a time to remember
Andrew Kendall Reacts to Pete and Carl's Relationship or Lack Thereof.
which is a continuation of this.
Roger Sargent's voice cracked as he uttered the words. "Andrew. . .it's Pete and Carl."
"What?" said AK. Roger's voice was very soft. "Roger? Speak up, what's wrong?"
"The Libertines," Roger wept. "They're done."
The line went dead.
Hours later AK found himself on the floor of his apartment in a sea of smashed teacups, holding a bottle of gin and a butter knife.
"My life," he said to the ceiling, "is meaningless."
He brought the butter knife over his stomach and pressed the tip on his stomach. He was shirtless and a bit bloody from smashing all the teacups. The pressure on his tummy felt good. Sighing, he took a last swig of gin from the bottle.
"Goodbye cruel world," he said aloud, and wondered if he should leave a suicide note. No. The stack of prints from various Libertine gigs spread out across the room around him would suffice.
"My whole life," he mumbled and with no little force, stabbed the butter knife into his stomach. Being a butter knife and therefore very blunt, he only managed to knock the breath out of himself and cause severe pain in his abdomen.
"HAYYY!" a familiar voice called from the hall. "An-drew! Let me in!"
AK groaned. He might just recover from the shame if he got an ice pack within the next 5 minutes and was at the hospital within 10.
"Help. . ." he moaned.
"Andrew! I'm coming in!"
There was a scream as Barry threw open the door. "ANDREW FUCKING KENDALL!" he shouted running to AK and dropping to his knees. Under any other circumstances, AK might have enjoyed such readiness from Barry. "What have you done!" cried Barry. "You stupid boy!"
AK closed his eyes. He felt as though he were dying (and maybe he was, he reasoned. He was probably bleeding internally.) and all he could think about was how that was an awful color on Barry. Really, just atrocious. Who gave him that shirt?
"Don't worry," said Barry softly, a moment later. AK opened his eyes. Barry kissed his forehead. "I'll take care of you." He had the phone in his hand already. "Everything is going to be alright.
which is a continuation of this.
Roger Sargent's voice cracked as he uttered the words. "Andrew. . .it's Pete and Carl."
"What?" said AK. Roger's voice was very soft. "Roger? Speak up, what's wrong?"
"The Libertines," Roger wept. "They're done."
The line went dead.
Hours later AK found himself on the floor of his apartment in a sea of smashed teacups, holding a bottle of gin and a butter knife.
"My life," he said to the ceiling, "is meaningless."
He brought the butter knife over his stomach and pressed the tip on his stomach. He was shirtless and a bit bloody from smashing all the teacups. The pressure on his tummy felt good. Sighing, he took a last swig of gin from the bottle.
"Goodbye cruel world," he said aloud, and wondered if he should leave a suicide note. No. The stack of prints from various Libertine gigs spread out across the room around him would suffice.
"My whole life," he mumbled and with no little force, stabbed the butter knife into his stomach. Being a butter knife and therefore very blunt, he only managed to knock the breath out of himself and cause severe pain in his abdomen.
"HAYYY!" a familiar voice called from the hall. "An-drew! Let me in!"
AK groaned. He might just recover from the shame if he got an ice pack within the next 5 minutes and was at the hospital within 10.
"Help. . ." he moaned.
"Andrew! I'm coming in!"
There was a scream as Barry threw open the door. "ANDREW FUCKING KENDALL!" he shouted running to AK and dropping to his knees. Under any other circumstances, AK might have enjoyed such readiness from Barry. "What have you done!" cried Barry. "You stupid boy!"
AK closed his eyes. He felt as though he were dying (and maybe he was, he reasoned. He was probably bleeding internally.) and all he could think about was how that was an awful color on Barry. Really, just atrocious. Who gave him that shirt?
"Don't worry," said Barry softly, a moment later. AK opened his eyes. Barry kissed his forehead. "I'll take care of you." He had the phone in his hand already. "Everything is going to be alright.