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[seeing-stars.livejournal.com]

Title: Your Fault
Author: obsgirl (me!)
Rating: PG-13/R (for swearing and drug abuse)
Disclaimer: Charlie Jones is mine! Mwahaha…*cough* anyway, yes, I only own Charlie, everything else does not belong to me (worst luck)
A/N: Written for the First Line Challenge (set by jettabug) using line number 15. Dedicated to one of my bestest friends and hardcore Orli/Dom shipper, jay_iz_mad :)
Pairings: Dom/OC
Orli/Dom
Orli/Kate (mentioned)


~

‘Dance with me?’

I look up. Before me is stood a young man – early twenties, mid twenties at a push – with big brown eyes and messy black hair. He flashes me a grin and I return it. Hell, why not? I follow him to the dance floor and we begin to dance. It’s a slow song, and pretty soon, he’s pressed against me. It feels wonderful. You and I have never danced like this. You’re always too worried what the press would think if they saw us.

I don’t give a shit what the press thinks.

‘I’m Charlie by the way,’ the guy whispers in my ear. I can feel his breath on my face. ‘Charlie Jones.’

‘Dom Monaghan,’ I manage to reply.

The song ends and people start to dance faster. Charlie takes my hand.

‘Let’s go somewhere a bit more…our scene,’ he says with a cheeky smile. I nod.

We end up in a gay bar. God, I missed going in gay bars. You never want to go, just in case the press are there. You’re too paranoid. And way too busy pretending to be the perfect superstar with the beautiful girlfriend.

She’s not even that pretty.

After a few drinks and a lot more dancing, Charlie kisses me. I don’t even try to stop him. what? You have two relationships going, why shouldn’t I?

Charlie kisses well. Little silver stars burst my eyelids. I feel young again, instead of nearly-thirty-going-on-fifty. That’s your fault, by the way. You trap me.

And you use me. I’m just there for when you get bored of the straight life. Which, to be honest, isn’t very often. Hey, I have needs too, you know. And tonight I’m going to satisfy them. Without you.

‘Want to come back to my place?’ I say to Charlie, taking a vindictive pleasure in the fact that you’re not getting any tonight and I am. Charlie’s eyes shine and before he answers, he kisses me again. Kind of gives away what he’s going to say, but I’m not complaining.

‘I’d love to,’ he purrs. So we leave and walk back to my apartment. We’re holding hands – something you never let us do. Guess why? The stupid press. It’s always the press. You think about the press more than you think about me.

Charlie obviously doesn’t care. Why would he? He’s not famous. He’s got no worries about people knowing his sexuality. It’s so refreshing, not having to look over our shoulders in case the paparazzi is lurking. Not that I ever bother – you look enough to make up for me not looking.

Me and Charlie get into my apartment and he practically jumps on me as soon as the door is shut. We rip at each other’s clothes frantically. His shirt loses a few buttons. Mine actually rips, but it was old, so I don’t care. Plus you brought it for me. Again with the vindictive pleasure. The last time a shirt got ripped when we were together was a very long time ago. How would you feel is you knew someone else was ripping my clothes now?

Charlie drags me onto the bed and straddles me. I’m desperate now, it’s been far too long. I need this. I’m begging him, for Christ’s sake. I haven’t begged for years. You’re not into that kind of thing.

But Charlie is. He quite obviously loves it. Dirty bugger. Not that I’m complaining, because, wow, it makes him horny. And I’m quite literally on the receiving end of that horniness.

He’s very, very different to you in bed to you. You take your time, savouring every moment and so on. It’s making love when we’re together.

With Charlie, it’s fucking. Plain and simple. And I love it.

*

Next morning, I wake up sore and aching, and slightly hung over, but happier than I have been in a long time. Charlie’s limbs are all tangled up with mine, which is fine by me, because I couldn’t move anyway. I’m too out of shape, really.

Three weeks with Charlie changes that. Three weeks with Charlie, and I can almost go all night, to be honest. Three weeks with Charlie, and I’ve pretty much forgotten about you. I’m happy with Charlie, and I’m over you completely.

So, of course, you have to come along and screw everything up, don’t you? Here I am, enjoying my life, having a free, fast paced relationship with a young, attractive, fun-loving guy, and you come along with a sob story about not being able to cope.

And worst of all, you had to call me with that story just as me and Charlie were getting to the good stuff.

Answering machines suck.

‘Dom, I need to talk to you,’ you say when the machine beeps. Me and Charlie both freeze. ‘I’m falling apart, man. I thought I could keep up with this “I’m straight” shit, with Kate and everything, but I can’t. I miss you so much. We haven’t talked in so long. I haven’t seen you in even longer. Can we… can we meet up sometime? Just for a drink, maybe. I need to see you, Dommie. Fuck, I just need you. Um…bye.’

Click.

Silence fills the apartment. Charlie looks at me with that big puppy eyed look – so like yours, come to think of it – and I feel like the biggest bastard in the world.

‘Who was that?’ he says quietly. ‘Boyfriend?’

‘Not exactly. I mean…’ I’m such an arse. ‘He has a girlfriend, and he puts up this big show of being straight but…we are kind of together.’ Shit, shit, shit. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I should have told you…’

‘Who is he?’

‘Orlando Bloom.’

Inexplicably, Charlie’s face splits into a grin.

‘What?’ I say, bemused.

‘Just…well, he’s this huge star,’ Charlie smirks, ‘and I’m screwing his secret boyfriend behind his back. It’s just funny.’

I grin in spite of the situation. I can see his point – plus I love his phrasing.

‘So am I forgiven?’

‘Of course,’ he smiles. ‘As long as you don’t go back to him and forget about me.’

‘I couldn’t do that,’ I beam. ‘Now, where were we?’

*

I don’t hear from you for two weeks after that, partly because I disabled the answering machine. But I wasn’t safe. And things were about to get messy.

Damn you, Bloom.

It’s my own fault, really. I forgot you knew about the emergency key I leave outside my apartment.

So it came to quite a shock – to me, you, and Charlie – when you walked right in on me and Charlie at it on the sofa one Saturday night.

‘Dom?’

‘Orlando?’

‘Dom?’

‘Charlie…’

‘Charlie?’

One word: Fuck. This is quite possibly the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, excluding, maybe, the time my mom walked in on my wanking off to a gay porn film. I avoid looking at either you or Charlie while I frantically try to get some clothes on. Charlie does the same.

‘I’m going to go,’ Charlie mumbles. ‘I’ll call you…’

He leaves quickly, extremely red in the face. I just sit there in shock. Why did you have to turn up now? Suddenly, I feel very angry, and that anger spurns me to look at you. Right in the eyes, cold as ice. I’m glad to see you’re embarrassed.

‘Wh-who was that?’ you say.

‘Charlie, my boyfriend,’ I reply stonily.

‘Oh.’

Long awkward silence. Neither of us move at all. I’m starting to get slightly cold – after all, I am only wearing my boxers. They were the only things close enough for me to grab when you walked in.

‘Why, Dom?’ you say suddenly, quietly. The hurt in your eyes is so obvious that I have to look away.

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you cheat on me?’

I look back at you, angry again. You can be such a fucking hypocrite sometimes. And a selfish bastard most of the time too.

‘We’re not exactly a couple, you and me, are we?’ I say slowly, trying to keep my temper in check. ‘I mean, you only come to me when you’re bored of pretending to be straight. We’ve slept together, what, five times in the past year? I have need, you know, Orlando.’

You look shocked. ‘What do you mean?’ you say. My god, you can be such a dumbass when you want to be.

‘I mean,’ I begin, getting to my feet, ‘that you’ve been using me. I need more that just the occasional shag when you feel like it. I need a relationship. And Charlie’s willing to give me that.’

‘So you’re saying that you don’t want to be with me?’ I can see your anger flaring now – those big brown eyes of yours are flashing dangerously. I don’t care.

‘I do want to be with you, but I can’t because you’re not willing to commit to me fully!’ I find myself shouting. ‘I’m gay, in case you haven’t noticed, and I don’t care who knows. I can’t have a boyfriend who’s scared to let people know what his sexuality is!’

You’re stunned. For a few moments, you say nothing at all, you just stare at the ground. Then you look at me. Right in the eye, cold as ice. You stole my stare, you bastard.

‘I need some time to think,’ you say smoothly, as if you were talking about a roll in a film that you weren’t too keen on, rather than a life changing decision. Then you leave without another word.

Tosser.

*

Charlie calls that night. He says he doesn’t think we should see each other anymore. So now I have no boyfriend at all.

Fucking. Wonderful.

I think about drinking myself to death or taking an overdose or something. But I don’t. Well, ok, I do drink a little bit. But not enough to leave me comatose. Quite.

Just enough to leave me with the mother of all hangovers. I feel like someone’s repeatedly hitting me over the head with a ten-tonne sledgehammer. I curse you as I run for the bathroom. This is all your fault, completely and utterly.

I don’t recover for a couple of days, and even once I’m better again, I stay in the house. I ignore all my phone calls; I do all my shopping online and get it delivered; I just sit and watch films all day.

After watching your first film, Wilde, several times, I’m so depressed that I just want it to end. So I do the stupidest thing I’ve ever done – I take an overdose.

One pill at a time, I start to swallow the drug. I wonder how many paracetamol it takes to kill yourself? I’m just putting the sixth into my mouth, when my front door opens and in walks a guardian angel.

Well…actually, no, it’s just you.

Everything stops as you look from me to the pill bottle on the coffee table, then back to me.

‘How many have you taken?’ you say. I can hear fear in your voice. Without thinking, I swallow.

‘Um…six, now,’ I say guilty. I feel like a child who’s been caught eating the special biscuits, only this is slightly more serious. Just slightly.

‘I’m taking you to hospital,’ you say, walking over and grabbing my arm.

‘Uh, Orli? I’m wearing some boxers, a pair of socks and a dressing gown,’ I protest. ‘Besides, I don’t think six pills will kill me.’

‘I’m not taking any chances,’ you mutter, going slightly red. ‘Go and get dressed.’

I don’t move. ‘What?’

‘I said, I’m not taking any chances,’ you repeat, a bit louder.

I still don’t move. ‘You’re going to have to explain what you mean by that,’ I say. See, I can be just as much of a dumbass as you when I try.

‘I mean…’ you start, frowning. ‘I mean, I’ve just dumped Kate so that I can be with you, and I’m not having you die on me.’

My jaw literally drops. I must look like a fish out of water. I think the drugs have kicked in and I’m hallucinating or something, because this is just…unbelievable. I start to laugh.

‘What?’ you say.

‘Am I seeing things? Are you really here saying this?’ I snigger. ‘This can’t be happening.’

Then I pass out. Maybe it was because I took the pills on an empty stomach, I don’t know. But anyway, the next this I know, I’m waking up in hospital. You’re stood on one side of my bed, and there’s a doctor on the other. He tells me I’m fine and can go home in about an hour when they’ve double-checked. Then he leaves.

For a second, we stay silent. I’m not quite sure what to say – somehow, I don’t think sorry will quite cut it. But luckily you speak first anyway.

‘You’re a twat, you know that right?’ you say, but your eyes betray you. They’re twinkling. You look so sweet when that happens.

‘I know, I know,’ I grin. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Never, ever do that again, ok? I thought I’d lost you,’ you say, serious now. You take my hand and squeeze it. I can feel tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, so I turn away.

‘Dammit, Orlando,’ I mutter. ‘Don’t go all soppy on my ass. I don’t want to cry like a girl. You’re the girl in this relationship.’

‘I beg to differ,’ you smirk, and I look at you.

‘What?’

‘Well, I seem to recall that I’m always on top.’

I go read. ‘You’re still the girl.’

‘We’ll see.’

*

Nothing else is said on that subject while we’re at the hospital. But as soon as we get to my apartment, you start showing me that you really are the man of the relationship.

A mere hour after getting home, I’m utterly exhausted. Turns out you’re actually more even more ruthless than Charlie when you try. Why did you hide it. Damn.

‘So, am I better than Charlie?’ you pant. I open one eye and squint at you.

‘Charlie who?’

You grin impishly and roll on top of me again.

‘Oh no, not again, Orli… I’m too tired…no…Orli, don’t…oh, fuck!’

~Fin


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