That first week, he'd gone between a few different states of mind.
At first, he'd been in a mood where he was in a constant "I'll show you!" state, constantly doing things, like bungee jumping, pigging out on junk and fast food, reckless stuff that he'd always been scolded for by his boss or England. He wanted to show them, if they were secretly watching him, that he was doing just fine without them, and was enjoying his freedom. That he didn't need them, and that they'd been holding him back. Now that he'd shed their company, he was free to do as he wished, no agenda to follow, no meetings, no obligations, just a government-covered credit card and a car. That had lasted for a day.
As night set in, he stayed up till four, watching violent movies, but always found himself thinking of Arthur every time he saw the damsel in distress, or his brother whenever he saw camaraderie between friends. That was when the hurt sunk in, and he couldn't sleep for days after. How could they do this to him? Is this what they meant by the whole dog eat dog world?
He started thinking of ways he could come back. He would give anything to just talk to Mattie, to sit quietly in his old office, or a meeting. Even if he wasn't allowed to speak, even if they gave him mountains of dreadful paperwork. But, Arthur would be there, with France. They'd be kissing, holding hands, doing everything that Alfred used to do with Arthur before the war. No, if he ever saw that, he'd kill himself.
All that had eventually led to him sitting in that dark cavern people call a closet for at least three days (he had lost count), living off the bag of potato chips next to him, thinking of nothing and everything.
He started going into his own little world, talking to the potato chip bag about how it was the two of them against the world. The potato chip bag was his only friend. And then he remembered it was a potato chip bag.
Then, for no reason, he lost it. He started to throw things around, ripping the doors off the closet; throwing the couch they'd given him. Destroying the place. Then, his witness protection lady was right behind him, yelling at him, asking what the F*ck he thought he was doing. That's when he touched ground again.
She informed him that he'd better get a hobby, or she'd give him one, seeing that he couldn't handle doing nothing very well. Then, she ditched him once more, spouting some crap about caring for his well-being and wellness of mind, which was a load of crap. It was an understatement to say he didn't like her.
He'd no source of comfort during the worst event in his four hundred year old life, and she was the only person he'd talked to in weeks. And all she did was tell him what a mope he was and a pain in the ass. He didn't need the reminder that he was useless, he felt it constantly, with every breath he took.
He exhaled into a wall, sliding down it on his back. This hand instinctively went to his promise band.
I could call Art…no. That part of my life is over. I need to move on…Godammit Arthur, you couldn't wait for a year and a half?
It was out of habit that he'd thought of calling Arthur, once his rock, his comfort, his love…
What did you mean when you said your love was forever?
Forever a memory?
USUK
Damien Moore was lonely. For the last two years, he'd been working on this old beaten down house he'd found on one of his long drives outside the city.
He'd been shaping it back into the beautiful manor it used to be, with its green lawn, and long sloping driveway, shadowed by forest. It actually was an hour away from the city, down a back road, and far away from anyone. It reminded him of himself, once an out going individual with a bustling social life, to a deserted shell. Fixing up this house had been like putting himself back together. He looked fondly at the brick front, its white shuttered windows perfection itself. His hobby…
It was a big house, nothing like that apartment he'd lived in before all this. He'd had a house in Virginia that was of the same era, but had given it over to the government to be a museum long ago. He'd enjoyed moving around…
They'd asked him what he'd wanted from his old apartment, the one he'd owned before the war had started, and he'd asked for this and that, not much, just the things he needed to start life anew. And his toy soldiers, his one material possession he couldn't give up, even if he tried. That was one memory he couldn't leave behind, even though his lover had.
Then, he'd moved right into this rundown house, fixing it up. It was only now that he realized that he'd fixed it up all along with the thought that by the time he'd finished it, he would he would have someone to share it with. This house was too large for one person.
He sat on his bed that night, listening to the rainstorm raging outside his window, the lightning brightening the night sky. He hated nighttime, the time when he had nothing to do except think. He'd given up video games awhile back, not finding the enjoyment in them that he used to. The tears started to run down his face, the radio chattering softly behind him, the song Almost Lover coming on. God, that song needed to go away! It was only making it worse. He was so alone here, the nearest town 15 minutes away. But, he wasn't ready to open up his heart again, to love again.
Or maybe, he was, just not romantically.
Author's note: This chapter just shows his change in feelings. The next chapter will introduce one of the main characters in this story, Anna (she isn't any country). Sorry short chapter is shorter than the first. I'm trying not to make the story go to fast, since I always seem to have this problem with development and details. Thank you all for your reviews, favs and alerts. My day gets made when I turn on my ipod to a different background screen, so just imagine what one review did!
Fun Fact: When William the Conqueror landed on the shores of England, he tripped stepping the beach, falling forward into the sand, his arms splayed out. Instead of saying it was a bad omen for the Norman Duke (Frenchy!) one clever dude said it was William holding England in his clutches.