12 - Coming full circle
Dearest Anons,
In five days (on May 8, 2011) this meme will have existed for a whole year.
It is an extraordinary achievement, your extraordinary achievement, to have kept this going well and alive for so long. With thousands of fics and comments, this meme is one of (if not the) most amazing thing I've ever come across. Not only the amount of fic ( Read more... )
In five days (on May 8, 2011) this meme will have existed for a whole year.
It is an extraordinary achievement, your extraordinary achievement, to have kept this going well and alive for so long. With thousands of fics and comments, this meme is one of (if not the) most amazing thing I've ever come across. Not only the amount of fic ( Read more... )
Each step sends bolts of dull pain through his body, he can feel the bruises forming on his chest, his arms his thighs… with every step his anger and hatred builds.
He hates this. Hates the pain, hates that this happened, hates that he let this happen…
He finally reaches the tube platforms and the adrenaline is wearing off fast. Its late and the platform is deserted, a train pulls in within seconds of his arrival and he boards the least full carriage.
The adrenaline wanes as the train hurtles through the darkness towards home, towards safety, towards Ed, oh fuck Ed and the exhaustion and pain crash over him in never-ending waves and he feels like he is drowning. He leans against the frustratingly warm glass of the carriage doors, closes his eyes and waits for a death he wholly expects in that moment to come.
It’s a quick hop to Waterloo and somehow he arrives alive. He takes a deep breath as the doors open and a blast of cold air from a train travelling in the opposite directing blasts through him setting every nerve ending on fire, an agonizing reminder of his continuing existence.
He walks as fast as he is able along the moving walkway that connects the Jubilee line to the Northern line feeling comfortably disconnected in seemingly endless, empty tunnel, just for a moment he is somewhere else, where this didn’t just happen to him and the rest of the world doesn’t exist, Ed doesn’t exist and it is better that way.
The sound of a group of drunken louts shouting insults at one another as they stumble onto the walkway headed in the opposite direction shatters the illusion, their voices rumble through his head like thunder as everything floods back and he momentarily forgets how to breath.
Andy’s never thought as much of death in his life as much as he has in the last thirty-five minutes and never welcomed such thoughts. Death used to be a big, terrifying, awful thing, something to fight against with all he was worth, but now, now it would be easier.
He sucks in a deep breath, and revels in the sensation, the sharp jolt that overrides the dull ache that has been with him since it happened as his ribs cracked and bruised expand to accommodate his lungs. If God, or whoever the fuck is in control of who lives and who dies won’t let him die wont give him peace then he wants the pain, he deserves it.
He reaches the Northern line platforms just in time to see the tail end of a Morden bound train snake out of the station and suddenly he is at a loss, stuck, it was okay when he was moving, but now he must wait this must be what purgatory is like.
People trickle onto the platform as seconds that feel like days tick by and they are too loud, too present. He feels exposed and unsafe as people shuffle around him, he wants to run but his feet are firmly rooted to the floor, he wants Ed, Ed is safe and strong, he never wants to see Ed again, because that would be easier but he doesn’t deserve easy.
The train finally arrives and he boards, the sound of two teenage girls laughing and playing crap music on an iPhone sends jolt after jolt of unrelenting agony through his brain.
The ride is mercifully short and suddenly he is outside. It is silent in the streets around the Oval tonight and it feels like death, the cool stiff air feels wrong in his lungs as he walks, hunched and pained towards his flat.
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He is suddenly acutely aware of how unclean he feels and the taste of blood in his mouth, the scent of iron and ammonia fills his nostrils and he wants to vomit. He walks climbs the three flights of stairs to his apartment breathless and gasping and his hands shake as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and opens the door, he steps inside, expecting to feel somehow different, safer, better, but he doesn’t and it feels like the worst thing he’s ever felt, worse than Ed, Frankie, his children, his parents and his brothers all dying on the same day England loses The Ashes and Everton gets relegated from the Premier League.
Everything else he feels, the anger, the guilt, the frustration, the shame, the pain melt away into resignation as he wanders aimlessly towards the shower, knowing that a fucking shower will change nothing.
He turns the water on, in the shower on, scalding hot, and climbs into the cubicle watching fascinated as the water turns pale pink as it mixes with the blood from his wounds. The heat brings relief then pain and finally fades away as he stands under the torrent of water unmoving, not knowing what to do next, the water turns ice and he shivers but does not move. It is then that a door slams, he knows what is coming but does nothing to stop it, can do nothing to stop it. He holds his breath and waits.
“Andy.” Ed says, staring.
Andy’s world crashes down.
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There wasn't going to be more but an Idea for a companion piece from Ed's perspective has lodged in my brain, it should be up at some point today.
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It will be a good night and he knows it will be the last good night they’ll have in a while. His pace slows as he thinks about what is to come. Tomorrow he has to tell Andy, and he’ll be the one to do it because palming it off to a staffer would be cuntish, that there isn’t enough money in his imaginary budget to fund the aged care services Andy so desperately wants to develop. Being out of power is shit. Being in power isn’t much better really. No matter how hard you try things never really change but being out of power is so much worse, especially for him, people get creative in opposition, they generate brilliant ideas, ideas that could really change things and its his job to tell them that there is no money to fund them. Opposition isn’t really the right word for what they are doing, in most realms where two groups of people oppose one another there is a chance that either could win, its not like that for them though, the balance of power is stacked against them to such an extent that no matter how much of a fight they put up the result never changes, they always lose.
Ed reaches Andy’s (his? He hasn’t slept at his Stoke Newington place in months) apartment block, the lights aren’t on and he resigns himself to a night alone, as he slowly he climbs the stairs, his legs becoming more leaden with each step as exhaustion creeps in.
He unlocks the front door and his spirits lift as he registers the sound of the shower and the dim strips of light seeping from the cracks around the bathroom door. He flips on the sitting room light, puts the beer in the fridge, removes his jacket and belt, he had planned on ending the evening with sex but starting with it wouldn’t be half bad.
He enters the bathroom expecting to find Andy, his Andy standing under a jet of steaming water, hair lathered up with shampoo waters running in rivulets along acres of creamy pale perfect skin begging to be sucked, licked, marked.
The sight that greets him is shocking, unbelievable, confounding. Andy is standing, shivering under water that gives off no heat, his body bruised and bloody, his body slumped forward and his eyes hollow, a trail of fresh blood snakes down his upper left thigh. A million thoughts run through Ed’s mind, most of them too horrific to give voice too. He stands there for a moment, paralyzed, staring, before he finds his voice, “Andy.”
Andy doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge his presence and Ed is at a loss, unsure of how to proceed. It feels odd. He feels odd, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin. Andy shivers and he is spurned into action, he opens the shower door and shuts off the taps, Andy makes no attempt to stop him, makes no attempt to move and it is terrifying. Andy is a fighter, he is in constant motion even in his sleep, always active, never passive to see him like this is wrong, clearly he has fallen asleep on the Tube ride home and this is all an awful dream, except its not.
His first instinct is to ask exactly what the fuck has happened, even though he can guess and who the fuck did it so he can rip their nuts off but that will bring only temporary comfort, and will do nothing to help Andy. He has no fucking idea how to help Andy and its fucked. His second instinct is to run. He can do nothing to help Andy, anything he tries is just going to end up fucking things up, leaving would be better but he can’t. He loves Andy and this is an impossible situation so he stands and waits.
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Ed places the robe around Andy's shoulders and Andy flinches, relief floods through Ed’s veins as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Its small but its something, a sign that Andy still feels something. Andy is still too passive as Ed pulls him out of the shower, careful not to touch any obvious bruises or cuts but there is something in his eyes that tells Ed that Andy is still in there somewhere.
Ed sits Andy on their bed and dries his hair using a towel he finds strewn over a chair and finds Andy some pajamas which Andy makes no attempt to put on.
Ed sits beside him and feels helpless.
The room is dark, the only light being provided by the streetlights outside and the silence is deafening, Ed’s never really understood that turn of phrase before but now it makes perfect sense. Beside him Andy breathes in and out, deliberately slow and controlled.
Ed’s legs twitch, the urge to run is returning.
Out of the blue Andy speaks, his voice too soft, too controlled. “I’m sorry.”
Ed’s mind runs wild, why the fuck is Andy apologizing?
“I’ve ruined everything,” he says with no emotion and it is Ed who cracks, a tear trickling down his cheek.
Ed shakes his head defiant, “ you don’t need to apologize to me, you’ve ruined nothing,” Ed says, anger creeping into his tone. He fucking hates this.
Andy says nothing, doesn’t move.
“You must be exhausted,” Ed says as he becomes aware of the effort it is taking to remain sitting upright.
Andy nods slightly.
“I can sleep on the couch…” Ed begins reluctantly, not knowing if it is the right thing to say.
”Stay,” Andy says
“Okay.”
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Thanks for writing this, anon. I just want to hug them both.
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