Absence of Fear
Author's Note: Quite simply, this is a run-off of Alex's (InnerChild's) I'll Be Back fanfic. And, since it's a runoff, it's also for Alex. A dedication/gift of sorts, because otherwise, I wouldn't have an Arthur or anyone to spur me on and say I can write VG fanfiction well ^^; I love you to death, and heartheart! I hope you like this. Oh, and if you don't figure it out.. ::giggles:: Curt's POV. For everyone else who reads this, I recommend reading I'll Be Back first.. but if you don't, it shouldn't be too hard to understand.
[Inside my skin there is this space
It twists and turns, it bleeds and aches]
It's still raining. The sound is hard on the roof, a pit pattering of animal paws that won't quit, keeping you from sleeping. It's still raining, and you're still gone. Left without a coat, and walked into the downpour of water. Left with the smell of nicotine and alcohol on you; my smell. The shower head is leaking water.. it's not like you, to keep things running. That's more of my style, a messy, careless, rocker style.
It's amusing, to think, that we might have switched places. But I dismiss the thought easily. Had we switched places, it would have been me leaving. It would have been me walking a cobblestone path once more, while a hurt lover screams obscenities from the window.
I should really learn to forget the past.
[Inside my heart there's an empty room
It's waiting for lightning, it's waiting for you]
A crash. Thunder shoots through the night sky, making the earth tremble. Lightning follows, a bolt of power that shocks whatever it touches. I almost wish it had pointed towards me. Had there really been a Zeus, I wouldn't be here. Lounging like I am, seemingly comfortable against a worn leather couch, shirtless and barely clothed. Ripped jeans that feel almost too tight... I wouldn't be denying what I'm feeling.
Swinging my legs over the side of the couch, I somehow manage to stand, running a hand through my hair, dirty blonde strands touching before my eyes. A shower would be nice.. but I'm in no mood to feel your lingering presence. How hypocritical of me, because I'm always feeling something left behind. Something, or rather someone, who doesn't want me. Who never really did.
Running my tongue across my bottom lip, I can taste you. The innocence of a boy who threw himself in much too carelessly. Willingly allowing himself to be hurt. But I'm not supposed to play the villain; I'm not Brian. I don't consciously hurt people ... do I?
And I'm running the water in the shower.
[And I am wanting, and I am needing you here
Inside this absence of fear]
Clothes discarded, rivulets of water striking my back, head pressed against the cold tiling.. I must look a mess. I should be trying to clean myself up, running soap across my skin, filling my hair with shampoo ... but I can't.
It's a pathetic thing. Feeling like this. Shoving someone away, only to want them back the moment they step past your door. He's just a fucking kid...
Had I been sober, had I not been wallowing in a despair I've always made for myself, I might have laughed. Curt Wild's become a pedophile. No, not really. But the idea itself makes me grin, throwing my head back to let the water spray across my face. Hair sticks to my shoulders, and breathing in deeply, I try not to think about you.
I try ... not to worry.
[Muscle and sinew, Velvet and stone
This vessel is haunted, it creaks and moans]
There's so many memories in this place ... so many skeletons in my closet. Things I've tried to bury, in skin, in alcohol.. in cigarettes. Once, in heroin. And now, in him. A reporter that's....
What? Go on. Think it, say it.
... that's nothing but a child. A child wanting to grow up, and cling to me. For what? What does he really expect? That I can love him? That I can throw away my feelings for another so easily? Throw my feelings away ... like Bri threw me away. Yesterday's garbage. How fitting of a title.
The water seems too hot, and my skin must be flushed. A color that's attributed to sex, by most. Biting my bottom lip (look, now I'm picking up his habits) I quickly clean myself off, trying not to spend too much time on the shampoo in my hair before letting the water clean it. Water can cleanse anything, if you want it to.
Funny, I've been in here for at least an hour.. and I still feel the same as before. Dirty, guilty... the cause of two broken hearts.
[My bones call to you in their separate skin
I make myself translucent, to let you in]
My hair's dripping wet, the only part of me I never bother to dry afterwards. It sticks to my neck, paints it a bleached blonde before I bother to pull it off, only to have it tickle my bare shoulders as I rummage for a shirt. Worn clothes are scattered about the room, a mess. A mess that'll never be cleaned.
I don't remember lighting a cigarette, but it's dangling between my lips, dragged on every now and then, smoke exhaled slowly. It should be calming me. Raging nerves and my worry (no..) for (no....) you (yes). I'm pushing away something I can't even budge. My denial sickens me, and suddenly, the nicotine doesn't taste as well as it did a moment ago.
Wet fingers grip at a shirt, and lifting it, a smile stretches my lips behind the cancer stick. It's his. Perhaps I'm becoming a bad habit. Because glancing around, I can see his clothes mingled in with mine. I can smell his cigarettes, a much more expensive brand then mine, in the room. It's his warmth that lingers on the bed sheets, the indention on the pillow besides mine is from him.
"Do you normally stand around, holding my shirts when I'm gone?"
I was expecting sarcasm... I would have given you sarcasm. But then, you're not me. Maybe that's my flaw.. thinking that. It's not anything sarcastic though, and it chills me, to hear your voice dead. "No... do you normally stand in the doorway soaking wet? You're ruining the carpet."
Surprisingly, he chuckles.
[For I am wanting, and I am needing you here
Inside this absence of fear]
He's not Bri. I don't know why I ever thought he was... or why I ever though that he might be. Dropping the shirt, I grin, rubbing the back of my neck in a fashion that normally betrays nervousness. But for me, it's just a habit, much like his constant lip biting. He's doing it now.. and it makes my eyes roll slightly.
"I'm..." Sorry. But the word won't come out. Curt Wild does not apologize, and not even when I should. Starring into his eyes though... it doesn't seem like he cares. He shrugs, and smiles a little, wet from the rain. Stained with hurt.
[There is hunger, this restlessness inside of me
And it knows that you're no stranger. You're my
gravity]
I'm smirking; for no reason. I'm tasting oblivion as I suck in air, shifting my weight slightly, and making a move to grind the cigarette out. It would have worked too, had he not crossed the room, his fingers plucking the cylinder from my lips, dragging casually.
It's a bold act for him, and it always makes me grin, looking down on the kid before taking the cancer stick back, pressed it into the ashtray. I don't know why he let's me do this to him... but he does. Hands on his sides, pressing him closer, tilting my head enough to capture his mouth with my own. A way of forgiving.. let me have sex with you. How romantic.
[My hands will adore you through all darkness aim
They will lay you out in moonlight and reinvent
your name]
He's trembling beneath me... I wish he wouldn't. Like I'm scaring him. But I've trembled before, so it's rude of me, to complain. But my mind isn't on this act, this skin on skin. It should be, but it isn't. It's on him. It's on his hurt. I wish I could take it away, make it disappear. For someone who's never wanted to be put up on a white horse and given a sword, I'm doing a very good job at playing the romantic knight.
It's easier not to concentrate on feelings, rather just concentrate on this. This right now. This body. My arms around his smaller form, lips to his shoulder, blonde hair streaking across moon-kissed skin.
[For I am wanting you, and I am needing you here
I need you near, Inside this absence of fear]
"Sorry..." I breath into his ear, a whisper that he will hear. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall forward slightly, rest against his shoulder as our bodies rock back and forth. The mattress groans beneath our combined weight, and I smirk, biting down on his skin and grinning at the gasp he makes.
It's rude of me, to whisper an apology during sex. It won't be remembered ... it won't mean anything. And that thought almost saddens me, because.. he does mean something. Child or not, clinging fan... reporter, everything he is. It's so much better then myself.
Loving him, is better then loving Brian. I wish I could say that, at least outloud.
Author's Note: Quite simply, this is a run-off of Alex's (InnerChild's) I'll Be Back fanfic. And, since it's a runoff, it's also for Alex. A dedication/gift of sorts, because otherwise, I wouldn't have an Arthur or anyone to spur me on and say I can write VG fanfiction well ^^; I love you to death, and heartheart! I hope you like this. Oh, and if you don't figure it out.. ::giggles:: Curt's POV. For everyone else who reads this, I recommend reading I'll Be Back first.. but if you don't, it shouldn't be too hard to understand.
[Inside my skin there is this space
It twists and turns, it bleeds and aches]
It's still raining. The sound is hard on the roof, a pit pattering of animal paws that won't quit, keeping you from sleeping. It's still raining, and you're still gone. Left without a coat, and walked into the downpour of water. Left with the smell of nicotine and alcohol on you; my smell. The shower head is leaking water.. it's not like you, to keep things running. That's more of my style, a messy, careless, rocker style.
It's amusing, to think, that we might have switched places. But I dismiss the thought easily. Had we switched places, it would have been me leaving. It would have been me walking a cobblestone path once more, while a hurt lover screams obscenities from the window.
I should really learn to forget the past.
[Inside my heart there's an empty room
It's waiting for lightning, it's waiting for you]
A crash. Thunder shoots through the night sky, making the earth tremble. Lightning follows, a bolt of power that shocks whatever it touches. I almost wish it had pointed towards me. Had there really been a Zeus, I wouldn't be here. Lounging like I am, seemingly comfortable against a worn leather couch, shirtless and barely clothed. Ripped jeans that feel almost too tight... I wouldn't be denying what I'm feeling.
Swinging my legs over the side of the couch, I somehow manage to stand, running a hand through my hair, dirty blonde strands touching before my eyes. A shower would be nice.. but I'm in no mood to feel your lingering presence. How hypocritical of me, because I'm always feeling something left behind. Something, or rather someone, who doesn't want me. Who never really did.
Running my tongue across my bottom lip, I can taste you. The innocence of a boy who threw himself in much too carelessly. Willingly allowing himself to be hurt. But I'm not supposed to play the villain; I'm not Brian. I don't consciously hurt people ... do I?
And I'm running the water in the shower.
[And I am wanting, and I am needing you here
Inside this absence of fear]
Clothes discarded, rivulets of water striking my back, head pressed against the cold tiling.. I must look a mess. I should be trying to clean myself up, running soap across my skin, filling my hair with shampoo ... but I can't.
It's a pathetic thing. Feeling like this. Shoving someone away, only to want them back the moment they step past your door. He's just a fucking kid...
Had I been sober, had I not been wallowing in a despair I've always made for myself, I might have laughed. Curt Wild's become a pedophile. No, not really. But the idea itself makes me grin, throwing my head back to let the water spray across my face. Hair sticks to my shoulders, and breathing in deeply, I try not to think about you.
I try ... not to worry.
[Muscle and sinew, Velvet and stone
This vessel is haunted, it creaks and moans]
There's so many memories in this place ... so many skeletons in my closet. Things I've tried to bury, in skin, in alcohol.. in cigarettes. Once, in heroin. And now, in him. A reporter that's....
What? Go on. Think it, say it.
... that's nothing but a child. A child wanting to grow up, and cling to me. For what? What does he really expect? That I can love him? That I can throw away my feelings for another so easily? Throw my feelings away ... like Bri threw me away. Yesterday's garbage. How fitting of a title.
The water seems too hot, and my skin must be flushed. A color that's attributed to sex, by most. Biting my bottom lip (look, now I'm picking up his habits) I quickly clean myself off, trying not to spend too much time on the shampoo in my hair before letting the water clean it. Water can cleanse anything, if you want it to.
Funny, I've been in here for at least an hour.. and I still feel the same as before. Dirty, guilty... the cause of two broken hearts.
[My bones call to you in their separate skin
I make myself translucent, to let you in]
My hair's dripping wet, the only part of me I never bother to dry afterwards. It sticks to my neck, paints it a bleached blonde before I bother to pull it off, only to have it tickle my bare shoulders as I rummage for a shirt. Worn clothes are scattered about the room, a mess. A mess that'll never be cleaned.
I don't remember lighting a cigarette, but it's dangling between my lips, dragged on every now and then, smoke exhaled slowly. It should be calming me. Raging nerves and my worry (no..) for (no....) you (yes). I'm pushing away something I can't even budge. My denial sickens me, and suddenly, the nicotine doesn't taste as well as it did a moment ago.
Wet fingers grip at a shirt, and lifting it, a smile stretches my lips behind the cancer stick. It's his. Perhaps I'm becoming a bad habit. Because glancing around, I can see his clothes mingled in with mine. I can smell his cigarettes, a much more expensive brand then mine, in the room. It's his warmth that lingers on the bed sheets, the indention on the pillow besides mine is from him.
"Do you normally stand around, holding my shirts when I'm gone?"
I was expecting sarcasm... I would have given you sarcasm. But then, you're not me. Maybe that's my flaw.. thinking that. It's not anything sarcastic though, and it chills me, to hear your voice dead. "No... do you normally stand in the doorway soaking wet? You're ruining the carpet."
Surprisingly, he chuckles.
[For I am wanting, and I am needing you here
Inside this absence of fear]
He's not Bri. I don't know why I ever thought he was... or why I ever though that he might be. Dropping the shirt, I grin, rubbing the back of my neck in a fashion that normally betrays nervousness. But for me, it's just a habit, much like his constant lip biting. He's doing it now.. and it makes my eyes roll slightly.
"I'm..." Sorry. But the word won't come out. Curt Wild does not apologize, and not even when I should. Starring into his eyes though... it doesn't seem like he cares. He shrugs, and smiles a little, wet from the rain. Stained with hurt.
[There is hunger, this restlessness inside of me
And it knows that you're no stranger. You're my
gravity]
I'm smirking; for no reason. I'm tasting oblivion as I suck in air, shifting my weight slightly, and making a move to grind the cigarette out. It would have worked too, had he not crossed the room, his fingers plucking the cylinder from my lips, dragging casually.
It's a bold act for him, and it always makes me grin, looking down on the kid before taking the cancer stick back, pressed it into the ashtray. I don't know why he let's me do this to him... but he does. Hands on his sides, pressing him closer, tilting my head enough to capture his mouth with my own. A way of forgiving.. let me have sex with you. How romantic.
[My hands will adore you through all darkness aim
They will lay you out in moonlight and reinvent
your name]
He's trembling beneath me... I wish he wouldn't. Like I'm scaring him. But I've trembled before, so it's rude of me, to complain. But my mind isn't on this act, this skin on skin. It should be, but it isn't. It's on him. It's on his hurt. I wish I could take it away, make it disappear. For someone who's never wanted to be put up on a white horse and given a sword, I'm doing a very good job at playing the romantic knight.
It's easier not to concentrate on feelings, rather just concentrate on this. This right now. This body. My arms around his smaller form, lips to his shoulder, blonde hair streaking across moon-kissed skin.
[For I am wanting you, and I am needing you here
I need you near, Inside this absence of fear]
"Sorry..." I breath into his ear, a whisper that he will hear. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall forward slightly, rest against his shoulder as our bodies rock back and forth. The mattress groans beneath our combined weight, and I smirk, biting down on his skin and grinning at the gasp he makes.
It's rude of me, to whisper an apology during sex. It won't be remembered ... it won't mean anything. And that thought almost saddens me, because.. he does mean something. Child or not, clinging fan... reporter, everything he is. It's so much better then myself.
Loving him, is better then loving Brian. I wish I could say that, at least outloud.