parte tres
Nothing perfect lasts forever.
These words linger through my mind as I stand next to the phone, daring myself to pick it up and call him. I don't think I can. Not after this morning. Waking up next to him was scariest and the greatest experience I have ever had in my life. And then I have to face the fact that I just slept with him, him who should be anywhere but in bed with me. And yet I have no memory of it at all. He could have been the one to wake up first, the one to live the guilt. But if he's having as much trouble remembering last night as I am, he'll figure he drank (I dare you to try a Vegas Special) a lot and then (I dare you, Sydney.) ended up in bed with (Only if you drink one too.) some woman that he (I don't thi-) randomly stumbled upon. (Michael Vaughn you are not going to force me into doing this by myself. Both of us or no one.)
And so memories do flow back slowly. The Vegas Special and didn't that sign say "You won't remember it tomorrow?" Must have missed the sign. I drank the Vegas Special and I'm sure he did, too.
Michael Vaughn. I just slept with him and he expects me to spend an hour talking to him and pretending that nothing happened. Well, maybe for him nothing happened. Whenever I see him all I'll be able to think about is his lips grazing my neck and as much as I'd care not to have those memories they'll come back soon and I'll have to face him seeing them replayed over and over in my mind. I never once imagined it would come to this.
Or did I?
I can pick up the phone and I can press ten buttons and I can talk to him for and hour pretending I don't remember what it feels like to hold him, to be held by him. Pretending I'm not remembering things (I love you, Sydney) every second (I love you and nothing perfect) I see him or think of him. (And nothing perfect lasts forever, Sydney, this will not last forever.)
Things that I can't be sure are real or are just fragments of my twisted imagination. Did he tell me he loved me? Love. The whole night was about love. About me loving him and him loving me and then making love to him was just a side thing but oh god the way he smelled and the way he tasted...
I have backed about five feet away from the phone and am staring at it like it's the devil and I want to see him (I feel drunk but my senses are so clear...Michael? Michael what is this?) so badly but I'm afraid of what will happen if I do. It's all coming back so fast without him, but then having to face him and talk to him while the images sift through my brain until new ones pop up... The phone rings and scares me half to death. I walk away a step, until Francie comes racing into the kitchen to pick it up. "Hello?" She asks breathlessly. There is a moment of silence and suddenly her face turns evil. "Damnit whoever the hell you are don't Joey freaking Pizza me I'm expecting an important call and I may just have missed it and- Joe? Oh my god, Joe, I'm so...yeah, I thought it was actually...when I told you about that I expected you wouldn't use it against me...yeah...really?" I'm not interested in hearing one side of a conversation, especially with Francie and her new boyfriend (Joe can do it for you. It's only five dollars here. We even have the dress and flowers thrown in for an extra buck. You can get the hardware next door.) Joe. Joe? What about Joe? Francie talks on with her invisible (My invisible friend, Sydney, but you're not so invisible now) boyfriend who she won't let me see. So I begin to walk (Run) away towards my room. (You ran away from him and you didn't have to take this on alone you would have could have should have) I don't make it five steps before my cell phone rings. The un-listed number could mean my dad or the CIA or "Hey." Michael. Or is it Vaughn? What do I call him? Does he even [i]know[/I] what happened? "Syd?" Everything is normal. Everything is fine. Everything is- "Hi." That one word takes all the energy I have, all the saneness, and if he's asking me to come to another nightly warehouse date I don't think I can without seeing him with his hands on my shoulders, staring into my eyes with this deep concentration, saying two words which I know were important but I can't remember. Go figure. "See you." The line disconnected. Cruel of him, not even giving me chance. Now I have to either call him (no) or go see him and person and watch him act normal when all my senses are blinded by the memory of his taste. (Two tasty Vegas Special's coming right up...you two ready for a wild night?) Damnit damnit damnit. If I had never started flirting with him in the first place, if he had never dared me to take that fucking drink none of this would have ever happened, none of this would be all screwed up. So I hop into my car unwillingly to face my fears, to face my fantasies. This is such a fucking mess.
Nothing perfect lasts forever.
These words linger through my mind as I stand next to the phone, daring myself to pick it up and call him. I don't think I can. Not after this morning. Waking up next to him was scariest and the greatest experience I have ever had in my life. And then I have to face the fact that I just slept with him, him who should be anywhere but in bed with me. And yet I have no memory of it at all. He could have been the one to wake up first, the one to live the guilt. But if he's having as much trouble remembering last night as I am, he'll figure he drank (I dare you to try a Vegas Special) a lot and then (I dare you, Sydney.) ended up in bed with (Only if you drink one too.) some woman that he (I don't thi-) randomly stumbled upon. (Michael Vaughn you are not going to force me into doing this by myself. Both of us or no one.)
And so memories do flow back slowly. The Vegas Special and didn't that sign say "You won't remember it tomorrow?" Must have missed the sign. I drank the Vegas Special and I'm sure he did, too.
Michael Vaughn. I just slept with him and he expects me to spend an hour talking to him and pretending that nothing happened. Well, maybe for him nothing happened. Whenever I see him all I'll be able to think about is his lips grazing my neck and as much as I'd care not to have those memories they'll come back soon and I'll have to face him seeing them replayed over and over in my mind. I never once imagined it would come to this.
Or did I?
I can pick up the phone and I can press ten buttons and I can talk to him for and hour pretending I don't remember what it feels like to hold him, to be held by him. Pretending I'm not remembering things (I love you, Sydney) every second (I love you and nothing perfect) I see him or think of him. (And nothing perfect lasts forever, Sydney, this will not last forever.)
Things that I can't be sure are real or are just fragments of my twisted imagination. Did he tell me he loved me? Love. The whole night was about love. About me loving him and him loving me and then making love to him was just a side thing but oh god the way he smelled and the way he tasted...
I have backed about five feet away from the phone and am staring at it like it's the devil and I want to see him (I feel drunk but my senses are so clear...Michael? Michael what is this?) so badly but I'm afraid of what will happen if I do. It's all coming back so fast without him, but then having to face him and talk to him while the images sift through my brain until new ones pop up... The phone rings and scares me half to death. I walk away a step, until Francie comes racing into the kitchen to pick it up. "Hello?" She asks breathlessly. There is a moment of silence and suddenly her face turns evil. "Damnit whoever the hell you are don't Joey freaking Pizza me I'm expecting an important call and I may just have missed it and- Joe? Oh my god, Joe, I'm so...yeah, I thought it was actually...when I told you about that I expected you wouldn't use it against me...yeah...really?" I'm not interested in hearing one side of a conversation, especially with Francie and her new boyfriend (Joe can do it for you. It's only five dollars here. We even have the dress and flowers thrown in for an extra buck. You can get the hardware next door.) Joe. Joe? What about Joe? Francie talks on with her invisible (My invisible friend, Sydney, but you're not so invisible now) boyfriend who she won't let me see. So I begin to walk (Run) away towards my room. (You ran away from him and you didn't have to take this on alone you would have could have should have) I don't make it five steps before my cell phone rings. The un-listed number could mean my dad or the CIA or "Hey." Michael. Or is it Vaughn? What do I call him? Does he even [i]know[/I] what happened? "Syd?" Everything is normal. Everything is fine. Everything is- "Hi." That one word takes all the energy I have, all the saneness, and if he's asking me to come to another nightly warehouse date I don't think I can without seeing him with his hands on my shoulders, staring into my eyes with this deep concentration, saying two words which I know were important but I can't remember. Go figure. "See you." The line disconnected. Cruel of him, not even giving me chance. Now I have to either call him (no) or go see him and person and watch him act normal when all my senses are blinded by the memory of his taste. (Two tasty Vegas Special's coming right up...you two ready for a wild night?) Damnit damnit damnit. If I had never started flirting with him in the first place, if he had never dared me to take that fucking drink none of this would have ever happened, none of this would be all screwed up. So I hop into my car unwillingly to face my fears, to face my fantasies. This is such a fucking mess.