Writing to clear my head....
Title: The Morning After
Author: imjustdifrent
Summary: A lot happened last night.
Rating: PG-13 for content
Author's Note: Not entirely fictional. A comment was made. A kiss happened. Tears were shed. A meal was shared after. Most of the details have been changed for various reasons. This is unedited and one of the first things I've written in years, so my apologies if it's terrible.
He watched her from across the table. "Are you okay?"
She inhaled sharply, jarred from her thoughts. She met his gaze and contemplated her answer before answering slowly.
"I just have a lot on my mind," she said. It was an excuse, but it was also true. Breaking eye contact, her eyes looked down to his plate, then hers. Neither one of them was really in the mood to eat, especially in a noisy restaurant surrounded by couples and small children fresh from Sunday morning church services, but they needed more than the leftover snack foods in the apartment and going out to eat seemed like a normal activity that made sense when they first discussed it. She picked up her fork, then set it back down.
"What's going on?" he asked. He was trying to help, but it was just another thing that wasn't working the way it would before. Before last year. Before last night.
She sighed, replaying the events in her mind. She couldn't be honest with him, because he would inevitably feel guilty and take all the blame on himself. As much as she enjoyed someone who could accept the blame when it was necessary, it was always hurt to watch him take on the unnecessary blame, too... especially when she was involved. She sighed.
"I don't know," she said, meeting his gaze again. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out my next move." She ran her hand through her hair, leaning her head to one side. "I'm worried."
This time, he was the one to break away. "Yeah." They didn't mention names, but she knew he was thinking of Charlotte and she was willing to let him continue thinking that way. Even though the moment was minimal, the reaction was instant and dramatic, and there was no telling how lasting the damage would be. A silence fell over the table as they returned to their personal thoughts.
----
She was smoking on the balcony when she heard them singing inside. It took her a moment to realize it was one of her ex's favorites, because she had made quite sure to avoid it whenever possible in the three years since they broke up. Making sure to hold her cigarette at arm's length so the smoke wouldn't enter the apartment, she nudged the back door open and asked if they would change the song.
He turned and gaped at her. He didn't know what the song meant.
"No way! I love this song!" Another friend chimed in to vote in favor of letting the song play, and he grinned broadly and waved his arms to emphasize the vote. Despite herself, she laughed. She should have known that only Charlotte would be allowed to ask that a song be changed because of an ex and get away with it. Still, she really despised this song for the same reason, and the alcohol coursing through her veins emboldened her.
"Seriously. I'm calling Charlotte. Change the song," she said before pulling her head back outside and closing the door a little too forcefully behind her. She cringed as the door slammed shut, but she brushed it off with a mental note to comment on the door later. The point was to get the music changed, and since she could no longer hear that song, she had clearly accomplished her goal. After another couple of hits on her cigarette, she put it out and turned to go back inside.
He was standing next to one of their friends. She saw him first and smiled, but the smile fell when he didn't quite return it. She turned to their friend, who sighed and looked pointedly toward the bathroom. Apparently, Charlotte took the comment personally and stormed off to the bathroom to be alone. She went to the room and knocked on the door, but Charlotte refused to let her in or speak to her. After a moment, Charlotte left the bathroom, on the phone and asking for directions from the room at large. Sighing with the knowledge that she had messed up but with no idea how to fix it or if she even could, she stood to the side of the room and supplied instructions for another person to pick Charlotte up from the party.
She folded her arms and stood quietly in the corner while Charlotte told the person on the other end of the call that she would be waiting outside. Another friend followed her, leaving her alone with him. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He picked up his drink and downed what little whisky was remaining in the bottom of the glass. Her night wasn't over, but it would be the last thing he remembered.
----
"I wish this was as appetizing as my brain wants it to be," he said, frowning at his plate. It wasn't very full to begin with, but now there was only a couple bites left.
She picked up her fork and poked at a vegetable. "It's like my brain wants me to eat and says it will taste awesome, but as soon as it hits my tongue, I regret it," she admitted.
"Exactly." Another minute passed in quiet before he tried again to change the subject. "Did I tell you about the video we're making?"
"No, I don't think so," she replied, raising an eyebrow. He seized the chance and started talking about music, cameras, and ideas for a project. She made sure to smile at all the right moments and laugh when it seemed appropriate, but she was barely paying attention. Instead, she watched his face, from the camoflauge hat hiding his hair to the eyes that always seemed bloodshot and tired even when they flashed with excitement to the mouth that seemed to cause more trouble than anyone deserved. His hands moved as he describing placement, and she followed them for a moment, noting the fingernails bitten far too short and remembering the way his arms felt when wrapped around her.
----
"I knew what you meant," he said, watching her slowly pace in uncertainty. She had been so focused on worrying about Charlotte that she forgot he was even in the room.
"I know. She over-reacted, right? I just don't know what I'm going to do," she said, speaking faster than normal. Stress and worry were clearly written all over her face.
He tried to walk over to her, but he stumbled and gave up. When he held his arms out, inviting her in for a hug, she conceded. A voice in her head tried to argue against it, but the need for comfort and a sense of safety drowned it out. She breathed in his scent and mumbled a drunken "thank you" into his shoulder. He shook his head, dismissing her and burying his face in her hair. Together, alone in the living room, they leaned on each other for a moment, not talking.
It occurred to her that she should be grateful, because even if alcohol was to blame, it was a sign of how far they had come in the two years since they first met. She couldn't hide the smile that always appeared when she remembered how he used to count three seconds before pushing her away, making sure that contact was rare and never lasted longer than absolutely necessary. He feared allowing moments like this would invite feelings and things that he worked hard every day to avoid.
Now, he didn't push her away. When she kissed him on the cheek and leaned back, his arms hugged her tighter as his head moved to look her in the eye. She saw his eyes close as he leaned in to press his lips against hers, and she ignored the feeling in the pit of her stomach as she allowed it. They would blame alcohol later. Right now, there was a tongue against hers and it was nothing like the rumors said it would be.
Still, it wasn't like she imagined it would be. She realized that as much as she might care about him and he about her, there was a sense of hard nothingness in the kiss. It wasn't a kiss of love or passion or really anything at all. It felt like something two people do because they've spent so much time caring about each other that it's the next logical step.
And so she braced herself for the letdown and pulled away. She reminded herself that as terrible as it might feel now, they deserved to be kissed for more than logic and whisky. For her, the moment was sobering enough that she was able to stand mostly strong, but the alcohol was still too much for him. Without her to lean against, he slumped to the floor. When they realized she was too weak to help him stand, he laughed halfheartedly and joked that he would crawl to his room.
This only made her hurt more. "Please tell me you're faking and you aren't really this drunk," she begged. The sinking feeling in her stomach returned when he let out a high-pitched giggle and announced that he had found his bedroom door. She pushed it away, realizing tomorrow would mean agreeing that it was a mistake and pretending it was okay that yet another man could only find her attractive when too plastered to realize who she was or what they were doing. Tomorrow would mean trying to deal with the fact that even if she was she and he was he, the level of alcohol in his system meant the argument could be made that she had taken advantage of him.
But that was tomorrow, and tonight she had a drunk friend who couldn't manage to get in his bed. She helped him to the bed, and when he collapsed and asked her to play with his hair, she sighed and said he needed to drink some water. He rolled over to argue. She removed his glasses, placing them on the nightstand as she insisted. Then she left the room to fill a cup and bring it to him.
After she helped him sit up, he dutifully emptied the cup, complaining that it wasn't the "good water."
"I want the one in the bottle," he told her, smiling but unable to keep his eyes open. "The brown water that you hate."
"I'm not getting you more whisky," she responded firmly. She tried to get him to lay back down, but he fell to his side and rolled off the end of the bed instead. When she leaned over to check on him, she was surprised to see him hiding his face. "Come on, now. Let's get you back in bed."
"I can't do it," he said. Something in his voice was off, and she got down on the floor beside him. She reached over to pet his hair, and he dissolved into sobs. Most of it was mumbling, but she was able to piece it together enough to continue the conversation, reminding him that despite what the voices in his head said, he was loved and cared for. That he wasn't alone and all hope was not lost. He continued to cry into his arms, not looking at her, and her heart broke for him. It often did in moments like this, but he would never know that.
----
A waitress came by with the check. They both looked at the total, but when she reached to pay for her half, he refused.
"I owe you," he explained.
She rolled her eyes and said nothing. As they walked to the car, she folded her arms and kept a safe distance. Once the engine was started and they were pulling away from the restaurant, she caught him watching her again.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
She gave him a soft smile, then sighed.
"No," she replied, "but I will be."
Author: imjustdifrent
Summary: A lot happened last night.
Rating: PG-13 for content
Author's Note: Not entirely fictional. A comment was made. A kiss happened. Tears were shed. A meal was shared after. Most of the details have been changed for various reasons. This is unedited and one of the first things I've written in years, so my apologies if it's terrible.
He watched her from across the table. "Are you okay?"
She inhaled sharply, jarred from her thoughts. She met his gaze and contemplated her answer before answering slowly.
"I just have a lot on my mind," she said. It was an excuse, but it was also true. Breaking eye contact, her eyes looked down to his plate, then hers. Neither one of them was really in the mood to eat, especially in a noisy restaurant surrounded by couples and small children fresh from Sunday morning church services, but they needed more than the leftover snack foods in the apartment and going out to eat seemed like a normal activity that made sense when they first discussed it. She picked up her fork, then set it back down.
"What's going on?" he asked. He was trying to help, but it was just another thing that wasn't working the way it would before. Before last year. Before last night.
She sighed, replaying the events in her mind. She couldn't be honest with him, because he would inevitably feel guilty and take all the blame on himself. As much as she enjoyed someone who could accept the blame when it was necessary, it was always hurt to watch him take on the unnecessary blame, too... especially when she was involved. She sighed.
"I don't know," she said, meeting his gaze again. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out my next move." She ran her hand through her hair, leaning her head to one side. "I'm worried."
This time, he was the one to break away. "Yeah." They didn't mention names, but she knew he was thinking of Charlotte and she was willing to let him continue thinking that way. Even though the moment was minimal, the reaction was instant and dramatic, and there was no telling how lasting the damage would be. A silence fell over the table as they returned to their personal thoughts.
----
She was smoking on the balcony when she heard them singing inside. It took her a moment to realize it was one of her ex's favorites, because she had made quite sure to avoid it whenever possible in the three years since they broke up. Making sure to hold her cigarette at arm's length so the smoke wouldn't enter the apartment, she nudged the back door open and asked if they would change the song.
He turned and gaped at her. He didn't know what the song meant.
"No way! I love this song!" Another friend chimed in to vote in favor of letting the song play, and he grinned broadly and waved his arms to emphasize the vote. Despite herself, she laughed. She should have known that only Charlotte would be allowed to ask that a song be changed because of an ex and get away with it. Still, she really despised this song for the same reason, and the alcohol coursing through her veins emboldened her.
"Seriously. I'm calling Charlotte. Change the song," she said before pulling her head back outside and closing the door a little too forcefully behind her. She cringed as the door slammed shut, but she brushed it off with a mental note to comment on the door later. The point was to get the music changed, and since she could no longer hear that song, she had clearly accomplished her goal. After another couple of hits on her cigarette, she put it out and turned to go back inside.
He was standing next to one of their friends. She saw him first and smiled, but the smile fell when he didn't quite return it. She turned to their friend, who sighed and looked pointedly toward the bathroom. Apparently, Charlotte took the comment personally and stormed off to the bathroom to be alone. She went to the room and knocked on the door, but Charlotte refused to let her in or speak to her. After a moment, Charlotte left the bathroom, on the phone and asking for directions from the room at large. Sighing with the knowledge that she had messed up but with no idea how to fix it or if she even could, she stood to the side of the room and supplied instructions for another person to pick Charlotte up from the party.
She folded her arms and stood quietly in the corner while Charlotte told the person on the other end of the call that she would be waiting outside. Another friend followed her, leaving her alone with him. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He picked up his drink and downed what little whisky was remaining in the bottom of the glass. Her night wasn't over, but it would be the last thing he remembered.
----
"I wish this was as appetizing as my brain wants it to be," he said, frowning at his plate. It wasn't very full to begin with, but now there was only a couple bites left.
She picked up her fork and poked at a vegetable. "It's like my brain wants me to eat and says it will taste awesome, but as soon as it hits my tongue, I regret it," she admitted.
"Exactly." Another minute passed in quiet before he tried again to change the subject. "Did I tell you about the video we're making?"
"No, I don't think so," she replied, raising an eyebrow. He seized the chance and started talking about music, cameras, and ideas for a project. She made sure to smile at all the right moments and laugh when it seemed appropriate, but she was barely paying attention. Instead, she watched his face, from the camoflauge hat hiding his hair to the eyes that always seemed bloodshot and tired even when they flashed with excitement to the mouth that seemed to cause more trouble than anyone deserved. His hands moved as he describing placement, and she followed them for a moment, noting the fingernails bitten far too short and remembering the way his arms felt when wrapped around her.
----
"I knew what you meant," he said, watching her slowly pace in uncertainty. She had been so focused on worrying about Charlotte that she forgot he was even in the room.
"I know. She over-reacted, right? I just don't know what I'm going to do," she said, speaking faster than normal. Stress and worry were clearly written all over her face.
He tried to walk over to her, but he stumbled and gave up. When he held his arms out, inviting her in for a hug, she conceded. A voice in her head tried to argue against it, but the need for comfort and a sense of safety drowned it out. She breathed in his scent and mumbled a drunken "thank you" into his shoulder. He shook his head, dismissing her and burying his face in her hair. Together, alone in the living room, they leaned on each other for a moment, not talking.
It occurred to her that she should be grateful, because even if alcohol was to blame, it was a sign of how far they had come in the two years since they first met. She couldn't hide the smile that always appeared when she remembered how he used to count three seconds before pushing her away, making sure that contact was rare and never lasted longer than absolutely necessary. He feared allowing moments like this would invite feelings and things that he worked hard every day to avoid.
Now, he didn't push her away. When she kissed him on the cheek and leaned back, his arms hugged her tighter as his head moved to look her in the eye. She saw his eyes close as he leaned in to press his lips against hers, and she ignored the feeling in the pit of her stomach as she allowed it. They would blame alcohol later. Right now, there was a tongue against hers and it was nothing like the rumors said it would be.
Still, it wasn't like she imagined it would be. She realized that as much as she might care about him and he about her, there was a sense of hard nothingness in the kiss. It wasn't a kiss of love or passion or really anything at all. It felt like something two people do because they've spent so much time caring about each other that it's the next logical step.
And so she braced herself for the letdown and pulled away. She reminded herself that as terrible as it might feel now, they deserved to be kissed for more than logic and whisky. For her, the moment was sobering enough that she was able to stand mostly strong, but the alcohol was still too much for him. Without her to lean against, he slumped to the floor. When they realized she was too weak to help him stand, he laughed halfheartedly and joked that he would crawl to his room.
This only made her hurt more. "Please tell me you're faking and you aren't really this drunk," she begged. The sinking feeling in her stomach returned when he let out a high-pitched giggle and announced that he had found his bedroom door. She pushed it away, realizing tomorrow would mean agreeing that it was a mistake and pretending it was okay that yet another man could only find her attractive when too plastered to realize who she was or what they were doing. Tomorrow would mean trying to deal with the fact that even if she was she and he was he, the level of alcohol in his system meant the argument could be made that she had taken advantage of him.
But that was tomorrow, and tonight she had a drunk friend who couldn't manage to get in his bed. She helped him to the bed, and when he collapsed and asked her to play with his hair, she sighed and said he needed to drink some water. He rolled over to argue. She removed his glasses, placing them on the nightstand as she insisted. Then she left the room to fill a cup and bring it to him.
After she helped him sit up, he dutifully emptied the cup, complaining that it wasn't the "good water."
"I want the one in the bottle," he told her, smiling but unable to keep his eyes open. "The brown water that you hate."
"I'm not getting you more whisky," she responded firmly. She tried to get him to lay back down, but he fell to his side and rolled off the end of the bed instead. When she leaned over to check on him, she was surprised to see him hiding his face. "Come on, now. Let's get you back in bed."
"I can't do it," he said. Something in his voice was off, and she got down on the floor beside him. She reached over to pet his hair, and he dissolved into sobs. Most of it was mumbling, but she was able to piece it together enough to continue the conversation, reminding him that despite what the voices in his head said, he was loved and cared for. That he wasn't alone and all hope was not lost. He continued to cry into his arms, not looking at her, and her heart broke for him. It often did in moments like this, but he would never know that.
----
A waitress came by with the check. They both looked at the total, but when she reached to pay for her half, he refused.
"I owe you," he explained.
She rolled her eyes and said nothing. As they walked to the car, she folded her arms and kept a safe distance. Once the engine was started and they were pulling away from the restaurant, she caught him watching her again.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
She gave him a soft smile, then sighed.
"No," she replied, "but I will be."