Staind – "It's Been Awhile" (acoustic version)
It's been awhile since I could hold my head up high
It's been awhile since I first saw you
It's been awhile since I could stand on my own two feet again
It's been awhile since I could call you
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
I stretched myself beyond my means
It's been awhile since I can say that I wasn't addicted
It's been awhile since I can say that I love myself as well as…
It's been awhile since I've gone and fucked things up, just like I always do
It's been awhile but all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
The consequences that I've rendered
Have gone and fucked things up again and again
Why must I feel this way?
Just make it go away
Just one more peaceful day
It's been awhile since I could look at myself straight
It's been awhile since I said I'm sorry
It's been awhile since I've seen the way the candles light your face
It's been awhile but I can still remember just the way you taste
And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem to be, I know it's me
I cannot blame this on my father
He did the best he could for me
It's been awhile since I could hold my head up high
It's been awhile since I said I'm sorry…
Chapter 5
The cabin was rustic but homey. The interior was cozy: hardwood floors gleamed, big stone fireplace, and a spacious open kitchen with an island leading to the dining room. It was only on closer inspection a person would notice the oddities scattered about.
An antique pine sideboard had a vase of flowers on it next to a brass pentacle. It almost looked like a trivet for supporting hot dishes on the dining room table but was most definitely a pagan altar paten.
A stack of firewood sat on the stone hearth of the fireplace, next to a black cast iron three-legged cauldron. Hanging on one wall was a hand-sewn quilt adorned with various celtic symbols, the Charmed Triquetra being the central icon on the coverlet.
"If Martha Stewart was Wiccan," murmured Dean taking the details in.
"What?" asked Sam.
"Would ya like a beer, lads?" Jim called from the kitchen.
"Sure," replied Dean. Shrugging at Sam. "What the hell."
oo00oo
They'd moved outside after dusk, once the mosquitoes had disappated. Dean helped Jim build the bonfire. It was shaping up to be a big fire.
"Will there be a ceremony tonight?" asked Sam.
Jim bent to light the kindling. "No lad," he replied. "Just a gathering of friends." Giving Sam a wink as he stood he assessed the fire's potential.
"Dean, would ya mind chopping some more of that wood over there?" Pointing to some logs stacked against the shed.
"Sure," Dean grabbed the hatchet and headed to the chopping block.
Turning back to Sam. "Can ya sing, lad?"
"Uh, no."
"Shame is that." Jim looked to the long gravel drive as a set of headlights bounced through the forest towards them.
oo00oo
Dean sat in the lawn chair watching the fire and listening to some of his favourite tunes played acoustically while sipping on a cold can of beer. Doesn't get much better than this, he thought.
Lyra had eventually emerged from the cabin, acoustic guitar in hand and settled into a chair across the fire from Dean. Jim and another older guy Dean recognized from the heavy metal band at the bar also played. Three guitarists in all sat facing each other across the fire with various people sitting in the circle between them.
They'd played Days of the New "Touch, Peel and Stand". One of the guys had sung Puddle of Mudd's "Drift and Die" with a voice that sounded like it had been scraped over broken glass, doused in straight whiskey and then coated in honey. A great rendition. Lyra's guitar playing was awesome. But he hadn't heard her sing yet.
A couple had arrived in a pickup truck earlier. A guy with a long white ponytail had driven in on an old Triumph motorcycle complaining that the driveway had nearly broken his suspension.
Dean could have sworn two more people materialized from the general direction of the nearby lake though he hadn't heard a boat pull up. He wondered if they were guests of Jim's staying in the guestrooms over the boathouse. All had English or Scottish accents. Was there some kind of Celtic Festival coming soon?
"Lyra, play my favourite," requested one of the women. Lyra's smile was warm and kind through the firelight. Dean slouched in his chair drinking his beer, hoping the bonfire's flames concealed his staring. Admiring the added beauty the firelight cast on her face, highlighting her long dark hair.
"Are you up for it, lass?" asked Jim quietly leaning towards her. She nodded in agreement and played the opening chords to Staind's "It's Been Awhile".
Her voice was soft but clear, confident but tender. She was able to infuse the lyrics with toughness and at the same time fragility that was evident in the words. Real pain was in her voice at the chorus. It made Dean's heart ache to hear it. Her voice barely a whisper on the word 'addicted' then sounding like it was raked over coals delivering the line 'all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you'.
When she'd finished, Lyra acknowledged the praise from the group and rose to return to the cabin. Looking to Dean, Jim asked, "Will ya fetch us more beers, lad?"
Dean walked across the lawn and up the steps into the screened-in porch to the side of the cabin where the beer fridge was. There was a small window on the porch through which he heard a long sigh from inside the cabin. Distinctly feminine, he heard her breath catch followed by quiet weeping.
Unsure whether to intrude or leave her alone Dean shut the fridge door quietly and entered the cabin through the side door. Lyra ran straight into him as she quickly exited the bedroom. Instinctively Dean grasped her by the arms, tears trailing down her cheeks she looked him in the eye.
So much pain, thought Dean. "I'm sorry," he said simply.
A soft bitter laugh, "For what?" she asked.
Dean didn't know. Shaking his head, his eyes filled with concern he pulled her to him. His arms were strong around her, he held her tight to his chest. She could feel the smooth curve of his muscular chest, the plane of his flat stomach through his t-shirt. Her hands ran up his back grasping the hard muscles of his shoulder blades. He smelled fantastic. Shutting her eyes, she rested her cheek against his soft cotton t-shirt, her tears flowed hot.
He held her close until her sobs subsided. Gently caressing the back of her neck with his hand beneath her silky hair, his other arm was wrapped around her slender waist.
Straightening up, Lyra's face was so close he could feel her soft breath on his jaw. Dean bent to gently kiss her face wet with tears. Her silken skin was salty and hot. Trying to comfort her, he feathered kisses across her cheek. Feeling his gentle breath pause over her temple, Lyra rose on tiptoe to reach his lips. Capturing his supple mouth with hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
Pressed fully against her, she could feel him hardening. He was big. Letting her head fall back in delirious anticipation, Dean took advantage of her exposed throat spreading kisses down it. Her back arched, he could see the firm points of her nipples through her shirt. Gently cupping a breast through the light fabric he lightly grazed a thumb over the aroused tip eliciting a gasp from her.
Immediately wanting to evoke more of the same sounds from her he backed her into the bedroom. Pressing her against the wall and spreading her legs with his own, Dean pushed his hips against hers. This time she moaned as he pressed his full length against her.
Blood pounded in his ears but he became aware of a strange low-pitched drone in the room. Lyra broke their kiss gasping, "We shouldn't be in here."
An odd blue glow was reflected in the mirror on the wall next to them. Dean turned to see the luminescence coming from inside a large case on the bedroom floor.
"What is that?" he asked.
"It's nothing. Let's go."
The screen door of the cabin slammed shut loudly. "Dean?" they heard Sam shout.
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