yeah, i've made you wait a good bit. and there will probably be another sizeable pause after this post. because, honestly, i want to savour this. i love this story.

thanks so much to Sullen Shadowhawk and Secret Pleasures. (awesome pennames, by the way.) i've always been able to connect more with Curt. he's complex in his own seemingly straightforward way, i think.

well, here it is, the next to last chapter before the Epilogue. am i gonna get angry reviews after this? that's up to you all.

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Chapter Fourteen: "Falling"

He knew what it had come to. It was at the end of the show. There wasn't anything past this point. He had gotten rid of his last connection to his past life, giving it to a guy who seemed vaguely special to him, for some odd reason. Kindred hearts? Who the fuck knew. But it was gone – passed to the young journalist in hopes that he may change what it brought to later bearers. For Curt, it had brought an intense, short-lived love. And a heartbreak that just never left him. He could wish a lot of bad shit from his life on a number of people, but he'd never wish the pain his heart felt on anyone…not even Brian.

He had seen Tommy Stone in concert. Far from inspiring that utter shit. He knew it was Brian. It held all the characteristics of him, just slightly tweaked. But it was not his Brian. It was an ego-tripping-bastard Brian. The one who thought he still owned the world. Maxwell Brian. That damned persona had infused a new facet to Brian, and had forever changed him.

He wanted his Brian back.

A fucking pipe dream if there ever was, that. He knew that Brian had been lost long ago. First in Maxwell…then who knew what…and now in Tommy Stone. It was quite possible that the Brian Slade he had fallen in love with was irretrievably lost forever.

And with all those ties severed, intentionally or not, that left him now completely void. He had been hanging back to see if Tommy held any of Brian within him. No. And as much as Curt knew he himself was beyond redemption, he still could set himself free. Free from the hurt and the memories and the sorrow. Free from this fucking hell he had existed in, all of his wretched life. Just…free.

He had never stayed clean. That was a well-known fact to anyone who had ever known him for just a while. He couldn't. He would try…and fail. Inadvertently intentionally. He would inadvertently intentionally get back on it. That was a complex concept, but it was true. He had found the escape it had offered him long ago…and he always preferred it. It was simple, it was pure, it was beautiful. The crystalline…perfection of it just would sweep him away, and wash away his cares. And that was what he wanted…. That was what he needed.

He was falling. Falling faster and faster. And he didn't want to hit the ground, but he knew he didn't have the willpower to stop his descent, let alone even control it. So he would fly. Fly right the hell out of it and away.

Away for good.

Grabbing out his gear, he set to his task. He laid his instruments out on the edge of the sink, amongst sparkling shards of glass, ignoring the red smears his bloodied hand made upon the yellowing porcelain. He threw off his jacket, tossing it beneath the sink and quickly undid his belt and cinched it around his arm. He moved on to the most important element.

He had just purchased it today…more than enough to do what he wanted. He couldn't care less. He just dumped a good amount into his spoonful of water and grabbed his Zippo as it dissolved. He used the bottom corner of his lighter to swirl it round in the water to make sure it all dissolved down to become just a milky white liquid.

He flicked open the lid and struck the light on his Zippo in one fluid, practised move, holding the flame beneath the spoon, waiting for the mixture to bubble. And then he drew it up into the needle -- all of it.

He settled down on the floor, setting the needle aside for just a moment as he tightened the belt more, yanking it with his teeth, and tapped up a vein.

He picked up the syringe, closed his eyes, and plunged it in. The cold metal needle pierced flesh down into vein, and he depressed the syringe, flooding his system. He kept his eyes shut as his mind swirled and whirled.

And then, he didn't know how much longer, but someone walked in.

(The lyric in the page break is from "My Unclean" by Ewan McGregor)