i'm gay and stronger than all of you (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hardlydead) wrote2021-10-27 04:15 am
hardlydead) wrote2021-10-27 04:15 am
(( but don't piss me off today, i'm pissed already so- ))
   He never lost a fight. Not now, not ever. Always bet on King. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
| |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
MANCHESTER MASH-UP Memory 339:King scrunches his broken fist. Cheers and hollers from a drunk crowd echo through the alleyway. He stares at his fallen opponent. Bleeding face. Busted nose. Chipped teeth. He kicks him in the mouth to put the finishing touches on his handiwork. He never lost a fight. Not now, not ever. Always bet on King. He glances over the crowd. Spots Donnie. An old friend with a gambling problem. Not much of a problem if he continues to bet on me. King looks at his watch. He's late for a family meeting.Memory 340:King's father gives his mother hell for talking back for something he didn't quite understand. It's always the same crap. King grinds his teeth. Blood and warmth rush up his face. Every scrap. Every single one he won, because he saw his father's face on his opponent. He wants to lash out. To say something. Anything. But to say something is to be cut off. But this time he's not thinking straight. Or maybe he is. His father raises a hand to strike his mother. It happens faster than the thought to perceive it. One moment he snatches his father's arm. The next he's beating him black and blue for years of accumulated shit. He walks away while his mother tries to help his father up. You're out! Never show your face here again! Ungrateful bastard! Get out!Memory 341:He never really had friends. Not real ones, anyway. He had an entourage. A group of sods enjoying the high life with his credit card. Now he has no one. Not a single bloody friend to help him out. He had friends once upon a time in school. But that was long ago. He needs money. But money doesn't grow on trees and no one wants to challenge him. Not after what he did to his last opponent. He needs a job. His accounts are near empty and his old careless spending habits are hard to break.Memory 342:He meets with Tommy. Tommy has no room for him in his apartment. Wishes he did, but he doesn't. Mick wants to help but his old lady won't let him. Same with Bill and Harry. His ex has moved on and she doesn't want to see his face. Something about being a shithead. He can't live in a hotel room forever, it drains the account. He remembers a face he recently spotted in a crowd at his last scrap. They were friends since they were toddlers. He was a genuine friend even if they went separate ways. King looks him up. Castledrive. He hails a taxi.Memory 343:King hasn't felt real in a long time. He sits in Donnie's apartment drinking old ale, realising how much he misses genuine heart-to-hearts. Donnie was his friend before he realised he came from money. The rich aren't really rich. He's not sure why he thinks this or what it means. It's just a random thought. The ale talking as it were. Donnie says he can stay until he figures things out. He's not sure when that will be. It doesn't matter. A sudden rap at the door startles him. Donnie stands. Opens the door to reveal a few men in black leather jackets. Muscle. King doesn't hear much. What he does hear he doesn't like. Donnie owes money and can expect a bundle of lead in the face if he doesn't pay. He laughs when he returns to the kitchen table. It's your fault, King. I don't know who to bet on anymore.Memory 344:King lost his last three jobs and is going back to what he does best. A challenger steps into the circle in the dimly lit alley. Double his size. Massive. King doesn't care. A head's a head. He'll go down like the others. Crowd calls him the Ghetto Masher. The Ghetto Masher glares at him. The ref spits out rules he's heard a thousand times. King stares at him... and sees... not his father but his opponent.A bell sounds. With a bestial snarl, the Ghetto Masher lunges. King evades a wild blow that would have ripped his head off. He feels strange. Unresponsive. Confused. Donnie screams at him. He glances at him as he receives a massive fist to the skull. Black swirls across his eyes. He doesn't remember the thud against his skull. He doesn't remember his legs buckling. He doesn't even remember collapsing in a pile of festering, garbage. He only remembers waking up on the couch in Donnie's apartment. He's lost his edge. His anger. His rage. His hate. Was that all he was? Donnie's asking if he's okay and he's not sure. Am I okay? Will I be better? I don't know. Was it just a fluke? A lucky shot? Happens to the best. I feel wrecked. I am wrecked. Donnie bet the last of his cash on him. Memory 345:King's getting the hang of working behind a bar. Donnie sips a beer and tells him he needs to find another reason to fight. King tells Donnie he needs to get home before the beer he's drinking turns to piss. Before he gets in trouble. Too late. King spots two men. They approach Donnie. Grab him. Usher him into the basement. Not a good sign. King rushes to help but his manager yells at him to stay behind the bar. Screw it.He leaps over the bar and rushes to the basement where he finds Donnie being beaten by Ghetto Masher with Uncle Brass watching in his chair. King doesn't hesitate. He tackles him. They exchange deadly blows. Ghetto Masher can hardly keep up. Uncle Brass sends others after King. Doesn't matter. King's a whirlwind of destruction. He cracks Ghetto's knees and thrusts his thumbs into his eye sockets. An eyeball pops out still attached to a series of nerves. Cries of terror. Ghetto Masher cups his eyeball screaming for medical help. Staggers and slams against the wall as more ruffians attack. Stop! Uncle Brass stands and approaches. It's well within my power to rip your fuckin' head off for what you did to my boys. King staggers to his feet. Not a bloody joke, am I? His debt is paid if you work for me. He straightens up and brushes his jacket. Smiles. Always bet on King. THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING KING Memory 384:The old pub erupts in drunken screams and laughter as patrons drink ale, play darts and watch football on the flat-screen television above the bar. David sits alone on a hard wooden stool at the bar. He can already see Jasmine in his mind's eye. Blond hair, blue eyes, short skirt, walking out of her apartment with wafts of wild vanilla and a few fun quips like all those black and white films his mother used to watch alone in the kitchen. She's everything like the movies. Everything his father admires in a woman and more, and she's certainly a perfect date for the Ol'Man's retirement party in the coming days. Sure to turn heads and make him proud. David gulps his evening ale, winces at the bitterness, and thumps the pint against the metal countertop, still feeling the tightness around his neck and shoulders. He figures he needs a little more social lubricant to make this first date go off without a hitch. The last thing he wants is to screw things up before the party. David scans the bar and gestures to his old friend Rik. He slides his empty glass, nods for a refill and suddenly feels a sharp pain at his left side. Rik returns with a foamy golden pint dripping on the sides as David snatches it from him, takes a sip and winces. Tastes bitter, and he knows it ain't supposed to be this bitter. He waves Rik over and leans forward. "This shit is killing my insides. And it tastes like someone farted in a bathtub of donkey piss. You pulling this shit out of an engine, or is it real?" "It's real, Dave. As real as it gets." "Tastes like poison." "Well... why don't you stop punishing yourself." David's left side pulls, again. He struggles to remember if the appendix is on the left side or the right side. He isn't sure. Doesn't matter. Everything hurts in his stomach and chest, and he figures he's better off with a ruptured appendix, anyway. "Some poisons are good for you." Rik shakes his head in disagreement. "I'd take it easy anyway, unless you want to be a total shit with what's her name." "Jasmine." A drunk fan approaches David. "Look here! As I live and breathe, David-fuckin'-King! Why not come have a seat with us?" Ignoring him, David looks up at the football match. "Just want to be alone right now — another time." "Come on! Won't you take a few seconds for a fan?" David locks eyes with Rik, but doesn't look at the drunk brute at his side. "I appreciate the invitation but I'm kinda going through a rough patch. It's why I'm alone... so please..." The drunken fan jabs him in the shoulder. "I gotta ask. What did that referee call you that upset you so much?" "You have shit in your ears? Get away!" The fan jabs David, again. David catches the finger, snaps it against the joint, and takes another sip of donkey piss as the agonised fan falls to his knees, screaming bloody murder. Rik quickly gestures to a giant of a man who escorts the drunken fan and his entourage out the door before all hell breaks loose. Then he shakes his head at David. "One day you're gonna to pick a fight with the wrong guy." "I told him I wanted to be alone." "There was probably a better way to tell him... unless that was about something else." "I broke his finger. Nothing more to make of it." Rik's eyebrows furrow. "Come to think of it, you never did tell me?" "Tell you what?" "What happened with the ref?" David shrugs and shakes his head. "He said the wrong thing at the wrong time and I lost my shit. Doesn't matter." "Yeah, I can see how much it doesn't matter." David sighs at the sarcasm, and he feels Rik's eyes on him as he takes a swig, then swallows it all down. "Like I said... doesn't matter." "Ahh... Secrets. What depths lie beneath the surface, Mr. King. What depths, indeed. I've known you sixteen years now and you're still a closed book. You'll tell me eventually." Rik grabs his empty glass and walks away. Memory 385:David feels his lips and tongue growing heavier and heavier with every pint. He continues to brag about his new white shirt, his new cologne, and his new friend, Jasmine. He tells Rik about how he met her at a fountain where a famous photographer was taking her picture and everyone stopped to spectate and take in her beauty. He searches Rik's face for signs of approval but gets the sense that he's just nodding to be nice. "You should have seen her. Every guy was staring at her. She was in this bikini and the summer sun was blazing down on her. Every guy was staring at her... and she was staring at me..." "You said that part a few times now." "Did I?" "Yeah. Starting to sound more like convincing than bragging." David frowns and stares into space for a long moment. Then he puts his hands into his pocket and feels the hard tape holding an old note together. "I ain't trying to convince you of anything." "I didn't say you were trying to convince me." "Who then?" "That's the question, isn't it?" "I don't understand. What's the question? Stop talking like that." "Dave... why don't you stop talking like that. You come in my pub talking about supermodels and exploits you could sell to a smutty magazine, and you're good at it, too. And if I didn't know you, I'd buy it." David winces and turns away. "So here you are talking about how happy you are while you're frowning and breaking fingers and ready to take down the first one who talks to you wrong. And you're probably the only one getting in your own god-damn way." "You don’t jab people in the arm. You just don't do that." "You can believe you're happy if you want to, but from where I'm standing, you're the most miserable bastard in Manchester, and I care too much about you to let you think you've got me fooled." "There you go trying to psychoanalyse me again. Probably going to link me to some obscure historical idiot nobody remembers that you read about in one of your dumb books." Rik shakes his head. "There you go making light of something serious when a friend just wants to know if you're okay." "There you go being melodramatic when a friend just wants a drink." "Dave... I'm sure she's a nice girl, but you know what I say. Screw her. Don't go. Stand her up and do what you really want to do." "Stop talking outta your ass." Rik leans closer to him. "I'm serious, Dave. As serious as the note you keep in your pocket. You know... the one you read every now and then when you think no one's watching." David leans away from him. "Mind your fuckin' business!" "Touch a nerve, did I?" David drains the pint, wipes his mouth, and staggers off the stool. "I'm fine!" And he pushes his way through drunken patrons and the thick wooden entrance doors, losing his balance and stumbling into the cool, indifferent summer night. Memory 386:David senses someone following him as he hobbles past the alley beside the pub. He turns to see the disgruntled fan and his entourage of idiots. They yell and joke and bark curses at him. It's all a jumble of words to him. But he gets the tone and the general intention. The fan approaches him with a crooked finger. "You should be thankful people remember you at all — you pathetic excuse of a human. The only reason they remember you is because you pissed your career away in a single flush." David feels the blood boil up his neck and doesn't even realise he's unleashing a flurry of punches until it's too late. He stops to wipe the blood off his fist as an idiot tackles him into the dark alley. Another idiot charges him with a scream and smashes him into a brick wall. David kicks off the wall and pushes them both into a dumpster. He whirls to punch another idiot who instantly hits the ground with a thud. Several others attack him. He stands his ground and dishes out pain and soaks up punishment until they collapse. David looms over them, impressed by his strength, when suddenly someone kicks him in the back. He topples over as he feels an arm wrap around his neck, choking him like a boa constrictor. Through blurry vision he watches the idiots take turns punching and kicking him in the gut and face. The boa releases David, and he collapses in the gutter with two tennis balls for eyes, a bleeding nose and a tooth he feels slipping down his throat. He crawls out of the alley and onto the sidewalk where people walk by him without taking much notice. Then he turns on his back and stares at the stars glimmering beyond a broken streetlight, grateful he didn't puke. Then again he was never one to puke. Not when he drinks. Not before a game. Not even before a family gathering. Memory 387:David barely sees the legs of pedestrians walking around him. He hears them whispering, talking, laughing, and growing silent as they approach him. Once or twice he heard whispers about seeing if he needed help, but the whispers soon faded, and in the end, no one helped him. He didn't want help, anyway. He stares at the blurring and fading stars and wonders what his life would have been like if he had just been like his parents. Then it dawns on him. He doesn't even know what that means. He doesn't know who they are. He knows aspects of them, the status, the façade, the bullshit, but not the real them, not the secrets and affairs and addictions. As David stares at the darkness above, he hears a woman tell her husband they should really do something about the poor, beaten man bleeding on the sidewalk. He sees their blurry shadows looming over him as they stare at him with concern. He hears a few more whispers, and then they move on with their hurried lives. Through the mist in his mind he remembers a story of how someone died of a heart attack at a stadium because not one person stopped to see if the crumpled man on the ground clutching his phone for dear life was okay. One phone call would have saved his life. Rik told him that story a while back. He can't remember when or why but he had many useless stories he collected from friends and clients that he repurposed for small talk. David closes his eyes for a moment. He breathes deeply and takes in the floral notes of his cologne like soft petals drifting on the night breeze. He's glad his nose still works and that he's not having a heart attack even though he feels as though someone kicked his heart out of his chest. Memory 388:David feels someone lying down beside him. "Someone told me you were out here enjoying the breeze." He recognises Rik's voice but doesn't respond. "Nice night. I have never seen a night quite like this one before." David sighs. "Go away... please..." Rik ignores him. "Kind of hard on the back but looking at the stars seems to balance things out." "Please..." "Look at those clouds. There's a storm coming. Better enjoy it while we can." David turns to Rik and looks at him through puffy slits, but doesn't say anything. "You know coconuts kill more people than sharks. I looked it up because someone told me this story about a couple who had been together for years. The woman always wanted her husband to go into the water while on vacation but he was terrified. He didn't want to be eaten by a shark..." "They go to the same place for twenty years and he never goes in the water. Then for her sixtieth birthday he decides he's going in. She's happy, and he's pumped. But as he walks to the beach... a coconut falls on his head. Dies right there on the spot." "You'd think that would have been what she remembered. She had been a customer for years and she never once talked about the coconut. Someone else told me about it. She told me about all the other things... but not that... And she used to make me jealous cause I think people who know who they love are the luckiest people in the world — mightier than the mightiest in a wasteland of broken hearts." David clears his throat. "Is that story supposed to cheer me up?" "I'm not trying to cheer you up. I'm telling you that I'm jealous of you, Dave. And I'm not talking about Jasmine or the others." "There you go assuming things you don't really understand." "I understand you. I understand love. And I know enough to know it's not something you squander even if in the end there's a cosmic coconut waiting for all of us." David closes his eyes. Rik laughs softly. "Her story would have made a pretty good movie. Except for the coconut ending. That would probably have to change." David sighs heavily, and through a growing thickness in his throat, he whispers for Rik to leave him alone. To just leave him alone. Memory 389:David opens his swollen eyes to find Rik staring at him. "I had this regular who stopped coming to the pub a few years back. Found out she was in jail. Imagine that, jail. Murder. Matter of the heart. She discovered her husband was in love with another woman, so she lured him to their country home, drugged him with sleeping pills, boarded up the doors and windows and set it on fire while he slept." "He woke up and tried to smash his way through the boards. But she was waiting for him with a hammer. As he tried to climb through the busted and burning wood —" "Whack! Whack! Whack!" "She smashed his arms, hands, shoulder with the hammer until he could scarcely move. All that remained was a terrible mess of a man trying to squeeze through busted boards with thick black smoke pouring past him like molasses. She stands there watching him dripping, burning, breathing, screaming, begging... and doesn't move until the police arrive." David turns away from Rik but doesn't say anything. "Her husband cheated on her before, and it didn't bother her, but this time, well, this time he was in love. That would make a good movie, too. Only she wouldn't kill him in the end, and he'd probably realise he was just going through a mid-life crisis. I never met someone I'd kill or die for, and I sometimes wonder what that would feel like... if I could do something like that..." David feels Rik's eyes on him. "I think my longest relationship was one year. I was told my ego gets in the way and that I don't like compromise. And that's true. But what's also true is I haven't met anyone who made me want to compromise." David takes in the sounds of pedestrians walking past them. "You know one client once told me that wolves either move in packs or alone or in a couple. Did you know that couples form such a strong bond... that when one dies... the other dies seconds after... As though wolves can just shut off life's switch whenever they want. One soul following the other into the next world if you believe in that kind of thing." David turns to face Rik. "Please... I don't want to talk." "One more story, then I'll leave you. It's a true story that happened a hundred years ago in a time when this kind of story wouldn't have even be told. I don't remember how they met but when Richard and Will first laid eyes on one another they fell in love, and they kept their love a secret because back then... you could be hung for... well... for not loving like the rest." David feels a sudden warmth rising up his neck. "They had secret lives, but eventually they were caught. And while so many lied and trembled before the executioner, they refused to lie about what they had... what they had found in each other. With the noose around their necks they were given another chance to repent... but they didn't... instead of fear... there was only love... and Will grabs Richard's hand and kisses it as the executioner pulls the cart from beneath their feet." David's puffy eyes drip with tears as he sees the two lovers dangling from the gallows. He wants to say something but feels an invisible noose tightening around his neck, choking him, preventing him from unburdening his heart. "That would make a great movie." David's lips tremble. He wants to say so much, but the words just won't come out, and he feels like he's sinking deep into a world of mud. Then his face tightens and his whole body quivers as he tries to suppress the pain. Losing the battle, he erupts with gasps and broken words as he desperately tries to breathe. And Rik grabs his arm, supporting him, holding him, preventing him from sinking deeper and deeper into the wasteland where so many have been lost and forgotten. Memory 390:"What was it about him?" The question stumps David. He takes a moment to gather himself. "I couldn't say one thing... it was a bunch of little things that just made me feel good when I was around him. Everyone else makes me feel like I gotta be something I'm not. But not him." "I never did believe the press release." "My parents can't stand each other. They should have divorced years ago... but they keep up the show and have their secret lives... so I guess that's normal." "It works for some people." "I miss him. I miss us. I remember meeting him like it was yesterday. Just being with him was enough to know, and I knew right away that he was special and that he would somehow be an important part of my life. We met at music camp. I was seven and didn't want to go. Ironically, my mother forced me and I guess in a way she's the reason we met. I couldn't play any instrument..." "But Tristan... Tristan was something else... I liked listening to him play the piano... At first my mother was happy... I had a music friend... maybe I would end up a violinist..." "I guess she figured things out faster than I did because next thing I know she forbids him from coming over. She gave some excuse about his family being of improper standing." "Then the talks began. The responsibility of being a King. She tells me about the image of our family and the strength of our name and how I had pretty big shoes to fill... sacrifices for the family and all that bullshit. But she never said exactly what she meant. She always danced around what she really wanted to say." David laughs. "Tristan ended up going to the same secondary school as me. Funny how life works out. He used to write me notes... quotes... poetry... proverbs... smart-aleck comments he knew would make me laugh." "We got back together in secret and were together for years until he began asking me to be introduced to my parents. Couldn't do it. I broke up with him. He broke up with me. Crazy fuckin' cycle." "Last year... he wanted a real commitment... he was talking about a family and kids... I nearly brought myself to doing it... but I didn't... I broke it off... and broke his heart." "He didn't take it so well. Got pissed, and actually came to my birthday party at the pub... he just shows up... and he gives me a kind of Great Gatsby toast... and he hesitates... and I know what he wants to do... I know what he wants to say... but in the end he doesn't..." "Instead he says what good ol' pal I've been to him... and he makes a smart-aleck joke about how I'm a ladies man who will definitely never settle down... and with tears in his eyes... he finishes his toast with... 'To the importance of being King. Smart ass!' And everyone toasts to it... even the Ol'Man." "King laughs, then stops suddenly. Tristan staggers out with his pint and leaves an old note on the table. Something he had given me in an English class while the teacher was massacring one of his favourite writers with ridiculous interpretations." "He called me a few days ago... invited me to a party at the Gold Lantern Café. A going away party... tonight... He's leaving for New York. Some piano gig. He's leaving with some guy he just met. They hardly know each other a month, and he's following him to New York. How ridiculous is that?" Rik says nothing as they stare at the fading stars for a moment. Silent tears slip out of two narrow slits for eyes. David clears his throat and wipes the tears away with his arm. "You ever feel like just stopping?" Rik turns to David. "I imagine you'd have to start before you could actually stop. Way I see it... you've always been this lion, taking down the bully, the asshole, the abuser. Ever since I've known you, I've admired you for that. You're great at clobbering the shit outta anything that gets in your way except maybe yourself. I figure you could try building things, growing things, nurturing things... things like you." Rik squeezes his arm. You're a lion, Dave, and as much as you're going to hate me saying this... you're a circus lion tethered and dressed up like a clown. You need to tear the rope and costume with your own claws and teeth if you ever truly want to know what it's like to be you. "You want to stop something... stop jumping through hoops... stop being the clown and just be the god damn lion you were born to be. You're about to regret something for the rest of your life and you know it." David stares into space. Rik squeezes his arm, again. "Way I see it... you owe someone a toast." "You're an idiot if you think I'm just gonna walk over there and crash his party." "You're an idiot if you don't run." Memory 391:David charges down the street and pushes his way inside the café. Scanning the room, he doesn't see Tristan or his party. He yells at a waitress from across the room, and to his horror, she tells him Tristan already left for the airport. Her words stun him like a slap in the face. He's too late, and his whole world is spinning out of control. He takes a moment to gather himself, then he decides and rushes out into the street, screaming wildly for a taxi. A taxi pulls to the curb. The driver looks at David, hesitates, then starts the meter and steps on the gas. Next thing David realises he's bolting down the highway rehearsing what he's going to say to Tristan. He struggles with ideas and words and feels nothing he comes up with is good enough. The taxi pulls up to the sliding, glass doors of the airport, and David vaults out. The driver yells at him. He returns to pay him and then rushes through the automated doors into a bustling open area. He quickly regards a monitor displaying flight departures. Sees one flight leaving for New York. Rushes trough the terminal. But — Security stops him in his tracks! "Can't pass without a boarding pass." David stares at him, trying to catch his breath as he processes everything at once. He tries to explain his situation, but the brute won't budge, not even an inch. David turns back and rushes to the check-in counter. He buys a business class ticket on the plane to New York. Then he runs back and passes through security. He runs faster and faster and he's nearly there. He's going to do this. He's really going to do this! Suddenly, he smashes into an older man carting luggage who looks like his father with his salt and pepper hair and chiselled jaw. He tumbles over the ground as fear hits him like a fist, knocking the breath out of him for a moment. Just a moment. In the chaos, he notices Tristan's note on the ground. He grabs it. Holds it. Remembers. The man yells at David to be careful, but that's the last thing David wants to do right now as he puts the note back into his pocket and clambers over a pile of luggage and charges away. Within moments, he sees the gate. Sees Tristan — Laughing with his partner. Happy. He freezes in his tracks. Guilt smashes down on him like a brick wall, pushing and squeezing his insides into something awful. At once everything begins to spin as he realises — He's going to be sick! David turns on his heels, rushes to the bathroom with a hand over his mouth, and blasts through a stall to purge his stomach. Then he hobbles out and washes gunk off his face and feels like the most selfish person in the world. His busted and swollen face sags with the sudden realisation that if he loves Tristan... if he truly loves Tristan... he will let him go. Rik got into his head, and he's drunk. That's all this is about. All he needs to do right now is be happy for Tristan. To be happy for him and go home and sleep this crazy night off. Memory 392:David walks away from Gate 72 with his head in a whirlwind. He knows he isn't thinking straight and that it's selfish to pull Tristan back into his mess. He made his bed, and now he has to fuckin' lie in it. David approaches the security gate, and his heart clenches like a vice. It's impossible to move. Something bigger than his doubt, his guilt and his fear won't allow him to take another step. His hand plunges into his pocket, and he turns the note over and over. Then, in a blazing flash, details of their struggle come back to him. How could he let him go? The one whose voice was the only peace he had ever known, whose laugh was the only joy he had ever experienced, whose every breath filled him with life and whose every word challenged him to be a better man. How could he leave without even trying? Without showing him that he was — in the end — willing to do whatever it took for what they had. David realises that if he doesn't seize this moment he'll never know, and the regret alone would destroy him. Tristan doesn't just make him whole, he makes him real, and no one has ever had that effect on him. Suddenly — He comes alive. And turns. And fuckin' runs! "I don't know what I'll say... but I'll say something... anything... I'll say whatever comes to mind... maybe... maybe those three words from his favourite movie..." Energy charges through David like a bolt of lightning, making him faster, stronger, and somewhat confident even though he has no idea what he's going to say or do. He just runs, and his run becomes a stumbling sprint as he sees Tristan with his partner — About to board! His mouth opens in a silent scream as he stumbles and falls on his face. "David... Is that you?" Tristan grabs David's hand and helps him to his feet. David straightens himself, and tries to look presentable despite the busted face and the mingled odour of ale, gunk and cologne. He smells like someone puked on a bed of flowers, and he knows it. But he forgets how he looks and smells as he tries to stop his hands from shaking. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and calms himself. Then he reaches out and holds Tristan's hands firmly. Words thicken like cement in his throat and nothing clever or poetic comes to mind. He tries to remember the line from the movie without success. Tristan's partner steps forward, but Tristan gestures for him to be patient as he pulls David aside. "What's wrong, David? What the hell happened to you?" David wants to tell Tristan he means the world to him. He wants to say, I love you. But instead, he says — "No more bullshit." Tristan mimes the words slowly, trying to understand. David says them in a whisper, again and again, as he desperately waits for Tristan to say something, anything. Tristan says nothing, but his eyes mist, and he suddenly looks happy and sad and very confused at the same time. Memory 393:In the rainy darkness of night, David staggers down a street he doesn't recognise, drenched, cold, singing some half-remembered folk song. The last thing he expected was a fairy tale ending, and, of course, he understands Tristan needs time to think things through. How much time? Hopefully, not much. Just enough for him to step off the plane and call him to say... "As you wish..." Shit! Now he remembers! At exactly the wrong moment. David smirks. Doesn't matter. He's never felt so good, so free, so euphoric in his life. He lets the feeling flow past him like a gentle breeze and gets the sense that he's been born again, or born for the first time, and that before this night he had merely existed as a cardboard cut-out with little self-awareness except for the fear that had come to rule his life. His hope is that when Tristan's plane lands he will receive a phone call asking him to be on the next plane out. If, that is, he ever finds his wallet. No matter. If he can walk home from the airport, he can swim across the pond. He laughs to himself and figures his wallet will turn up somewhere. It always does. But what if he calls to say it's over.' The thought catches him by surprise. That's probably what will happen. Truth is, love doesn't triumph and our fears get the best of us, always. That's why fairy tales are written. To escape the endless disappointments and heartaches of real life. Regardless of what you think, your love isn't strong enough, and when he calls it's only to tell you it's over. For good. Because he won't let you break his heart, again. David drowns the thoughts by singing louder and louder. Then he stops suddenly when he sees a park he half recognises. It resembles a park where he and Tristan used to sit on a bench and people-watch all day. He enters the gates and for a moment he hears Tristan's voice singing with him. He stops. Looks around, but doesn't see anything through thick, slanting sheets of rain. David continues through slumbering bushes and sagging flowers under a thick canopy dripping and pit-pattering with rain. He walks ahead until he hears a soft whisper. "No more bullshit." He turns to face — "Tristan!" He rubs his puffy eyes and stares with disbelief. Tristan laughs. "Only you could massacre a line like that." "It can't be... it's... impossible..." David narrows his gaze on Tristan's silhouette. He must have somehow disembarked the plane. Or maybe he never boarded in the first place. He doesn't really understand what's happening, but he knows better than to overthink his luck. David runs to embrace Tristan but just as soon as he touches him, he withers away like a dead flower. With a gasp, David drops to his knees, hopelessly trying to catch the falling petals that melt in his hands and drip through his fingers into a gathering fog. He barely has time to register what's happening when he hears footsteps squelching in the mud and water all around him. He looks up slowly to see every single bully, abuser and shithead he ever took down advancing on him. His gut reaction is to pinch himself, yet nothing happens when he does. With a deep sigh of resignation, David rises to his feet, lifts his chin and throws himself into the fray. He tackles and swings and kicks until he's the last man standing with slithering tendrils of black fog pulling him down into a world of darkness untouched by the light of love. |
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
