Just For Funsies
So here are some snippets from upcoming chapters of "Because You Left." I do not have quite the backlog of unposted material that I had when I started, but I do have three and a half chapters to mine. These excerpts may or may not be in any sort of chronological order, and they are more about the teasing than they are about the pleasing. So while they're still spoilery, they will almost certainly be more confusing than they are helpful.
"Tomorrow's his birthday."
"Oh yeah?" Charlie glances down at Ben; the boy gives him a small, hesitant nod. "Excellent. We'll have some of the other students come around, make a party out of it, you know. Bake a cake or something. Sound like a plan to you, Ben?"
Ben swallows hard, looking at his father, and doesn't say anything at all.
*
"Oh, he'll be back," Brittany says, confidently, from the back of the group -- when Artie and Mike turn to look at her, she quickly stares down at the floor. "I mean, I'm pretty sure he'll be back. It's not like I know, or anything, because I know exactly the same things as everyone else knows, but... I have a feeling. You know. Like ESPN."
*
"You don't look ruined to me," Burt says, feeling awkward and clumsy for saying it. But the thing is, there's nothing else he can say, and he's gotta say something. Ben's putting a hell of a lot of himself out on the line; Burt has to at least say something back to him.
Ben shrugs, and drops his eyes back down to his lap. "I wouldn't be too sure about that," he says.
"Yeah, well. I would. And I am."
*
Juliet takes a deep breath, considers another glass of wine, decides to hold off for the moment. "I need to tell you something," she says, quietly. "None of the others know."
Sayid glances at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I'm listening."
*
When Charles doesn't answer him right away, Ben takes the opportunity to press on, inexorable. "You broke the rules, Charles," he says, still staring out the window at the parking lot below him. So many cars, so many people. Any one of them could be working for Charles; any one could be a spy, an assassin, a kidnapper... But they aren't. He knows that now. "Tell me, what did you think would happen? When Ethan discovered your little secret? What did you think he would do?"
"Ethan," Charles says, his voice cracking just a little bit, "has no right to judge me. Nor do you."
"I have every right," Ben says, lifting his eyes to look at his own reflection in the glass.
*
"Santana," she says, her voice quiet and firm and somehow sad, and she almost doesn't sound like Coach Sue at all. And it's stupid, and it's crazy, and it's totally pointless, but all Santana can think right now is that she'd give anything to be called Funbags or Boobs McGee or Cuban-American Barbie right now. Not her name. Anything but her name.
"Santana, I want you to do what Mr. Anderson says. Okay?"
She takes a deep breath in and swallows hard, her sweaty, slippery hands tightening instinctively around the gun.
*
(WE ARE THE CAUSES OF OUR OWN SUFFERING)
Someone is talking to him, but it's backwards, backwards, he doesn't understand; he doesn't understand why it's all so loud, he doesn't understand why he can't just close his eyes --
(abandoned swings, still in motion, but with the children all gone and why are they gone?)
(GOD LOVES YOU AS HE LOVED JACOB.)
More screaming, and God, he just wants to close --
(the numbers, always changing, always the same)
(the numbers)
He opens his eyes.
"Tomorrow's his birthday."
"Oh yeah?" Charlie glances down at Ben; the boy gives him a small, hesitant nod. "Excellent. We'll have some of the other students come around, make a party out of it, you know. Bake a cake or something. Sound like a plan to you, Ben?"
Ben swallows hard, looking at his father, and doesn't say anything at all.
*
"Oh, he'll be back," Brittany says, confidently, from the back of the group -- when Artie and Mike turn to look at her, she quickly stares down at the floor. "I mean, I'm pretty sure he'll be back. It's not like I know, or anything, because I know exactly the same things as everyone else knows, but... I have a feeling. You know. Like ESPN."
*
"You don't look ruined to me," Burt says, feeling awkward and clumsy for saying it. But the thing is, there's nothing else he can say, and he's gotta say something. Ben's putting a hell of a lot of himself out on the line; Burt has to at least say something back to him.
Ben shrugs, and drops his eyes back down to his lap. "I wouldn't be too sure about that," he says.
"Yeah, well. I would. And I am."
*
Juliet takes a deep breath, considers another glass of wine, decides to hold off for the moment. "I need to tell you something," she says, quietly. "None of the others know."
Sayid glances at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I'm listening."
*
When Charles doesn't answer him right away, Ben takes the opportunity to press on, inexorable. "You broke the rules, Charles," he says, still staring out the window at the parking lot below him. So many cars, so many people. Any one of them could be working for Charles; any one could be a spy, an assassin, a kidnapper... But they aren't. He knows that now. "Tell me, what did you think would happen? When Ethan discovered your little secret? What did you think he would do?"
"Ethan," Charles says, his voice cracking just a little bit, "has no right to judge me. Nor do you."
"I have every right," Ben says, lifting his eyes to look at his own reflection in the glass.
*
"Santana," she says, her voice quiet and firm and somehow sad, and she almost doesn't sound like Coach Sue at all. And it's stupid, and it's crazy, and it's totally pointless, but all Santana can think right now is that she'd give anything to be called Funbags or Boobs McGee or Cuban-American Barbie right now. Not her name. Anything but her name.
"Santana, I want you to do what Mr. Anderson says. Okay?"
She takes a deep breath in and swallows hard, her sweaty, slippery hands tightening instinctively around the gun.
*
(WE ARE THE CAUSES OF OUR OWN SUFFERING)
Someone is talking to him, but it's backwards, backwards, he doesn't understand; he doesn't understand why it's all so loud, he doesn't understand why he can't just close his eyes --
(abandoned swings, still in motion, but with the children all gone and why are they gone?)
(GOD LOVES YOU AS HE LOVED JACOB.)
More screaming, and God, he just wants to close --
(the numbers, always changing, always the same)
(the numbers)
He opens his eyes.