Smoking - Chapter 5
Title:: Smoking
Genre:: Drama
Fandom:: RPS Vam, Villinde, Dugera, Lindunn, others.
Rating:: R
Summary:: A story, reaching back to the beginning like a twisted, curling whisp of smoke from a slow burning fire.
Disclaimer::Most characters are property only of themselves; I own the storyline and the writing. This is a work of ficiton; treat it as such.
Author's Note:: This chapter is really short. But it is a standalone section because... well it just is. If you haven't guessed yet, I write this story by pure feeling only, and instincts told me to leave it as a one section chapter. More soon to make up for the shortness. ;)
Links
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
“Greetings Earthling. This is my voicemail. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message, sweetheart, and I’ll get back to you in a bit. Unless you’re a telemarketer in which case, fuck off or I’ll set Bam on you.”
Beeeeeeeep.
“Ville? Ville, it’s Lily. Ville, will you pick up your goddamned phone? This whole hiding thing isn’t getting you anywhere, Ville. I’m sorry, I’ve said I’m sorry, he’s said he’s sorry, it meant nothing, will you please get over it? We miss you. We’re worried. He’s worried. Please? I’m sorry. Call me when you get this, or when you can be bothered. It’s not worth all of this, it didn’t mean anything. Please. Call me.”Click
“You have No. New Messages.”
Ville sighed, put the receiver back on the hook.
He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to see anyone. He just wanted to be left alone, alone like he felt. He didn’t want anything to do with his friends right now, not after they all seemed so determined to hurt him as best as they could. How dare he?!
Rubbing his forehead with tired hands, he slumped on his couch, staring at the patterns of the wood floor beneath his feet. He liked the swirls. They were almost like curls of smoke.
Smoke. That’s what he needed. He needed a fag. Or ten. Of the smoking variety. Of the other variety, he was sure he’d had just about enough.
He loved his balcony. It over looked the city, and he could see the lights of it, reflected and stretched by the sea just beyond the harbor. Flickering golden waves against a sea of pitch black and a sky that was even blacker. It was his favorite place in the whole world, his balcony. Blowing a lungful of smoke into the cold night air, he leant against the railing, one hand clutching a cigarette at his lips, the other draped over the side of the rail. The smoke dispersed in the wind that whipped his hair around his face and swallowed his sighs whole.
The city was quiet. It was late. He’d been out drinking, but he wasn’t drunk. No, he only wished he was. He couldn’t bring himself to stay out alone for long enough. He hated being alone. Funny that, since he realized he never really had any good friends. Except for the two people he’d hurt most.
He laughed at himself. You idiot, he said, over and over again, you complete fucking idiot.
No wonder he was alone, he thought. His only two friends, he’d treated like shit or worse for most of his life. His only two friends, and all they really had was a tangle of lies and stupidity and his own cruelty. Lily, who he’d known for longer than anyone else … Lily who he’d tortured for most of his young life… who he’d used and abused before realizing, too late, just what he was throwing away. Bam, the only thing he’d ever loved more than himself…
He’d deserved every little bit of what he got, and he knew it.
“You’re going crazy, Ville,” he told himself, shaking his head, tipping the ash off of the end of his cigarette down onto the street six stories beneath him.
The wind whistled through the streets, around the corners, up the sides of the buildings around him, blasting him in the face with a breath of fresh, salty air that raised Goosebumps on his skin. He was going crazy. It was only logical that the wind was screeching things at him. Of course he was seeing faces in the stars, hearing the towers of the cathedral sing. He was going crazy; none of these things surprised him.
Memories bombarded him, as if they were being blown along with the wind. He heard the voices over again in his head, he saw the people, he felt the same things over again. Standing on the balcony of his apartment in the city, he was walking down the hallway of his school with Migé, hearing Lily play for the first time. He was joking around with his friends at lunch, watching the blush flare on Lily’s cheeks. He was coming out of a broom cupboard on his 16th birthday, breathless, blushing, zipping up his fly, muttering to himself. He was lying in the park with Lily, watching the city go by. He was signing a record deal, playing his first gig to a huge crowd. He was watching a young American from the corner of a room as he bounced around the after-show party in London. A young blonde writhed beneath him, calling him Larry in his rapture, and he thrust into him, ignoring the dull ache it caused.
And increasingly more, he was aware that it was had all been his fault, he was the guilty one, that Lily … Lily deserved the payback he’d given. Bam deserved to get what he wanted. And he deserved neither of them, nor anything else that somehow he had anyways, despite how unworthy he was.
He took another drag on his cigarette, before grinding the smoldering butt into the rusting railing of the balcony and throwing it over onto the street below. It tumbled as it fell, buffeted by the air on its way down. Tumbling, turning, and then it hit the ground and stopped dead on the pavement. He almost wished he could tip himself over the balcony, tumbling in the air as he fell, then fall dead on the pavement, put the whole lot of them out of their pain in one swift blow.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned his back on the city skyline and traipsed back inside, shutting the glass door carefully behind him.
Maybe he needed to sleep. Yeah. That would probably help. He was tired, jetlagged, hadn’t slept since… well. Since everything had erupted, like a can of worms bursting open on a pavement after a long, arduous fall.
He had the feeling that sleep wasn’t going to come to him very easily, but he would at least try, he decided, and if all else failed, he’d sit up with a six pack or three, watching reruns of Friends until the alcohol knocked him out. Yeah. That’s what he’d do. Hell, it beat wallowing in self-pity and hate, wanting to tear his own guts out for things that he couldn’t do anything to change.
Most things beat that.
Genre:: Drama
Fandom:: RPS Vam, Villinde, Dugera, Lindunn, others.
Rating:: R
Summary:: A story, reaching back to the beginning like a twisted, curling whisp of smoke from a slow burning fire.
Disclaimer::Most characters are property only of themselves; I own the storyline and the writing. This is a work of ficiton; treat it as such.
Author's Note:: This chapter is really short. But it is a standalone section because... well it just is. If you haven't guessed yet, I write this story by pure feeling only, and instincts told me to leave it as a one section chapter. More soon to make up for the shortness. ;)
Links
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
“Greetings Earthling. This is my voicemail. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message, sweetheart, and I’ll get back to you in a bit. Unless you’re a telemarketer in which case, fuck off or I’ll set Bam on you.”
Beeeeeeeep.
“Ville? Ville, it’s Lily. Ville, will you pick up your goddamned phone? This whole hiding thing isn’t getting you anywhere, Ville. I’m sorry, I’ve said I’m sorry, he’s said he’s sorry, it meant nothing, will you please get over it? We miss you. We’re worried. He’s worried. Please? I’m sorry. Call me when you get this, or when you can be bothered. It’s not worth all of this, it didn’t mean anything. Please. Call me.”Click
“You have No. New Messages.”
Ville sighed, put the receiver back on the hook.
He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to see anyone. He just wanted to be left alone, alone like he felt. He didn’t want anything to do with his friends right now, not after they all seemed so determined to hurt him as best as they could. How dare he?!
Rubbing his forehead with tired hands, he slumped on his couch, staring at the patterns of the wood floor beneath his feet. He liked the swirls. They were almost like curls of smoke.
Smoke. That’s what he needed. He needed a fag. Or ten. Of the smoking variety. Of the other variety, he was sure he’d had just about enough.
He loved his balcony. It over looked the city, and he could see the lights of it, reflected and stretched by the sea just beyond the harbor. Flickering golden waves against a sea of pitch black and a sky that was even blacker. It was his favorite place in the whole world, his balcony. Blowing a lungful of smoke into the cold night air, he leant against the railing, one hand clutching a cigarette at his lips, the other draped over the side of the rail. The smoke dispersed in the wind that whipped his hair around his face and swallowed his sighs whole.
The city was quiet. It was late. He’d been out drinking, but he wasn’t drunk. No, he only wished he was. He couldn’t bring himself to stay out alone for long enough. He hated being alone. Funny that, since he realized he never really had any good friends. Except for the two people he’d hurt most.
He laughed at himself. You idiot, he said, over and over again, you complete fucking idiot.
No wonder he was alone, he thought. His only two friends, he’d treated like shit or worse for most of his life. His only two friends, and all they really had was a tangle of lies and stupidity and his own cruelty. Lily, who he’d known for longer than anyone else … Lily who he’d tortured for most of his young life… who he’d used and abused before realizing, too late, just what he was throwing away. Bam, the only thing he’d ever loved more than himself…
He’d deserved every little bit of what he got, and he knew it.
“You’re going crazy, Ville,” he told himself, shaking his head, tipping the ash off of the end of his cigarette down onto the street six stories beneath him.
The wind whistled through the streets, around the corners, up the sides of the buildings around him, blasting him in the face with a breath of fresh, salty air that raised Goosebumps on his skin. He was going crazy. It was only logical that the wind was screeching things at him. Of course he was seeing faces in the stars, hearing the towers of the cathedral sing. He was going crazy; none of these things surprised him.
Memories bombarded him, as if they were being blown along with the wind. He heard the voices over again in his head, he saw the people, he felt the same things over again. Standing on the balcony of his apartment in the city, he was walking down the hallway of his school with Migé, hearing Lily play for the first time. He was joking around with his friends at lunch, watching the blush flare on Lily’s cheeks. He was coming out of a broom cupboard on his 16th birthday, breathless, blushing, zipping up his fly, muttering to himself. He was lying in the park with Lily, watching the city go by. He was signing a record deal, playing his first gig to a huge crowd. He was watching a young American from the corner of a room as he bounced around the after-show party in London. A young blonde writhed beneath him, calling him Larry in his rapture, and he thrust into him, ignoring the dull ache it caused.
And increasingly more, he was aware that it was had all been his fault, he was the guilty one, that Lily … Lily deserved the payback he’d given. Bam deserved to get what he wanted. And he deserved neither of them, nor anything else that somehow he had anyways, despite how unworthy he was.
He took another drag on his cigarette, before grinding the smoldering butt into the rusting railing of the balcony and throwing it over onto the street below. It tumbled as it fell, buffeted by the air on its way down. Tumbling, turning, and then it hit the ground and stopped dead on the pavement. He almost wished he could tip himself over the balcony, tumbling in the air as he fell, then fall dead on the pavement, put the whole lot of them out of their pain in one swift blow.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned his back on the city skyline and traipsed back inside, shutting the glass door carefully behind him.
Maybe he needed to sleep. Yeah. That would probably help. He was tired, jetlagged, hadn’t slept since… well. Since everything had erupted, like a can of worms bursting open on a pavement after a long, arduous fall.
He had the feeling that sleep wasn’t going to come to him very easily, but he would at least try, he decided, and if all else failed, he’d sit up with a six pack or three, watching reruns of Friends until the alcohol knocked him out. Yeah. That’s what he’d do. Hell, it beat wallowing in self-pity and hate, wanting to tear his own guts out for things that he couldn’t do anything to change.
Most things beat that.