My note: I accidently posted this story under the wrong file and you guys got "Blueberry Muffins" again...this is the right story. I don't think there are many stories with this sort of scenario, it's kind of an opposite of what actually happens. I'm not really sure it fits anything, most of us including myself, don't like to imagine this character in this state. It's another product of my "hour at the computer" writing style. Read and review, let me know how bad it is! :-)
Rating: PG-13 cuz I stuck in a little bad language.
I look around the mess I have been calling
my apartment. I realize that I don't care anymore. I don't
care that there are clothes strewn in every corner. I don't care
that there is trash piled in the kitchen, or dirty dishes piled in the
sink. I don't care that there are empty liquor bottles in every room
of the house. I don't care.
I think about the last few days, since it
happened. I remember how strong I was, but for who's sake I do not
know. Perhaps my own, perhaps his, but for what good it did I can't
be sure. I remember assuring my friends that I was okay, that I knew
it was coming and I was ready. I remember making them believe it
by joking a little, smiling, crying a little, just so they knew it affected
me but wasn't killing me at the same time. I hugged them as if it
hurt them more than it hurt me, as if it were my job to be the comforting
one, because that was the role I took on so many times before. They
looked at me with wet eyes and tear stained cheeks, gave me sad smiles
and told me I would make it.
But what the hell do they know? They
have NEVER loved liked this, I can be relatively sure of that. They
don't know what it's like to meet someone by chance and fall in love at
first sight. They don't know what it's like to finally find someone
who completed you and then lose him as if he never existed. Not even
a year, he was in my life, but I felt like I knew him forever. We
should have been together forever, but no. This goddam disease…sometimes
I wonder if it's even worth it. I don't know how long I have and
I don't know how long anyone else has either. It would be a hell
of a lot easier to just shut everyone off. I tend to grow attached
to people, and they always end up leaving me in some way, usually by dying.
My father always told me my way of life was the road to hell, and I'm beginning
to believe him. It seems that's what my life is becoming. Hell.
The phone rings and I let it. I don't
feel like talking to any of my friends. They only want to nag me
to get out, to be myself again. They don't understand that the day
at the funeral was all a front, that I can't be like that again, not with
him gone. They always marveled at the life in me, because they didn't
know me before I met him. They can't realize that most of that life
in me was because of him. He made me happier than anyone, and for
once in my life, I was sure of who I was and I knew I was loved.
"Hey, please pick up," a nasal voice says
into the machine. "You need to get out. You need to talk.
You can't keep doing this to yourself, you're better than this, you know
it. You know we love you, and we want to help you get past this.
Please…please call me. Ok? Ok. Bye." I stare at
the phone and the red blinking light that is a product of the freshly left
message. Next to it is a picture of us, about a month after we met.
It's from a night out at the Life Café, I think we were all there,
but just he and I are in the picture. I am standing, balancing on
one foot, with the other in the air, my arms around his neck and my lips
on his cheek. He's grinning like he's the happiest man in the world,
and there's no one to say that he wasn't. I place my finger over
his face and trace it sadly.
"Baby, I miss you so much," I whisper sadly.
I feel the tears form in my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. "They
don't understand how much you mean to me. They'll never see…they
won't…" The sobs are coming from deep in my stomach, and I sink down the
wall to the floor. My shoulders shake, and I sit there and I cry
because I don't know what else to do. I don't know how else to deal
with it.
There's a strong knock on the door.
I struggle to keep quiet, the sobs choking me. A few seconds pass
and the strong knock comes again.
"I know you're in there. You better
let me in, or I'll barge down this door, don't think I won't," a rough
voice calls out. I stand up and walk carefully to the door, hesitant
to open it. "Let me in!" I open the door to see Roger standing
in front of me, a bag of groceries in his hand. He glares at me and
storms into the apartment.
"Come on in, Roger," I say sarcastically,
closing the door behind him.
"What is this?" he asks me. "You look
like Hell." I look down at my outfit, if it is fit to be called that.
I'm wearing his old sweat pants, no socks, no shirt. My eyes are
hollow, my face pale.
"You came here to tell me I look like shit?
Is that what this is?" I ask. I push past him and walk into the bedroom,
grabbing a t-shirt. I pull it over my head and push some of the clothes
on the floor into one pile.
"Look at this place!" He picks up two empty
bourbon bottles and shakes them in my face. "It looks like a shithole!"
"Tough love. I see, Roger. Well,
I don't need this, so you can go on back to the loft now. Leave me
alone. Just let me deal with this on my own," I say. I feel
my throat tighten, but I resist it. Roger's face softens and he reaches
out to me.
"We care about you, Angel. I can't stand
to see you this way. I wouldn't come over here and bust your butt
if I wasn't worried about what you're doing to yourself. I know you
miss Collins, but there are other ways to deal," he says.
"How? What do you suggest Roger?
You, who locked yourself in the loft for six months after your girlfriend
died?" I ask him. I know I'm taking a risk, simply because everything
I know about that is second-hand. He looks at me again, his fists
tight, but his voice is still calm.
"You don't know anything about that.
You didn't even know me then. But I came out of it because I have
such great friends and I couldn't resist them anymore. There are
a lot of ways to remember Collins."
"Sure," I say. Why is he here?
This isn't his job, he's not the supportive one. I half expect Mark
to appear from the hallway. I walk into the kitchen and press
down on the garbage, as if pushing will make it disappear.
"That night I met you, that was my first night
out of the house. And I had so much fun that night, and I know that
was because you were there. You're the life of us Angel. You
should see the hell everyone is going through."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't be your 'life' right
now."
"Angel, please. I know you're hurting.
I am too. Collins was one of my best friends. But you can't
let it eat you like this. Would Collins really want you to?"
"There's NO way to know WHAT Collins would
want!" I exclaim.
"Would Collins act this way if it were you,
or would he try to get on with his life, knowing that you'd hate for him
to lose himself because you were gone?"
"Stop…" I warn him.
"Would Collins want you to live in a dump
of an apartment, drinking booze all day and wallowing in your sorrow?
Is that what Collins would want, Angel? Huh?"
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I grab a
dirty glass from the sink and I throw it at him, my anger taking over all
control of my body. He calmly steps aside and lets it hit the wall,
breaking into a million pieces. He makes no effort to stop me as
I take another glass, but this time I don't aim it at him. I aim
it at the floor, the sound of it breaking sounding wonderful in my ears.
"Dammit, I loved you Collins! Why did you have to leave me?
Why did you have to leave me here alone? What am I supposed to do
without you? Tell me!" My knees give way and I sink to the
floor in sobs. I hear Roger's footsteps come crunching over to me
and I feel his arms come softly around me. Before I know it, I'm
sobbing his arms, gripping at his shirt.
"I know. I know," he whispers.
He places his hand on my short hair, and holds me like a baby. We
stay there, on the kitchen floor. My tears stop, but his strong arms
remind me of Collins too much to let go. I finally pull away and
smile at him, surprised that he could be so supportive. He doesn't
let go of that tough guy attitude for everyone.
"Thanks, Roger," I say.
"Hey, anytime. You know we're all here
for you," he says, getting up to leave. I realize that I do know
that, and suddenly, I feel like I should have believed them before this.
I could have saved myself a lot of pain.
"Um, Roger?"
"Yeah?"
"You think you can help me clean this place
up a little? Maybe go to the Life Café for a bite after?"
Roger grins at me and nods.
"Sure thing, Angel," he says.
"Maybe we can get everybody to go," I mention.
"I'm sure they'll want to."
"I needed that Roger, I needed that really
bad. I'm glad you came over here today, I don't know what may have
happened if you didn't," I say.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"I was starting to think it's too hard to
lose everyone, but…you're right. I can't give up. Collins would
never let me." I'm really glad that it's Roger, knowing he's the
only one who won't question any further. He doesn't.
"I'm glad, Angel. We really do need
you around here." I smile, and as I sweep up the broken glass, my
eyes fall open the picture of me and Collins from the Life Café.
And I smile.