Better Then Me. [Standalone]
Title: Better Than Me.
Author: fictionallies
Rating: Let's say R to be safe.
Pairing: Vam, of course. Past [and brief] Bam/Ryan.
Summary: Everybody makes mistakes, but sometimes you just can't move on when you've made them.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened. Title belongs to Hinder.
Warnings: Angsty[ish]. Unbetaed, but double-spellchecked as always.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Better Than Me by Hinder.
"I've missed you, Bammie."
"Ville... I have some, uh, news."
"What is it?"
"I'm not coming back again."
"Why? Why not?"
"I just... can't do this anymore, Ville."
"I... I'll change. I can change, Bammie. Please don't do this."
"I'm sorry." Click.
It wasn't that I regretted Ville, it wasn't that I was ashamed of what we had. It wasn't the limelight or the stardom going to my head, saying that I was too famous to be in love with a guy. It wasn't that I lives in West Chester and he in Helsinki.
It was what I did that killed me, killed us. It was that I regretted what I did, that I was ashamed of myself. I let myself become tangled up in a deranged web of lies. Labyrinthine lies, as he once put it.
I forgot him, one could say.
Jenn and I split, and he knew why as well as I did. She was sick of being a cover-up for me and Ville.
I got back with a high school sweetheart, and a drunken night I accidentally asked her to marry me. She said no; she knew about Ville from day one. It was obvious to her.
Even though she declined, it still haunted me.
One night made me realize how often I thought of him. I'd been told a thousand times that my love for him was almost obsessive, that I related everything to him. That night, Dunn and Raab had rocked up at my place, lugging a wasted Novak out from the back of Raab's car. He reeked of booze, weed and puke. I instantly remembered a night years ago, where Migé and Linde had dragged Ville through the front foyer, passed out.
That was a terrible night for the both of us. I stayed with him when he awoke at random intervals puking and rambling. He was frightened, I could see it. It was his worst night, in my eyes.
The morning after, he awoke seemingly fine. Until I turned on the light, of course. He was still sick from the alcohol, and so I helped him into the shower with me. He mumbled about having the 'worst hangover ever' as I massaged shampoo through his mahogany locks.
"Will you marry me?" he muttered, slurring slightly, his voice small and sheepish.
"Ville, i don't think you're in the best state of mind right now."
"But Bammie-"
"Shh. Wash it out, baby."
I silently prayed to any higher beings that his mind was still clouded by alcohol or aspirin. I am, and always have been, afraid of commitment. The only thing I have remained faithful to is my skateboard. But even that commitment cursed me.
A skate demo at the Mall of America. Or maybe it was Disneyland; I was too drunk the entire time to tell the difference between Tony Hawk and Mickey Mouse.
Dunn was there too, being the tag-along buddy he is.
Going out for drinks with the other skaters, while drunk, was probably not the brightest idea.
I hadn't seen Ville in months, and as presumed, I was growing weary of my right hand. Even Novak was growing weary of hearing my bracelets jingling through the walls between our rooms.
So mixing booze, body shots and far too much tension with a room shared by Ryan and I really doesn't give the best result.
I only vaguely remember the sex. The feelings side of it, rather than the words.
I regretted that more than the drunken proposal, more than the time I almost drank both Ville and myself to death. I hated myself more than Ape hated Dunn after he nearly killed us in his fucking car.
It was one of few things I regretted. I was, am, Bam fucking Margera; badass dickhead who does whatever the fuck he wants. My own show said it in the opening credits.
But I regretted this. A while later, when Ville and I were together again for the first time in ages, I decided I couldn't take it. We were fucking, and all that filled my head were the blurred images of that night at the skate demo. I tried to live with myself, with my mistakes. I tried to forget about them, ignore it. I couldn't.
I miss him, Ville. I miss his voice, his PJs over the bed post. I miss running my fingers through his his chocolate-colored hair, and how it felt when he'd crawl back into bed at three in the morning after a fag or two. I miss how every inch of him tasted, I miss how his eyes would make me weak.
I never meant to ruin it. I wanted to stay like it forever.
I still love him, I always will. But I know, of all people, that he deserves much better than me.
Author: fictionallies
Rating: Let's say R to be safe.
Pairing: Vam, of course. Past [and brief] Bam/Ryan.
Summary: Everybody makes mistakes, but sometimes you just can't move on when you've made them.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't know, never happened. Title belongs to Hinder.
Warnings: Angsty[ish]. Unbetaed, but double-spellchecked as always.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Better Than Me by Hinder.
"I've missed you, Bammie."
"Ville... I have some, uh, news."
"What is it?"
"I'm not coming back again."
"Why? Why not?"
"I just... can't do this anymore, Ville."
"I... I'll change. I can change, Bammie. Please don't do this."
"I'm sorry." Click.
It wasn't that I regretted Ville, it wasn't that I was ashamed of what we had. It wasn't the limelight or the stardom going to my head, saying that I was too famous to be in love with a guy. It wasn't that I lives in West Chester and he in Helsinki.
It was what I did that killed me, killed us. It was that I regretted what I did, that I was ashamed of myself. I let myself become tangled up in a deranged web of lies. Labyrinthine lies, as he once put it.
I forgot him, one could say.
Jenn and I split, and he knew why as well as I did. She was sick of being a cover-up for me and Ville.
I got back with a high school sweetheart, and a drunken night I accidentally asked her to marry me. She said no; she knew about Ville from day one. It was obvious to her.
Even though she declined, it still haunted me.
One night made me realize how often I thought of him. I'd been told a thousand times that my love for him was almost obsessive, that I related everything to him. That night, Dunn and Raab had rocked up at my place, lugging a wasted Novak out from the back of Raab's car. He reeked of booze, weed and puke. I instantly remembered a night years ago, where Migé and Linde had dragged Ville through the front foyer, passed out.
That was a terrible night for the both of us. I stayed with him when he awoke at random intervals puking and rambling. He was frightened, I could see it. It was his worst night, in my eyes.
The morning after, he awoke seemingly fine. Until I turned on the light, of course. He was still sick from the alcohol, and so I helped him into the shower with me. He mumbled about having the 'worst hangover ever' as I massaged shampoo through his mahogany locks.
"Will you marry me?" he muttered, slurring slightly, his voice small and sheepish.
"Ville, i don't think you're in the best state of mind right now."
"But Bammie-"
"Shh. Wash it out, baby."
I silently prayed to any higher beings that his mind was still clouded by alcohol or aspirin. I am, and always have been, afraid of commitment. The only thing I have remained faithful to is my skateboard. But even that commitment cursed me.
A skate demo at the Mall of America. Or maybe it was Disneyland; I was too drunk the entire time to tell the difference between Tony Hawk and Mickey Mouse.
Dunn was there too, being the tag-along buddy he is.
Going out for drinks with the other skaters, while drunk, was probably not the brightest idea.
I hadn't seen Ville in months, and as presumed, I was growing weary of my right hand. Even Novak was growing weary of hearing my bracelets jingling through the walls between our rooms.
So mixing booze, body shots and far too much tension with a room shared by Ryan and I really doesn't give the best result.
I only vaguely remember the sex. The feelings side of it, rather than the words.
I regretted that more than the drunken proposal, more than the time I almost drank both Ville and myself to death. I hated myself more than Ape hated Dunn after he nearly killed us in his fucking car.
It was one of few things I regretted. I was, am, Bam fucking Margera; badass dickhead who does whatever the fuck he wants. My own show said it in the opening credits.
But I regretted this. A while later, when Ville and I were together again for the first time in ages, I decided I couldn't take it. We were fucking, and all that filled my head were the blurred images of that night at the skate demo. I tried to live with myself, with my mistakes. I tried to forget about them, ignore it. I couldn't.
I miss him, Ville. I miss his voice, his PJs over the bed post. I miss running my fingers through his his chocolate-colored hair, and how it felt when he'd crawl back into bed at three in the morning after a fag or two. I miss how every inch of him tasted, I miss how his eyes would make me weak.
I never meant to ruin it. I wanted to stay like it forever.
I still love him, I always will. But I know, of all people, that he deserves much better than me.