Somehow all you ever need's, never really quite enough you know
[Down at the Red Lantern, up on the third floor]
[Too late for patience]
"Perhaps I know him before than you do, Ms Beddau," and I can feel myself take slow cold umbrage to that; after all he had wrong, after all I have seen, to say that. "And no, I will not be sick again.""That's good," flat words, but not cold; I think I am too tired to put in ( Read more... )
[Too late for patience]
"Perhaps I know him before than you do, Ms Beddau," and I can feel myself take slow cold umbrage to that; after all he had wrong, after all I have seen, to say that. "And no, I will not be sick again.""That's good," flat words, but not cold; I think I am too tired to put in ( Read more... )
"And what does a decent person do?" I'm not a prize, I'm not a reward for good behaviour or a fucking allotment, my company is not a moral sanction. "If I'd had nothing to do with him, he'd still have followed me. Still have wanted me, watched me. And with all that still true--are you telling me you wouldn't have cornered me in a garage, threatened me, kidnapped me, beat me? Wouldn't have tried to send a message, to use me? Would you have left me alone if you thought I was decent, are you that much of a fucking saint, Oscar?" I can see him all too clearly, drawn back and distant, some trick of the light or the night or just the goddamn stress making him seem impossibly far away.
"You knew what he was," I say. "You knew. And I begged you not to make him angry at me. Don't tell me you stopped to see if I wanted him before you hurt me. Given what he was like when you saw him, Oscar, in exactly what fairy tale do you think a woman in my situation who behaved decently would make it to the next sunrise?" And it's back to Sheldon, again, and now I'm holding my hands together to keep them from shaking. Because this is true. It's not the reason I chose Dorian, but it's true. "You think I should die on your fucking principles? I guess you do."
"And how should I act? Should I be broken? Should I cry?" and I bite back my first response since you already were is unlikely to go anywhere much, keep my hands laced too close together to shake and look at my cigarette.
"You're lonely," I say. "I know suicides don't need to be dramatic about it. But you were lonely and you tried to fix it."
"I choose how this ends. And I choose to die," and no no no fucking no, I want to shake him, and I close my eyes and I don't want to hear this, I don't--
"My mother begged for her life. For twenty minutes she begged him and for twenty minutes he- he took her dignity. I want to die. But I will not die on my knees... Even if this means you do not understand."
For Christ's sake. You stubborn jackass, you stupid child. You moron, you idiot, you sulking stubborn screaming lout, this is beyond moronic, you cannot believe this, it is such a fucking waste--
"I did too." Flat and far away and I don't
(Help me. Help me please I don't want to die don't make me Dorian--)
even know what I'm talking about, I don't want to know, I don't want this. "You think it makes any difference? Enough difference? To just want to die before they make you beg? Why?"
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"You knew what he was. You knew. And I begged you not to make him angry at me. Don't tell me you stopped to see if I wanted him before you hurt me. Given what he was like when you saw him, Oscar, in exactly what fairy tale do you think a woman in my situation who behaved decently would make it to the next sunrise?"
I close my eyes against the nausea and my face is hot enough that I almost do not feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. "You think I should die on your fucking principles? I guess you do."
"I wanted to pity you. I wanted keep you out of it," and I don't know why I'm talking, except that with my eyes closed I can imagine she is not there at all.
"You're lonely. I know suicides don't need to be dramatic about it. But you were lonely and you tried to fix it."
Lonely. I want to laugh, through the nausea and the tears. I'm not lonely.
You think it makes any difference? Enough difference? To just want to die before they make you beg? Why?"
"Yes. It is the only thing I have left." And still it's not mine, this one small thing, this one final thing and it's taken away.
"Why won't you leave me alone?" I look at her and the pain in my wrists is the only thing to remind me I'm still tied to the bed. "It wasn't enough? You won! Leave me alone!"
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"Why won't you leave me alone?" and oh, fuck, when did he start crying again, when did-- "It wasn't enough? You won! Leave me alone!"
"I am not trying to win, you--" Groan and put out my cigarette on the sole of my boot and stand up, and then I'm just looking at him.
"You're drunk," I say, wishing I could stop sounding angry. "You're drunk and-- look, just-- shut up?" Please? It sounds all wrong, angry and awkward and shakey. "What the fuck do you think I'm trying to win? Oscar. Just." I run the back of my hand across my face and take a look at the handcuffs, which at least are still looking solid.
"Christ on bacon," I say tiredly, wiping at his face. "Oscar, I'm trying to--" I don't even know.
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"Jdi do prdele," I say under my breath.
"What the fuck do you think I'm trying to win? Oscar. Just."
And suddenly I realize how very close to me she is. I freeze. "Christ on bacon. Oscar, I'm trying to--"
And I'm just tired, so tired that I close my eyes, so tired that I don't pull away. "Don't touch me."
"What the fuck? It's a fucking kid, Dorian!"
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