Smoking - Chapter 9
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.
Links
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Bam was staring at his phone.
He’d been staring at his phone for 5 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes and 10 seconds. 11 seconds. 12 seconds…
In those 5 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes and now 15 seconds, the phone had rung exactly 7 times. Twice, it had been his mother, April, wanting to make sure the house hadn’t been burnt down. Once, his brother Jess had called to tell him about his daughter’s first gurgling noise, which had sounded remarkably like the word “Philadelphia.” The plumber had called to confirm his appointment to fix the pipes in his parents’ en suite bathroom, and his agent had called to tell him that he had a demo in 4 days. Linde had called for directions back to his house. And once… once Jenn had called to tell him what a loser he was.
And he totally agreed with her.
The ice in his glass clinked as he lifted it to his mouth. Vodka on the rocks.
Ville would shoot him.
Ville would have shot him.
Because he’d been sitting there, staring at the phone for 5 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes and 36 seconds now and Ville still hadn’t called back.
He was beginning to think that all things Ville would have to be referred to in the past tense.
And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one little bit.
“Ring, dammit, ring.”
But the phone, presumptuous, disobliging device that it was, maintained its stoic and stony silence. It was almost laughing in Bam’s face. He wanted to crush it with his fist, grind it into tiny little pieces of plastic and wires, but then it would never ring, and he didn’t want that.
Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired. He hadn’t slept for 9 days. 9 days since the conundrum of his life had become unraveled in drunken moments with a good friend. 9 days since he had alienated his best friend, idol, confidante. 9 days since he had met the real him. 9 days of red-eyed weariness, of worry; of prostrations and protestations; of discussion, stony silence, inner conflict, semi-resolve; acceptance, resignation and a miniscule, infinitesimally small glimmer of Karl Jung’s elusive Self Actualization.
As Bam drank his vodka, and as the ice clinked against the side of the glass, he had completely accepted what had happened, he had come to terms with it, and it wasn’t any of that that was giving him sleepless nights.
No. He was worried that just for once, he had gone too far. He had actually found something that would alienate him from a friend. And in his history of prank playing, practical-joke pulling, and friendly terrorization, that had never happened to him. His friends might be mad at him for a bit, but they always got over it. It didn’t seem like that was happening this time. And the worst thing was - it wasn’t even a joke this time. This was serious, all of this was serious; Bam didn’t really know how to handle serious.
And so he had spent 9 wakeful days staring at his phone - 9 days during which he had drunk approximately 110 glasses of the strongest vodka and clinked about 230 pieces of ice against the sides of roughly 40 tumblers. The empty glasses stood around his room, a testimony to the 9 days of restless waiting, anxious calls and fitful dozes in the hard, stiff armchair.
When his cellphone rang, he jumped into the air, before grabbing it up. It had to be him, it had to be. He knew it, he was sure it was him, he could tell. He didn’t bother to look at the caller ID before flipping the phone open and pressing it to his ear.
“Hello?” He sounded anxious, desperate - too desperate for his liking, but by now, that was exactly what he was.
“Bam? Dude, Bam, where you at man? We ain’t seen hide nor hair of you for days.”
Sighing, Bam bit his lip.
“Oh. Dunn. Hey.”
Listening to his best friend chatting, amiably and completely unawares, down the line seemed to cause something deep within him to snap. The tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and though he tried to battle them back, to maintain that stiff upper lip, he was soon sniffling, wiping the tears away with the back of one hand whilst trying to sound normal in his replies to his friend.
“Bam? Bam… man, are you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah Dunn, I’m fine.”
“Dude, look, I wasn’t gonna ask you, but … what happened? All I know is there was some kind of fight or something and Ville disappeared and then flew back to Finland… what happened?”
“It’s a long story, Dunn,” Bam choked out, the tears still trickling down his face. “It’s a really long fucking story.”
Dunn listened in silent awe to the sounds of his best friend breaking down into sobs on the other side of the telephone. Slamming on the brakes of his car, he pulled a quick U-Turn and sped back to where he came from.
“Dude, Bam… just… just hold on, I’ll be there in 10 seconds, okay?”
“Yeah…” Still shuddering with sobs, Bam snapped the phone shut and squeezed his eyes shut, wondering just how he got into this mess. How he had managed, just as soon as he finally found what he’d been searching for his whole life, to lose it with just one night of drunken stupidity. How, just as he realized what he wanted more than anything else in the world, it had been snatched away from him by his own typical actions - stupid, irresponsible, drunken habits.
It was always a question of finding what he wanted in life… and being able to accept what he wanted for himself. It was always a question of letting himself really be himself. For years he had stubbornly ignored it, hidden it resolutely away… but he had finally worked up the courage to let all that go… and it had lead to folly, and, eventually, complete and utter disaster.
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.
Links
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Bam was staring at his phone.
He’d been staring at his phone for 5 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes and 10 seconds. 11 seconds. 12 seconds…
In those 5 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes and now 15 seconds, the phone had rung exactly 7 times. Twice, it had been his mother, April, wanting to make sure the house hadn’t been burnt down. Once, his brother Jess had called to tell him about his daughter’s first gurgling noise, which had sounded remarkably like the word “Philadelphia.” The plumber had called to confirm his appointment to fix the pipes in his parents’ en suite bathroom, and his agent had called to tell him that he had a demo in 4 days. Linde had called for directions back to his house. And once… once Jenn had called to tell him what a loser he was.
And he totally agreed with her.
The ice in his glass clinked as he lifted it to his mouth. Vodka on the rocks.
Ville would shoot him.
Ville would have shot him.
Because he’d been sitting there, staring at the phone for 5 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes and 36 seconds now and Ville still hadn’t called back.
He was beginning to think that all things Ville would have to be referred to in the past tense.
And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one little bit.
“Ring, dammit, ring.”
But the phone, presumptuous, disobliging device that it was, maintained its stoic and stony silence. It was almost laughing in Bam’s face. He wanted to crush it with his fist, grind it into tiny little pieces of plastic and wires, but then it would never ring, and he didn’t want that.
Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired. He hadn’t slept for 9 days. 9 days since the conundrum of his life had become unraveled in drunken moments with a good friend. 9 days since he had alienated his best friend, idol, confidante. 9 days since he had met the real him. 9 days of red-eyed weariness, of worry; of prostrations and protestations; of discussion, stony silence, inner conflict, semi-resolve; acceptance, resignation and a miniscule, infinitesimally small glimmer of Karl Jung’s elusive Self Actualization.
As Bam drank his vodka, and as the ice clinked against the side of the glass, he had completely accepted what had happened, he had come to terms with it, and it wasn’t any of that that was giving him sleepless nights.
No. He was worried that just for once, he had gone too far. He had actually found something that would alienate him from a friend. And in his history of prank playing, practical-joke pulling, and friendly terrorization, that had never happened to him. His friends might be mad at him for a bit, but they always got over it. It didn’t seem like that was happening this time. And the worst thing was - it wasn’t even a joke this time. This was serious, all of this was serious; Bam didn’t really know how to handle serious.
And so he had spent 9 wakeful days staring at his phone - 9 days during which he had drunk approximately 110 glasses of the strongest vodka and clinked about 230 pieces of ice against the sides of roughly 40 tumblers. The empty glasses stood around his room, a testimony to the 9 days of restless waiting, anxious calls and fitful dozes in the hard, stiff armchair.
When his cellphone rang, he jumped into the air, before grabbing it up. It had to be him, it had to be. He knew it, he was sure it was him, he could tell. He didn’t bother to look at the caller ID before flipping the phone open and pressing it to his ear.
“Hello?” He sounded anxious, desperate - too desperate for his liking, but by now, that was exactly what he was.
“Bam? Dude, Bam, where you at man? We ain’t seen hide nor hair of you for days.”
Sighing, Bam bit his lip.
“Oh. Dunn. Hey.”
Listening to his best friend chatting, amiably and completely unawares, down the line seemed to cause something deep within him to snap. The tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and though he tried to battle them back, to maintain that stiff upper lip, he was soon sniffling, wiping the tears away with the back of one hand whilst trying to sound normal in his replies to his friend.
“Bam? Bam… man, are you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah Dunn, I’m fine.”
“Dude, look, I wasn’t gonna ask you, but … what happened? All I know is there was some kind of fight or something and Ville disappeared and then flew back to Finland… what happened?”
“It’s a long story, Dunn,” Bam choked out, the tears still trickling down his face. “It’s a really long fucking story.”
Dunn listened in silent awe to the sounds of his best friend breaking down into sobs on the other side of the telephone. Slamming on the brakes of his car, he pulled a quick U-Turn and sped back to where he came from.
“Dude, Bam… just… just hold on, I’ll be there in 10 seconds, okay?”
“Yeah…” Still shuddering with sobs, Bam snapped the phone shut and squeezed his eyes shut, wondering just how he got into this mess. How he had managed, just as soon as he finally found what he’d been searching for his whole life, to lose it with just one night of drunken stupidity. How, just as he realized what he wanted more than anything else in the world, it had been snatched away from him by his own typical actions - stupid, irresponsible, drunken habits.
It was always a question of finding what he wanted in life… and being able to accept what he wanted for himself. It was always a question of letting himself really be himself. For years he had stubbornly ignored it, hidden it resolutely away… but he had finally worked up the courage to let all that go… and it had lead to folly, and, eventually, complete and utter disaster.