(no subject)
It doesn't feel like Christmas.
[Private to Ravenclaw Boys]
We should do something. I don't know what, but something, only everything I can think of is just cliched or meaningless or
Fuck, this was a stupid idea.
[private]
I hate this so fucking much. This is supposed to be Christmas and Stephen's here and it's all fucked up instead, and I just wish I could do something to fix it, but it's not, and I can't, and Michael, oh God.
Great. Now I'm stream-of-conciousness-ing like bloody Faulkner.
Mum keeps running around doing things to cheer us up, and it's driving me fucking insane. How the bloody hell is bloody hot chocolate and marshmallows going to help? But she's trying, and I guess that's the main thing.
I can't talk to Stephen about it. How can I tell him? I hated Terry. God, I hated him so much. He was so damn perfect, him and Anthony and Michael, and now he's dead gone dead and everyone's crying over it, and if I died no-one would give a shit, I know it. And what kind of person gets jealous that someone else is a fucking corpse?
And I miss him too and I wonder why and God I wish I hadn't been such a dickhead last time I talked to him, and maybe we could have been friends, and he said we were, or he implied it, or something, and I'm fucking doing it again, fucking bloody fucking hell!
I want to forget about it, just curl up with Stephen and not care for a while. Only if I tried, Stephen would shove me away. And I'd deserve it.
[Private to Ravenclaw Boys]
We should do something. I don't know what, but something, only everything I can think of is just cliched or meaningless or
Fuck, this was a stupid idea.
[private]
I hate this so fucking much. This is supposed to be Christmas and Stephen's here and it's all fucked up instead, and I just wish I could do something to fix it, but it's not, and I can't, and Michael, oh God.
Great. Now I'm stream-of-conciousness-ing like bloody Faulkner.
Mum keeps running around doing things to cheer us up, and it's driving me fucking insane. How the bloody hell is bloody hot chocolate and marshmallows going to help? But she's trying, and I guess that's the main thing.
I can't talk to Stephen about it. How can I tell him? I hated Terry. God, I hated him so much. He was so damn perfect, him and Anthony and Michael, and now he's dead gone dead and everyone's crying over it, and if I died no-one would give a shit, I know it. And what kind of person gets jealous that someone else is a fucking corpse?
And I miss him too and I wonder why and God I wish I hadn't been such a dickhead last time I talked to him, and maybe we could have been friends, and he said we were, or he implied it, or something, and I'm fucking doing it again, fucking bloody fucking hell!
I want to forget about it, just curl up with Stephen and not care for a while. Only if I tried, Stephen would shove me away. And I'd deserve it.