call in the morning? Oh. How about a quick game of pool, then? Ah, tired from a long day’s work, are ya? Wish I knew what that was like. Lemme know when you’re available, Mr. Wood. Or should I just have my people call yours? That’s how it’s done in big-shot Hollywood, innit? No, nothing’s wrong, Lij, just tired of shooting the same damn whore’s head off nine hundred times, but don’t let me stop you. Have fun. Mingle. Do that LA bullshit thing, which I thought I would be so good at.
Then the agent calls. Has a “new, big thing.” A TV show. Said, “You’ll like this one. You’ll play a junkie stranded on a desert island with a group of people and weird things happen.”
“Like that bloody reality show?”
“No, no, much better, more ‘hip.’” Fucking hate it when people say, ‘hip.’ Especially agents.
So I agree, and I audition, and they think I’m great.
And so I’m on my way, finally. Things are looking up. Elijah comes back from wherever to celebrate at the bars with me, and Billy calls with congrats. Oh, but he can’t talk long, cos Ali wants him to go shopping with her. Right, and since when did you value her more than your friends (me)? Don’t say that, though, want to keep things civil. Also don’t say things like, You were right, Billy, I’m not happy, for the love of God, send me a plane ticket home, this place is fucking killing me, I can’t breathe and the water tastes funny and everything’s plastic, at least visit, you wanker, you promised.
He says, “Well, Ah don’t know. Ali wants ta go see her family next month...”
“And what about me? I’m your family, aren’t I?” I didn’t mean to snap, but there it was.
And Billy. I can see him opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “Well... Ah mean... yeah, Dom, ya are...”
“You said you’d visit.” Simple and to the point.
“Ah know, but Ali...” Ali this and Ali that and oh, did I mention that I’ve got a girlfriend, and she’s perfect, and a dancer and I’m so lucky to have her, and I’ll do anything she wants, yes-mistress-no-mistress, and what happened to putting your mates before your girl? No one is that perfect, dancer or not.
“Right. See ya later, then.” And I hang up. For the first time ever, I hang up on Billy. And then I curl up on the couch and stare at the wall for a good hour. He doesn’t call back.
---
Life’s got a real shit way of doing things to you.
You put all the effort, and hope, and faith into something you care about, and then, bang, gone.
Wake up at the asscrack of dawn to fly to some damned perfect Hawaiian island, film from morning til night, fly back on the weekends to maybe catch a glimpse of Elijah or Sean, then back to my own deserted world.
It really felt like I was stranded. But I was a superb actor in the process, just nailed the scenes where we mourn the loss of everything we’ve ever known and loved, and it was so realistic, how did I ever give that much emotion to a scene? I dunno, having it happen to me in the real world at the same time was pretty motivating.
Then, of course, the hype begins. The promos. And the appearances. And the signings. Seeing your face on every damn thing gets to you after a while. Being surrounded by fangirls dressed in school uniforms gets to you, too. And sure, you know, maybe taking one of them back to your hotel room might be a good idea at the time, but then they don’t take the hint to leave in the morning and want to give you their phone number/email address/panties to remember them by, which you accept with a polite smile and toss in the bin the minute the door shuts.
But I still go on with it all, cos at least there’s something to cheer me up at this event.
Billy. Sans girlfriend.
And I don’t care who’s watching when I run up to him and embrace him, and he’s smiling and happy, and it’s just like old times, and there’s this little spring of joy welling up inside me even though it sounds fucking cheesy, but it’s like nothing else exists. We’re our own island. That has it’s own pub. Complete with beer, and pool, and joking and laughing.
And then, near the end of the night, the bar is starting to clear out, and last call is about to be announced, and Billy is staring at his beer, and I light a cigarette, and he launches into a speech about it, and said that he was going to kick Elijah’s ass for getting me started.
“At least it’s not heroin,” I retort.
Billy just sighs.
I like the way the smoke looks. It’s delicate, and subtle, and ethereal. Kinda pretty, for something so bad for you.
“Wha’s that on yaer hand?” Billy asks, staring.
Three circular, pinkish scars form a triangle on my wrist. I follow his eyes, and shrug, taking another drag of my cigarette with my other hand.
“Got clumsy,” I say. “Burned myself.”
And now Billy is staring right at me, and I have to look away from the intensity of his gaze.
“Three times?”
“Never was a fast learner,” I reply, trying to give him a cheeky smile, which dies when he sighs and looks away. And I notice that he looks just as tired as I feel.
“Dommeh,” he says, then just shakes his head. “Just... don’t hurt yaerself. Please.”
And then I feel guilty, and I feel like a shithead, and I just slink down in my seat and put out my cigarette.
Closing time. That was a good song, wasn’t it? Who was that by? I don’t remember. I ask Billy on the sidewalk outside the bar.
“Semisonic. That was a good song,” he says, wincing as a loud car of teenagers drives by.
“Yeah.” I shuffle my feet. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want him to leave, really. It’s so nice to be happy again.
”I know who I want to take me home,” Billy sings.
”Take me home,” I finish. We look at each other. Then look away.
“Ye’ve got an early start,” Billy says. “And Ah’m tired...”
“Billy,” I plead. Don’t let it end. I don’t know what, exactly, I’m referring to.
He’s shaking his head. “No, Dom, yeh need to go home.”
And I can’t stop myself. I clench my fists, and I’m about to fucking hit him, or yell at him, or kiss him, or something, I don’t really know, but I’ve got to do something, too much frustration and not enough sleep. I want to go home, you fucker, please, just take me with you. Anywhere. I’ll be fine. You’re the only one who understands, Billy.
And then he says, “Ali wants teh get married.”
My fingers unclench. “Does she, now.” My voice is surprisingly steady.
“Yeah. Seems teh think we’ve been together long enough.”
“And what do you think?”
Billy doesn’t say anything.
“You want to know what I think? I think that ever since she strutted into your life, I’ve been pushed to the side like fuckin’ nothing, treated like I don’t even matter to you. Shite, Elijah feels the same way, Billy. She’s twisting you into what she wants you to be. That’s not a relationship, Bill, it’s a bloody mindfuck.”
His eyes are narrow, and his voice is cold. “That’s my fiancee you’re talking about, Dominic.”
“Yeah. And it was my best friend that she took from me.”
And then, he says it. The one phrase that is absolutely, unequivocally, the one thing you never say to your mate. “If you really were my friend, you’d be happy for me.”
And he’s got this little, tiny shard of desperation in his eyes, which is just enough to keep me from laughing in his face.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, and turn away from him, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. I can feel his eyes on me, even after I’ve turned the corner.
And when Lost bombs in the ratings a few months later, and the show is canceled, I don’t even really care.
---
I dream about dying.
I don’t know how it happens, what it is that finally does me in. But it’s like I’m watching my own funeral. Everyone says, “I want to see them put me in the ground. I want to know who shows up,” right. Well, no one shows up in mine. It’s like in “A Christmas Carol,” when the tightwad bastard sees no one mourn his death. Except I don’t have enough money to be a tightwad.
So I’m floating above my grave, or whatever, and it’s the typical downcast, dreary day. And the gravediggers dump my casket in the grave, cover me up, and walk away. No flowers, no prayers, no eulogies. Kinda makes me angry. I thought at least my mum and dad would come. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. Or called. Guess they forgot about me.
Oh, but wait. Someone’s walking toward my grave. Someone carrying flowers, nice white chrysanthemums. And he’s putting them on my grave. And saying something.
“Ah’m so fucking sorry, Dommeh. Yeh were right. About everythin’.”
My poor Billy looks so sad, so heartbroken, that I can’t take it.
“Forgive meh,” he says, and he’s crying. Can’t have that.
So I call out to him, and suddenly I’m alive, or a ghost, or something, and he can see me, and he smiles, his whole face is lit up and he laughs and we hug, and we both say, “I’m sorry,” over and over, and the clouds go away, And everything’s bright.
Then I wake up, in my dark and lonely room, and it hurts so fucking bad that I decide I’m just going to avoid dreaming altogether, and not sleep. Better to be an insomniac, than have to wake up to reality after a dream like that.
After a few days, I’m so, so fucking tired. Of staring at the same four walls all day. Of not having anyone to talk to. Of not fucking doing anything with myself.
If I stay in this flat one more second, I’m going to throw my furniture out the window, just to have something to do.
So, I get up, grab some music, and walk out the door. Kinda surprised that it’s evening already, but then again, I haven’t been paying too much attention to the time of day lately. I make it halfway down the block before I realize I don’t have shoes on. The realization comes after I stub my toe against the concrete, and I have to bite my lip to keep from shouting obscenities into the night.
Fuck.
It’s fucking always something. Everytime I try and do something, some fucking thing has to go wrong. Like fucking stubbing my toe. And fucking losing my best mate to some tart.
Fuck.
That’s it. Too tired. Too pissed. Have to sit down, in the middle of the sidewalk, and just curl up and sigh.
Music’s got this fucked up way of playing what you don’t really want to hear, right when you don’t want to hear it. So, I’m not really surprised when the damned song comes on my ipod. I don’t notice the piano, don’t notice the actual melody, I just notice the words.
All around me are familiar faces,
worn out places, worn out faces.
Bright and early for the daily races,
going nowhere, going nowhere.
The tears are filling up their glasses,
no expression, no expression.
Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow,
no tomorrow, no tomorrow.
And if that’s not just the condensed version of my life, I don’t know what is. It fucking pulls at my heart, it makes me ache to hear it. Fuck. Fucking LA, it’s so fake and everyone is just acting, all the time.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles it’s a very, very mad world.
And if that’s not Billy and me right there, then... Fuck. My eyes are stinging. Bad sign. Didn’t tell him that I want do want him to be happy, even if it’s with someone like Ali. Don’t care. Don’t want my Bills to be sad.
”Children waiting for the day they feel good,
happy birthday, happy birthday.
Want to feel the way that every child should,
sit and listen, sit and listen.
Went to school and I was very nervous,
no one knew me, no one knew me.
Hello, teacher, tell me what’s my lesson,
look right through me, look right through me.
Well, instead of ‘school,’ it should be a set, and “hello, director, what’s my motivation?” But it’s still the same. No one knows me. That’s true. Only person who does, doesn’t care anymore. My fault. Ouch. Crying now, for real, and good thing I’m sort of hidden by this tree here, cos I don’t really want anyone to find me balled up on a street corner, sobbing because of some bloody song.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles it’s a very, very mad world.
So the song ends, finally, and I’m still crying, but not as bad, and I’m tempted to listen to it once more, but I know it won’t do me any good. So instead, I take off my headphones, lie back on the pavement, and look at the sky. Very peaceful. Nice night. Some cricket’s going off near my head, but I pay no mind.
I realize I’ve been a git. More than a git. A full-blown, ugly, mangy bastard. And I decide that once I’ve collected myself on the ground, here, I’m going to go back home, call up Billy, tell him of my revelation, and tell him that if he’s happy, I don’t care what he does. Then I might call Elijah. Or Sean. Or maybe just fucking sleep. Don’t want to plan too far ahead, let’s just worry about the important things. Billy.
A car drives by. I don’t think they can see me, laying down like this. It passes me by. It’s a taxi, I see. And it’s slowing. Coming back to see if I’m alive? No. Keeps going. I tilt my head back to see, and everything’s upside down. The taxi on the ceiling stops in front of my place. Hum.
An auburn head pokes out, and I can see, even from here, and upside down, that the brown jacket he’s wearing is very familiar. So is his height. And the way he carries his suitcase out of the car. And the way he just stands and looks at my door as the taxi drives off.
I’m off the ground before I’ve realized I’ve moved, and running down the block, and fuck the fact that I might stub my toe again, and that it’s hurting to run with it in pain, doesn’t matter. He turns and sees me running, and he puts down his suitcase, and faces me, and I stop a few feet from him, and we just look at each other.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies. Doesn’t look like he’s been having too good a time himself. Tired, tired, tired eyes and weary expression.
Well, now that I’ve got him right here, what else am I going to do?
“I’m sorry. Billy. I am. I’ve been a shithead. To everyone, but ‘specially you.” He shakes his head, but I keep going. “And I know that I’ve been a jealous bastard, with you and Ali, and I shouldn’t be, and maybe if I had something to do with my time, I wouldn’t be so worked up over it, and I know that you must care about her, if you’re gonna marry her and all, and I just want you to be happy, Bills, and I’m sorry...”
He’s been saying my name, trying to get me to stop, but I won’t have it, until he steps forward and covers my mouth with his hand. His eyes are brighter.
“Shut up ah sec, ya great git.” He removes his hand, and I remain silent.
Billy shakes his head once more, and says, “Ah left her.”
Oh dear, there goes that spring of hope nonsense again. “What?”
“Eht didnae feel right. None of eht did.” He shrugs. “She was turning meh intah what she needed. And shite, she hated football, cannae have that.” He’s almost smiling.
“Well. Then. That’s. Good. Right?”
“Yeah. Have teh thank the person who made meh realize eht. Good friend o’ mine.”
“Is he? I bet he’s got amazing looks to go with his brilliant mind.”
“Not so much, no. Shame, really,” and he’s grinning now.
This is normal. I can do this.
“So.” I nod toward his suitcase. “Didn’t want to call?”
“Ah did, yah bastard, but yaer mobile’s off.”
Oh. Forgot about that.
“Thought yeh wouldn’t mine if Ah stayed for a few. Just need tah get sorted out.”
“Nah, ’sfine. Place is pretty, eh, fucked, though.”
“If eht’s anythin’ like how yeh look now, I’d guess so.”
“Hey, you don’t look so good yourself, Boyd.”
He sighs. “Ah know.”
The night is silent, and I contemplate what’s going to happen now. But before I get to caught up in it, Billy’s got his arms around me, and I’m hugging him back, really tight, and it’s real and like the dream, ‘cept I’m not dead. But it’s that kind of happy. It’s wonderful.
He pulls back, and arches an eyebrow. “Yeh gonna invite meh in, or am Ah stayin’ on yaer porch?”
I don’t have any sort of sarcastic comment for that, so I just grin, and I’ve still got my arm around his shoulder as we collect his bag and walk up to the door, and before I go in, I turn around, and I can see dawn breaking over the rooftops.
Billy touches my arm, and I turn from the approaching day, shutting the door, and I’m finally home.
author - eri
pairing - monaboyd.
rating - R
warnings - language. angsty angst. implied self-abuse. toe-stubbing.
disclaimer - am stuffed with lies. believe nothing i say.
summary - a very bitter dom’s perspective. beta’d by
septentrio.written for the Inspiration v.4 challenge. inspired by the icon in use. “closing time” is by semisonic, and the lyrics are theirs. “mad world” is by gary jules, and the lyrics are his.
They all fucking said it. What a way to start out, with all your friends giving you bad omens.
”You won’t be happy there.”
I don’t remember who it was first. Maybe Viggo, with his all-knowing mind powers. Or maybe Sean said it first. He’s always the one to look out for his fellow Hobbits.
Kinda think it was Billy, though.
“Yeh won’t be happy there, Dommeh,” he said, hands in his pockets, looking past me to the security checkpoint at the terminal.
“Come on. I’ll be fine.” I grinned, I think. “New city. New jobs. New people.”
“New people?” Billy said. He frowned, just enough for me to catch.
I slung my arm across his shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “C’mon, Bills. You know I don’t mean you.” I reached up to ruffle his hair with my other hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, now, you don’t have enough hair to have it falling out with stress.”
Billy smirked a bit, and wrapped his other arm around me to give me a last embrace.
“’Sides, I’ve got Lij with me,” I said.
“That’s what Ah’m worried about,” he replied, voice muffled in my jacket.
“Don’t worry, we’ll call you when we plan to wreak havoc. Wouldn’t be the same without ya.”
“Well, that’s all Ah ask.”
I pulled away, as they announced my flight departing. This was it, then.
“I gotta go.” I picked up my bag, took a step back.
“Ah know.” Poor, sad Billy. No one left to drink with.
“Come visit, yeah?”
“Of caerse. Ya dunnae have a choice.”
I grinned again at him, and started the long walk down to the gate. Right before I cleared the metal detector (and had to remove most of what I was wearing to pass through), I looked back, hoping to see him giving me a grin of encouragement.
Instead, he looked like he was watching me be led to my execution. And then, the crowd swelled in front of him, and he’s gone. Just like that. Leaving me on my own.
Fucker.
---
It used to be great. Lij and I would hang out, play video games, drink, flirt with women. Or men. Whatever. We’d go to clubs, we’d get smashed and stumble home, staying vertical through sheer force of will.
And then he kept getting film offers. And I was happy for him, of course. If anyone needs something to do with their time, it’s Elijah. Acting’s his life. I couldn’t see him do anything else. He wouldn’t be happy otherwise.
That’s the thing, right. Actors need to act. Simple, huh. Funny, cos it sure didn’t seem to simple for me. Hard to get a job when people don’t even know which “hobbit guy” you were. And no, I’m not Billy Boyd, thanks for asking, he’s back home living a happy life with some bird who likes to shop and hates the taste of beer, thankyouverymuch.
Killing the same damn people on Playstation over and over gets tiring after a while. Not like I had anything else to do with my time.
Hey, Elijah, you want to go out for a drink? Early call in the morning? Oh. How about a quick game of pool, then? Ah, tired from a long day’s work, are ya? Wish I knew what that was like. Lemme know when you’re available, Mr. Wood. Or should I just have my people call yours? That’s how it’s done in big-shot Hollywood, innit? No, nothing’s wrong, Lij, just tired of shooting the same damn whore’s head off nine hundred times, but don’t let me stop you. Have fun. Mingle. Do that LA bullshit thing, which I thought I would be so good at.
Then the agent calls. Has a “new, big thing.” A TV show. Said, “You’ll like this one. You’ll play a junkie stranded on a desert island with a group of people and weird things happen.”
“Like that bloody reality show?”
“No, no, much better, more ‘hip.’” Fucking hate it when people say, ‘hip.’ Especially agents.
So I agree, and I audition, and they think I’m great.
And so I’m on my way, finally. Things are looking up. Elijah comes back from wherever to celebrate at the bars with me, and Billy calls with congrats. Oh, but he can’t talk long, cos Ali wants him to go shopping with her. Right, and since when did you value her more than your friends (me)? Don’t say that, though, want to keep things civil. Also don’t say things like, You were right, Billy, I’m not happy, for the love of God, send me a plane ticket home, this place is fucking killing me, I can’t breathe and the water tastes funny and everything’s plastic, at least visit, you wanker, you promised.
He says, “Well, Ah don’t know. Ali wants ta go see her family next month...”
“And what about me? I’m your family, aren’t I?” I didn’t mean to snap, but there it was.
And Billy. I can see him opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “Well... Ah mean... yeah, Dom, ya are...”
“You said you’d visit.” Simple and to the point.
“Ah know, but Ali...” Ali this and Ali that and oh, did I mention that I’ve got a girlfriend, and she’s perfect, and a dancer and I’m so lucky to have her, and I’ll do anything she wants, yes-mistress-no-mistress, and what happened to putting your mates before your girl? No one is that perfect, dancer or not.
“Right. See ya later, then.” And I hang up. For the first time ever, I hang up on Billy. And then I curl up on the couch and stare at the wall for a good hour. He doesn’t call back.
---
Life’s got a real shit way of doing things to you.
You put all the effort, and hope, and faith into something you care about, and then, bang, gone.
Wake up at the asscrack of dawn to fly to some damned perfect Hawaiian island, film from morning til night, fly back on the weekends to maybe catch a glimpse of Elijah or Sean, then back to my own deserted world.
It really felt like I was stranded. But I was a superb actor in the process, just nailed the scenes where we mourn the loss of everything we’ve ever known and loved, and it was so realistic, how did I ever give that much emotion to a scene? I dunno, having it happen to me in the real world at the same time was pretty motivating.
Then, of course, the hype begins. The promos. And the appearances. And the signings. Seeing your face on every damn thing gets to you after a while. Being surrounded by fangirls dressed in school uniforms gets to you, too. And sure, you know, maybe taking one of them back to your hotel room might be a good idea at the time, but then they don’t take the hint to leave in the morning and want to give you their phone number/email address/panties to remember them by, which you accept with a polite smile and toss in the bin the minute the door shuts.
But I still go on with it all, cos at least there’s something to cheer me up at this event.
Billy. Sans girlfriend.
And I don’t care who’s watching when I run up to him and embrace him, and he’s smiling and happy, and it’s just like old times, and there’s this little spring of joy welling up inside me even though it sounds fucking cheesy, but it’s like nothing else exists. We’re our own island. That has it’s own pub. Complete with beer, and pool, and joking and laughing.
And then, near the end of the night, the bar is starting to clear out, and last call is about to be announced, and Billy is staring at his beer, and I light a cigarette, and he launches into a speech about it, and said that he was going to kick Elijah’s ass for getting me started.
“At least it’s not heroin,” I retort.
Billy just sighs.
I like the way the smoke looks. It’s delicate, and subtle, and ethereal. Kinda pretty, for something so bad for you.
“Wha’s that on yaer hand?” Billy asks, staring.
Three circular, pinkish scars form a triangle on my wrist. I follow his eyes, and shrug, taking another drag of my cigarette with my other hand.
“Got clumsy,” I say. “Burned myself.”
And now Billy is staring right at me, and I have to look away from the intensity of his gaze.
“Three times?”
“Never was a fast learner,” I reply, trying to give him a cheeky smile, which dies when he sighs and looks away. And I notice that he looks just as tired as I feel.
“Dommeh,” he says, then just shakes his head. “Just... don’t hurt yaerself. Please.”
And then I feel guilty, and I feel like a shithead, and I just slink down in my seat and put out my cigarette.
Closing time. That was a good song, wasn’t it? Who was that by? I don’t remember. I ask Billy on the sidewalk outside the bar.
“Semisonic. That was a good song,” he says, wincing as a loud car of teenagers drives by.
“Yeah.” I shuffle my feet. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want him to leave, really. It’s so nice to be happy again.
”I know who I want to take me home,” Billy sings.
”Take me home,” I finish. We look at each other. Then look away.
“Ye’ve got an early start,” Billy says. “And Ah’m tired...”
“Billy,” I plead. Don’t let it end. I don’t know what, exactly, I’m referring to.
He’s shaking his head. “No, Dom, yeh need to go home.”
And I can’t stop myself. I clench my fists, and I’m about to fucking hit him, or yell at him, or kiss him, or something, I don’t really know, but I’ve got to do something, too much frustration and not enough sleep. I want to go home, you fucker, please, just take me with you. Anywhere. I’ll be fine. You’re the only one who understands, Billy.
And then he says, “Ali wants teh get married.”
My fingers unclench. “Does she, now.” My voice is surprisingly steady.
“Yeah. Seems teh think we’ve been together long enough.”
“And what do you think?”
Billy doesn’t say anything.
“You want to know what I think? I think that ever since she strutted into your life, I’ve been pushed to the side like fuckin’ nothing, treated like I don’t even matter to you. Shite, Elijah feels the same way, Billy. She’s twisting you into what she wants you to be. That’s not a relationship, Bill, it’s a bloody mindfuck.”
His eyes are narrow, and his voice is cold. “That’s my fiancee you’re talking about, Dominic.”
“Yeah. And it was my best friend that she took from me.”
And then, he says it. The one phrase that is absolutely, unequivocally, the one thing you never say to your mate. “If you really were my friend, you’d be happy for me.”
And he’s got this little, tiny shard of desperation in his eyes, which is just enough to keep me from laughing in his face.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, and turn away from him, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. I can feel his eyes on me, even after I’ve turned the corner.
And when Lost bombs in the ratings a few months later, and the show is canceled, I don’t even really care.
---
I dream about dying.
I don’t know how it happens, what it is that finally does me in. But it’s like I’m watching my own funeral. Everyone says, “I want to see them put me in the ground. I want to know who shows up,” right. Well, no one shows up in mine. It’s like in “A Christmas Carol,” when the tightwad bastard sees no one mourn his death. Except I don’t have enough money to be a tightwad.
So I’m floating above my grave, or whatever, and it’s the typical downcast, dreary day. And the gravediggers dump my casket in the grave, cover me up, and walk away. No flowers, no prayers, no eulogies. Kinda makes me angry. I thought at least my mum and dad would come. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. Or called. Guess they forgot about me.
Oh, but wait. Someone’s walking toward my grave. Someone carrying flowers, nice white chrysanthemums. And he’s putting them on my grave. And saying something.
“Ah’m so fucking sorry, Dommeh. Yeh were right. About everythin’.”
My poor Billy looks so sad, so heartbroken, that I can’t take it.
“Forgive meh,” he says, and he’s crying. Can’t have that.
So I call out to him, and suddenly I’m alive, or a ghost, or something, and he can see me, and he smiles, his whole face is lit up and he laughs and we hug, and we both say, “I’m sorry,” over and over, and the clouds go away, And everything’s bright.
Then I wake up, in my dark and lonely room, and it hurts so fucking bad that I decide I’m just going to avoid dreaming altogether, and not sleep. Better to be an insomniac, than have to wake up to reality after a dream like that.
After a few days, I’m so, so fucking tired. Of staring at the same four walls all day. Of not having anyone to talk to. Of not fucking doing anything with myself.
If I stay in this flat one more second, I’m going to throw my furniture out the window, just to have something to do.
So, I get up, grab some music, and walk out the door. Kinda surprised that it’s evening already, but then again, I haven’t been paying too much attention to the time of day lately. I make it halfway down the block before I realize I don’t have shoes on. The realization comes after I stub my toe against the concrete, and I have to bite my lip to keep from shouting obscenities into the night.
Fuck.
It’s fucking always something. Everytime I try and do something, some fucking thing has to go wrong. Like fucking stubbing my toe. And fucking losing my best mate to some tart.
Fuck.
That’s it. Too tired. Too pissed. Have to sit down, in the middle of the sidewalk, and just curl up and sigh.
Music’s got this fucked up way of playing what you don’t really want to hear, right when you don’t want to hear it. So, I’m not really surprised when the damned song comes on my ipod. I don’t notice the piano, don’t notice the actual melody, I just notice the words.
All around me are familiar faces,
worn out places, worn out faces.
Bright and early for the daily races,
going nowhere, going nowhere.
The tears are filling up their glasses,
no expression, no expression.
Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow,
no tomorrow, no tomorrow.
And if that’s not just the condensed version of my life, I don’t know what is. It fucking pulls at my heart, it makes me ache to hear it. Fuck. Fucking LA, it’s so fake and everyone is just acting, all the time.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles it’s a very, very mad world.
And if that’s not Billy and me right there, then... Fuck. My eyes are stinging. Bad sign. Didn’t tell him that I want do want him to be happy, even if it’s with someone like Ali. Don’t care. Don’t want my Bills to be sad.
”Children waiting for the day they feel good,
happy birthday, happy birthday.
Want to feel the way that every child should,
sit and listen, sit and listen.
Went to school and I was very nervous,
no one knew me, no one knew me.
Hello, teacher, tell me what’s my lesson,
look right through me, look right through me.
Well, instead of ‘school,’ it should be a set, and “hello, director, what’s my motivation?” But it’s still the same. No one knows me. That’s true. Only person who does, doesn’t care anymore. My fault. Ouch. Crying now, for real, and good thing I’m sort of hidden by this tree here, cos I don’t really want anyone to find me balled up on a street corner, sobbing because of some bloody song.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles it’s a very, very mad world.
So the song ends, finally, and I’m still crying, but not as bad, and I’m tempted to listen to it once more, but I know it won’t do me any good. So instead, I take off my headphones, lie back on the pavement, and look at the sky. Very peaceful. Nice night. Some cricket’s going off near my head, but I pay no mind.
I realize I’ve been a git. More than a git. A full-blown, ugly, mangy bastard. And I decide that once I’ve collected myself on the ground, here, I’m going to go back home, call up Billy, tell him of my revelation, and tell him that if he’s happy, I don’t care what he does. Then I might call Elijah. Or Sean. Or maybe just fucking sleep. Don’t want to plan too far ahead, let’s just worry about the important things. Billy.
A car drives by. I don’t think they can see me, laying down like this. It passes me by. It’s a taxi, I see. And it’s slowing. Coming back to see if I’m alive? No. Keeps going. I tilt my head back to see, and everything’s upside down. The taxi on the ceiling stops in front of my place. Hum.
An auburn head pokes out, and I can see, even from here, and upside down, that the brown jacket he’s wearing is very familiar. So is his height. And the way he carries his suitcase out of the car. And the way he just stands and looks at my door as the taxi drives off.
I’m off the ground before I’ve realized I’ve moved, and running down the block, and fuck the fact that I might stub my toe again, and that it’s hurting to run with it in pain, doesn’t matter. He turns and sees me running, and he puts down his suitcase, and faces me, and I stop a few feet from him, and we just look at each other.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies. Doesn’t look like he’s been having too good a time himself. Tired, tired, tired eyes and weary expression.
Well, now that I’ve got him right here, what else am I going to do?
“I’m sorry. Billy. I am. I’ve been a shithead. To everyone, but ‘specially you.” He shakes his head, but I keep going. “And I know that I’ve been a jealous bastard, with you and Ali, and I shouldn’t be, and maybe if I had something to do with my time, I wouldn’t be so worked up over it, and I know that you must care about her, if you’re gonna marry her and all, and I just want you to be happy, Bills, and I’m sorry...”
He’s been saying my name, trying to get me to stop, but I won’t have it, until he steps forward and covers my mouth with his hand. His eyes are brighter.
“Shut up ah sec, ya great git.” He removes his hand, and I remain silent.
Billy shakes his head once more, and says, “Ah left her.”
Oh dear, there goes that spring of hope nonsense again. “What?”
“Eht didnae feel right. None of eht did.” He shrugs. “She was turning meh intah what she needed. And shite, she hated football, cannae have that.” He’s almost smiling.
“Well. Then. That’s. Good. Right?”
“Yeah. Have teh thank the person who made meh realize eht. Good friend o’ mine.”
“Is he? I bet he’s got amazing looks to go with his brilliant mind.”
“Not so much, no. Shame, really,” and he’s grinning now.
This is normal. I can do this.
“So.” I nod toward his suitcase. “Didn’t want to call?”
“Ah did, yah bastard, but yaer mobile’s off.”
Oh. Forgot about that.
“Thought yeh wouldn’t mine if Ah stayed for a few. Just need tah get sorted out.”
“Nah, ’sfine. Place is pretty, eh, fucked, though.”
“If eht’s anythin’ like how yeh look now, I’d guess so.”
“Hey, you don’t look so good yourself, Boyd.”
He sighs. “Ah know.”
The night is silent, and I contemplate what’s going to happen now. But before I get to caught up in it, Billy’s got his arms around me, and I’m hugging him back, really tight, and it’s real and like the dream, ‘cept I’m not dead. But it’s that kind of happy. It’s wonderful.
He pulls back, and arches an eyebrow. “Yeh gonna invite meh in, or am Ah stayin’ on yaer porch?”
I don’t have any sort of sarcastic comment for that, so I just grin, and I’ve still got my arm around his shoulder as we collect his bag and walk up to the door, and before I go in, I turn around, and I can see dawn breaking over the rooftops.
Billy touches my arm, and I turn from the approaching day, shutting the door, and I’m finally home.
oh, beautiful
The accent. The moods. Loss. Realization. Redemption. Reward.
The music-isn't that in Donnie Darko? (One of my top 10 of all time.)
And smooth writing, good grammar (grammarbitch here), variety...
Made my morning!
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