day nineteen, twenty, twenty-one
It's the fact that Liam remembers the sound of his arm breaking that makes him call his shrink.
There are many other reasons, reasons that have been hovering back and forth across his consciousness since early October, but it's the crisp memory of that sound that does him in.
He's always been able to remember it, and like he knows that being cruel to Mirek won't make his life any better, he knows that the memory is not even one he should have, let alone focus on. But there it is, the sound of his own bones breaks, echoing throughout his head.
He's seen Mirek a few times since their break. The first was an accident. The subsequent times have been on purpose.
He doesn't know why he tortures himself. Mirek is a good person. He's funny, he's kind, he's level-headed, not to mention how fantastic he is with his hands and mouth. He doesn't fit the traditional ideal of physical appearance, but he's in decent shape and manages to be... well, there's no other way to say it, really. He's cute. And he can certainly pull off "hot" if he puts his mind to it.
The point is, anyway, that Mirek is fantastic and deserves to be happy. And--god, he is. He smiles the way he used to before Liam started to self-destruct. He's back to multitasking and grinning at strangers and the way he looks at his new lover... Liam remembers those looks. It's been a long time since he's seen them.
He looks beautiful and it makes Liam feel tragic and ugly, but he still finds himself wandering by the flowershop and surreptitiously glancing inside. He can't stop himself from wondering what if this is what he could have had if he hadn't been suck a fucking jackass, so broken, such a headcase. He could be raising a fucking child with a man who used to feel like home, but instead he's sneaking around open air markets and reading Valentine's online diary for any tiny reference. He feels stupid, with every new piece of information he obtains. He thinks maybe this is just another form of punishment, surrounding himself with reminders of what he doesn't have, what he could have had.
He spends a lot of time thinking about how pathetic he is, but it doesn't stop him.
But maybe the fact that he remembers the sound of his arm breaking will. Because... He's never really thought about it before, but that's... not right. Just one little drip of wrong in a sea of it, yes, but that, specifically, is what he can't stop thinking about. It's wrong. And now that he does think about it, he's starting realize that maybe he's more messed up than he thought. Maybe there's a reason for all of this.
Maybe he should call his shrink. Maybe he should find out what makes him say vile, cutting things to someone he still loves, at least a little bit, find out what makes him revel in self-sabatoge and what makes him break down every attempt he makes at escaping this life.
It's too late to call tonight, he admits, staring at the ceiling of his living room, holding a beer bottle between his hands. It's been empty for hours, but he hasn't been able to move, too caught up in this... this revelation. It's too late to call tonight, but tomorrow. Tomorrow, instead of walking by the flowershop on his way to work, he'll call his shrink and make an appointment and maybe...
Well, maybe he'll never have to walk by the flowershop again.
There are many other reasons, reasons that have been hovering back and forth across his consciousness since early October, but it's the crisp memory of that sound that does him in.
He's always been able to remember it, and like he knows that being cruel to Mirek won't make his life any better, he knows that the memory is not even one he should have, let alone focus on. But there it is, the sound of his own bones breaks, echoing throughout his head.
He's seen Mirek a few times since their break. The first was an accident. The subsequent times have been on purpose.
He doesn't know why he tortures himself. Mirek is a good person. He's funny, he's kind, he's level-headed, not to mention how fantastic he is with his hands and mouth. He doesn't fit the traditional ideal of physical appearance, but he's in decent shape and manages to be... well, there's no other way to say it, really. He's cute. And he can certainly pull off "hot" if he puts his mind to it.
The point is, anyway, that Mirek is fantastic and deserves to be happy. And--god, he is. He smiles the way he used to before Liam started to self-destruct. He's back to multitasking and grinning at strangers and the way he looks at his new lover... Liam remembers those looks. It's been a long time since he's seen them.
He looks beautiful and it makes Liam feel tragic and ugly, but he still finds himself wandering by the flowershop and surreptitiously glancing inside. He can't stop himself from wondering what if this is what he could have had if he hadn't been suck a fucking jackass, so broken, such a headcase. He could be raising a fucking child with a man who used to feel like home, but instead he's sneaking around open air markets and reading Valentine's online diary for any tiny reference. He feels stupid, with every new piece of information he obtains. He thinks maybe this is just another form of punishment, surrounding himself with reminders of what he doesn't have, what he could have had.
He spends a lot of time thinking about how pathetic he is, but it doesn't stop him.
But maybe the fact that he remembers the sound of his arm breaking will. Because... He's never really thought about it before, but that's... not right. Just one little drip of wrong in a sea of it, yes, but that, specifically, is what he can't stop thinking about. It's wrong. And now that he does think about it, he's starting realize that maybe he's more messed up than he thought. Maybe there's a reason for all of this.
Maybe he should call his shrink. Maybe he should find out what makes him say vile, cutting things to someone he still loves, at least a little bit, find out what makes him revel in self-sabatoge and what makes him break down every attempt he makes at escaping this life.
It's too late to call tonight, he admits, staring at the ceiling of his living room, holding a beer bottle between his hands. It's been empty for hours, but he hasn't been able to move, too caught up in this... this revelation. It's too late to call tonight, but tomorrow. Tomorrow, instead of walking by the flowershop on his way to work, he'll call his shrink and make an appointment and maybe...
Well, maybe he'll never have to walk by the flowershop again.