Title: "3 Libras"
Author: Klarinette-18
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Toki, Skwisgaar, groupies
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 686
Summary: Toki sees Skwisgaar go into his room with a few groupies, and feels like everything that's happened between them has meant absolutely nothing and Skwisgaar doesn't even see him passed the sluts anymore.
Warnings: Sex mention, pretty angsty – but it's Toki, so we're sad for him :(
Comments: This literally popped into my head at 3 in the morning while listening to "3 Libras" by A Perfect Circle. Check out the lyrics and you'll see why. Thank you, Maynard, for fueling my perverted fandom :)
Disclaimer: Dems characters amn't mine. Dey ams belongingks to Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha.
I'd spent most of the evening in my room, mainly doing small touch-ups on the paint of a Blackhawk I'd just recently built. I don't normally build helicopters, but this one didn't turn out like shit, so I'd decided to completely finish it. It had been a fairly long day, albeit uneventful. I called it a relatively early night and went to bed before midnight. Most of the guys were out, anyway, save Murderface, who I hadn't seen or heard from all day, anyway. He'd probably have stabbed me if I'd gone to his room to ask whether or not he was alright.
I'd been torn from sleep by yet another nightmare. This one wasn't particularly horrific or gruesome; just the typical memory-type dream of having my bare skin whipped while I kneeled in the snow, completely clueless as to what I'd done to earn that day's beating. I woke up covered in sweat, but my blanket had been kicked off in my sleep, leaving the cold air of my bedroom to chill the sweat, making my skin feel cold. Lately, I'd been able to go to Skwisgaar's room when the nightmares proved to be too much for me; he'd taken to comforting me in these times, sharing his bed, protecting me while I sleep.
"Maybe we shoulds goes to Skwisgaar's rooms so dats he cans keeps us safes, Deddy," I whispered to my bear. We'd spent many, many nights together before, sometimes not even having to do with my nightmares. It had started that way, but he'd invited me back one night. Sometimes there was sex, sometimes there was just sleeping, but a lot of the time we'd just lie together and talk, feeling the comfort of each other's presence. It had been this way for a while now. One of the first few times we'd been together, it had been after a party of sorts, both of us pretty drunk. There had been the sex he craved and the comfort I needed. He could see it in my eyes and knew what I needed to hear – he told me that it was just me, now; there would be no more of me having to deal with sharing him with those sluts that didn't deserve him. As he held me against himself and felt his heartbeat through my own chest, I knew it to be true. I believed it.
I got up from my bed and quickly ran to the door, wanting to be out of the room as quickly as possible. The hallway was dark and cold, but I could hear the sound of Pickles in his room, belting out the words to some 80s tune he knew, probably drunk and dancing around in his underwear. I made it to the end of the hallway and turned the corner; Skwisgaar's room was just a few more steps…
I stopped in my tracks and ran back around the corner, peering around the wall to see just as Skwisgaar opened his bedroom door, leading the two women inside, an arm around each of their shoulders. I wanted to yell, to call out to him, to say fucking anything… but I couldn't. I stood there with my jaw hanging open, my hand clutching the place on my chest where I could feel like sickening burning inside. I felt nauseous. I didn't know what to do; I was so disoriented and confused by everything I felt in that moment. The rage made my hands shake. The confusion made my head spin. The worst part, though, was the nauseous feeling as I felt my heart shatter. I dropped to my knees, my hands bracing me from completely falling to the floor. My breathing got faster, I felt my chest heaving. My vision became blurry as the warmth of the tears began streaming down my cheeks and falling to the cold floor.
I kept my weeps as silent as I could as the burning realization snaked its way over my body, consuming every fiber of my being and awareness—he hadn't seen me. He doesn't see me. At all.