I don't own. The people who do are far more awesome than I.
046. Remember
Shawn remembers exactly how it started, though sometimes he wishes he didn't. If he couldn't remember, then it would show that it didn't mean anything. Because if you can't remember the beginning, it wasn't something worth remembering.
The problem is, he does remember.
He remembers the New Years party his father had dragged him into. And if he had to go to the dumb house party with his father's dumb friends and their dumb wives, then he was going to make sure Gus and Juliet and Lassie would suffer with him.
Okay, so in hindsight, it may not have been the greatest plan. How was he supposed to know that. It's not like he was psychic.
There had been leftover eggnog from Christmas. Another not-so-brilliant moment was not only letting everyone else drink some, but also allowing himself to drink some. He had seen his father make the drink numerous times, and he really should have known better.
He hold out for quite a while, knowing that someone must stay sober enough to stop one of the wives from trying to drown herself in the ocean for the sixth time.
But in the end, he gives in. He can't deal with these crazy people without something to help him forget.
And he should forget.
But he never does. His memory is too good for that.
Halfway through his second glass he remembers why he tells himself to stay away. He never could handle his alcohol very well. And there was something special about his father's alcohol that always made him a little queasy.
Walking down the hallway to the bathroom, where he intends to puke up every last drop of eggnog, no matter how long it takes, he notices the mistletoe still handing from the ceiling. It could have just been because he was drunk beyond belief, but he can't for the life of him figure out why they'd been put up in the first place. With the current set of guests, and even the ones that had come for Christmas, it could cause some very awkward situations.
To this day he blames the alcohol. He isn't sure if the alcohol is entirely to blame, considering he probably would have done it either way. But it's a good excuse.
But that excuse only worked the first time.
The second time he would blame Carlton. Not because he sincerely believes he is to blame, but because it's easier that way. And it was kinda funny.
But the third time, and the fourth and the fifth and every time that came after, there was no excuse.
Running into Lassie in a hallway filled with mistletoe had been the biggest mistake of his life.
A joking kiss under the mistletoe could lead to much more serious things when alcohol was involved.
If anyone asked, which they wouldn't because no one would ever know, the first time it had been the alcohol.
The second time, it had definitely been Lassie's fault. He had been the one to allow Shawn to stay at his house while his place of residence was being fumigated. Didn't matter if Shawn had been the one to initiate it, again. He shouldn't have been there in the first place, Lassie should have said no.
Of course, he realizes, though would never admit it, that this is insane. There is only so long her can throw the blame off himself.
But he continues to do just that. He never says anything, but in his mind, he is always formulating ways in which he can rationalize what is going on.
Each time he counts through the excuses he's already used and debates whether or not any of them could be used again. At some point, he realizes there are eleven excuses. Eleven excuses he's never said allowed in the three weeks this has been going on.
That's when he gives up. He gives up on the excuses, because it's getting to be too much. He doesn't was excuses. He wants to pretend that whatever is happening is real.
He knows there is nothing real about it. The sex is real. The empty space next to him when he wakes up every morning is plenty real, as real as nothing can be that is.
But beyond that, there is nothing. Nothing real.
He realizes it must be subconscious, but by number 13 (he still counts, even if he's given up the excuses), he doesn't need an alarm to wake him up anymore. Not on the nights they are together. He wakes up on his own, just moments before Carlton does.
He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting Lassiter to know he's awake, but he can still see everything that the man is doing. He knows every inch of the room, and even the slightest sounds alert him to what exactly he is doing.
The bed creaks, just a tiny bit, when Carlton slides off of it. His light steps sound like elephants across the carpet as he rushes to gather his clothing. The bed creaks again as he sits down to put his shoes on, but this time it comes from the area near Shawn's feet. Another squeak when he stands up. Light patter as he treads across the floor again. A squeak as the door opens slowly, then a click as it closes once more. Not a minute later, he can hear the front door latching shut as well.
He hates that his memory is so good sometimes. Once in a while he wishes that he hadn't memorized Lassie's morning routine. And by once in a while, he means every time. He also wishes that he can't remember exactly how it began. Because the memory tricks his mind into thinking that it's real.
Because it's not.
One morning, as he listens to Carlton go though his routine, he realizes something that had never occurred to him before. Something he'd never allowed himself to realize.
That it is real.
It is real.
I spent about an hour debating where to end this. Originally, it was supposed to end here, then I added a little more and I thought that would be good, then I added a little more and I though, 'okay, now its done.' Then this morning I went back and I'm like nope, I'm cutting the last bit out.
So in the end, I ended it exactly where I had originally planned.
I just wanted to wish everyone a Happy ChrismaChanuKwanzakah or whatever it is you celebrate. If you don't celebrate anything, Happy Thursday.
All I want for christmas is a million reviews (hint hint).