(no subject)
Most of you will have absolutely no idea what this is about. Just ignore it.
The bed sunk under his weight as he tumbled down upon it, face awash with tears and ruin. All that was important was lost in his life, and it was his entire fault. He could have done so many things differently, but he hadn’t. He had watched the one man he cared about above all others slip away and leave his life. Arms slipping around his knees, he rocked himself, even as he compressed his body into as small of a space as possible.
He needed someone to talk to, but there was no one. Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the tears clinging to his top lip. His bottom lip was clamped firmly between his teeth where they were worrying it. Slowly the lip was gnawed raw and blood welled up in the spot. Numb. It was the only way he could describe his feelings.
The scene of Jon telling him to go back inside lest Jon said something he didn’t mean played over and over in his mind. He wanted to believe there was hope for the two of them, but that had been shattered with the key falling from Jon’s hand. It was still sitting there for all he knew; he didn’t care. What did it matter, if he had no one to give it to? It was his own fault, but that didn’t ease the pain. It actually made it worse. He had hurt Jon when he only ever wanted to make him happy.
A shaky hand came up and wiped at the mess of liquids on his face. He ended up just smearing them more, but at least the tears didn’t tickle-itch his face anymore. He shivered, eyes clenching tightly shut. Still tears squeezed out in a steady stream. He couldn’t remember crying this hard since his granddaddy had died when he was seven. Thinking about that didn’t help the situation, just made it worse.
He fell to his side, curling up as small as he could get, and it still wasn’t small enough because he was still there. He wanted a black hole to swallow him but had to wonder if even that would help the pain. He doubted it. Right now he needed to be held and reassured that everything would work out for the best. Even in his pain he was too practical. It wouldn’t be okay, but it would work.
He wanted someone to come find him and hold him, but that wouldn’t happen. He had pretty much run off all his friends. Jon was out for obvious reasons, Elijah because Darien was probably the last person he wanted to see, and Max because he had a Him and didn’t want to have him worry about spilled milk.
The shrill of the phone made him gasp and jump. Thirty minutes. Hope began to rise, and he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed it. Maybe Jon had decided he wanted to talk? “Hello?” His voice was thick with tears and sounded muffled.
“Darien?” Not Jon, not even Max. His father. “What’s wrong son? Are you hurt?”
He could only swallow and choke on tears. He couldn’t do this right now. His parents didn’t even know about Jon. Having grown up taught the value of respect, he made a sketchy, “I’m sorry. Bye,” then hung up, phone turned off.
The desire to kick and break things was strong, but in the end he just curled up and cried more. His body was racked with tears, eyes and cheeks puffy and swollen from crying. He looked more than a little bad. The thought of overdosing on antidepressants sounded good, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He fell asleep in that locked poison, body tense and tight around himself.
An hour later found him waking, stiff and sore, to a hand brushing hair off his face. A glimmer of hope and he looked up, wanting so badly for it to be Jon. No suck luck. The tears flooded his face, and his father cradled and rocked him like he was a smile child, again. He let it happen, clinging and taking the offered comfort.
Never once did his father speak and ask him how he was or what was wrong. He loved his father for that and held onto him for a moment longer before allowing the story to spill from his lips. The silence from his father was interspersed with fronts and noises for him to continue. When the story was all out, every last detail-he had trouble not admitting everything to his father-the sat in silence for a while longer as his father thought it though.
Finally an answer came. “Do you love Jon?”
It wasn’t what he had been expecting and he answered without thinking about it. “I’m pretty sure I do.” Then doubts had time to set in. “I’m not sure I’ve known Jon long enough to say I love him. I know I care deeply …” his words were cut off by a gentle finger to his lips.
His father just looked at him. “If you don’t love him it’s very close. I’ve never seen you respond in such a way to someone. It could just be shock and disbelief, but I don’t believe it. You didn’t respond this way when Chad broke up with you.” He held up a hand to forestall protests then continued.
“You were with him for three years, thought your entire life revolved around him. Even then you didn’t react this badly. This one is special or you wouldn’t be this upset for dating him a relatively shot amount of time. Can you say that you’ve kept the relationship from me all that long?” He was willing to wager a month or less.
A quiet sigh and he had to agree. “A fortnight, maybe three weeks.” He looked up at his father, trying on a small smile and finding it fit. “I do love him,” he whispered, watching his father’s face carefully.
No reaction except for a nod of his head. “Moping about the situation won’t do any anything.” His voice was firm on this point. “Sitting here won’t convince Jon you’re telling the truth and didn’t sleep with Elijah and cheat on him. The fact that the other was laying on top of you and got off and that you stripped for him hits the gray areas.”
He winced at the all too accurate assessment. He could have spoken except his daddy walked in and handed him a glass of orange juice and his pill. There was no point getting offended or pretending he’d already taking it. Darien just took it for granted his parents knew these things (his daddy kept up with the pills because he was the one to order his son more). With a grimace of disgust for the juice, he swallowed it and the pill.
It was a pleasant surprise to find the juice diluted. Why did he think that his daddy would forget these things? It had yet to happen. “Thank you,” he whispered, finally moving off his father’s lap and sitting on the bed.
Once the pill had been swallowed, his daddy left, returning with a warm washcloth. He shot his husband a glance then moved onto the other side of his son. Strong fingers gripped his chin and held his face still then began to gently clean it. He would have relaxed under the gentle touches except for the tension in the air. It was as though his parents were communicating above his head. He wished they’d just spit it out.
“You have a lot of … beverages … in your kitchen.” He swallowed hard at his father’s words, now wishing his parents were still having their silent conversation.
“I do.” He wanted to defend himself by saying he could, that he was twenty-one and legal. The words stuck in his throat.
His daddy released his face now that it was clean of the dried fluids. The pregnant man left the room, taking the empty glass with him to wash. They all knew Darien was closer and more open with his father. The door to his room closed with a gentle click and he faced his father, having a hard time keeping his head up under the weight of that gaze.
“You are on anti-depressants. Alcohol and anti-depressants don’t mix.” That calm voice. He wasn’t accusing with his words, but the tone of his voice did that just fine.
He hunched up his neck. “I don’t drink often.” But his mind wondered why he’d restocked his collection so fast. A flush rose to his cheeks.
Fingers under his chin tilted his head up. “Your daddy and I are taking the alcohol. You don’t need it normally, and you especially don’t need it now.” A note of finality that just had him nodding.
Sometimes it was hard for him to argue, or he knew he shouldn’t, so he didn’t. A quiet sigh. “It really hurts. I feel like a piece of me has been run through a wood chipper. He made me smile by just being around. I gave him a house key, and that’s what caused this. Yet, I don’t regret him having it in the least. I … I just wish he’d kept it.” Tears threatened but didn’t spill over. He was just as glad. He didn’t know if he would be able to deal with another bout of tears so soon.
A gentle hand on his back. “I know, son. You have to go after him, not pine over him. Give Jon a few days to calm down then go talk to him again. You can’t be a coward about your feelings. For now, go see some people. Staying cooped up won’t help. It’ll just make everything worse for you. Go see Max or another friend.” He removed his hand, giving his son an encouraging smile.
He could only nod; glad his father gave him such sound advice. They both stood and headed to the living room. His daddy sat on the couch, rubbing his stomach. “What are you going to name him?” Maybe having a little brother wouldn’t be so bad.
“Gabriel Joseph.” His daddy’s voice was sweet and happy as he said that.
He made a face. “What’s with the ‘J’ middle names? At least his won’t cause people to make fun of him. Jervis?”
His father rolled his eyes. “Have some respect. That was Daddy’s Poppa’s name. Jervis Walter.” That didn’t make him feel better, but a small part of him felt special to be named after his daddy’s poppa. He managed a small smile.
“Fine, fine. Jervis is a good name. Why Joseph?” His daddy spoke this time. “Your father’s poppa’s name. Joseph Lee.” The two seemed to know each other forward and backward. He wanted someone to grow old with like that, not that he was wanting to settle down any time soon. Too young still.
Before an uneasy silence could fill the room, his father picked up the bags of alcohol. “We’re going to head out. Remember that if you need anything to call.”
He could only nod, glad for his parents. His arms wrapped around his daddy, whispering in his ear. “I love you and thank you. I want to be there when my brother’s born.” A smile spread over the pregnant man’s face, making him look younger than thirty-six.
Turning to his father, he awkwardly hugged him around the bags. “Thank you. I’m glad you came over.” A small smile. “I’ll try to visit more often.” A thought, then. “Maybe after Gabe is born we can go out to dinner? As a family?” His father nodded, and that made him feel good, too.
Darien nodded as he watched his father leave. His father was right. He had to get out and do something. Staying inside all this time wasn't good for him, especially not now, not after what had happened. It was times like these when he was reminded why he loved his father so much. His phone was with him, but he just didn't have the energy to use it to call Max. Sliding into clothing for the first time today, after a real quick shower, he got himself ready and left. His eyes were still red and puffy, voice harsh from the tears, but he couldn't help that. At least when he went outside the spare key wasn't on the ground. There wasn't that harsh reminder. Probably his Daddy's doing.
The bed sunk under his weight as he tumbled down upon it, face awash with tears and ruin. All that was important was lost in his life, and it was his entire fault. He could have done so many things differently, but he hadn’t. He had watched the one man he cared about above all others slip away and leave his life. Arms slipping around his knees, he rocked himself, even as he compressed his body into as small of a space as possible.
He needed someone to talk to, but there was no one. Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the tears clinging to his top lip. His bottom lip was clamped firmly between his teeth where they were worrying it. Slowly the lip was gnawed raw and blood welled up in the spot. Numb. It was the only way he could describe his feelings.
The scene of Jon telling him to go back inside lest Jon said something he didn’t mean played over and over in his mind. He wanted to believe there was hope for the two of them, but that had been shattered with the key falling from Jon’s hand. It was still sitting there for all he knew; he didn’t care. What did it matter, if he had no one to give it to? It was his own fault, but that didn’t ease the pain. It actually made it worse. He had hurt Jon when he only ever wanted to make him happy.
A shaky hand came up and wiped at the mess of liquids on his face. He ended up just smearing them more, but at least the tears didn’t tickle-itch his face anymore. He shivered, eyes clenching tightly shut. Still tears squeezed out in a steady stream. He couldn’t remember crying this hard since his granddaddy had died when he was seven. Thinking about that didn’t help the situation, just made it worse.
He fell to his side, curling up as small as he could get, and it still wasn’t small enough because he was still there. He wanted a black hole to swallow him but had to wonder if even that would help the pain. He doubted it. Right now he needed to be held and reassured that everything would work out for the best. Even in his pain he was too practical. It wouldn’t be okay, but it would work.
He wanted someone to come find him and hold him, but that wouldn’t happen. He had pretty much run off all his friends. Jon was out for obvious reasons, Elijah because Darien was probably the last person he wanted to see, and Max because he had a Him and didn’t want to have him worry about spilled milk.
The shrill of the phone made him gasp and jump. Thirty minutes. Hope began to rise, and he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed it. Maybe Jon had decided he wanted to talk? “Hello?” His voice was thick with tears and sounded muffled.
“Darien?” Not Jon, not even Max. His father. “What’s wrong son? Are you hurt?”
He could only swallow and choke on tears. He couldn’t do this right now. His parents didn’t even know about Jon. Having grown up taught the value of respect, he made a sketchy, “I’m sorry. Bye,” then hung up, phone turned off.
The desire to kick and break things was strong, but in the end he just curled up and cried more. His body was racked with tears, eyes and cheeks puffy and swollen from crying. He looked more than a little bad. The thought of overdosing on antidepressants sounded good, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He fell asleep in that locked poison, body tense and tight around himself.
An hour later found him waking, stiff and sore, to a hand brushing hair off his face. A glimmer of hope and he looked up, wanting so badly for it to be Jon. No suck luck. The tears flooded his face, and his father cradled and rocked him like he was a smile child, again. He let it happen, clinging and taking the offered comfort.
Never once did his father speak and ask him how he was or what was wrong. He loved his father for that and held onto him for a moment longer before allowing the story to spill from his lips. The silence from his father was interspersed with fronts and noises for him to continue. When the story was all out, every last detail-he had trouble not admitting everything to his father-the sat in silence for a while longer as his father thought it though.
Finally an answer came. “Do you love Jon?”
It wasn’t what he had been expecting and he answered without thinking about it. “I’m pretty sure I do.” Then doubts had time to set in. “I’m not sure I’ve known Jon long enough to say I love him. I know I care deeply …” his words were cut off by a gentle finger to his lips.
His father just looked at him. “If you don’t love him it’s very close. I’ve never seen you respond in such a way to someone. It could just be shock and disbelief, but I don’t believe it. You didn’t respond this way when Chad broke up with you.” He held up a hand to forestall protests then continued.
“You were with him for three years, thought your entire life revolved around him. Even then you didn’t react this badly. This one is special or you wouldn’t be this upset for dating him a relatively shot amount of time. Can you say that you’ve kept the relationship from me all that long?” He was willing to wager a month or less.
A quiet sigh and he had to agree. “A fortnight, maybe three weeks.” He looked up at his father, trying on a small smile and finding it fit. “I do love him,” he whispered, watching his father’s face carefully.
No reaction except for a nod of his head. “Moping about the situation won’t do any anything.” His voice was firm on this point. “Sitting here won’t convince Jon you’re telling the truth and didn’t sleep with Elijah and cheat on him. The fact that the other was laying on top of you and got off and that you stripped for him hits the gray areas.”
He winced at the all too accurate assessment. He could have spoken except his daddy walked in and handed him a glass of orange juice and his pill. There was no point getting offended or pretending he’d already taking it. Darien just took it for granted his parents knew these things (his daddy kept up with the pills because he was the one to order his son more). With a grimace of disgust for the juice, he swallowed it and the pill.
It was a pleasant surprise to find the juice diluted. Why did he think that his daddy would forget these things? It had yet to happen. “Thank you,” he whispered, finally moving off his father’s lap and sitting on the bed.
Once the pill had been swallowed, his daddy left, returning with a warm washcloth. He shot his husband a glance then moved onto the other side of his son. Strong fingers gripped his chin and held his face still then began to gently clean it. He would have relaxed under the gentle touches except for the tension in the air. It was as though his parents were communicating above his head. He wished they’d just spit it out.
“You have a lot of … beverages … in your kitchen.” He swallowed hard at his father’s words, now wishing his parents were still having their silent conversation.
“I do.” He wanted to defend himself by saying he could, that he was twenty-one and legal. The words stuck in his throat.
His daddy released his face now that it was clean of the dried fluids. The pregnant man left the room, taking the empty glass with him to wash. They all knew Darien was closer and more open with his father. The door to his room closed with a gentle click and he faced his father, having a hard time keeping his head up under the weight of that gaze.
“You are on anti-depressants. Alcohol and anti-depressants don’t mix.” That calm voice. He wasn’t accusing with his words, but the tone of his voice did that just fine.
He hunched up his neck. “I don’t drink often.” But his mind wondered why he’d restocked his collection so fast. A flush rose to his cheeks.
Fingers under his chin tilted his head up. “Your daddy and I are taking the alcohol. You don’t need it normally, and you especially don’t need it now.” A note of finality that just had him nodding.
Sometimes it was hard for him to argue, or he knew he shouldn’t, so he didn’t. A quiet sigh. “It really hurts. I feel like a piece of me has been run through a wood chipper. He made me smile by just being around. I gave him a house key, and that’s what caused this. Yet, I don’t regret him having it in the least. I … I just wish he’d kept it.” Tears threatened but didn’t spill over. He was just as glad. He didn’t know if he would be able to deal with another bout of tears so soon.
A gentle hand on his back. “I know, son. You have to go after him, not pine over him. Give Jon a few days to calm down then go talk to him again. You can’t be a coward about your feelings. For now, go see some people. Staying cooped up won’t help. It’ll just make everything worse for you. Go see Max or another friend.” He removed his hand, giving his son an encouraging smile.
He could only nod; glad his father gave him such sound advice. They both stood and headed to the living room. His daddy sat on the couch, rubbing his stomach. “What are you going to name him?” Maybe having a little brother wouldn’t be so bad.
“Gabriel Joseph.” His daddy’s voice was sweet and happy as he said that.
He made a face. “What’s with the ‘J’ middle names? At least his won’t cause people to make fun of him. Jervis?”
His father rolled his eyes. “Have some respect. That was Daddy’s Poppa’s name. Jervis Walter.” That didn’t make him feel better, but a small part of him felt special to be named after his daddy’s poppa. He managed a small smile.
“Fine, fine. Jervis is a good name. Why Joseph?” His daddy spoke this time. “Your father’s poppa’s name. Joseph Lee.” The two seemed to know each other forward and backward. He wanted someone to grow old with like that, not that he was wanting to settle down any time soon. Too young still.
Before an uneasy silence could fill the room, his father picked up the bags of alcohol. “We’re going to head out. Remember that if you need anything to call.”
He could only nod, glad for his parents. His arms wrapped around his daddy, whispering in his ear. “I love you and thank you. I want to be there when my brother’s born.” A smile spread over the pregnant man’s face, making him look younger than thirty-six.
Turning to his father, he awkwardly hugged him around the bags. “Thank you. I’m glad you came over.” A small smile. “I’ll try to visit more often.” A thought, then. “Maybe after Gabe is born we can go out to dinner? As a family?” His father nodded, and that made him feel good, too.
Darien nodded as he watched his father leave. His father was right. He had to get out and do something. Staying inside all this time wasn't good for him, especially not now, not after what had happened. It was times like these when he was reminded why he loved his father so much. His phone was with him, but he just didn't have the energy to use it to call Max. Sliding into clothing for the first time today, after a real quick shower, he got himself ready and left. His eyes were still red and puffy, voice harsh from the tears, but he couldn't help that. At least when he went outside the spare key wasn't on the ground. There wasn't that harsh reminder. Probably his Daddy's doing.