The Missing Framw [1/?]
Title: The Missing Frame
Author: shiek_2
Pairing: Jeff Stinco/David Desrosiers
Summary: Jeff's a novelist who, in his spare time, volunteers at the local hospital, Montreal General. Jeff's life may not be considered normal, but he never expected to fall in love with a comatose patient.
Rating: Pg-13
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the persons, lyrics, and/or songs mentioned herein. I do not make any monetary gain, claim these events to be real, or mean any disrespect.
Dedication: heartbreakhymns and davosaurus for being the best Jeff/David-ers I know and to kathybates for putting up with my stupidity.
Author's Note: This wouldn't leave me alone until I basically mapped it out. Now that I've finally gathered the balls to post it, I can hopefully work on something else. Not to mention the insufferable drought of Jeff/David. As fair warning, I was listening to a lot of AFI when I wrote this. Title comes from AFI's "The Missing Frame" and chapter title comes from Green Day's "Welcome to Paradise." Hope you all enjoy! :) Tell me what you think, yeah?
The stench of copper in the stagnant air made his eyes water and his nostrils burn. Lying on the cracked sidewalk, warm crimson liquid pooling around him, he finds it hard to breathe, the polluted air mixed with his own life essence tasting foul on his tongue. Gasping from shock and difficulty of breathing, he firmly presses down on the small hole in his torso, feeling the hot, sticky liquid slowly seep past his fingers.
He can hear the low wails in the background of his racing thoughts, the sound of death coming to claim him sounding far off and distant. He’s going to die, he just knows it. Simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he had just stayed at the bar a little longer, if he had just taken another route home, hell if he hadn’t gone to the bar at all. Millions of possibilities flashed through his mind, engulfing him, claiming him, all ending with him in his nice warm home safe, unharmed, and definitely not with a bullet hole in his chest.
He was very cold now. He longed to be back in his nice heated apartment, not bleeding and certainly not dying.
He supposed he would be feeling all the other sensations that accompanied demise soon. Life flashing before his eyes, a tunnel with light at the end of it; of course he never had believed that one. It’s then that something dawned on the pessimistic man. He was alone and he was dying.
Alone. The word felt so final, so depressive. But he supposed this was what he would have met with anyway. His life was rather empty so maybe his untimely demise wasn’t all that bad. No, no, no! Was he giving up already? Resigning himself to a fate that had not yet been sealed? He was still young, he could still find love and purpose and meaning! He didn’t need to die just yet. Who was he kidding? He came into this world alone and he would be leaving it in the same fashion.
The sound of a car door slamming and shouting broke him out of his disorganized and panicked thoughts.
His body began to shake from the frigid chill settled deep within his bones. Or was that another side effect of death?
It hurts, it hurts.
The dull throbbing of his injury flared up, pain rearing its ugly head like never before, sending shock waves of agony throughout his body.
The paramedics swarmed around him, desperate to save the life he’s clinging to by just a thread.
The shaking worsens, he can smell the fear, or was that concern, on the paramedics breath, the way their hands move against his skin.
“He’s going into shock!” One shouted loudly.
No, you idiot, I’m dying.
It hurts, it hurts.
God, please make it stop!
Someone make it stop!
Please!
Then, suddenly, the pain is gone, not a trace left in his body. The shaking subsides and he feels odd. Euphoric, almost as if he’s smoothly floating along a pure white cloud of bliss. Darkness is slowly creeping around the edges of his vision and thoughts. This is it, he knew it. Dying alone all because he wanted to drown his sorrows at a local bar.
Eventually it all fades to black and he welcomes, what he thinks to be, death with open arms.
_______
Love, the most important four letter word in the world. They say it conquers all, breaking down those that stand in it’s path, no matter the obstacle or human cost. It’s a beautiful thing; saving a life, bringing happiness and light to a tragedy, damning a life, bring loss and sorrow to an already dark time.
No one sees it as I do.
They don’t see that love is nothing more than a pretty word to disguise the unforgivable sin we’re committing by giving into it. What we see are fairy tale characters walking away with love in their hearts and living happily ever after, leading us to naively believe that it can be true in reality as well. In all actuality, love makes the heart weak, makes it bleed, leaving it vulnerable to our so called lovers to do with as they please. Almost every time, they choose to break the heart we so willingly serve them, leaving us to patch up our broken and wounded souls on our own.
After this we swear off love, trying to abandon it like the unwanted addiction it is, lying to ourselves that we will never give someone our fragile heart again. But as soon as the next person whispers beautiful lies and empty promises into our ears, we’re offering ourselves to them, practically begging them to crush the person we’ve tried so hard to rebuild. We become infatuated with the person, telling ourselves that it’s just a harmless crush. The thing about crushes is that they fester and grow into love, even though we try so hard to deny it.
I’ll admit that I’m no saint. I’ve fallen for love’s hypnotizing spell more times than I care to count, having my fair share of heartbreak along the way. Lately I’ve been feeling lonely; I know it’s only a matter of time before I give into the godforsaken emotion known as love……
___________________
Jeff Stinco sat back from his sleek, black typewriter with a satisfied sigh. He thought he already had a respectable start on his new novel, and he couldn’t deny he was excited. He felt that it would be his best yet. Perhaps because the concept of it was closely based off his beliefs on love, giving him something in common with the main character, making him have a closer connection to it, which would make the experience more enjoyable for him.
The smell of ink was prominent in the stagnant air of the small bedroom, silence filling the gap the incessant click-clacking of key had left. The walls of the room were painted an abstract white, decorated with many posters of musicians, guitars, and dust covers of some of his favorite books. The soothing scent of cinnamon filled the room mixing with the stench of fresh ink, feeling heavenly as Jeff breathed the strong aromas deep into his lungs.
This room felt like home to him, it was his sanctuary. Here surrounded by idols, crème walls, and smells of his livelihood, of his legacy, he felt a strange sense of peace, of completion. He could care less about the rest of the house; as long as he could have this room he’d give up his beautiful Victorian home in a heartbeat. Hell, if it was between this room and his soul he would choose the room. He’d still have his soul because this place, this room, was where it lived. Nestled between the keys of his typewriter, this was where Jeff’s soul bared his innermost thoughts to unfeeling parchment, to the world.
Suddenly the room to his sanctuary opened. He jumped slightly, turning to glare at the intruder who hadn’t even bothered to offer a warning rap on the door. As he’d expected, it was his girlfriend Melody.
She was a pretty girl, really. Flowing blonde locks that reached mid-shoulder length, almost flawless tan skin, attractive green eyes, and a nice body. However, she was not very intelligent and his glare didn’t falter as she entered the room and stepped into Jeff’s sacred place with no regard for his privacy.
He’d told her time after time to at least knock before she bothered him when he was in this room. Apparently that didn’t matter to her though. He knew exactly what she was going to ask anyway.
“Jeff, darling,” She said as she walked up behind him and placed her petite hands on his torso, rubbing them over his sculpted chest. “I’m going out, and I need-“
“No,” Jeff replied curtly, turning back to his writings to show that he was through talking with her. Of course Melody didn’t catch on, she never did.
“But you don’t even know what I was going to say!” She cried, removing her hands from her boyfriend.
Jeff sighed, a deep, heavy, tired sigh. “You just want money. That’s all you ever want Melody! You and I both know you don’t care about me! I’m not quite sure I care about you either…”
“That’s not true! You know I love you, baby.” Melody said, trying to convince him of what they both know faded long before the two had even met.
“What’s my favorite color?” Jeff asked, finally turning back to face her.
“What?” She looked taken aback.
“My favorite color; if you know it then you really do care about me, if you don’t, well then we have our answer don’t we?”
“Um,” Melody paused, looking around the room, “White?”
“No,” Jeff sighed, “You see? We’re two strangers sharing a bed! We don’t know anything about each other, much less care about one another.”
“Don’t pull your novelist bullshit on me, Jeff.” Melody snarled.
“Grow a brain cell, Melody.” Jeff shot back.
“You know what? I’m leaving! I don’t need you! I’ll just move back in with my sister.” She shouted, turning on her stiletto heel and walking towards the door.
“Further proving my point!” Jeff yelled back.
She merely raised an offending finger to her newly ex-boyfriend, wrenching the door open. “I’ll send for my things.” She said, surprisingly calm before walking out of Jeff’s room.
He listened to her heels pound against the stairs, straining to her the turning of the brass doorknob of the front door, before it slammed shut, signaling that Melody had walked out of his life forever.
He sighed for what felt like the millionth time. It was true he didn’t actually care about the woman, but he had kept her around for a reason. He was scared of being alone, left alone with his cynical and depressive thoughts. He needed someone around to keep him distracted, to keep his personal demon away, even if they had little intelligence. He didn’t know what he was going to do.
Looking down at his watch, he cursed loudly as he realized he was late for his volunteer work at the local hospital, Montreal General. At least he had something to keep his mind off his problem, even if it was only for a few hours.
Gathering his house keys and jacket, he quickly padded through his large house to the main door. When he reached it, he pulled on worn sneakers over his dirty socks and laced them. After shrugging his jacket on, he stepped outside, locked the door, and began his journey towards the hospital.
The day seemed so dull and dreary to Jeff. Dark, ominous clouds hung in the sky, rumbling lowly as if to whisper a warning to him, desperately trying to catch his attention. Instead of stopping to listen to their foreshadowing, his sneakers continued to slap harshly against the broken sidewalk. There was no life on the desolate streets, simply eyes glaring at him from cracked window curtains, accusing him of unknown crimes. He shrugged them off and kept going.
Jeff was almost to the hospital when rain burst forth from the clouds, weeping for the numerous acts of violence that had no doubt occurred that day. Water splashed down around his shivering body, but he soldiered on, the hospital in his line of sight.
Then, as if the forces of earth were trying to stop him from reaching his destination, he saw a stain of copper on the grey sidewalk. The purifying rain pounded down on it, desperate to wash away the evidence, the truth, of the cruelty of men. He watched as the water swirled with it, creating a slightly unsettling light rose mixture of sorts, before flowing down the storm drain. He sighed and continued on, knowing there would be a patient added to his care roster or a body to the morgue.
When he arrived at the hospital, everyone was bustling about in their usual organized, yet chaotic, manner. Everything was as it should be, and in a strange sort of way, Jeff felt satisfied with that. At least one thing in his life would remain constant, somewhat normal.
After dropping his jacket off in the volunteer break room, he retrieved his list of patients to care for from the main desk. Sure enough, there was another patient on his list.