Title: Staying Buried
Warnings: serious AU, probable OOC, angsty/depressing, language... lots of language, yaoi later on
Notes: I swear to all who come across this that it is indeed a GW fic... it may not seem that way at first, but trust me it is. So if you continue reading and find the g-boys somewhere, thanks a bunch for sticking with it!
Feedback: yes... yes!... YES!!
"He's still dying," I say curtly while moving off in search
An hour later and I'm sitting in the corner of the nearly vacant hospital cafeteria, staring at my third cup of tepid coffee. The little hairs on the back of my neck rise. Someone's watching me. Pauline. What does she want now? She's not alone. My girlfriend stands to her right, also dressed in all black. Shit, I wish I carried a gun. Sympathy smile times two. I thought I made it clear back in New York that I would be sending my uncle off alone. She follows me like a lovesick puppy. It makes me want to vomit.
"Alexis, what are you doing here?" I try not to sound like I'm growling.
"I know you said you wanted to be alone right now, but babe, no one should be alone at a time like this," she says sweetly and closes the distance that separates us to give me a hug, her long blond hair irritating my arm. I feel the loss of personal space like a stab of physical pain, but stop myself from pushing her away. I shouldn't take my anger out on her, she's done nothing to me and is undeserving of such treatment. Maybe that's why I can't tell her I don't love her, that I never really have. I know exactly why I keep her around, so the loneliness doesn't consume me completely. But each day it's getting harder. Everything she does pisses me off. From the way she walks and talks to how she's so fucking anal retentive, something I found endearing when we first met.
I say nothing in return, knowing that whatever comes out of my mouth would sound callous. She sits down in the chair next to mine, pulling it close. Her dainty white hands rest on my arm and she watches me as if asking for forgiveness for violating my request. My neck is covered in vertical hairs; I hate being watched. I blink slowly and look into her hazel eyes. For a split second I see a deer caught in the headlights, but the compassionate statement quickly returns. I know the reason for her fright; it's me, the look in my eyes. I know what she sees. I saw it in the mirror earlier, see it every time in my reflection lately. It seems this is the first time she's bothered to notice. They're empty, dead, like my uncle should be.
It's too much. If I were claustrophobic I'd be having a panic attack right now, even though I'm in an open area. They're practically hovering over me. No, not practically, they are hovering. My fight or flight reflex is screaming at me. I choose the latter.
"I need some air," I mumble as I detach my arm and make a hasty exit. I nearly run out of the hospital, relief washing over me as I escape into the world outside. For the first time I feel the cold, but not as something to shield against. I feel like taking off my coat and seeing how long it'll take before I get hypothermia. But I know it's useless. I'm too impatient. I don't care about the pain part of death, I care about the slowness. I want it over and done with so I don't have to pretend like I'm alive anymore. I've tried twice already, the first time slicing my wrists and the second an overdose. Both times Alexis managed to change my fate. Damn her. Predictably I was forced into therapy. I quit after one session. I didn't need a doctor to tell me I had severe psychological problems, that's something I had already figured out on my own. Alexis made me promise to not attempt suicide again. I told her I rarely keep my promises.
I've let my mind wander and allowed my tired legs to take me where they will. I'm already downtown, my hometown being that small, and it's not much to boast about. Just a few streets crammed with little stores, a few restaurants, a movie theater, and an old-fashioned hotel that's more of a landmark than a moneymaker. I notice a battered public telephone with an absently dangling phone book. My hands want to rip it open and search for a name I have forced myself to not speak in years. My feet have other ideas and remain rooted. Irony's a bitch. I wouldn't give a second thought to killing myself or my uncle but I can't gather the will power to make one simple phone call. But this call could never be simple.
I need a bottle of whiskey and a cigarette, but this damn town is too high class for such disgusting addictions, no bars for a couple miles. I'm getting so frustrated that I want to laugh, scream, kill something, or even better tell off the people who supposedly love me. I want to shed light on their illusions of me. But I can't. I'm too weary, so I only keep my mouth shut and resign myself to fate.
A decrepit diner across the street beckons me. I cross the street, not bothering to check for oncoming traffic. The area is deserted. If possible, the inside looks worse than the outside. Dirty beige booths align one wall, a counter taking up the opposite side, no décor that needs mention. A single customer sits on a stool at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee, hunched over a crossword puzzle. I take it upon myself to find a seat, in a booth near the back, since there's not an employee in sight. I hear stifled laughter from the direction of what I assume is the kitchen, and a waitress pops her head out from behind a door, almost glaring when she sees me; someone to interrupt her fun. It's your job, get over it, I almost say.
She saunters over, dressed in an unattractive lime green dress, I'm sure she doesn't like it either, with her hair in a high ponytail. Her perfume reaches me before she does, so stifling that I wonder if she has no sense of smell. She gives a fake smile and practically throws the menu at me.
"Something to drink?"
"No." I catch the roll of her eyes as she turns back towards the kitchen, taking the unused menu with her.
I stare blankly at the cheap wood paneling in front of me. There's something boiling inside of me. A nameless, faceless emotion that I have managed to control and conceal but is coming alive again. I know the antidote but my own cowardice restrains me from reaching for it. The same cowardice that kept me away from this town for seven years without one single visit. I just need to leave and my world will return to numbness and I can pretend again.
I hear the little bell above the door chime, signaling the entrance of another customer. I know without looking that it's Alexis. Shit, she doesn't know the meaning of 'leave me the fuck alone.' How the hell did she find me anyway? I'm beginning to think she's made stalking me a part of her daily routine. If she were smart, she'd turn around and flee, but it's obvious someone else got the brains in her family. In that case, she's going to wish she'd found a hobby other than me.
I watch as she sits down in the booth across from me, looking surprisingly weary. She folds her hands on the tabletop and stares at her delicate fingers, deep in thought. It's obvious she wants to say something and I wait for her to speak. Finally she looks up.
"Why are we still together?" she inquires blankly.
I know at precisely this moment in time that I am an asshole. The laughter is uncontrollable. Alexis simply glares at me, waiting to see if this interruption of her serious discussion will stop soon. But what she sees as a cruel disregard for her "feelings" is in reality my mind finally finding an outlet for suppressed emotion. This is how I know I'm fucked up. My head knows that she's right, that we two are just pretending to be in love to keep from being alone. Hell, I've gained more respect for her in this moment than the duration of our relationship as a whole. But how do I express this to her? I laugh my ass off in her face.
My laughter finally dissolves into occasional chuckles. Alexis looks like she's ready to rip my face off. I don't blame her. We both knew the end was coming soon, but I know that neither of us had expected something quite like this. Let the reparations begin.
I stop laughing abruptly as a sudden thought comes to my head. I slide out of the booth to stand before her with my arm outstretched, motioning for her to get up. She only glares harder.
"Come on," I say gently. I swear I hear her growl as she too stands, ignoring my hand, which then falls limply to my side. I turn around and walk knowingly towards the door, moving a bit hastily to avoid the waitress who has finally returned with my coffee. I hear a muttered "jerk" as we step outside, the chime breaking the silence of the evening air.
She shivers in the biting cold, mirroring the action of Pauline earlier in the day. A spark of caring bubbles up from somewhere and I take my coat off and hand it to her. She eyes it as though it would gnaw through her arm, but finally concedes and snatches it from me, greedily adding it to her layers of clothing.
As before, my legs take me of their own volition, partially retracing my steps back across the street and past the phone booth. I turn my head slightly to check that Alexis is still following me. She is but looks not at all happy about it. Right now, though, I can't concentrate on what she's thinking or feeling. I've got myself to worry about. I need to straighten out my head if I'm going to get this all out in the open. I had made the decision to tell her about my childhood, I don't really know why, but then again, I do. I hate the fact that I need to confess to someone, but this may be the only way to make her understand.
"Where in the hell are you taking me?" she grumbles from behind me.
"I'm not sure yet."
"You're not sure?!" she yells and comes to a halt. "What is going on with you? First you act like you can't stand the sight of me, and don't pretend I didn't fucking notice. Now you're dragging me off to who knows where to do who the fuck knows what! And you can't even give me a simple fucking answer!"
I had closed my eyes at the beginning of her rampage and open them again when she's done. I turn slowly and walk towards her, stopping when our eyes are only inches apart.
"All I ask is that you trust me," I say evenly.
"And just why should I?! You've given me no reason to trust you!" I grab the sides of her face with my frozen hands. She tries to pull away but I'm too strong for her. My eyes bore into hers with excruciating intensity, almost begging her to comply.
"Trust me," I say again softly. She gulps and looks uncertain for a moment. A whispered, "okay," soon follows.
I hold onto her a second longer, but at her look of irritation I let go. As we continue to walk, I stay beside her, which seems to annoy her further. I get a flash of inspiration: I know now where we should go.
Sorry about the girlfriend... it just kinda came out that way. *cringe*