Title: Blue American
Author: mao
Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine belongs to Michael Stipe, Todd Haynes, and a lot of other people, most namely not me. Clip at the beginning is from Placebo's "Blue American," as is the title. I'm just a poor college student not trying to make any money from this, and if you sue me, all you'll get is some soda bottles.
Author's Notes: Yeah, so I like Mandy. I feel sorry for her - she never asked for any of this.This is just a little vignette, nothing too moving or great. Just the same, I like it.
By all rights, I should hate him. I have every reason to. Nasty little golddigger, I could tell myself. Or, homwrecker, I could call him. If I were actually a Brit, I could make fun of him, hate him for his nationality. I should hate him.
But I don't.
I feel sorry for him, actually. He doesn't see it coming, just as I didn't. I almost want to warn him, and yet - part of me wants to see the shit hit the fan again. Only I want to see it splatter down on someone else this time. It's someone else's turn to deal with Brian's bullshit drama.
I'm just his wife, after all. I shouldn't have to hear all of it.
But Brian - well, he works in a pattern. First he shagged me. I was the first step - to get heard, he had to play at the Sombrero, of course. And I, like almost everyone else, fell for his proclamations of love. I was stupid enough to even say yes when he asked me to marry him, though God only knows why he did that. Even with an open relationship, when I think about it objectively, what was he thinking?
He shagged Jerry, of course. And I know that was loveless. It was purely a drunken, passionless affair one evening. He spoke to me about it afterwards, even cried on my shoulder. Back when we still spoke. Back when he felt bad for using other people to forward his career. Back when he felt guilty. Back when he gave a shit.
Before Maxwell Demon.
I know there have been others he's used like this. I've never asked, and he hasn't told me. At the end of it all, he's always come back to my bed, if not crying, at least for a quick hug, kiss, or shag before the next big adventure.
But not this time.
This time he's gone - perhaps he hopped a plane to Aruba. Or maybe a weekend in Greece. I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. Because now he's done with me, and he'd begun the cycle again.
This time it's Curt.
I've been told I should hate Curt for what he's done to my marriage. But I think, deep down, I've always known this would happen. That in the end, we'd reach this state of cold wedlock. Neither of us really wants to be married anymore, but we can't divorce. It would look back - would look like what it's not.
Instead of looking like Brian got tired of me and lost interest - if he ever had any to begin with - instead of that, it would look like Curt came between us. And we can't have that. Of course not. That might make his life just a little more complicated.
I would warn Curt, I think, if I could get a little bit closer to him without Brian around.
If I thought he'd believe me.
If I could find the words.
If I coul-
No, that's a lie. I don't want to warn him. It's not that I hate him, or even dislike him, as I suppose I should. Frankly, I rather like him as a person. Without the smack, he's got his head screwed on straighter than anyone else I know.
It's just...well, misery loves company.
Just one blue American to another.
