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Chapter Eighteen, Part One: Beautiful Life
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You seem to make the same mistakes every day
Sometimes it's hard to open your eyes
You want to be the only cake on the table
You say you don't like surprises
You want to find a pretty place you can stay
You just don't want to live in L.A.
--------------------------------
*"Just fucking leave already!! Get the fuck out!"*
*"I'm fucking going!!"*
The argument had replayed itself continually in John's head since he'd
left the apartment, like a perverse mantra that would never end. When
it had first started, John had been angry, fuming in the car as he
drove at speeds that weren't legal to the airport. He'd damned Dave in
his head *and* out loud over and over again for not trusting him, or
not loving him enough - or something. He wasn't entirely sure, but he
*did* know that somehow this wasn't his fault. And why should it be?
He was very honest with Dave, and expected the younger man be the
same. Even John's love for him was no secret; something Dave had yet
to profess to him.
Perhaps Dave *didn't* love him. The never-ending argument that John
could not get around or stop thinking about. The signs were there that
Dave loved him, the signals too, so what were words? People looking
for a good lay said it to others all the time, hollow words that
couldn't be true no matter how passionate they were said. What were
words if Dave didn't mean it? What were words if it were obvious that
Dave was there, with him, and cared for him deeply? Damn it, this was
going to drive him insane! Surely this was punishment for some past
sin.
*"And don't fucking come back!!"*
Some way he had of showing it, John thought angrily. Cussing him out
and indignantly telling him never to come back. Why couldn't Dave see
that all John wanted was for him to be open with him, to be able to
share things with him, and love him? Because how could you love
someone if you were afraid of them? You couldn't. It was as simple as
that.
So maybe...just maybe...if John got Dave to tell him *why* he was so
afraid of him, he wouldn't be afraid anymore, because they could get
past it. And then Dave would stop being so fucking uptight, tell him
that he loved him, and John could finally be happy.
Wow, John thought. If that wasn't selfish, then he didn't know what
was. His anger quickly dissipated to guilt as he realized he wanted
this for his own insecure reasons. But what kind of relationship - a
steady, in-this-for-the-long-run relationship - had secrets, secrets
that kept two people from being truly intimate. And not just intimate
sexually. No, John wasn't in this for sex. He could never touch Dave
for the rest of his *life* and it wouldn't matter to him one bit. He
wouldn't care as long as he knew why, as long as Dave trusted him
enough to tell him - to love him. It was that simple.
And what kind of relationship existed when one person loved the other,
but they did not return that love? A bad one. A kind of relationship
that would only hurt in the end. And there would be an end, one way or
another. It would end, and, most likely, it would end badly. Didn't
they always? Of this, John was convinced, and he almost broke down at
the thought. Almost, until the cheery voice of an airline attendant
announced: "Final boarding call for flight twelve-oh-seven to Los
Angeles, California. Please present your boarding pass now."
John grabbed his bag - small enough to carry on the plane but big
enough to hold three days worth of clothes and other various items -
and glanced dejectedly at the concourse. He took a step towards it,
but then stopped, looking back to way he came, the way to the exit. He
hesitated, before sighing and turning back towards the gate, his
ticket ready. Because those kinds of relationships only ended.
--------------------------------
I just want to be where the sun shines down...
I just want to be with you
--------------------------------
John and Dave had often had different shifts at the hospital:
sometimes one had the night, the other the day; maybe one was working
in the morning, and the other in the afternoon. In any event, it was
not unnatural for either one of them to have to sleep alone. Sure,
both would miss the other while doing so, but it never really
interrupted their sleep since they both knew it was not permanent.
Tonight, however, just like last night, Dave could not sleep for the
life of him. No matter how hard he tried, how still he lay, how
relaxed he forced himself to be, nothing would work. In vain, he'd
tried to find the right position, but he knew the only right position
was in John's arms.
At least last night he'd gotten about an hour of sleep, but tonight he
couldn't even seem to doze. Finally, he gave up, and got out of bed
and ventured into the living room. Restless, he walked around the
apartment, sat down and read a book, got up again and went to the
refrigerator, saw nothing of import and went back into his room. A few
moments later, he came out again, and went back into the kitchen, a
sleepy Kermit following his master out. He got a glass of water,
leaning against the counter as he drank it, trying to concentrate on
the task and not think about his relationship with John. God, he
wished he had something stronger than juice or water in the apartment,
but no, fucking John wouldn't think of having anything with alcohol
here...not even for company.
He'd gone and ruined that, hadn't he? All because he couldn't let John
touch him. And he was angry with himself for being such a scared
little shit. Maybe if he just...let John...no. No, he couldn't, he
couldn't. He almost gagged at the implication. And, for this, he was
angry with John. The older man *knew* Dave didn't like to do it -
hell, he didn't like it to the point that he hated it. Why would
someone who claimed they loved you make you do something you hate?
It dawned on Dave, at that moment, that John might not love him. And
it startled him so much he dropped the glass he'd been drinking from
at the kitchen counter. It exploded at his feet, sending shards and
liquid across the linoleum, scaring his cat into hiding. "Shit..."
"Dave?" he heard a few moments later, and glanced up to see Abby in
her pajamas and socks. "What happened?"
"I just got up to get a glass of water," he explained, watching her as
she moved towards the paper towel rack near the sink.
"It...slipped..."
She nodded as she heard him let out a shaky breath, and glanced up to
see an expression too worried for a broken glass of water. "Are you
okay?"
"Do you think John loves me?" he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
"I...I think he does," she replied, her own expression displaying her
concern. "Dave, it was just a fight. You guys'll be fine."
He shook his head, bending down to pick up the glass. "No, this
was...Abby, this keeps happening. It keeps happening..."
"Dave..." she started, sympathetically. She hadn't dared bother him
last night after John had left, not wanting to get in the way of his
warpath, but she'd heard him punching things and swearing as
colorfully as he knew. This had torn Dave apart, and she could see it
clearly now more than ever. "Just calm down, everything will be fine."
"You don't know that," he insisted, reaching for a piece of glass, his
other hand supporting his weight. "How do you know that??"
"Dave, stop it," she demanded, watching him. "You're going to cut
yourself."
"What?"
"I said you're going to - "
"Shit! Fuck! Shit!" He glanced down and saw the blood running out from
underneath his hand, and turned it to find a shard of glass stuck in
the skin. He hissed between his teeth. "Shit, that kills."
"In the sink," Abby said, as she turned on the water. "Get it in the
sink!"
He moved quickly to the sink, leaving drops of blood in his wake, and
put his hand under the cold water. It did not help the stinging,
though he knew warm water would only make it worse, so he forced
himself to take the pain. At least concentrating on that allowed his
thoughts to stay away from John. Once the blood was mostly clear from
his palm, he could see the cut clearly, and reached for the glass with
his other hand.
"Dave, don't - !" Abby winced, although Dave did not, as the glass
clattered into the sink. "Oh, that's just gross. And you're going to
need sutures."
"I'll be fine," he said, grabbing a bunch of paper towels off of the
roll and pressing it to his hand. Abby began to protest, but he cut
her off sharply: "What I *need* is to go to back to bed. I have an
early shift tomorrow."
She stepped back, nodding. "Okay. I'll...clean this up."
"You don't have to," Dave snapped irritably, although Abby knew not to
take it personally.
"I know, but I will," she stated, and then gently touched his back.
"Go to bed."
"Thanks, Abby," he said softly, and she watched him as he walked into
his room. "Night."
"Night," she replied in turn, and then let out a sigh. She cleaned up
the glass slowly, taking her time because she wasn't tired and hated
lying in bed doing nothing, especially with her meandering thoughts.
Once she was finished, she made herself some tea, sitting at the
kitchen table and rubbing her temples with her fingertips. God, she
was so worried about Dave.
Truth be told, she was worried about herself too. She of all people
knew she was in no position to be helping anyone, as she wasn't
exactly in the best state of mind either. Hell, she wasn't even sober
anymore, she'd lost that on her birthday. And she'd been dying to talk
to her best friend about it, but Dave was barely holding it together
himself. So she was on her own, at least for now, and it scared her.
What if things got worse and Dave fell further apart, and what if she
wasn't strong enough to hold him together? Most likely, they'd implode
together.
"Abby?" she heard, and startled before seeing Dave standing in the
kitchen doorway. He glanced at her apologetically. "Sorry, didn't mean
to scare you."
"That's okay," she said.
"Can't sleep?"
"No..." she admitted, shaking her head as he joined her at the table.
"Sorry I woke you before."
"You didn't," she said quickly, before glancing off. "I was already
awake."
"Well," Dave started, his eyebrows raised expectantly, "we all know
why I can't sleep. Why can't you?"
"Nothing special," she lied, knowing if he knew the truth he'd be
pissed. Maybe worried. No, pissed *and* worried. And then there were
the nightmares about her attack with Brian. Sometimes he did more than
just punch her out in her dreams...she shuddered, not wanting to think
of it. "Just...same old, same old. No need to worry."
His eyes narrowed, as he pulled the tab from her teabag and started
playing with it, twisting it and ripping it up in little pieces.
Quietly, he said: "You know...it's hard to talk about stuff sometimes,
right? But sometimes you just gotta... The lady that I see is pretty
good."
"What?" Abby asked, a puzzled smile on her face. She almost sounded
incredulous. "Like a shrink?"
He glanced up quickly, before shifting his eyes back to the paper. She
was about to apologize, thinking she must've offended him, but he
grinned. "I know, I feel the same way, but...I don't know. Sometimes
it just helps to...you know...get stuff off your chest. Stuff you
don't talk about to anyone."
Abby narrowed her eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he replied, and then suddenly grinned. "Besides, she's kinda
cute." He winked. "Reminds me of you."
Abby rolled her eyes, shaking her head, although she was smiling. He
pushed out his chair then, tossing the torn up piece of paper into the
trash nearby. "I'm gonna go back to bed. I didn't realize how early it
was." She hadn't either. When she glanced at the clock she saw it was
almost two in the morning. She looked back to him, but he hadn't moved
from his chair yet. Instead, he was pursing his lips several times, as
if he was trying to say something but didn't exactly know how to
start.
"What is it, Dave?"
"Listen, Abby...I want you to know that you can talk to me...about
anything. I mean, I know I may not be the most...sensitive guy, or the
wisest - or even the smartest, but...sometimes I can be a really good
listener."
She smiled at him, touched that he would say something like that to
her. She knew it was very awkward for him to talk about serious things
like that. Softly, she said: "Thanks."
"Try to get some sleep, okay?" he asked, and she nodded. He stood,
leaning over the table to kiss her on the head, before mussing her
hair playfully. "G'night."
"'Night," she said, watching him walk from the room. Suddenly, she
called out: "Hey, Dave!"
"Yeah?" he asked, turning back to her.
"Don't sell yourself short."
--------------------------------
I really hate the way you push me away
I do not like it when you shut me out
I say I love you but I don't really know you
I want to change you but I don't know how
I want to leave when it gets ugly and cold
I want to leave but I got nowhere to go...
--------------------------------
In his room, Dave sat down on the edge of the bed. He'd just said all
that bullshit about talking to someone, and here he was ready to go
absolutely crazy because he wasn't able to himself. He knew he should
go back there and maybe get everything out of his system to Abby,
knowing she'd care to hear it. But he couldn't, just like he couldn't
bring himself to even lay down. This was John's bed. And this was
John's room. Hell, the whole damn *apartment* was his. Everything was
a constant reminder of the man, and he couldn't stand it any longer.
He just wanted to forget him, forget their fight, forget everything,
but he had no way of doing that since nothing held his interest for
too long.
Nothing in the apartment, at least.
No, he couldn't. He couldn't. Could he? What was one drink? It wasn't
as if he'd been an alcoholic, it was drugs that he'd been addicted to.
So he could have a drink, right? Just this one time? One time was
okay. One time was okay. And he repeated this to himself as he pulled
on jeans and a sweatshirt, socks and shoes, jacket and wallet. One
time was okay. One time was okay, damn it. Dave paced the room for
about an hour, partly trying to talk himself into it, partly trying to
talk himself out of it, and partly making sure the coast was clear.
Quietly, he opened the door and peeked into the hallway, holding his
breath as he listened. Once he was satisfied Abby had gone back to
bed, he moved down the hallway, wincing as he heard each groan of the
apartment under his feet. Quickly, he got to the apartment door,
unlocking it as silently as he could before pulling it open, light
from the hallway spilling into the living room.
"Dave?" Son of a bitch! Just when he thought he'd made it! He turned
from the doorway of the apartment, seeing Abby. She had to have heard
him in the hallway to be standing where she was now, unless she
possessed unearthly speed that he didn't know about. "Where are you
going?"
"I'm...going out for a minute."
"Where?" she asked, puzzled. "It's two o'clock in the morning."
"I know," he replied, as if there was nothing else to it.
"Dave. Where are you *going*?" she repeated, more firmly this time.
"It's dangerous at this time of night."
"I live for danger," he replied, his words edged with sarcasm.
"Dave..."
"Just leave me alone. Go back to sleep."
"Just leave you alone?" she repeated.
"Yeah, leave me alone!"
"Dave." She actually sounded exasperated. "You aren't going anywhere
until you tell me where it is you're going."
"Who are you??" he asked, annoyed. He wasn't really upset with her,
but he wanted her to leave him alone so he could get out of here. He
couldn't stay here, it was like he was suffocating. He felt as if he
didn't leave, he'd go completely nuts. So he snapped at her, hoping in
turn she'd get angry with him and leave him alone. "My mother? No! My
girlfriend? No! You don't even *live* here! This *my* apartment, and
I'll go wherever the hell I feel like it. And wherever I *do* go is my
own fucking business!!"
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him, and he was satisfied
when he made it all the way down the street without incident. He
stuffed his hands into his pockets, shivering against the bitter cold
of this February night. He knew where he'd rather be - in bed, with
John. But he supposed getting so drunk he didn't now *where* he was or
who he was with, was the next best thing. It was okay too, because
everyone got blind drunk once in a while. He just had to be extra
careful, that was all. And he would be. It was only going to be this
one time.
"Dave!" He sighed silently, shaking his head as he kept walking, his
pace quickening with each step. He heard Abby's footsteps against the
sidewalk behind him, coming closer. "Dave, wait! Dave...stop!" He
didn't stop though, he just kept walking, ignoring her as she came up
next to him, walking quickly to keep up with his long legs. She was
only in sneakers and her damn pajamas. God, she had to be freezing.
Not to mention that it wasn't safe for her out here. "Dave, where are
you going?? You can't just go out in the middle of the night,
someone's going to mug you or kill you."
"This is a nice neighborhood, Abby," he said dismissively.
"It's not that nice, Dave!" she stated. "No part of Chicago is 'nice'
at two a.m.!"
"You're right," he stated, stopping abruptly, and she took another
step before realizing that he wasn't walking any longer. She turned,
cautiously. "That's why you should go home. Just get out of here,
Abby, and leave me alone."
"No," she said, hot on his trail as he began walking again, leading
her across the street and near the main part of the neighborhood.
"Dave, come on. Where are you *going*?? You can't just keep walking.
Let's go home and we can talk about this."
"I don't have a home!" he yelled suddenly, startling her. With that he
began walking again, he was heading towards the twenty-four-hour
convenient store on one of the street corners near the apartment
building. "Everything there reminds me of him! Shit, the whole Goddamn
*apartment* is his! Everything! God, I just...I just need to forget
that."
She nearly tripped over her own two feet, realizing just what he
meant. "Forget?"
"Yeah, forget," he replied sharply, roughly opening the door to the
store and quickly moving to the back of it. He was fully aware of Abby
watching him as his eyes searched the shelves for what he was looking
for. They soon landed on the vodka, but she grabbed his arm before he
could reach up and grab it. "Abby, I said leave me alone." He was
warning her, and she knew it.
"I'm not letting you drink that vodka, Dave," she cautioned, although
she felt anything but sure of herself. Hell, if he bought it she would
probably end up drinking it with him.
Dave laughed out loud, a mean laugh that she'd never heard before.
Dave was not a mean person - cocky, overzealous and witty, but never
had he been mean. It hinted exactly what kind of state of mind he was
in, and scared her immensely. Incredulously, he said: "You're not
going to let me drink it? And how exactly do you intend to stop me?"
"I..." She let out a shuddering breath. "I'll call..."
"Who?" he asked, when she trailed off. "John?? Because last time I
checked he was on his way to sunny California." She began to warn him
again, when he leaned down so his eyes were level with hers. She
didn't like the way it made her feel, as if she was a child to be
scolded, and she found herself looking down, as if she *was* a child
to be scolded. "You can't stop me, Abby. Nobody can."
"Dave, please don't do this," she whispered, her eyes beseeching.
"You'll jeopardize your whole recovery. One drink is all it takes."
"Save the sponsor crap. I'm not the drunk here," he snapped, ripping
his arm away from her hand, grabbing the vodka and heading to the
checkout counter. He practically slammed it onto the counter as he
pulled out cash from his wallet. "I don't need it right now."
"What *do* you need?" she asked, trying to knock some sense into him.
"That vodka?? You think that'll make it all better?? Because it only
makes it worse, Dave. You've been there, you know what it's like.
Drugs, alcohol, it's all the damn same in the end, because you'll end
up dead in the end. Dead, Dave! You were halfway there only two months
ago! You were *damn* lucky, and you know that, too. Next time you
might not wake up with a tube shoved down your throat and IVs all over
the damn place! Because next time you might not even wake up at all!!"
He flinched at her words, remembering how terrified he'd been waking
up in the ICU like that, how angry he'd been with himself that he
could be so weak, and how horrified he was at the fact that he'd hurt
everyone he loved. He knew Abby was right, knew it with every logical
fiber of his being. But, right now, he couldn't say he was thinking
very rationally, couldn't say he wanted to. John was gone, perhaps
forever. He could get smashed and forget that, he knew, and he
wouldn't buy anymore alcohol after this. Wasn't like he was taking
pills or anything. It was just vodka. Just a drink. What harm could a
drink do??
"It's just a drink, Abby," he found himself saying.
"Please, Dave, don't listen to that voice telling you that it's only
alcohol - that it's only one drink," she pleaded. "You think you'll be
able to control it, but how do you know?? How do you know? Now, it's
just one drink, but how do you know if later it'll be 'just one pill?'
And don't even say it's not the same, because it is, Dave, it is!"
Silent tears brimmed at her eyes, and Dave's fingers tightened around
the bottle that was resting on the counter as he threw her a guilty
glance. "You have no idea what it felt like to watch you like that...I
can't go through it again. Please don't make me go through it
again..." The tears spilled over then, rolling down her cheeks. "
"I...I'm not strong enough to do that again. If you won't stop for
yourself and you won't do it for John, then please...please do it for
me...I know it's wrong to ask, I know that you need to do it for you,
but right now do it for me...please, Dave, do it for me..."
"Sir?" he heard, from the clerk, who looked concerned, and rightfully
so. "Do you want to buy that?"
He let go of the bottle, pushing it towards the cashier. "No," he said
softly, shaking his head. "Sorry to bother you..."
Abby turned and left the store without another word, and Dave paused
before following her out. He found her on the sidewalk, doing a poor
job of trying to compose herself.
"Hey," he said quietly, walking up to her wrapping his arms around
her. She wrapped her arms around him as well, burying her face in his
shirt, taking comfort in his strong embrace and natural scent. "What
was that all about?"
"I...I'm sorry," she said, as she blinked away the last of her tears.
"I shouldn't have guilted you like that."
"No, *I'm* sorry," he said, his brow furrowed. "I didn't know...I
mean...I didn't know that I hurt you that much...I'm sorry that I've
hurt you. That I keep hurting you."
"No, Dave..." she said, looking up into his eyes. "It's okay, really.
You're just dealing with a lot right now...we'll work through it
together."
"Can I do anything to make it up to you?"
"Come to a meeting with me now?"
"Abby, I don't know...I'm not in the mood..."
"Dave...you know you need a meeting right now," she said, and then
felt bad for guilting him more by saying: "Maybe I need one too.
Please?"
He sighed, silently, although she could feel his chest move against
her own. "Okay. Do you know where there's a meeting at two in the
morning?"
"I know where there's a meeting all the time," Abby replied, and then
smiled sheepishly. "I've been a drunk for a while now."
"Uh..." he said then, touching her arm gently to stop her. She glanced
at him with puzzlement, thinking he was going to protest the meeting
once more when he said quietly: "I'm sorry about before...in
there...calling you a drunk. I don't think you're a drunk. I mean...I
didn't mean to throw it in your face. Well - I did, but - "
"Dave," she interrupted, stopping him before he became a complete
stuttering mess. She smiled gently, and relief washed over his
expression. "It's okay. I know who and what I am, don't worry about
it. I wasn't offended. Come on, let's go."
"Lead the way," Dave said, and lead she did. So, in silence, they
walked to a meeting that was being held at a church nearby, and sat
down amongst the other alcoholics and drug addicts. She was worried
that he was being so silent, but didn't want to push him towards
anything, knowing he was in a very fragile state of mind right now and
unsure of what he might do as a consequence. Not to mention she was in
a pretty fragile state too. This was the first meeting she had been to
in a very long time, and she felt the need to share what she had been
going through in losing her sobriety. But couldn't, at least not with
Dave here, and he needed her for support right now, and she wasn't
going to let him down by shattering his confidence in her. He needed
her, needed to believe in her. Great, she thought, somewhat bitterly.
Just what I need, more pressure. She glanced at him from her
peripheral vision, his stare focused on the chair in front of him
rather than the speaker.
Watching him, she contemplated over how much of a wreck he'd been
since last night. At work today, he'd messed up on several occasions,
so much so that Dr. Weaver had reprimanded him. At least the woman had
had the decency to do it in private, although everyone could guess
what had happened when Dave had stormed out of the Lounge, Dr. Weaver
following rather annoyed moments later. That hadn't helped his morale
much, except now instead of moping around he had been angry, snapping
at coworkers and patients. This had garnered him another reprimand,
this time in public - in front of everyone at Admin. Needless to say,
his mood hadn't improved very much after that.
The meeting had been over sooner than she wanted it to be, because she
wished she could keep Dave in a place like this for a little longer.
Gently, she tapped his thigh with her hand, and he glanced at her
before looking around, seemingly surprised that the meeting had ended
and he didn't know about it. They sat there for a minute silently,
before he broke the silence.
"So...what now?" he asked.
"I guess we go home," she stated.
"Okay," he said softly. They walked through the bitter cold back to
the apartment. Halfway there, she took Dave's hand, and she was glad
when he didn't pull away but instead gave her a reassuring squeeze.
Damn, she felt like a hypocrite, offering herself up as a stand-in
sponsor when she, herself, had lost her sobriety just a few weeks ago
by taking that drink with her neighbor Joyce. But, she knew, this
wasn't about her. Right now, this was about Dave, and he was all that
mattered. They stopped outside of his door, as she pulled out a set of
keys she now had. "You don't want to go anywhere? Grab some coffee?
If you really don't want to stay here, we can go back to my place."
"No, I'm okay," he assured her quietly, unwilling or unable to meet
her eyes. "I'm just going to shower or something, and then go to back
to bed, I think."
"Listen, Dave..." she began, but then hesitated. "You don't...have
anything hidden anywhere, do you? Like any alcohol or...medications?"
"No." He finally met her eye. "I swear."
She offered him a small smile, before putting the key in the lock. "I
believe you." She began to move inside, when he touched her arm,
stopping her. She turned back, looking at him quizzically. "What?"
"How do you do it?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"I mean...how do you stay sober? It's not easy, right? I mean..." Dave
shifted from one foot to another. "I have...I have a hard time."
Dave looked her in the eye, and she could immediately tell this wasn't
an easy thing to admit. "Everyday I want a pill...actually, I want a
handful of them. Some days...some days every cell in my body screams
for them and it's all I can do not to take them. But...you're so good
at it. How...how do you do it?"
"You learn, after a while," she stated, her guilt mounting as she lied
to him. "You just can't give up."
"But *how*?"
"You have to look at everything you have in your life that wouldn't be
possible if you were using and realize that it's better to be sober,"
she explained, her mind quickly reciting all the things she knew to be
true...all the things that she had learned from years and years of
meetings...all the things she was no longer living by. "And after a
while...you get used to it, I guess. Don't get me wrong, you can never
forget what you are - *who* you are, because that's the day the
disease will sneak up on you, Dave, trust me on that. You are never
cured, never. And just when you think you don't need a meeting, that's
when you need one the most. But meetings aren't enough, Dave, you have
to get a sponsor and work the steps. And as your life goes on you just
go to meetings and remind yourself why you don't do it anymore...then
when you leave, you feel better."
Hypocrite. Hypocrite. Hypocrite. She kicked herself, mentally.
Hypocrite. * Hypocrite!*
They moved inside of the apartment, Dave saying goodnight as Abby
stayed in the kitchen, wishing that she was at her home where she
*did* have alcohol hidden. God, she needed a drink. She was tired as
hell but knew she wouldn't get back to sleep soon, so she made herself
a glass of water, forcing herself to calm down as she drank it with
unsteady hands. Suddenly, she almost dropped her *own* glass when the
front door to the apartment swung open. She hadn't locked it after
she'd come in, figuring she would do it before she went to bed, and so
she found herself moving towards the block of knives on the kitchen
counter. She considered calling Dave, but what good could he do naked
and wet? But now that she thought about it, if she were going to die
she might as well go out seeing the object of a couple fantasies.
Grabbing the biggest knife, she spun around to see John Carter
standing in the living room, his bag on the floor and his coat draped
over it. He looked at her curiously, eyeing the knife suspiciously as
if she just might use it on him. Quickly, she placed it down,
muttering somewhat of an excuse as she did so. John didn't even seem
to have the energy to reply; in fact, he looked absolutely exhausted,
and almost as if he hadn't shaved or showered in a day or two.
Once her initial shock was over, Abby considered the fact that he'd
come back. About a whole twenty-four hours later. She furrowed her
brow then, wondering if she should take refuge in her room. When John
and Dave began to talk, somehow she knew it wasn't going to be a
fairytale, although she *was* pretty sure the make-up sex would be
good. That is, if there *was* make-up sex. Somehow, she had her
doubts that they would be okay...God knew that Dave that was very far
from okay right now. And while she knew the two loved each other, she
also knew - from experience with Luka - that sometimes love was not
enough.
Abby glanced at John, forcing herself to break away from her thoughts.
He seemed hesitant to do anything. Finally, he went to take a step
forward, paused, pursed his lips, and then just stood there. He seemed
to be waiting for her to say something. She soon did.
"What took you so long?"
--------------------------------
You seem to make the same mistakes all the time
Sometimes it's not so hard to understand why
You say you hate the things that you have done
You have been running with your back to the sun
You want to find a place you don't have to hide
You say you're happy just be alive.........
--------------------------------
Dave used the palm of his hand to wipe away the cool steam that had
gathered on the mirror above the sink, his reflection showing someone
he barely recognized. God, he looked like shit, partially due to his
lack of sleep, work today, and the fact that he was so worried about
John - more specifically, he and John as a couple. What if, during the
course of John's conference, he decided he didn't want to see Dave
ever again? He might not even come home; John was richer than everyone
at the hospital *combined*, he could just replace everything he had
here -including Dave - if he wanted.
Oh, God. Dave couldn't even bear the thought. The next time he saw
John could be days later, at work. Wouldn't even bother to tell him
they were over. Not that Dave didn't think he deserved it, although he
wasn't sure if he could ever handle that. Shit, he still felt like he
needed a good, hard drink, even after that meeting. And maybe
something he could wash down with it. Exactly what, he didn't dare
think.
Pulling on a pair of sweats, he turned away from his reflection,
disgusted that he could resort to this. All because of John Carter.
Was he that needy and desperate and clingy? He must've been.
With a sigh, he pushed open the bathroom door and stepped into the
bedroom, heading straight for bed. He was wishing right now he hadn't
washed the sheets right before John had left; at least he could've had
his scent, if not him.
"Dave...?"
Startling in surprise, he recognized the voice but still turned to see
who it was, just in case he was so lovesick he was hallucinating. No,
definitely not hallucinating, there was John Carter, looking as if he
was just as much of a mess as Dave was. Comforted by that, Dave moved
towards him, blurting out: "You came back."
"I couldn't let it end," John replied softly, approaching Dave as
well. "Not like that."
The younger man stopped suddenly, obviously upset by the choice of
words as his brow furrowed. His most prominent defense mechanism was
anger, and he expressed it vigorously as he asked: "So you decided to
end it differently?"
"Dave, that's not what I meant." John sighed, almost exasperatedly. A
thought suddenly came to him, his ponderings at the airport pervading
his mind. "Why? Is that what you want?"
"What does it matter what I want? It's never mattered before to
anyone!" Dave retorted, angry as he tried to move past John and out of
the room. If he got out, then maybe he'd calm down and avoid this. He
didn't want to break up with John, he didn't want this to be over -
not now, not ever. Not when something good was finally happening.
Shit, he was going to ruin this whole thing...
"God damn it, Dave!" John exclaimed to his previous question, grabbing
the younger man roughly before he could leave, his own momentum
swinging him around to face John. He felt Dave tense under his grasp
and immediately loosened it, saying softly: "You can be so stubborn
sometimes, you know that?"
The younger man raised his lashes in silence, his eyes searching his
lover's as his hands moved to John's chest, feeling his heartbeat
under one of his palms. Quietly, he said: "I missed you last night..."
"I missed you too," John stated, remembering the cold feeling he'd
gotten sleeping in the hotel near Los Angeles Airport last night,
waiting for the earliest flight he could get back to Chicago. In turn
to Dave's touch, John moved his own hands to cup Dave's face, leaning
down to kiss him, and their lips touched gently, sweetly, and somehow
apologetically. They continued this for several moments, their contact
becoming more passionate as they felt their need for each other - and
lack thereof over the past night and day.
John moved his hands down Dave's arms and over those wonderful abs,
before going lower, down his waist and over his hips. Lower still,
they went, until they skimmed ever so lightly over his crotch. Almost
immediately, Dave tensed and pulled away, snapping: "Fucking Christ!
Why can't you just let it go?!"
"No!" John exclaimed, his hurt turning to anger. "Why can't *you* just
let it go?? Why can't you just let it go and talk to me!"
"Because there's nothing to talk about!" Dave yelled, and began to
storm from the room until John grabbed him for the second time that
night, pushing him back. "Don't touch me, John."
"Exactly!" John said, holding his hands out in a pleading gesture.
"Exactly!! I can't touch you, I *can't*. And, God, I could never touch
you, *ever*, and I wouldn't care because I'd respect your decision as
long as you'd respect me enough to tell me why! Can you do that,
Dave?"
"It's not that fucking easy!" Dave reciprocated, beginning to feel
desperate - trapped. It was as if, somehow, he knew John wasn't going
to give up this time, and Dave was scared to consider the
consequences. Or what he might do to deter them.
"Why not?" John asked, feeling desperate himself. Desperate to know,
desperate to get Dave to *see*, to understand where he was coming
from. He took a step forward, but Dave took a step back. "Why not,
Dave? What is *so* terrible that you can't let me touch you? What is
it, Dave??"
"John," he tried, but stopped. The words wouldn't come, and he stood
there, horrified. He felt his breath quicken, along with his pulse.
"I think you want to," John said softly, hoping to God that was at
least true. "I think you want to, Dave."
"I do! I do, but..." God, how did this happen? Why did Dave suddenly
feel so trapped? Quickly, his eyes scanned the room for an escape, the
open door gaping at him. But John was blocking his way, and he didn't
want to hurt him just to get out; he promised himself he would never
hit John again, and he'd be damned before he broke that promise now.
He looked to John again. Maybe if he reasoned with him, or just told
him what he wanted to hear... "John, I swear I do, but..."
"But what?" he asked, when Dave trailed off, moving closer to him as
he did so. The younger man kept stepping back, but John kept moving
towards him, until the back of Dave's knees hit the bed and he was
forced to stand there, trapped. "But what, Dave? What?" He paused,
trying to get Dave to look at him, though his eyes were searching the
room. Gently, he reached out and touched his face, but the other man
flinched. "God, if you do then let me! Let me touch you!"
Vehemently, Dave shook his head. "John...you can't, you - "
"Look," he interjected before Dave could get in another word, as he
reached out and caressed the skin on Dave's arm. He hadn't been
expecting Dave to flinch, but he did, although that did not put off
John. If he couldn't get Dave to understand, then he'd *make* him
understand. "Did that hurt?"
"No, but, John..."
"What about this?" he continued, ignoring Dave's response and moving
his other hand to trail feather-light down his side to rest on his
hip. "That didn't hurt."
"John - "
"This?" His hand now moved to the waistband of Dave's sweats. "What
about - "
"Stop!" Dave choked out, his breathing erratic but silent. He couldn't
hurt John, he couldn't, but, God, if he kept going... "John, please -
"
"No," the other man stated defiantly, visibly startling Dave, who
stumbled back but had no place to go except the bed. He ended up
sitting on it, but next thing he knew, John was straddling him and
pushing him back so that he was lying down. "I'm not going to hurt
you. This'll feel good, I promise..."
Dave flinched at the words. He'd heard them so many times before
they'd lost their meaning. He didn't believe them anymore, or perhaps
he didn't believe *in* them. Because he knew from experience that
promises were always broken, it always hurt in the end. Always...
However, John was willing - or perhaps willed - to prove those very
words to Dave, uncaring if the process would not be pretty, but only
caring about the end result. Dave was going to open up to him if it
was the last thing he did.
Gently, he leaned down and kissed Dave, who did not reciprocate, so he
moved his lips to the younger man's neck. His hands trailed over
Dave's bare chest, one fluttering over his shoulder and to his arm
while the other made a direct path down his hip and to his ass. Dave
was lying tense but was not protesting, and John took it as an
indication to continue. Further, his hand traveled, over the back of
his thigh to raise it slightly, his other hand cupping Dave's face.
The younger man had seduced him in this position once before, and John
had enjoyed it, so he was hoping Dave would too.
Now, his hand moved from Dave's thigh and to his crotch, and while he
was somewhat disheartened that the Junior Resident was not in the
least bit hard, he was not discouraged. He gently applied pressure
there, hoping to receive some sort of response. But the response he
received, however, was not the one he'd been hoping for. Instead of
eliciting a moan or a sigh, or even a counter thrust, a choked sob
reciprocated his touch. Whispering now, so quietly John couldn't
understand the words, though he could gather that they were being
repeated continuously. He listened intently for a moment, until the
syllables registered.
"I'm so sorry..."
He lifted his head, looking at Dave, whose eyes were tightly closed
and jaw quivering. And only then realized the reason he hadn't moved
was not because he wanted John to keep going, but because he wanted
him to stop. It was because he was absolutely terrified, literally
frozen in fear...
"Dave?" he said softly, immediately pulling his hands back. When the
younger man failed to respond his name, John panicked inside. For a
moment, he just remained there, his heart beating so powerfully in his
chest he thought it would explode. He didn't know what to do, but he
knew he had to do something. But Dave wouldn't even open his eyes.
"Dave? Dave, please look at me. Come on, Dave... Dave?" Finally, he
opened his eyes, a tear escaping as he did so, but he did not look at
John. Instead, he was looking at the wall, but somehow...he wasn't.
"Dave, look at me."
He did as he was told, looked right at John, his eyes showing just how
scared he really was, the tears brimming punctuating his fear. God, he
looked so young right then, not like a man at all but like a teenager.
And yet, at the same time, he seemed like an old man, fragile and
ready to break in an instant's notice. But it was as if he were
looking *through* John, and not at him. As if he was...looking at
someone else. Who, John didn't dare to guess. He only knew that he
didn't want to be that person, so he quickly began to explain, his
words tripping over one another.
"Dave, I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I just - I just thought that if I -
if I showed you, you'd...Dave, I'm so sorry, I - " He stopped,
watching the silent tears making their way down the other man's face
and to the bed below them. With gentle fingertips he went to wipe them
away, but Dave recoiled so violently it startled John, and he quickly
pulled away. Shit, what had he been thinking?? Dave would never let
him touch him at *all*, ever again - and with good right. But, right
now, John wasn't too concerned about that. Currently, Dave's silence
was beginning to scare him. "Dave...say something... Please?"
So quietly it was barely heard, Dave said: "Off..."
Quickly, John complied, scrambling off of Dave to stand before him,
and the younger man sat up with wild eyes, looking around the room.
John followed his gaze although he didn't know what Dave was looking
for, and when he looked back to him, he was bringing a shaky hand to
his mouth as if he might be sick. He leaned over the bed quickly, and
at first he was able to control himself but suddenly and violently he
gagged, although he didn't vomit. John reached out a tentative hand,
but Dave immediately pulled away at his touch, so hard he almost fell
off of the edge of the bed. "Dave, I'm sorry, I didn't know - "
"That's right!" he screamed, his voice cracking in a falsetto alto. He
fought back tears successfully, although John knew it would not be
long until he lost whatever composure he had left. "You don't know!
You don't fucking know!! You don't fucking know *anything*! You think
you do, but you don't have any idea. And you can't just fucking - just
- *God*..."
In a burst of speed, Dave ran into the bathroom, stumbling to his
knees before the toilet, and he barely opened the lid before he was
vomiting into it. John approached cautiously, crouching down beside
him but making sure to keep a good foot or two between them. Guiltily,
he watched Dave until he was finished, then waited as he slumped
against the wall, wiping at his mouth with the back of a still-shaking
hand.
"John?" he heard quietly, and turned fast to see Abby standing in the
bedroom, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed in concern. "I heard...I
mean...I heard you guys screaming and then I heard Dave..." She
trailed off, but indicated the young man near the toilet. "I
didn't...I mean...is everything okay?"
"It's fine, Abby," he began, before Dave cut him off sharply, saying
to both of them: "Yeah, fine. Everything's just fucking beautiful. So
just get the fuck out and leave me alone." Suddenly, he began to cry,
pathetic sobs that broke John's heart and caused Abby to become even
more worried. She'd never seen him like this, and didn't know what to
do. And John was just sitting there like a bump on a log. Dave
actually seemed embarrassed that he couldn't control his emotions.
"Please, just go away. John, Abby, please, just..."
"Dave, I can't leave you here like this," John finally said, his voice
quiet to hide his own emotions. "I can't..."
"Why?" he asked, his face still hidden. "You left before, you can do
it again. Or is it because Abby's here now, and you can't let her see
what a cold-hearted bastard you are? Afraid it might ruin your perfect
image?"
"Dave, I'm not a bastard...I love you," he said softly. "I can't leave
because I love you, and this is obviously something you can't get
past, and I want to know why, no matter how bad or terrible it is. I
want to *know* you, Dave, I want to know about the scars, about - "
"You want to know about the scars?!" he yelled, now looking at John
angrily, though the hot tears spilled from his eyes. "You want to
fucking know??!" He indicated his knee, thought his sweats covered it.
"When I was seven years old I fell out of a tree and had to get knee
surgery." He pointed to a scar on his cheek, below his eye. "When I
was ten I got into a fist-fight with some kid and got punched in the
face." He didn't even glance down as he pointed to a long scar on his
side. "When I was thirteen dinner was too cold and I had to get my
spleen removed. Care to make the connection??" He pointed to his back
now. "When I was seventeen my dad - " His voice broke, but he quickly
continued, "My dad found out about Steven. Do you know what leather
feels like *ripping* into your skin?? Do you know what it's like to be
beaten until you pass out? And you'd better hope to God when you wake
up you're alone, because it just gets worse, John. You don't fight
back, you don't scream, and you don't cry. Because, otherwise, it just
gets fucking worse."
"John..." Abby said quietly, almost warning him.
"Dave..." John said, ignoring Abby, but then he didn't know what to
say afterwards as Dave closed his eyes again and leaned his head back
against the wall. Before, John had always managed to hold him to make
him feel better, but Dave wouldn't let him touch him now. And John was
so bad with words; he didn't know how to fix this. The only thing he
could keep doing was apologizing for getting him like this in the
first place. "Dave...I'm sorry."
"You're always so sorry," he said, almost bitterly. John flinched,
watching Dave carefully. "But you don't even fucking think twice to
hurt me again."
"Dave," John whispered, suddenly alarmed. The next thing he said was
the first thing that came to mind. "I'm not your father."
He didn't open his eyes. "You sure act like him sometimes."
"I'm sorry, Dave," he said again, tears coming to his own eyes. God,
he didn't want to be like that man, the man that awoke Dave many a
night screaming in terror, the man that had scarred Dave physically
and mentally, the man that he knew Dave hated the most. So he tried to
justify the horror he'd just inflicted upon him moments earlier, but
somehow he knew the words wouldn't be enough. "I just wanted to show
you I wasn't going to hurt you..."
Dave actually scoffed. "Sure did a good job there."
"I said I was fucking sorry!" John cried, his guilt mounting. Dave
really *wasn't* going to forgive him for this. And he knew it with
deep regret. "God, I'm sorry, Dave! I just want to help you! I just
want to *know* you! I just want you to trust me enough to *let* me
know you! I just..." John trailed off as he saw the pained expression
on Dave's face. Softly, he asked, "Dave, what happened to you? Did
you...did someone hurt you?" Silence. "Dave, I can't help you if I
don't know what's wrong."
"I don't want your help!" Dave yelled. "I don't *need* your help, I
*never* needed your help - ever." Suddenly, Dave sprung to his feet,
storming out of the bathroom and nearly knocking Abby out of his way
to do so.
"Ever?" John asked, his voice thick, as he followed him out. "You
never needed my help? Ever?? What about all those times you woke up
screaming, and I held you? What about then? I helped you then,
Dave...let me help you now."
"I didn't need your help then!" Dave insisted, his breathing heavy. He
was shaking, visibly, in a way John had never seen before. "I didn't
need your help then...I lived by myself before you, I took care of
myself... You didn't even care. You didn't give a single *fuck*."
"John," Abby persisted, though her eyes were focused on Dave. "Let's
stop this."
"No!" Dave yelled, and then pointed to John. "No! You should know how
much of a fake he is, Abby!"
"Dave," Abby said, stepping toward him. "Let's stop this before you
say something that you regret and can't take back."
"Abby, please," John said, his voice edged with annoyance at the fact
that she always seemed to be able to calm him down, and John never
could. "This is between Dave and me, can't you find someplace to go?
Can't you go home?"
"Don't you talk to her like that, you fuck!" Dave growled, his
handsome features contorted with anger. "See, Abby - a fake! You're
such a fake, you know that, John? You're so fucking phony! You don't
care about anyone. And you certainly didn't give a fuck about me until
I started fucking you!"
John couldn't deny that that some of it wasn't true. Hell, Dave hadn't
even been his friend before they'd begun to see each other. And while
he wanted to defend himself, wanted to reassure Dave he had given some
kind of a damn, he couldn't. Because it was true. But he hadn't known
Dave then, hadn't known what a good man Dave was, what a loving,
caring, smart, funny, worthwhile man Dave was.
But all that meant nothing, because Dave was only trying to push him
away. With a heavy heart, John realized that no way seemed to be the
right course of action to get past this. He tried talking with Dave
about it, the other man only changed the subject or blatantly stated
that it wasn't John's business. He tried forcing it out of him, but
then - now - he only seemed to shut him out even more. If nothing was
going to work, then he might as well stop trying - for good.
But there was something inside of him that couldn't, not just yet. In
one, last, desperate attempt, he said: "I want to be able to touch
you. To show *you* just how much I love you...forget everyone else,
Dave..."
God, all Dave wanted to do was get off the subject. He just wanted
everything to be back the way it used to be, before today, before last
night, before he fucked everything up. He wanted to forget this fight,
forget his past, forget everything in this world and just be with
John. Why couldn't it be like that? Why couldn't it ever be the way he
wanted? He only then realized he was crying again, just like the
fucking pussy he was. Quickly, he choked back a sob and snapped, as
harsh as he meant it to be: "Fuck you. You don't love me...*fuck*
you..."
"Dave," Abby said, as a sad sigh. "You don't mean that." She looked at
John. "He doesn't mean that."
But John recoiled at his words anyway, suddenly angry. "Is that the
way you really feel? Are you really that stupid?? What the hell do you
think I've stuck around for, for so long? Yeah, I stuck around dealing
with all your head case problems because I don't love you. You're
right! You are right, Dave, it's because I *don't* love you," he spat
sarcastically. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "You don't want
my help, I won't offer it anymore. I'm leaving."
"What?" Dave and Abby asked at the same time.
"Look," John said, his vision suddenly blurred as tears stung at his
eyes. "I love you, Dave, more than I've ever loved anyone my entire
life." He paused, trying to compose himself before he lost it
completely, but he couldn't and began to cry. "You need help, Dave.
Maybe not mine, but someone's... But if you won't let me help you, and
if you won't at least get the help you need, then I'm not going to
watch you destroy yourself. I can't do it..."
"All this?" Dave asked angrily, incredulous. "All this because I won't
let you fuck me??"
John scoffed, clear hurt in his eyes as tears began to spill over.
"This has nothing to do with sex, Dave. This has to do with you not
trusting me. And maybe you have a reason...in fact I know that you do.
But I can't watch this...secret kill you anymore. I can't. I love you
too damn much, and it hurts too damn much."
"So...what?" Dave asked, not looking at John but more towards the wall
next to him. "What does that mean? What does that mean??"
"It means...that I'll always love you, Dave," John continued, "but
love without trust destroys, and I'm not strong enough to stand by and
watch it destroy both of us. Please...don't ever doubt that I love you
and that this is real, but I - I can't do this anymore. Someone hurt
you, Dave, but it wasn't me, and I'm sorry if you can't see that.
I...I'm sorry...I have to - I have to go..."
This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. Dave took a step
forward, alarmed as he reached out towards John. "Where are you
going?"
"Back to the conference," he stated. "I need something to show for
myself as Chief Resident. I'll send someone for my stuff."
Dave was crying again, but this time he didn't care. "That's it? This
is it? You're leaving me, you're just walking out, and I'm supposed to
*trust* you??"
"Dave, please..."
"No, you please," Dave spat. "You never loved me, you used me. You're
just like everyone else...I fucking hate you."
John closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again and
glancing at Abby. "Take care of him, okay?"
She barely nodded as John turned to leave, her teary eyes moving to
Dave, who was standing very still and staring at the floor in front of
him. Abruptly, he looked up at John, and was seemingly surprised to
see that he was no longer in the room. He hesitated once, twice,
before he rushed from the room and into the hallway.
"Wait!" he called, grabbing John's sleeve and stopping him. The older
man turned and looked at him, his eyes showing his willingness to
remain there and give Dave one last chance. And Dave knew he had to
say something, knew that if he didn't, John was going to leave him -
knew he couldn't live with that, couldn't live without him. But,
although his mouth was open, the words were stuck in his throat. It
was as if everything was at the tip of his tongue, and he couldn't get
it out. He almost seemed as if he were about to give up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Abby watching from the
doorway to his and Dave's bedroom. He glanced at her, meeting her
stare, and shot her a look telling her to get the hell out of here.
Dave was his lover, not hers, and she didn't have the right to be
there. She hadn't gone through hell and high water with him, hadn't
woken up all those nights to hold him, hadn't watched this thing
ripping him apart slowly. She didn't have any right at all. And he was
relieved when she took the hint and went into her room, silently
closing the door behind her.
When he glanced back to Dave, he could see the younger man was still
pursing his lips continuously. "Dave," he started, but it seemed that
the younger man was determined to get this out, because almost
immediately, he interrupted John.
"I...I...I didn't...want to..." He stopped, glancing off, his brow
furrowed. He was still holding on to John's sleeve tightly, as if, if
he let it go, the other man wouldn't be there. But he knew that was
silly, and knew that those few words he'd just said weren't enough to
sate him. He had to tell him everything, wanted to so very badly, but
yet the words were so hard to say, which was why he had never told
anyone the whole story. So hard to admit. "I didn't want to," he
repeated quietly, and then took a few steps back, letting go of John's
sleeve hesitantly as he did so. "I didn't want to...but he said he
loved me...and he said that if I - if I loved him too..." His voice
cracked, as tears sprung to his eyes. "He said if I loved him too,
then I'd...I'd let him...I'd let him do it...so I did..."
"Let who? Steven?" John asked, the only thing he could think of
saying. His instincts all along had been right - Dave *had* had a bad
experience with sex, and John wanted to know just exactly who so he
could hunt them down and kill them. Okay, so maybe not *kill* them,
but at least make his life a living Hell, and John had the money to do
it. Because, lover or not, you never manipulated a person like that.
Never.
Dave shook his head, scoffing as he began to pace the room. "Steven
never hurt me...Steven would never hurt me like that..."
"Then..." John began carefully, watching as his lover sat down on the
couch. He joined him there, but didn't sit too close. "Then who did?
Who hurt you?"
But Dave didn't appear to have heard his question as he went on. "He
didn't even fucking care that it hurt...he promised that it would feel
good, but he lied, he lied. He just told me that he loved me, and he
said he wouldn't love me anymore if I didn't..." His eyes were closed
again, but tears managed to slip down his cheeks, falling onto his
chest. "I didn't want him to hate me," he whispered quietly. "I didn't
want him to hate me...he was always so mad at me except when I let
him...so I let him...God, I let him..."
"Who?" John asked again, almost desperately. Dave was shaking again,
his whole body wracking with what John knew weren't sobs, though he
couldn't identify the cause. His breathing was heavy, erratic... "Who,
Dave?" he persisted.
He almost thought the younger man wasn't going to answer. Then,
finally: "Dad."
--------------------------------
I just want be where the sun shines down...
...On a beautiful life
--------------------------------
Just like that. Without pause or hesitation. Loud and clear. But John
still found himself asking, "What??"
Dave eyes snapped open, and he gasped audibly as he looked at John, as
if realizing just what he'd said. "Oh, my God," he breathed, his
horror reflected in his eyes. "Oh, my God."
Suddenly, Dave stood and burst towards the door, startling John
effectively. The older man sat there for a moment, stunned, before he
sprang into motion, not knowing what Dave was going to do in the state
he was in. For God's sake, he'd just admitted that his own father had
sexually abused him when he was younger. Lord knew what he was
*capable* of doing at a time like this. Quickly, John stood as well,
looking up to see Dave picking up his jacket from the hook near the
door.
"Dave, stop," John said, his expression showing his apprehension as
Dave put his coat on. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know," Dave immediately reported, his voice shaking as his
eyes scanned the living room floor for his shoes. He felt dizzy
suddenly, his chest tightening as his breathing became labored. "I
just...I have to go, I have to leave. I can't be here...I can't
breathe. I need - I need to leave. Where are my shoes?"
"Dave, you can't go anywhere," John stated, watching him helplessly.
"You don't even have a shirt on! Just stop for a second!"
"I can't, I have to go," he stuttered, and the older man knew whatever
composure Dave had left was soon going to be lost. "Where the fuck are
my shoes?"
"Dave," John said desperately, trying to get the other man to look at
him. He approached him, although Dave only stepped back, nearly
tripping and falling down. "Dave, *stop*. You can't go anywhere."
"I need to," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I need to
just...to go, I need to leave, please, John, let me leave."
"I can't do that," he stated, trying to get close enough to Dave to
touch him, but the younger man kept moving away from him. Finally, a
quick, fluid step and he was in front of Dave, taking his face in his
hands and holding him still. "Dave, look at me. Look at me..."
When he did finally look up, the raw emotion he saw there broke John's
heart. Dave was terrified and ashamed and felt so damn guilty. Guilty!
For what his own father had made him do! And, tonight, John had made
him feel this way. God, how could he have been so selfish?? All this
time he'd been pressuring Dave to let him touch him, and all this time
he'd Dave wouldn't let him because of his ego or because he was
stubborn. And all this time, it had been because he *couldn't* allow
the other man to invade him like that, not after what his own father
had done to him.
"Please...I have to go," Dave said quietly, desperately, and in an
instant he was out of John's grasp and grabbing his apartment keys off
of the end table.
"Abby!" John suddenly called, hoping that she could at least get Dave
to listen to reason. "Abby, I need you!''
Almost immediately, Abby emerged from her room, having slipped away
after John had given her that withering look, silently telling her to
take a hike. In her heart, she knew that she shouldn't be intruding on
their argument - after all, she didn't even really live here, she was
just a third wheel who needed refuge for a while. But she'd still been
annoyed, as if John thought Dave belonged to him. Sure, they were
lovers, and he was intimate with Dave in a way that she never would
be, not to mention that John probably knew him better than she,
herself, did. But that didn't mean he had to be so...possessive.
Whatever the case may have been, she joined them in the living room,
knowing how irrational the two men could get in the heat of things and
figuring it wasn't such a bad idea to be present. But when she saw the
scene unfolding before her, her eyes widened in pure concern. John
seemed so lost and desperate, and Dave was searching the room like a
madman for something. "What's going on??"
"Dave wants to leave," John explained. "And I don't think it's a good
idea."
"I..." she stammered, but had no idea what to say afterwards. She
didn't know what was going on, didn't know what to do or say. But with
the way John was looking at her, she knew she had to do *something*.
So she indicated the couch, moving towards it. "Dave, why don't you
sit down with me?"
"No," he said, shaking his head vehemently. "I can't, I have
to...just...go. I need some air, I..."
"Well...we'll open a window," Abby offered.
"No...I need to leave," Dave said frantically. "I need to think by
myself...alone...I just need air..."
"Dave, sit down," John stated, taking Abby's lead. He approached the
younger man, who was standing with his back to the windows. He was
shaking visibly, his whole body trembling while his eyes were wild and
unfocused. His hands were balled into fists, until they tremblingly
uncoiled and grabbed at his hair in frustration. His breathing was
becoming heavier now, each breath louder and deeper than the last,
until he was gasping, until, finally, he broke.
The guttural scream that escaped his throat startled both John and
Abby, and probably woke up half of the neighbors. And Dave continued
to wretchedly scream until his voice cracked and he could no longer,
because the sobs were heaving at his chest and he couldn't catch his
breath through them. Suddenly, he punched the wall, leaving a dent in
his wake. Another punch, another dent. And another, this one leaving a
gaping hole in the wall.
"Stop it!" Abby screamed. "Dave, you're going to hurt yourself! Stop
it!"
The phone began to ring, but stood ignored by Abby, who was trying to
approach Dave but was very afraid to, and by John as well, who was
standing there in shocked horror as his lover imploded. John glanced
at the phone as the machine picked up, hearing the landlord's anxious
voice coming from the plastic box, but then turned quickly back as he
heard glass shattering. Dear God, Dave was punching the windows out.
"Dave!" Abby yelled again, taking her chances and grabbing his arm to
try to stop him from doing further damage to the apartment and his
bloodied hand. But the young man's forward momentum and pure rage sent
Abby reeling back to the floor, a short scream escaping her throat as
her shoulder made solid contact with the end table nearby. She sat
there, stunned, watching as Dave made another hole in the wall, before
she, herself, began to cry.
Suddenly, Dave stopped, his back facing his lover and his friend, and
he was still for a moment before he began to whimper. He turned,
slumping against the wall and sliding down to the floor, sobbing
uncontrollably and burying his face in his arms. The pathetic cries
were the only things heard throughout the silent apartment for a few
moments, before the phone came to life, ringing again. John, still
fazed, moved to it and picked it up, listening for a moment but
keeping his eyes on his lover. "No..." he said numbly. "You don't have
to call the police...we're fine...I'm sorry for the noise...I'll pay
for the damage...yes...thank you..."
He lowered the phone from his ear, dropping it back onto the receiver,
and then crossed the room to his lover, sitting down on the floor next
to him. Tentatively, he touched Dave's shoulder, who immediately
responded and moved into John's arms, holding on to him tightly. John
wrapped his arms around the shaking man and rubbed his back gently,
almost as if he were comforting a small child - which, in a way, he
was: He was comforting the small child inside of Dave, who was still
so afraid. It was the least he could do, to hold him like this, though
he was sure it would barely suppress what he must be feeling. What had
he felt when it had happened? From the way Dave had said it, it had
been more than once. But, God, how many times had there been? John
couldn't even begin to imagine the terror and pure hurt that must've
arced through him.
Quietly, Abby indicated her bedroom and said: "I should..."
"No..." John said, shaking his head. "Stay."
"You don't need me here."
"Dave needs you here..."
She seemed satisfied with that answer, though she hesitantly sat down
on the couch, her brow furrowed in concern and deep thought. John
continued to hold Dave, until he heard the younger man began to speak.
"Do..." he heard Dave begin, but trail off. He waited, patiently,
until, quietly: "Do you think I'm disgusting?"
John had been expecting anything but that, and his eyes widened in
surprise. He placed his hands on Dave's shoulders and held him at
arms-length, asking with a start: "Why would I think you're
disgusting?"
"Because of what I let him do to me," he replied quietly, chillingly
calm. "Because...because of what I did to him..."
"Dave, you didn't *let* him do anything to you," he said firmly. "He
*made* you do those things. And I would *never* think you're
disgusting."
Dave didn't even seem to be listening to him. "I didn't stop him. I
mean...I tried sometimes, but...it only made it worse..."
"You were a *child*, Dave," John said, trying to look Dave in the eyes
but his were cast down to his hands. Glancing down, John saw, more
specifically, they were gazing at his wrists...at his scars. A finger
brushed over them, absently, and John gently nudged Dave to draw his
attention away from them. "He was your father...he shouldn't have done
that, he shouldn't have even *thought* that. It was his job to
*protect* you, not *hurt* you. It is not your fault what he did to you
or what he made you do to him. Do you understand me, Dave? It is *not*
your fault."
There was a quiet gasp from the couch, where Abby had a hand to her
mouth, tears brimming at her eyes as the reality of what happened to
Dave hit her. She felt so selfish for sitting there, wanting a drink
as this argument had been going on. Dave needed her after this
horrible, *horrible* thing had happened to him, and there she was
thinking about herself. What kind of a person was she? What kind of a
*friend* was she??
"Dave?" she asked, but when he didn't look at her she got off of the
sofa and knelt in front of him. "Nothing your father did was your
fault; he was your father, and it was his job to protect you, love
you, take care of you. Dave, John's is right, and I think you know
that. You'd never hurt a child like that, would you? It would be
wrong, and you know that. You are *not* disgusting. You are beautiful,
and smart, and funny, and wonderful, and I am so sorry that he did
that to you. But nothing is your fault. I love you, and John loves
you, and we'll help you get through this. I promise that we'll help
you through this." She paused for a moment, to regain her composure
before she burst into tears. "I'm going leave you with John now so you
two can talk. You two need to talk. But I'll be in the guest room if
you need me, okay?"
Dave just nodded, and while she was relieved he responded, she wanted
him to believe her. And while she knew it might be too soon yet, she
at least wanted to give him some sort of hope. "Will you look at me?"
she asked. Slowly, he did, but not in the eye, and she took her chin
in his hands and positioned it so that he was now looking in her eyes.
Softly, she said, "I love you."
"I love you too, Abby," he replied, his eyes glistening.
She leaned forward and gently kissed him on the lips, hugging him
momentarily. She could feel him trembling. "I love you, Dave..."
She stood and silently left the room, moving into her bedroom and
closing the door behind her. Dave watched her leave, feeling guilty
for dragging her into his fucked up problems. His fingers were
brushing over his scars before he even realized it, and his vision
blurred and his eyes stung as he remembered the night he'd inflicted
the near-fatal wounds upon himself. Long ago, he hadn't believed that.
Long ago, he'd convinced himself that this had somehow been his fault.
And, long ago, in a desperate attempt to be free, he'd tried to kill
himself, had sat down on the floor of his bedroom and grabbed the desk
scissors, sobbing uncontrollably as he cut into his own skin. Had it
all been a misconception? Was there really nothing he could've done to
prevent it from happening?
He was almost sure there had to have been something he could've done,
and he looked up into John's eyes to see exactly what he thought when
he saw the several emotions there - pain. Guilt. Love. Compassion.
Compassion was there, compassion because he knew the truth and didn't
hate him for it. He didn't blame him, and Dave was at least relieved
for that.
"I love you," he blurted out then, tears making silent trails down his
face. "You know that, don't you? I know I've never said it, and I know
that I should, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, John. And I'm sorry I
can't - I can't let you - I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry..."
"It's okay," John stated reassuringly, bringing Dave into his embrace
once more before he lost his composure completely. "It's okay, Dave,
it's okay..."
"I love you, John," he repeated. "I love you, I love you, I love you,
I love you..."
He kept saying it, over and over again, as if, if he stopped, so would
the fact that he loved John. Dave had loved his father too, loved his
father like any son loved his own. He'd always tried in vain to please
his father, but it had never been enough. Nothing was ever done right,
something was always wrong. Physical abuse occurred regularly during
the day, sometimes just a backhand to the jaw and sometimes escalating
to a beating. On some days, Dave was even untouched by his father; his
father wouldn't even talk to him unless to call him down for dinner or
something mundane such as that.
But then the night would come.
God, how easily he could remember how much he dreaded the night,
dreaded the moments when he heard the door to his bedroom open,
dreaded pretending to sleep so maybe his father would leave him alone,
dreaded feeling the bed dip as his father joined him, dreaded the
feeling of his father's hands on his skin...dreaded living, how much
he'd dreaded living. He instinctively glanced down at the scars on his
wrists once more, remembering.
Suddenly: "Do you want to hear what happened?"
John paused, carefully thinking about what to say before he said it.
He'd learned his lesson all right. "Not if you don't want to tell me."
"Don't you want to know?"
"...Yes..."
That was all Dave needed to hear. Yes, his lover wanted to know about
his experiences. Yes, he wanted to listen. And Dave had wanted to tell
him for so long, had known John had wanted to listen for so long. But,
before this night, he'd never been sure what his reaction would be.
Now, he knew he wouldn't be faced with ridicule or blame. Now, he knew
John wouldn't think less of him. Wouldn't think he were disgusting.
Now, he knew that. And that was all he needed to hear. So he took a
deep breath.
And he started talking.
--------------------------------
I don't care where we go
I don't care what we do
As long as I can be with you...
I just want to be with you
--------------------------------
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n