one-shot;
“Feel the Silence”
Author: Jordan [insane-pyro-grl]
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Do not know. Did not happen. Do not sue. Not making money. Total fiction.
Summary: He wants you to take the next step. Needs you to be an actual man and agree to tell everyone that you’re together. That you love each other. This is the final step before one of you proposes, just tell them. For some reason, the back of your mind nags at you. This is not a good idea, although you love him, you know you shouldn’t do this. Inspired by and kind of based off of The Goo Goo Dolls’ “Feel the Silence”
Notes: Took this in a new direction, and added a new style to it. It reminds me of the stream of consciousness that we’re always talking about in AP English. Let me know what you think, Constructive Criticism is highly appreciated. ♥♥♥
“Feel the Silence”
It’s the same routine every night. Change into pajama pants, brush their teeth side by side at the sink, turn on the fan to medium, since he has that weird compulsion that says he needs a fan on or he will not sleep, and then they climb underneath the covers. Good nights are wished between them, and velvet lips touch for moments before he rolls over and eventually drifts off into a dreamless sleep. While he’s sleeping, you lay on your back, blue eyes pointed to the ceiling, and he knows that things swirl through your brain as you lay awake every night. During that one night that he cannot sleep, because the Nyquil hasn’t kicked in yet, and he can’t sleep as he hacks up green mucous, he asks you a simple request.
“Let’s take this further. As soon as I’m well enough to go out, we should tell everyone. I’m tired of not being able to tell everyone in this world that I love you.”
You remain silent as he begins to drift off into a medicated sleep, but right before his eyes close you say, “All right,” and a smile plays on his lips as he beings to rest.
The silence consumes you once more as you think about his request. It tugs at you, that yes, you should tell everyone. You love him; why not let everyone else you love know how much you care about him. You would take a bullet to the chest for him. But for some reason it nags at you, it seems like a bad idea in your subconscious. Secretly, you hope that since he’s so out of it that he’ll forget by morn. Deep down in your soul you know he’ll never forget the two words you uttered right before he fell asleep. He’ll hang it over your head for the rest of your life, but you will insist that it was just an inane dream that the Nyquil caused.
Nights pass in the same fashion. Pajama pants. Toothpaste. Fan. Bed. Good night. Kiss. Silence. Roll. Rinse and repeat. His health begins to improve by the second, his breathing is no longer labored, he’s still congested but the mucous is no longer a sickly chartreuse color. As you stare up at the ceiling, you can still see that smile he flashed at you when you told him that you would tell everyone that you are in love and that nothing would stop you. That smile of the cigarette yellowed teeth haunts your sleepless nights and tiring days, as more smiles come your way, and now you’re certain that he remembers. You know you’re going to feel horrible when you deny that you ever said that, but you don’t care. Your gut feeling sticks with that telling people is a bad idea, and that you should stay away at all costs.
Less than twenty-four hour later, he mentions the promise you made. Let’s take this further. The following Saturday he’ll invite your parents and his band mates over for dinner. You’ll tell them how you’re in love. How eventually you plan to get married. You break his heart by telling him that you don’t have an absolute clue what he’s talking about. When did you agree to telling everyone? You can see his heart shattering just through his emerald eyes losing their sparkle in the utterance of your words. You feel bad, but then your heart beats and you’re already over it, no reason to dwell on the situation.
The next two days involve yelling, until his voice is hoarse and an asthma attack threatens to close his windpipe. He screams that you know what he’s talking about, that you promised that the two of you would officially come out to your loved ones, that they should know because you’re happy, and why wouldn’t you want everyone to share in your happiness? That you said it was fine that night when the Nyquil couldn’t kick in right away, and he stayed up with you for hours before he could sleep without coughing up his right lung. Why the sudden change? He asks if you don’t love him anymore, and of course you do, he’s your everything. You tell him that you would take a bullet straight through the heart for him.
“Then why can’t we tell everyone? It’s much less painful than a nine millimeter straight through the ribcage, isn’t it?” He spits at you, and you’re sure that he’s going to stomp out of the house, never coming back.
“It’s just that… I’m scared.” You murmur, and you’re not even sure if he’s heard anything you said.
He backpedals before spinning around on rubber booted heels and asks a simple one word question that you should be able to answer, but can’t. “Why?”
Your jaw drops open to speak, although words are not being processed through his brain. For once in your life, you’re out of words, and you don’t know what to do about it. He shakes his head, finished with you for the moment; he’s exasperated with the very sight of you and stomps upstairs to the room that holds his equipment, planning on playing the anger away, while you sit in front of the television, unfazed by the whole ordeal.
Hours pass, and its back to the nightly routine. Pants. Teeth. Fan. Bed. G’night. Kiss. Silence. Although this time he doesn’t roll over with his back to you, he rolls so his emerald eyes can stare holes through your very being as thoughts race through your head. He breaks the routine even more by speaking.
“I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just that I want to take things to the next level. I want us to get married soon, and that can’t happen if we don’t tell anyone about what we have. I love you.”
You sigh and close your eyes before replying with a half-hearted, “It’s all right. Love you too, now get some sleep.”
He rolls over to the correct side this time, as you stare into the darkness as the leaves fall outside and the winter breeze brings death to Mother Nature.
It’s now winter, snowflakes falling against the windows as mountains of snow pile up on the deck and on the grass outside. He becomes sick more often, and deep down you know that something is not right, he’s never sick twice a year, its one bad cold per year, and then he’s healthy as a horse until the calendar says October once more. The medicine cabinet is stuffed full of orange bottles with white childproof caps, all marked with his name for one ailment or another. He sits up in bed now, a notebook in his lap, the now always present box of Kleenex near his waist as he coughs up dark, sickly looking chunks of blood and mucous.
More nights pass with the similar routine, but instead of the fan, it’s a vaporizer that soaks the room in mentholated medicine that doesn’t leave your nostrils for years. The kiss is deleted out of the equation also, he says that he doesn’t want you to catch his cold, but you know by the way his eyes stare at the wall behind your head when he says this, that it’s a complete lie. The next morning you try to call his doctor to find out what is exactly wrong with him, but the records are classified, Doctor - Patient Confidentially Clause they tell you, as you swear at them before slamming the phone on the hook.
It’s finally spring, as grass begins to re-grow from brown to green, the trees gain new buds, birds chirp as they try to attract a mate, and you sit in your house, watching television once more. Hours pass while you watch nonsense that lowers your IQ at least ten points, until night has fallen and you decide it’s finally time for bed.
A normal routine that’s embedded into your very soul. Pajama Pants. Brush your teeth. Turn on the fan to medium. Under the covers. Good night. But then there is no good night responded back, no kiss, no roll. Silence consumes you like the night before, and the thousands of nights before that. Your mind swirls with thoughts as another sleepless night devours you, and for the past sixty nights, you’ve thought of how you should have told everyone on that Saturday that could have been so many months ago. So many nights ago. But you were selfish weren’t you? You didn’t think about how he felt, and now look where it’s gotten you. In bed, every night, alone. Because of the one word you cannot even think to speak. Not even after these past two months of knowing, you cannot say it. You refuse to acknowledge that it took him away.
Sapphire eyes look to the ceiling once more, and even though you know it’s not written there, that word shines bright in green writing on the French Vanilla paint. And even after all of this time, the tears will not come to your eyes, because you know, deep down, that you should’ve told everyone about your love. You blink once as you sigh into the darkness, and the green word shines even brighter, mocking you. Cancer.
[ more of my one-shots ]
Author: Jordan [insane-pyro-grl]
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Do not know. Did not happen. Do not sue. Not making money. Total fiction.
Summary: He wants you to take the next step. Needs you to be an actual man and agree to tell everyone that you’re together. That you love each other. This is the final step before one of you proposes, just tell them. For some reason, the back of your mind nags at you. This is not a good idea, although you love him, you know you shouldn’t do this. Inspired by and kind of based off of The Goo Goo Dolls’ “Feel the Silence”
Notes: Took this in a new direction, and added a new style to it. It reminds me of the stream of consciousness that we’re always talking about in AP English. Let me know what you think, Constructive Criticism is highly appreciated. ♥♥♥
“Feel the Silence”
It’s the same routine every night. Change into pajama pants, brush their teeth side by side at the sink, turn on the fan to medium, since he has that weird compulsion that says he needs a fan on or he will not sleep, and then they climb underneath the covers. Good nights are wished between them, and velvet lips touch for moments before he rolls over and eventually drifts off into a dreamless sleep. While he’s sleeping, you lay on your back, blue eyes pointed to the ceiling, and he knows that things swirl through your brain as you lay awake every night. During that one night that he cannot sleep, because the Nyquil hasn’t kicked in yet, and he can’t sleep as he hacks up green mucous, he asks you a simple request.
“Let’s take this further. As soon as I’m well enough to go out, we should tell everyone. I’m tired of not being able to tell everyone in this world that I love you.”
You remain silent as he begins to drift off into a medicated sleep, but right before his eyes close you say, “All right,” and a smile plays on his lips as he beings to rest.
The silence consumes you once more as you think about his request. It tugs at you, that yes, you should tell everyone. You love him; why not let everyone else you love know how much you care about him. You would take a bullet to the chest for him. But for some reason it nags at you, it seems like a bad idea in your subconscious. Secretly, you hope that since he’s so out of it that he’ll forget by morn. Deep down in your soul you know he’ll never forget the two words you uttered right before he fell asleep. He’ll hang it over your head for the rest of your life, but you will insist that it was just an inane dream that the Nyquil caused.
Nights pass in the same fashion. Pajama pants. Toothpaste. Fan. Bed. Good night. Kiss. Silence. Roll. Rinse and repeat. His health begins to improve by the second, his breathing is no longer labored, he’s still congested but the mucous is no longer a sickly chartreuse color. As you stare up at the ceiling, you can still see that smile he flashed at you when you told him that you would tell everyone that you are in love and that nothing would stop you. That smile of the cigarette yellowed teeth haunts your sleepless nights and tiring days, as more smiles come your way, and now you’re certain that he remembers. You know you’re going to feel horrible when you deny that you ever said that, but you don’t care. Your gut feeling sticks with that telling people is a bad idea, and that you should stay away at all costs.
Less than twenty-four hour later, he mentions the promise you made. Let’s take this further. The following Saturday he’ll invite your parents and his band mates over for dinner. You’ll tell them how you’re in love. How eventually you plan to get married. You break his heart by telling him that you don’t have an absolute clue what he’s talking about. When did you agree to telling everyone? You can see his heart shattering just through his emerald eyes losing their sparkle in the utterance of your words. You feel bad, but then your heart beats and you’re already over it, no reason to dwell on the situation.
The next two days involve yelling, until his voice is hoarse and an asthma attack threatens to close his windpipe. He screams that you know what he’s talking about, that you promised that the two of you would officially come out to your loved ones, that they should know because you’re happy, and why wouldn’t you want everyone to share in your happiness? That you said it was fine that night when the Nyquil couldn’t kick in right away, and he stayed up with you for hours before he could sleep without coughing up his right lung. Why the sudden change? He asks if you don’t love him anymore, and of course you do, he’s your everything. You tell him that you would take a bullet straight through the heart for him.
“Then why can’t we tell everyone? It’s much less painful than a nine millimeter straight through the ribcage, isn’t it?” He spits at you, and you’re sure that he’s going to stomp out of the house, never coming back.
“It’s just that… I’m scared.” You murmur, and you’re not even sure if he’s heard anything you said.
He backpedals before spinning around on rubber booted heels and asks a simple one word question that you should be able to answer, but can’t. “Why?”
Your jaw drops open to speak, although words are not being processed through his brain. For once in your life, you’re out of words, and you don’t know what to do about it. He shakes his head, finished with you for the moment; he’s exasperated with the very sight of you and stomps upstairs to the room that holds his equipment, planning on playing the anger away, while you sit in front of the television, unfazed by the whole ordeal.
Hours pass, and its back to the nightly routine. Pants. Teeth. Fan. Bed. G’night. Kiss. Silence. Although this time he doesn’t roll over with his back to you, he rolls so his emerald eyes can stare holes through your very being as thoughts race through your head. He breaks the routine even more by speaking.
“I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just that I want to take things to the next level. I want us to get married soon, and that can’t happen if we don’t tell anyone about what we have. I love you.”
You sigh and close your eyes before replying with a half-hearted, “It’s all right. Love you too, now get some sleep.”
He rolls over to the correct side this time, as you stare into the darkness as the leaves fall outside and the winter breeze brings death to Mother Nature.
It’s now winter, snowflakes falling against the windows as mountains of snow pile up on the deck and on the grass outside. He becomes sick more often, and deep down you know that something is not right, he’s never sick twice a year, its one bad cold per year, and then he’s healthy as a horse until the calendar says October once more. The medicine cabinet is stuffed full of orange bottles with white childproof caps, all marked with his name for one ailment or another. He sits up in bed now, a notebook in his lap, the now always present box of Kleenex near his waist as he coughs up dark, sickly looking chunks of blood and mucous.
More nights pass with the similar routine, but instead of the fan, it’s a vaporizer that soaks the room in mentholated medicine that doesn’t leave your nostrils for years. The kiss is deleted out of the equation also, he says that he doesn’t want you to catch his cold, but you know by the way his eyes stare at the wall behind your head when he says this, that it’s a complete lie. The next morning you try to call his doctor to find out what is exactly wrong with him, but the records are classified, Doctor - Patient Confidentially Clause they tell you, as you swear at them before slamming the phone on the hook.
It’s finally spring, as grass begins to re-grow from brown to green, the trees gain new buds, birds chirp as they try to attract a mate, and you sit in your house, watching television once more. Hours pass while you watch nonsense that lowers your IQ at least ten points, until night has fallen and you decide it’s finally time for bed.
A normal routine that’s embedded into your very soul. Pajama Pants. Brush your teeth. Turn on the fan to medium. Under the covers. Good night. But then there is no good night responded back, no kiss, no roll. Silence consumes you like the night before, and the thousands of nights before that. Your mind swirls with thoughts as another sleepless night devours you, and for the past sixty nights, you’ve thought of how you should have told everyone on that Saturday that could have been so many months ago. So many nights ago. But you were selfish weren’t you? You didn’t think about how he felt, and now look where it’s gotten you. In bed, every night, alone. Because of the one word you cannot even think to speak. Not even after these past two months of knowing, you cannot say it. You refuse to acknowledge that it took him away.
Sapphire eyes look to the ceiling once more, and even though you know it’s not written there, that word shines bright in green writing on the French Vanilla paint. And even after all of this time, the tears will not come to your eyes, because you know, deep down, that you should’ve told everyone about your love. You blink once as you sigh into the darkness, and the green word shines even brighter, mocking you. Cancer.
[ more of my one-shots ]