AU. After Cheryl's engagement party, Brendan doesn't hit Ste. Story starts when Brendan makes his way home in the early hours of the next day; ends after Brendan pushes Walker in front of the train. Angst, happiness and maybe, just maybe, a happy ending. Enjoy.
It's not easy putting together a life when you can't remember where the pieces fit, but I'm trying. Murder. Regret. Despise. Love. But how do I go back from this? How do I get the image of a train-crushed skull from my head with the blame etched into my skin? I don't know where it all fits, but I'll find a way, for you. All for you.
Chapter 1: Going Home
I'm shaking when I'm standing at the door, praying that I remembered my keys. I can ascertain that the lights are off behind the drawn curtains, although it could be my drunker-stupor. Regardless, I'd rather stay out here all night than wake Steven up if he was already asleep. I'd put him through enough, he doesn't need another sleepless night.
When I trip over the doorstep I feel the keys rattle in my pocket. Task one accomplished, I think to myself. I drop the half-empty whiskey bottle to retrieve them and it lies in shards on the ground.
Shhh. I hold my finger up to my lips, looking down at the ground. Why is everything so noisy? What time is it?
I reach forward shakily with the keys. Concentrate. You can do this. Just…
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Shit.
"Not'n," I mumble.
"Oh for fuck sake," Steven mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. He extends a hand out to me and grabs me by the lapel of my blazer, pulling me forwards into the hallway. "You're a mess," he breathes as he does so.
I grunt in response, I'm too far beyond the threshold of conscious thinking and basic coherency to say anything else, and the self-conscious part of me that acknowledges the importance of my relationship tells me to shut the fuck up and go to bed; but I don't want to go to bed. I don't know what I want to do, but I know that I don't want to go to bed.
I don't want to sleep. Sleeping leads to dreams. I don't want to dream.
Steven strips me of my blazer and hangs it on the coat rack. Somewhere in my mind I'm screaming at him to put it on a hanger, but my mouth stays shut.
"Jus' stay there. Don't move." I nod vaguely, yet he's turned the corner into the kitchen before my instincts kick in to respond.
I lean against the wall, pressing my drunken weight against the plaster and feel the scrapes on the wall from my earlier attack seeping through my cotton shirt like poison. My legs buckle beneath me willingly and I sink to the floor. The poison soaks through the cotton, dripping down the wall and trickling through into my skin. I shudder.
When I glance up, Steven has turned on the light - fuck me that hurts - and he's staring at me with an expression that I can't quite sum up. Just when I catch a glimmer of anger, it shifts shape into a sort of stale boredom. It makes me feel self-conscious so I look away.
"Here." He thrusts the glass towards me. In the corner of my eye I see a fist, I see his face, and I flinch away from him. "Hey –" He drops down to one knee, surveying me with that glass of water still extended, his fist a statue behind my heavy eyelids. It's me. He announces. I know.
No.
"No."
"Brendan, it's me, Ste. Bren." He strokes my arm. "Bren-" He pleads. "Open your eyes. Com'on. Bren, it's me. It's okay," he soothes. His voice softens. When I dare to look back his expression of stale boredom has switched to worry.
I swallow my breath.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I di'n't mean it, about you' dad. I jus'-" He rests his hand softly over my neck, draping his fingers gently over the hair at the nape. "I was jus' angry. You know wa'r'it's like, and you were bein' such a dick'ead and I jus', well, I jus' di'n't mean it."
I test the sincerity in his words, stare into his eyes for as long as I can take it before shifting my gaze away. I don't doubt that he means it, but everything is just so fucked up, and I'm so drunk. Nothing makes sense. You won't even remember this conversation tomor… what time is it?
Time to sleep.
"I know."
No. Not sleep. No. Stay awake.
The statue behind my eyes drags the drapes of sleep over me. I kick my leg out, hitting my foot against the cooker where not even a week before I had cried into the shoulder of the only man I'd ever love.
You're so drunk. Go to sleep.
"Let's go'a bed." Steven puts the glass of water down on the floor before standing up, offering his hand to me. I take it slowly, and force my legs to straighten up.
"What time is et?" I ask as I follow the light down the corridor.
I don't want to sleep.
"About three. Com'on." I sit lightly on the bed. I don't want to recline. I don't want to dream.
"Lie down." I shake my head. "Com'on, lie down." He pushes at my shoulder. I waver slightly in my state, but stand my ground. Steven sighs.
"I give u…"
My breathing stops. I can tell that he senses it. His eyes dart to me no faster than he drops the final consonant into the silence; no faster than his hands reach out and pulls me into his embrace as I fall apart. Again.