Hang-ups and Hangovers -- [standalone]
Hang-ups and Hangovers -- [standalone]
Writer: Ally (wasted_rawkstar)
Fandom: Simple Plan
Pairing: David/Pierre
Rating: R (language)
Summary: I suppose if I was being really honest with myself this all started about seven months ago. Instead of doing anything constructive with my time, I chose to go out and drink every night. I spent the first day of the new decade in bed in a vodka induced stupor and on the second day I felt like I was waking out of a coma.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction and is in no way related to, or intended for harm of, the following persons mentioned.
Notes: Written exclusively for the hott_baguettes Resolution Challenge.
I sighed as I dragged my feet across the plush, hotel carpet. I didn’t want to do this tonight. I didn’t want to have this talk. I knew it was coming, but my hand was forced. I was hoping to just ride out the next couple weeks and deal with things at home. I shook my head. Home wasn’t home anymore. I glanced up, looking at the room numbers; two more doors. Dread knotted in my stomach and I sighed as I stopped in front of the room I wanted. I didn’t want to be here, so I stalled. I checked my phone: no new messages. It was 12:23 a.m. I shoved the mobile back in my pocket and turned around, slumping against Pierre’s door and feeling like a complete idiot.
We’d fought again. Of course we had! We couldn’t just have a normal day, or night, or show, or anything anymore. Lately it was all we could do to refrain from ripping each other’s throats out. I hated it. I hated that Pierre had changed so much; hated that I’d changed so much. Since when had our like of each other turned to dislike? We’d always been friends, had always had an incredibly strong relationship, and it was always easy between us. We never needed to talk about our relationship, because we just progressed through it. It happened naturally and we didn’t need to agree to anything because it always felt right. I suppose it was probably because of that that neither of us could remember when we went from best friends to boyfriends. It just sort of happened. That suited me just fine though, because I always thought that the best things, the things that were meant to be, happened just like that. We didn’t talk about it, or have some cheesy revelation or epiphany. We just fell into it. One week we were Pierre and David and somehow we became Pierre&David. We’d been smushed together like peanut butter and jelly. And we accepted it, because what else could we do? It was the truth then.
But now? Now we’re being pulled apart except the peanut butter and jelly have become too mixed to separate easily. So we’re fighting, more and more. And we needed to talk about it, because our fights were getting worse and starting to affect the band. Jeff had actually pulled me aside after the show tonight and asked to talk when we got back to the hotel. I knew it was bad then, but I couldn’t put it in context. I guess I just thought it was all Pierre’s fault, or at least 85% of it. After all, he was the one shunning me for finding new friends and hobbies. I didn’t know I was supposed to push aside my entire life and be with for him twenty-four-seven when Jay got sick, especially after he told me I didn’t need to be there.
I didn’t get it, but I was sick of feeling like something needed to happen. We were both avoiding it, but Jeff had asked me to take care of things. So here I was, growing a fucking pair and owning it.
I sighed again, still stalling as I stood up and turned around to face the door. I had my own key; I could have just let myself in, but that didn’t feel right. Instead, I knocked twice and stepped back, swallowing slightly. Three drinks with Jeff loosened me up just enough, but I still felt edgy. I raked my teeth over my lip and waited another few seconds. Of course he wasn’t answering the door; he’s a coward, or he’s fucking some groupie I didn’t need to know about. Clearly my vague intoxication was making my imagination melodramatic and highlighting my trust issues. Most likely, Pierre was in the shower or smoking on the balcony. I knocked again, harder this time, as though he could possibly hear a fucking knock over the blast of water or through the glass door. Once again, he didn’t answer. I flipped out my cell and checked the time once more: 12:37. He wasn’t asleep yet, I knew that for sure. Another minute passed and I couldn’t hold back another sigh. Something just didn’t feel right. I reached for the key in my back pocket, pulling it out and twirling it between my fingers; debating. Should I, or shouldn’t I? The worst that could happen was catching him with someone else, right? Fuck it. I slid the keycard into the slot and the light flashed green. I turned the handle and stepped inside, immediately hearing an all-too-familiar sound that sent my stomach turning over.
Quickly, I pushed the door shut and took a few long strides toward the bed. Pierre sat on the edge of the mattress, head between his knees as he gasped for air. The wheezing echoed in the room and made me feel sick. His shoulders were as red as his face. “Pierre?” I sank onto my knees in front of him, forgetting all the reasons I came to his room in the first place. “What do you need?” He barely met my eyes, too panicked to focus anywhere but his breathing. His cheeks were darkening, a bluish-purple blush coming over them. “Where are your inhalers?”
He heaved a breath, trying to answer. “Buh…gs.”
I frowned. Bugs? What the hell was he trying to say? “Your bag?” I glanced to the suitcase, contents dumped out hastily and left strewn on the floor. He shook his head. “Bathroom?” I tried again.
He closed his eyes, sucking air jaggedly into his inflamed airways. “Buh…ss,” he said desperately.
My eyes widened. “The bus?” He nodded then, shoulders sinking forward a little further. I looked frantically around the room, knowing there was no time to get to the bus and back. It was then that I finally noticed what Pierre had been trying to find in the suitcase before giving up. I squeezed his knee as I pushed up from the floor and grabbed the small case, emptying the contents beside him. I plugged in the small machine and filled the attached cup with a full dose of medication. Pierre’s eyes fluttered open when I flipped on the nebulizer and carefully pushed the mouthpiece between his lips. His breathing was slow and ragged and white blotches bloomed over his arms and chest; the lack of oxygen in his blood slowing the circulation. I waited anxiously, holding my breath and listening as Pierre’s gasps lessened. After a few tense minutes I saw his shoulders relaxing, then rolling forward. I sighed inwardly and tried not to think about what might’ve happened had I not walked in when I did. I looked up in surprise when Pierre grasped my hand, squeezing it firmly.
I offered him a small smile in return before pulling back and standing up. I pushed his hair off his forehead. “Be right back,” I told him. He blinked slowly and I went to the too-white bathroom, grateful to have a small distraction. I wet a washcloth and filled a glass of water for Pierre. I knew he’d just want to sleep off the attack. I pushed my damp fingers through my hair, shaking my head. How did this happen? I wondered. Pierre was always careful to avoid his asthma triggers and, more importantly, he always had his inhalers. How the hell could this have happened that he’d have an attack the one time he’d forgotten them on the bus? My stomach tightened at the thought and I shoved it aside; I could worry about it later.
I wrung out the cloth with cold water once more and walked back to the bed. I set the glass on the nightstand before I faced Pierre. Exhaustion lined his face, but the blotches were vanishing. I sat next to him on the bed, feeling my own adrenaline fading to fatigue. I toyed with the washcloth, scenarios still racing in my head. Pierre leaned against my shoulder, his eyes closing as he continued breathing in the medicine. I couldn’t help turning my head and kissing him. His forehead was warm to my lips and I held back a sigh. Silently, I lifted the washcloth and rubbed it over his shoulders, massaging the knotted muscles in his back and working down his spine. He squeezed my knee, his head dipping a little lower.
“You should lay down,” I told him, still rubbing his neck. He shrugged one shoulder and leaned more heavily on me. I smiled. “Want me to stay?”
He opened his eyes and a second later the nebulizer clicked, the timer signaling the treatment was finished. Pierre reached up and pulled the mouthpiece out, discarding it on the nightstand. “Please, David?” His voice was weak and raspy. Obviously the stress from the show coupled with the attack had ruined his throat for the night.
I nodded, lightly brushing his hair behind his ears. “Of course.” Relief contoured his face, hiding the worry lines that had been so prominent. “Do you want me to get your stuff from the bus?”
He shook his head, sipping the water slowly then wringing his hands around the cup. “No… should be okay.”
I trailed my fingers down his temple and over his neck; his pulse still raced. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” He yawned then, but it was more of a grimace.
I could only imagine how he was feeling. I sighed. “Well, at least humor me and drink some tea for your throat before you pass out, okay?”
He smiled and straightened up from my shoulder. “Better make it quick then.”
I kissed his temple lightly and replied with a cheeky wink, “Watch me fly.” I got up and quickly made the tea, brewing the water in the small coffee maker and pouring it into one of the white, hotel-logoed mugs. I carried the steaming tea back to the bed and found Pierre reclining against the pillows, eyes closed once more. I sat beside him and held the mug in front of his nose.
He opened his eyes after a moment and smiled. “Thanks, David,” he said quietly, carefully taking the mug and dunking the bag a few times. The water turned a rich amber color.
“You’re welcome.” I said, continuing to stare at the mug. I watched as he swirled the bag around a few times before taking it out and wringing it against the brown stir stick. He discarded both onto the nightstand. Suddenly I understood why all hotel furniture was glass-topped. People put everything on the nightstands and desks and bureaus. I shuddered to think about the items that could be included in ‘everything.’
Pierre took slow sips of the tea while I sat there, watching and thinking. I still wondered what had brought the attack on. He hadn’t had one in awhile, and it just seemed too coincidental that it had happened tonight. I knew Pierre had been fine that afternoon, and most of the evening. It was just… and there it was: the reason I’d come to his room in the first place. Our fight. But I knew that hadn’t been the trigger. We’d fought too many times, and far worse than tonight, for that to be any significant factor.
The mug clanked quietly as Pierre placed it on the nightstand. He swallowed the last mouthful of tea and sighed. He met my eyes a moment later. “You’re staying, right?” His voice was unsure and his gaze searched mine.
I frowned. “I said I was.”
He nodded vaguely, unconvinced. “Shoes.”
I looked down. I still had all my clothes on, including my shoes. I managed a smile, rolling my eyes a little. “Well, seeing you turning blue sort of distracted me from losing the Chucks,” I said, smirking a little. Thankfully, he smirked back.
“I’ll let it slide… but just this once. Next time you’re ditching the shoes before you save my life.”
I shook my head as I stood up and kicked off my shoes and socks. “You know that’s easier said than done, right?” I asked, reaching over and flipping off the over-head light before settling back down next to him.
He shrugged and pulled the comforter to his shoulders. “We all have to make sacrifices.” He coughed quietly as he shifted, lying down on the bed. I couldn’t help eyeing him anxiously. I still felt like I should’ve gotten his meds from the bus. “And you still need to lose the clothes,” he said, coughing again.
I rolled my eyes; typical. He’d just been minutes away from needing a fucking ambulance, but still wanted me in my boxers. I shook my head, but stood up, shimmying out of my tight jeans. “Only because it makes you happy,” I told him, yanking my shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor. He smiled and pulled me into his arms once I’d joined him under the comforter.
“Very happy,” he replied, then switched off the last light in the room.
I shifted a little, still hearing his heightened heart rate. He traced his fingers over my hip, his hand pulling up and letting his thumb smooth over my nipple. It perked under the touch and I closed my eyes. We hadn’t made up from the fight yet, and I still didn’t know what had caused his asthma attack. Too many distractions. I opened my eyes and grasped his hand, twining our fingers together. “Sure you’re okay?” I felt the pillow shift as he nodded in the darkness.
“I promise, David.”
I didn’t reply, just squeezed his hand. He’d made promises before, but I needed to believe him this time. Even I doubted that he’d jeopardize himself to make a point. A silent minute passed, but I heard Pierre inhale slowly, readying himself to say something more. I closed my eyes.
“David, are we…” he hesitated.
I tightened my fingers around his. “Don’t, Pierre. Just sleep, okay? We can talk later.”
“But-”
“Pierre, please?” I opened my eyes and leaned forward, kissing him softly. His lips were dry. “You need to rest.”
He sighed, sinking further down into the mattress. I could feel every part of him screaming for defiance, but it never surfaced. Instead, he tucked his head into the pillow and pulled our hands beneath his chin. “Wake me up?”
I half-smiled, grateful for his reluctant obedience. “Chuck’ll call,” I told him.
He laughed slightly. “Of course he will.” He took in a long breath and moved a little closer, relaxing onto the sheets and my arm. “Night, David,” he breathed, finally letting himself give into the exhaustion.
I kissed his temple. “Night, Pierre.”
# # #
I groaned into the pillow as the shrill ringing of Pierre’s cell yanked me out of my peaceful sleep. It was too fucking early for anyone to be calling, but we both knew who it was. Pierre hardly stirred, his face still buried beneath the sheets and comforter. I sighed, listening as the tinny refrain repeated, the call begging to be answered. Grudgingly, I pulled myself up and reached over Pierre, grabbing the mobile and sending the call through. “What?” I snapped, unable to hold back my morning wrath.
“David?” Chuck’s voice was confused.
“What?” I asked again, settling back down in the bed. Pierre tangled his feet with mine, clearly awake but not volunteering his face yet.
“I… I thought you guys were fighting,” Chuck said, “but you’re answering Pierre’s phone?”
“We are, and I am,” I replied briskly. “I came here last night to talk, but instead had to divert a crisis before paramedics became involved.”
“What? What the hell happened?”
I yawned, stretching my back as I pushed against Pierre’s feet. “He had some kind of asthma attack, and his inhalers were on the bus.”
“He didn’t have them? What did you do?”
“Improvised.”
Chuck paused, trying to figure out what my words meant. I smirked. He was probably imagining some kind of kinky CPR act; he didn’t disappoint. “I’m sure you enjoyed that mouth-to-mouth.”
I laughed. “I didn’t,” I said, intentionally misleading him. “Pierre just wasn’t into it at all.”
Chuck made a disgusted noise. “You’re sick. I trust that Pierre’s okay after everything?”
“Of course. I take wonderful care of him so you don’t have to worry.”
Chuck snorted. “I worry more about your mental state than I ever worry about Pierre.”
I smirked. “Good to know you think me so sane.”
“It’s out of love.”
“Absolutely. Now, what the hell did you wake me up for?” I asked, feeling Pierre’s feet drift along mine.
“Well, I was actually calling to make sure Pierre woke up in time for our interview.”
“Mm, okay. I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
“David,” his voice was warning.
“Okay, okay… we’re getting up. If you really want to show me you love me, you can get us coffee before we go…” Chuck grumbled but conceded. “Merci beaucoup, Charles!” I chirped, then hung up and discarded the phone onto the night table.
Pierre unearthed his face and gave me a tired smile. “Wake up call?”
I nodded. “Yeah… so wake up.”
He smirked and shoved his face back in the pillow. “Fuck that,” he moaned.
I rolled my eyes and rubbed his back. “Come on… Chuck promised to get us coffee and this interview should be cake anyway.”
He snorted. “Cake for you… Chuck and I do all the talking while you and Jeff sit there and make eyes at each other.”
I grinned. “Someone has to give them something to gossip about after we’ve left.”
“Well no shit, but could you at least be more subtle about it?”
“I could… but what’s the fun in that? I like seeing people’s reaction when I rub down Jeff’s shoulder and thigh.”
Pierre sighed, turning his head and meeting my eyes. He looked abnormally serious. “And you wonder why we’re fighting all the time these days?”
I frowned, not understanding how my actions had led to his statement. “Because I’m harmlessly pretending to come onto Jeff?”
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem like you’re pretending.”
I raised an eyebrow. His admission had surprised me. “Are you jealous?” I ventured, unsure of what his next response was going to be.
He sighed. “A little… sometimes.”
“Pierre-”
“I know, m’being stupid.” His gaze dropped to the comforter and I felt his feet pull away. “But honestly, David, can’t you see that it would hurt? I know you get worried when Chuck and I spend too much time alone together.”
“But that’s-”
“Different? Not so much. I know you and Jeff are close, and that he’s got a family, but sometimes it seems like it would be so easy for you guys to…” He trailed off.
I stared at him. I had definitely not been expecting this confession to be the root-cause of our relationship turmoil; just as I had not been expecting to actually have this conversation when we both woke up. We were both so good at not confronting out problems that we never dealt with them until they’d blown out of hand. Somehow, Pierre felt that my silly advances were something more. I wondered if that meant my problems with him were equally as petty and ill-informed. I swallowed, measuring my words and tone. “So what do you want me to do?”
Pierre raised his eyes and studied me for a quiet moment. “Nothing,” he finally said.
I frowned. “How does that make sense?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to, David. I just want you to be aware of it… be mindful that when you’re cuddling up to Jeff it’s sending a mixed message.”
I licked my lips. “So, you don’t want me to stop?”
“It’s not my choice, David. I’m not going to outright tell you that you can’t do something, because it’s not my place. I just want to let you know how I feel about it, and you can do with that whatever you will.”
I was still confused, but part of it made sense: he didn’t want to start writing laws for our relationship. I respected that, because it wasn’t right to make decisions for someone else. However, his explanation still didn’t account for all of our problems. There had to be something more. I just didn’t know if I really wanted to go looking for what lurked beneath the surface. My resolve had disappeared overnight, but the problems were still there. I sighed inwardly. None of this was going to go away easily.
“We should get ready,” Pierre said, dropping the conversation. “Otherwise Chuck might blame us for his next ulcer.”
I tried to smile, unable to shake the previous topic from my mind just yet. “Sure.” I avoided his eyes as I pushed the covers away and stood up, pulling on clothes automatically. I stuffed my socks into my shoes and grabbed them by the laces; I wouldn’t mind going barefoot back to my room and it would save me a little time anyway. I stepped toward the door just as Pierre’s voice called me back.
“David, let’s not do this… okay?”
I turned, facing him. “Do what, Pierre?”
“Fight like this… over what we know we need to talk about.”
I looked at my hands, wondering if this all had something to do with the night before. Maybe the sudden attack had woken him up to dealing with his problems. “We’re not fighting about it, Pierre. I just… need some time to think about what you told me, and figure out what I need to do.” In truth I had a lot more to figure out than that, but I wasn’t about to spill everything to him right then. I looked back up at him. He stood at the end of the bed in his boxers, skin a little paler than normal, and his chest was marked with faint red spots. I grimaced; the blood vessels had exploded during the attack.
He nodded. “All right… just,” he hesitated.
“What, Pierre?” I kept my voice as even as I could.
“Don’t do anything that makes you unhappy, okay?” He closed the space between us and pushed my hair from my eyes. “I hate seeing you unhappy.”
I held back a sigh, wondering how he believed that I was happy at all. I hadn’t been happy in a very long time. Instead of replying, I nodded, feeling his fingers slide down my neck and shoulder. We both wanted things to work out between us, but I wasn’t sure now who would be able to make the necessary sacrifices. I blinked slowly and pulled away, heading to the door. Pierre’s hand slipped from my skin and I turned away. “See you in the lobby,” I said, opening the door. I didn’t hear if he replied; I was already halfway down the corridor.
# # #
I suppose if I was being really honest with myself this all started about seven months ago. The band was on a long break from touring and shows; Pierre and Chuck were bouncing between LA and a few other places, working with different producers and writing songs for the next album. Sebastien had seen moderate success with his solo EP, and Jeff and I were just hanging around. Of course, he had his family to keep him busy, so basically all this left me free to do whatever the hell I pleased. What I really wanted was for Pierre to invite me to tag along with him and Chuck, but that never happened. So instead of doing anything constructive with my time, I chose to go out and drink every night, sometimes partaking in a random act of karaoke, but for the most part being low-key. Somehow my nights out culminated with a six day bender after Boxing Day and ending with New Year’s Eve. I spent the first day of the new decade in bed in a vodka induced stupor and on the second day I felt like I was waking out of a coma. When I stared at myself in the mirror later that day I could hardly meet the eyes of my reflection. I looked like shit.
For the first time in months I realized I’d been gaining weight again, was in desperate need of a haircut, and the last productive thing I’d done… I couldn’t remember. What the hell was wrong with me? The longer I looked at myself, the more I felt like I had no idea who I was anymore. Something needed to change-something drastic. After all, it was a new year. Maybe I could make a resolution: no more being a depressed shithead. That seemed like a good enough start. And how about losing thirty pounds along with the attitude? I’d done it before, hadn’t I? I wrinkled my nose, hating my reflection. The worst part about gaining weight for me was that it always went straight to my face, so everyone always knew when I’d pigged out. What made it harder was that it was always the last fat to shed. I didn’t mind my cheeks being fuller, that actually made me look healthy, but the puffy jowls weren’t a good look. I didn’t have any desire to look like a fat Elvis, so I had to do something about it.
The month after that had been a blur of skinny lattes, too many hours at the gym on the elliptical, and more than a few unhealthy hours in a tanning bed. Somewhere along the course, I’d developed what I liked to call my ‘figure skater’ complex. I became obsessed with Pilates, bought three too many jackets with fur trim, and wished I had my own reality TV show on the Sundance Channel. Thank you, Johnny Weir, for being an inspiration. The height of that obsession peaked in mid-February during the Olympics and then I was onto something else. I flew down to Florida and hung out for two weeks with a friend who was playing a few shows and finally getting his music career back on track after a three-year debacle with record companies and a messy divorce. I’d never admit it, but I think I was secretly in love with him and not Pierre.
Oh right, Pierre. Where had he been during the last two months? With Chuck… somewhere. Wasn’t I supposed to be having a relationship with him? I wasn’t sure. Lately it seemed I’d become celibate through sheer uncertainty. I didn’t actually care though because all my insecurities made it too much work to even bother with one-night stands anymore. So the cycle continued and before I realized what had happened my resolutions were blown: I’d put fifteen pounds back on and was coming home drunk every night at 3 a.m. I’d lost myself again, but before I could do anything about it the studio time was booked and we were locked up finally recording the new album. It was supposed to drop in July, and it was already April. I had no fucking clue how we were supposed to pull this off, but through some miracle it happened. Along with the album coming together, Pierre and I had also picked up where we’d left off. Neither of us spoke about the extended time apart, instead focusing on being together again and having the band keep us busy. Our time with each other was strained though, and instead of dwelling on it, I threw myself into other things. When I wasn’t at the studio recording I was at the gym, and when I wasn’t at the gym I was off riding motorcycles, or doing Pilates, or pretending I was an artist. I was doing everything I could to avoid my real life and self and unhappiness. That’s all it came down to.
And then the album had finally come out and we were thrown into the whirlwind of press, and shows, and continent-hopping. So here we were, in Arizona of all places, and Pierre had blind-sided me with his jealousy over the stupid, innocent flirting I did with Jeff. Of course, me being me, instead of dealing with the situation, I chose my default response and went out drinking after we’d finished things for the day. Sebastien and I had dinner together and then hit a few bars. It was always nice to go out with Seb because he never asked questions. He also made sure that I’d make it back to the hotel, no matter what happened. Typical, but at 2 a.m. I was blacked out. The last thing I remembered was pounding another whiskey sour while some chick tried to hit on me, and then I’d woken up back at the hotel, face down in bed with my shoes still on.
Seb had, thoughtfully, left a note beneath a glass on the bathroom counter. Thanks for not puking on me! Soundcheck is at 2. I’ll bring you food before we go. -S
I barely skimmed it over before sinking in front of the toilet and puking. Hangovers were something I’d gotten used to, and even though it felt like I’d ralph if I ate anything, I knew that the food Seb brought would curb any lasting symptoms. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t done soundcheck while hung-over before. Christ, I think I’d spent the entirety of my early twenties in a constant fluctuation between drunk and hung-over with no happy medium. I spat the last of the bad taste from my mouth, flushed the toilet, and climbed to my feet. I spared only another minute to rinse my mouth with water, getting the fuzz off my tongue, before going back to the bed and burrowing under the comforter.
I didn’t bother looking at the clock because I knew it would only depress me and make me wish I had more time to sleep and avoid things. I groaned into the pillow; the last two nights hadn’t gone at all like I’d wanted. I’d been so close to actually telling Pierre everything. I wanted him to know all the thoughts and emotions that were in my head. He, of all people, deserved to know what I was going through, but the situation didn’t lend itself to simplicity. Every time I’d made the decision to tell him-to confess everything-I was sidelined. The only so-called upside to this time was that it hadn’t been my own psychosis to hold me back. I stuffed my face further into the bedding, having circled back to the original problem: Pierre. What the hell had happened between us? And how the fuck were we supposed to fix a problem we couldn’t even diagnose? I felt like I needed to puke again and this time wasn’t because of the hangover.
Through some miraculous occurrence I fell back asleep without blowing chunks again and the rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. Sound check was fine, the meet and greet was fine, and the show was fine. Even things between Pierre and I seemed fine, but of course that all changed the next day on the bus. If there was one thing I truly hated about touring it was being confined to the small space on travel days. We’d all learned tricks to dealing with the imposed claustrophobia, but all they did was make it a little more bearable. My trick was to sleep through all of it. I’d hole up in my bunk and only venture out when the bus stopped somewhere for gas or whatever. Today, however, my plan was foiled.
Jeff, of all people (well, I guess it was understandable that it was him because one he could kick my ass and not feel sorry about it, and two he’d already called me out to deal with the issue the other night), yanked back the curtain on my bunk and dragged me out. Two mugs of coffee and a bag of donuts sat on the table in the front lounge. Clearly, he’d planned to accost me and wasn’t going to rest until he’d finished.
I threw myself onto the bench and glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “What now?” I asked him.
He sat across from me and picked up one of the mugs. “Same shit, David.”
I rolled my eyes and took the other coffee. “Do we really have to do this?”
“Yes, because we can’t keep picking you up every time you come down from a manic episode.”
My eyes went wide. What had he just said? “Pardon?”
“You need help, David. Maybe you’re not full blown bi-polar, but something is sure as hell going on.”
I took a large drink of coffee before meeting Jeff’s gaze. “You’re not the person I want to talk to about this.”
“Then talk to Pierre already! You know he’ll understand… and even if he doesn’t at first he’ll make every effort… we all will.”
I set the mug down and rubbed my eyes. “Jeff, I don’t…” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“Avoiding it isn’t going to make it go away, David. Is it really so hard to talk to him?”
I sighed, feeling pushed into a corner and like I was about to lose it; the fallout wouldn’t be pretty. “What am I supposed to tell him, Jeff? That I’ve been totally fucked over with depression since October and instead of doing anything about it I’ve wallowed and floundered and been pulled in so fucking deep that I have no fucking clue how I even function anymore? Because that’s guaranteed to go over so well… and really this has nothing to do with him anyway, since the person I’m totally in love with sees me as nothing more than a friend, so I’m settling for the person who wants me, but only some of the time. Oh sorry, David… I can’t love you right now… it’s the wrong month. Oh really? Sorry for you then, because I thought that actually being together meant something different.” Anger flushed through my limbs and my fingers locked in a death-grip around the mug. Had my hands somehow been around Jeff’s throat I was sure he’d have been dead by them.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, David.”
Pierre’s voice was an electroshock to my veins and my stomach immediately thrust up into my lungs, wanting to projectile vomit coffee onto Jeff. I swallowed back bile as our guitarist slid out of the bench and left the lounge. Now I had no fucking choice; there was nowhere to run. I stared at the vacant spot where Jeff’s head had been, paralyzed. I felt like my lungs were going to cave in from lack of oxygen in the room and somehow my thoughts leapt back to Pierre’s asthma attack. I still didn’t know what had caused it. Thirty seconds of eternity passed before Pierre finally sat down across from me, a strange look on his face. Apparently neither of us wanted to have this talk and somehow I knew he’d laid a false trail anyway. He didn’t give a shit about me flirting with Jeff. That had been a sack of bullshit to keep me from the real issue. My anger flared again, but I remained silent.
“I am sorry, David.”
I stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Not your fault,” I shot back.
“It is though, at least partially. I should have…” He sighed and slouched down, eyes dropping to his cup of coffee. “David, when I was in LA… it was like a test. I wanted… I wasn’t sure about what was going on between us. I mean, it’s been…” he hesitated. “I feel like we’ve been together for so long that we got really complacent and it was all… it was just expected or something. I don’t know… I guess I got so comfortable with us that I haven’t thought about it or worked for it or anything. I guess… I’ve taken it for granted.”
I listened as patiently as I could, practically biting through my tongue before I started sipping what was left of my lukewarm coffee. Apparently Pierre didn’t give a shit about how I felt regarding our so-called relationship. Of course we’d gotten comfortable in it and taken everything for granted. When one person gave up and stopped trying to fight for what he wanted then the other person naturally assumed everything was fine. I almost rolled my eyes, really wanting to spit in his face, but I held back. I knew it was a two-way street and I was probably as guilty as he was, but it was because of his ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude that I’d given up in the first place. I suppose if we’d tried harder, both of us, things would’ve worked out. I swallowed hard, words wanting to avalanche out of my mouth. Apathy was the easier road to take and I found myself shrugging my shoulders again. “It is what it is, Pierre.”
He sighed. “David, you say that every fucking time, and you never mean it. I know you’re pissed at me… why else have we been avoiding each other the last few weeks? Why else would I have had to force myself into asthmatic bullshit just to make you wake up and pay attention?”
I stared hard at him. “What?”
“Yeah, David. I did it on purpose so that maybe… just maybe, you’d finally come out of your fucking hole and see something beyond yourself for a minute or two. Of course I didn’t plan on you walking in when you did… I fully planned on involving paramedics and being in the hospital for like two days, but-”
“You are unbelievable!” I shoved my coffee mug away from myself and stood up from the bench. I couldn’t listen to any more of his explanation, lest I end up slitting his throat, which was what he obviously wanted because why else would he have intentionally gone into an asthma attack that was potentially fatal? “What the fuck were you thinking, Pierre?! You could have died!”
“David-”
“NO! Do you have any idea how fucking moronic that is?! Why didn’t you just say something to me? Fucking… clocked me in the face… I don’t know. Something else would have been better and easier than harming yourself like that.” I couldn’t stop shaking my head. My hands were shaking too. Fury radiated through me and I couldn’t stop it. I wanted off the bus terribly. I wanted to be home and away from everyone. I didn’t want to deal with the situation in front of me. I wanted to be over in Europe with someone else who actually loved me and wasn’t in love with the idea of me. How had one of the closest friendships I’d ever had mutated into such a clusterfuck of an intimate relationship? I knew that both Pierre and I were a little fucked up, but now I finally knew just how much so. My gut screamed at me to cut off all ties. Things would be better if we were just finally done with it. Somehow we’d turned the relationship into a co-dependency that was worse than even Sid and Nancy. I didn’t know who would stab who, and I certainly didn’t ever want to find out.
“David,”
I shook my head more. “No, Pierre. I’m done. I am totally fucking done with this. I know everyone expects that we’ll both understand and come to terms and have a happy fucking ending, but I can’t do that. I am just too fucked up right now to try to deal with someone else’s shit on top of my own… maybe when this tour is all done with we can have a fucking do-over, but right now…” I glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry… we’re through.” I tore my gaze away and turned back to the bunks, climbing quickly into my own and yanking the curtain closed. I hoped to God no one else tried to drag me out again because if they did, they would fail spectacularly.
# # #
Thirty. Holy fucking shit; I’d turned thirty. I had crossed a threshold that I had dreaded for months and it wasn’t sitting well, as evidence by the amount of vodka currently in my bloodstream. I suspected that if I’d had to take any one of those police-issued sobriety tests I would have failed. I was so completely intoxicated by happy hour that I had no idea how I’d not passed out by seven. Yet, here I was at midnight, still not blacked out. Pierre was hauling me into a taxi and back to the hotel. Somewhere in a back corner of my brain I knew that this was significant, but the alcohol-haze was too thick to penetrate with conscious thought. Instead I gave into his smell and warm body. I wanted to sleep it off.
When I woke up the next morning the first thing I realized was that I wasn’t alone. The second thing I realized was that I was ferociously hung-over and if I didn’t get to the bathroom in three seconds I would most likely puke on a) Pierre, b) myself, or c) everything else in the general vicinity of both of us. I ungracefully rolled off the bed and staggered into the bathroom, slamming the lid of the toilet up just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach into it. Why the fuck did I always do this to myself? I never liked these mornings. There was never anything great or glamorous about them, and inevitably I always ended up wasting a day because I was too preoccupied with trying to not puke that everything else went by the wayside. What the hell was my problem? Aside from the obvious of course. The obvious reason being that I was shallow and hated turning thirty so much that it had fucked me up for an entire year beforehand. The other reason being that I was still in love with Pierre despite the fact I’d broken up with him a mere six weeks before because why else would we have ended up in the same bed? I flushed the toilet then lay my head on my arm, eyes closing as I started to fall asleep on the toilet. Someone call TMZ, I was a genuinely hot mess this morning.
“David?”
Even though Pierre’s voice was a whisper I cringed at it. Any noise was too much right then. “What?” I whispered back, not moving or opening my eyes.
“Um,”
The hesitance in his voice was thick and I smirked. He was clearly about to ask whether or not I was all right, yet I was basically passed out on the floor in front of the toilet and generally that meant things were not all right. “M’fine,” I mumbled, even though I totally wasn’t, and turned my face to bury my eyes on my arm. He sighed and ran the tap and took care of me for the next few minutes because I was too out of it to bitch at him properly. Finally, what was fifteen minutes, but felt like an hour, later we moved from the bathroom back to the bed. I had no other intentions than to fall back asleep and wake up around five to have dinner and pretend the whole episode hadn’t happened. Pierre, however, had other ideas. We lay together in the bed, in just another random hotel room in another random city for another random performance. Somehow my life seemed to be absolutely made up of random connections and coincidences, but maybe that’s what made it what it was. I closed my eyes tighter; I was way too hung-over to be having thoughts like that. Pierre’s fingers dragged through my hair.
“I still love you,” he said quietly.
I sighed, making no effort to hold it back. “Pierre,”
“I can’t help it, David. I’ve been in love with you forever and I hate seeing you do this to yourself. I’m sorry about not being there for you while I was in LA, but I had to figure my shit out. I didn’t realize that by the time I got back and was ready to really be together again you would’ve given up. I was a total fucking moron, and I know that now. I just… I want this again. I want lazy, hung-over Sundays together. I want your shallow, cynical bullshit. I want our little bubble of absolute fucked-up-ness, because it’s our fucked-up-ness and I really can’t imagine my life without that. I need you, David… and not just because we’ve been together forever and it’s some kind of weird parasitic relationship. I honestly love you and it feels like something is absolutely missing when I don’t have you.”
I kept my eyes closed; my head was throbbing against my skull and somehow Pierre’s fingers sliding over my skin weren’t making me feel any better. I shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard. “Pierre… m’too hung-over to think, okay?”
“I know, that’s why I wanted to tell you this now… so you can sleep on it. We can talk about it later.”
He kissed my head then and I sighed, pressing my face into his chest. He always made it so hard to just walk away. And I knew that no matter what, I’d cave. Regardless of the reservations I had, or any of my doubts, and all the reasons I’d wanted to break up with him in the first place, they’d all get cancelled out and we’d end up together. I held back another sigh, feeling like I needed to puke again. It almost made me laugh, because I finally realized the point I’d been missing all along. Pierre was here… with me. He hadn’t left me on the floor of the bar, or bathroom, or anywhere. He’d taken care of me, and knew exactly what was wrong before even I did. I was always the one running away from him, because it scared me that I would actually spend the rest of my life with him. And of course we’d fight and probably break up eleven more times, but that’s because it was what we did. We had to do it… rather, I had to do it, because it made me feel better. I needed to constantly feel like he wanted me, and the easiest way for me to feel that was to always try to push him away. I rolled my eyes at myself and pushed closer to him. I had too many issues to work through at the moment, so I settled for the easiest solution that wasn’t avoidance.
“I love you too, Pierre.”
His hands were hot on my skin as they stopped moving and his palms pressed down flat. I knew I’d probably caught him off guard, but surprise was something at which I excelled. It guaranteed that our relationship, however much of one we truly had, would never be boring.
“You mean it?” he asked, unsure.
I sighed into him. “I always mean it,” I replied. “I just… I have issues. You know that.”
He laughed, his stomach convulsing against my hips. “Oh, I know.”
I curled closer against him and tried to breathe evenly. “Now let me sleep? Otherwise I’m going to puke all over you.”
He kissed my head again and pulled the blankets tight around us. “Sure thing, D.”
I stretched out against him and readied to pass out, thoughts drifting until I vaguely made out the sound of my cell phone ringing. I sighed; it was Alex.
“You need to get that?” Pierre asked.
I shook my head, burrowing my face into him. “It can wait,” I told him, and it was true. For the moment, we had each other, and that was all I cared about.
- - FIN - -
Writer: Ally (wasted_rawkstar)
Fandom: Simple Plan
Pairing: David/Pierre
Rating: R (language)
Summary: I suppose if I was being really honest with myself this all started about seven months ago. Instead of doing anything constructive with my time, I chose to go out and drink every night. I spent the first day of the new decade in bed in a vodka induced stupor and on the second day I felt like I was waking out of a coma.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction and is in no way related to, or intended for harm of, the following persons mentioned.
Notes: Written exclusively for the hott_baguettes Resolution Challenge.
I sighed as I dragged my feet across the plush, hotel carpet. I didn’t want to do this tonight. I didn’t want to have this talk. I knew it was coming, but my hand was forced. I was hoping to just ride out the next couple weeks and deal with things at home. I shook my head. Home wasn’t home anymore. I glanced up, looking at the room numbers; two more doors. Dread knotted in my stomach and I sighed as I stopped in front of the room I wanted. I didn’t want to be here, so I stalled. I checked my phone: no new messages. It was 12:23 a.m. I shoved the mobile back in my pocket and turned around, slumping against Pierre’s door and feeling like a complete idiot.
We’d fought again. Of course we had! We couldn’t just have a normal day, or night, or show, or anything anymore. Lately it was all we could do to refrain from ripping each other’s throats out. I hated it. I hated that Pierre had changed so much; hated that I’d changed so much. Since when had our like of each other turned to dislike? We’d always been friends, had always had an incredibly strong relationship, and it was always easy between us. We never needed to talk about our relationship, because we just progressed through it. It happened naturally and we didn’t need to agree to anything because it always felt right. I suppose it was probably because of that that neither of us could remember when we went from best friends to boyfriends. It just sort of happened. That suited me just fine though, because I always thought that the best things, the things that were meant to be, happened just like that. We didn’t talk about it, or have some cheesy revelation or epiphany. We just fell into it. One week we were Pierre and David and somehow we became Pierre&David. We’d been smushed together like peanut butter and jelly. And we accepted it, because what else could we do? It was the truth then.
But now? Now we’re being pulled apart except the peanut butter and jelly have become too mixed to separate easily. So we’re fighting, more and more. And we needed to talk about it, because our fights were getting worse and starting to affect the band. Jeff had actually pulled me aside after the show tonight and asked to talk when we got back to the hotel. I knew it was bad then, but I couldn’t put it in context. I guess I just thought it was all Pierre’s fault, or at least 85% of it. After all, he was the one shunning me for finding new friends and hobbies. I didn’t know I was supposed to push aside my entire life and be with for him twenty-four-seven when Jay got sick, especially after he told me I didn’t need to be there.
I didn’t get it, but I was sick of feeling like something needed to happen. We were both avoiding it, but Jeff had asked me to take care of things. So here I was, growing a fucking pair and owning it.
I sighed again, still stalling as I stood up and turned around to face the door. I had my own key; I could have just let myself in, but that didn’t feel right. Instead, I knocked twice and stepped back, swallowing slightly. Three drinks with Jeff loosened me up just enough, but I still felt edgy. I raked my teeth over my lip and waited another few seconds. Of course he wasn’t answering the door; he’s a coward, or he’s fucking some groupie I didn’t need to know about. Clearly my vague intoxication was making my imagination melodramatic and highlighting my trust issues. Most likely, Pierre was in the shower or smoking on the balcony. I knocked again, harder this time, as though he could possibly hear a fucking knock over the blast of water or through the glass door. Once again, he didn’t answer. I flipped out my cell and checked the time once more: 12:37. He wasn’t asleep yet, I knew that for sure. Another minute passed and I couldn’t hold back another sigh. Something just didn’t feel right. I reached for the key in my back pocket, pulling it out and twirling it between my fingers; debating. Should I, or shouldn’t I? The worst that could happen was catching him with someone else, right? Fuck it. I slid the keycard into the slot and the light flashed green. I turned the handle and stepped inside, immediately hearing an all-too-familiar sound that sent my stomach turning over.
Quickly, I pushed the door shut and took a few long strides toward the bed. Pierre sat on the edge of the mattress, head between his knees as he gasped for air. The wheezing echoed in the room and made me feel sick. His shoulders were as red as his face. “Pierre?” I sank onto my knees in front of him, forgetting all the reasons I came to his room in the first place. “What do you need?” He barely met my eyes, too panicked to focus anywhere but his breathing. His cheeks were darkening, a bluish-purple blush coming over them. “Where are your inhalers?”
He heaved a breath, trying to answer. “Buh…gs.”
I frowned. Bugs? What the hell was he trying to say? “Your bag?” I glanced to the suitcase, contents dumped out hastily and left strewn on the floor. He shook his head. “Bathroom?” I tried again.
He closed his eyes, sucking air jaggedly into his inflamed airways. “Buh…ss,” he said desperately.
My eyes widened. “The bus?” He nodded then, shoulders sinking forward a little further. I looked frantically around the room, knowing there was no time to get to the bus and back. It was then that I finally noticed what Pierre had been trying to find in the suitcase before giving up. I squeezed his knee as I pushed up from the floor and grabbed the small case, emptying the contents beside him. I plugged in the small machine and filled the attached cup with a full dose of medication. Pierre’s eyes fluttered open when I flipped on the nebulizer and carefully pushed the mouthpiece between his lips. His breathing was slow and ragged and white blotches bloomed over his arms and chest; the lack of oxygen in his blood slowing the circulation. I waited anxiously, holding my breath and listening as Pierre’s gasps lessened. After a few tense minutes I saw his shoulders relaxing, then rolling forward. I sighed inwardly and tried not to think about what might’ve happened had I not walked in when I did. I looked up in surprise when Pierre grasped my hand, squeezing it firmly.
I offered him a small smile in return before pulling back and standing up. I pushed his hair off his forehead. “Be right back,” I told him. He blinked slowly and I went to the too-white bathroom, grateful to have a small distraction. I wet a washcloth and filled a glass of water for Pierre. I knew he’d just want to sleep off the attack. I pushed my damp fingers through my hair, shaking my head. How did this happen? I wondered. Pierre was always careful to avoid his asthma triggers and, more importantly, he always had his inhalers. How the hell could this have happened that he’d have an attack the one time he’d forgotten them on the bus? My stomach tightened at the thought and I shoved it aside; I could worry about it later.
I wrung out the cloth with cold water once more and walked back to the bed. I set the glass on the nightstand before I faced Pierre. Exhaustion lined his face, but the blotches were vanishing. I sat next to him on the bed, feeling my own adrenaline fading to fatigue. I toyed with the washcloth, scenarios still racing in my head. Pierre leaned against my shoulder, his eyes closing as he continued breathing in the medicine. I couldn’t help turning my head and kissing him. His forehead was warm to my lips and I held back a sigh. Silently, I lifted the washcloth and rubbed it over his shoulders, massaging the knotted muscles in his back and working down his spine. He squeezed my knee, his head dipping a little lower.
“You should lay down,” I told him, still rubbing his neck. He shrugged one shoulder and leaned more heavily on me. I smiled. “Want me to stay?”
He opened his eyes and a second later the nebulizer clicked, the timer signaling the treatment was finished. Pierre reached up and pulled the mouthpiece out, discarding it on the nightstand. “Please, David?” His voice was weak and raspy. Obviously the stress from the show coupled with the attack had ruined his throat for the night.
I nodded, lightly brushing his hair behind his ears. “Of course.” Relief contoured his face, hiding the worry lines that had been so prominent. “Do you want me to get your stuff from the bus?”
He shook his head, sipping the water slowly then wringing his hands around the cup. “No… should be okay.”
I trailed my fingers down his temple and over his neck; his pulse still raced. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” He yawned then, but it was more of a grimace.
I could only imagine how he was feeling. I sighed. “Well, at least humor me and drink some tea for your throat before you pass out, okay?”
He smiled and straightened up from my shoulder. “Better make it quick then.”
I kissed his temple lightly and replied with a cheeky wink, “Watch me fly.” I got up and quickly made the tea, brewing the water in the small coffee maker and pouring it into one of the white, hotel-logoed mugs. I carried the steaming tea back to the bed and found Pierre reclining against the pillows, eyes closed once more. I sat beside him and held the mug in front of his nose.
He opened his eyes after a moment and smiled. “Thanks, David,” he said quietly, carefully taking the mug and dunking the bag a few times. The water turned a rich amber color.
“You’re welcome.” I said, continuing to stare at the mug. I watched as he swirled the bag around a few times before taking it out and wringing it against the brown stir stick. He discarded both onto the nightstand. Suddenly I understood why all hotel furniture was glass-topped. People put everything on the nightstands and desks and bureaus. I shuddered to think about the items that could be included in ‘everything.’
Pierre took slow sips of the tea while I sat there, watching and thinking. I still wondered what had brought the attack on. He hadn’t had one in awhile, and it just seemed too coincidental that it had happened tonight. I knew Pierre had been fine that afternoon, and most of the evening. It was just… and there it was: the reason I’d come to his room in the first place. Our fight. But I knew that hadn’t been the trigger. We’d fought too many times, and far worse than tonight, for that to be any significant factor.
The mug clanked quietly as Pierre placed it on the nightstand. He swallowed the last mouthful of tea and sighed. He met my eyes a moment later. “You’re staying, right?” His voice was unsure and his gaze searched mine.
I frowned. “I said I was.”
He nodded vaguely, unconvinced. “Shoes.”
I looked down. I still had all my clothes on, including my shoes. I managed a smile, rolling my eyes a little. “Well, seeing you turning blue sort of distracted me from losing the Chucks,” I said, smirking a little. Thankfully, he smirked back.
“I’ll let it slide… but just this once. Next time you’re ditching the shoes before you save my life.”
I shook my head as I stood up and kicked off my shoes and socks. “You know that’s easier said than done, right?” I asked, reaching over and flipping off the over-head light before settling back down next to him.
He shrugged and pulled the comforter to his shoulders. “We all have to make sacrifices.” He coughed quietly as he shifted, lying down on the bed. I couldn’t help eyeing him anxiously. I still felt like I should’ve gotten his meds from the bus. “And you still need to lose the clothes,” he said, coughing again.
I rolled my eyes; typical. He’d just been minutes away from needing a fucking ambulance, but still wanted me in my boxers. I shook my head, but stood up, shimmying out of my tight jeans. “Only because it makes you happy,” I told him, yanking my shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor. He smiled and pulled me into his arms once I’d joined him under the comforter.
“Very happy,” he replied, then switched off the last light in the room.
I shifted a little, still hearing his heightened heart rate. He traced his fingers over my hip, his hand pulling up and letting his thumb smooth over my nipple. It perked under the touch and I closed my eyes. We hadn’t made up from the fight yet, and I still didn’t know what had caused his asthma attack. Too many distractions. I opened my eyes and grasped his hand, twining our fingers together. “Sure you’re okay?” I felt the pillow shift as he nodded in the darkness.
“I promise, David.”
I didn’t reply, just squeezed his hand. He’d made promises before, but I needed to believe him this time. Even I doubted that he’d jeopardize himself to make a point. A silent minute passed, but I heard Pierre inhale slowly, readying himself to say something more. I closed my eyes.
“David, are we…” he hesitated.
I tightened my fingers around his. “Don’t, Pierre. Just sleep, okay? We can talk later.”
“But-”
“Pierre, please?” I opened my eyes and leaned forward, kissing him softly. His lips were dry. “You need to rest.”
He sighed, sinking further down into the mattress. I could feel every part of him screaming for defiance, but it never surfaced. Instead, he tucked his head into the pillow and pulled our hands beneath his chin. “Wake me up?”
I half-smiled, grateful for his reluctant obedience. “Chuck’ll call,” I told him.
He laughed slightly. “Of course he will.” He took in a long breath and moved a little closer, relaxing onto the sheets and my arm. “Night, David,” he breathed, finally letting himself give into the exhaustion.
I kissed his temple. “Night, Pierre.”
# # #
I groaned into the pillow as the shrill ringing of Pierre’s cell yanked me out of my peaceful sleep. It was too fucking early for anyone to be calling, but we both knew who it was. Pierre hardly stirred, his face still buried beneath the sheets and comforter. I sighed, listening as the tinny refrain repeated, the call begging to be answered. Grudgingly, I pulled myself up and reached over Pierre, grabbing the mobile and sending the call through. “What?” I snapped, unable to hold back my morning wrath.
“David?” Chuck’s voice was confused.
“What?” I asked again, settling back down in the bed. Pierre tangled his feet with mine, clearly awake but not volunteering his face yet.
“I… I thought you guys were fighting,” Chuck said, “but you’re answering Pierre’s phone?”
“We are, and I am,” I replied briskly. “I came here last night to talk, but instead had to divert a crisis before paramedics became involved.”
“What? What the hell happened?”
I yawned, stretching my back as I pushed against Pierre’s feet. “He had some kind of asthma attack, and his inhalers were on the bus.”
“He didn’t have them? What did you do?”
“Improvised.”
Chuck paused, trying to figure out what my words meant. I smirked. He was probably imagining some kind of kinky CPR act; he didn’t disappoint. “I’m sure you enjoyed that mouth-to-mouth.”
I laughed. “I didn’t,” I said, intentionally misleading him. “Pierre just wasn’t into it at all.”
Chuck made a disgusted noise. “You’re sick. I trust that Pierre’s okay after everything?”
“Of course. I take wonderful care of him so you don’t have to worry.”
Chuck snorted. “I worry more about your mental state than I ever worry about Pierre.”
I smirked. “Good to know you think me so sane.”
“It’s out of love.”
“Absolutely. Now, what the hell did you wake me up for?” I asked, feeling Pierre’s feet drift along mine.
“Well, I was actually calling to make sure Pierre woke up in time for our interview.”
“Mm, okay. I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
“David,” his voice was warning.
“Okay, okay… we’re getting up. If you really want to show me you love me, you can get us coffee before we go…” Chuck grumbled but conceded. “Merci beaucoup, Charles!” I chirped, then hung up and discarded the phone onto the night table.
Pierre unearthed his face and gave me a tired smile. “Wake up call?”
I nodded. “Yeah… so wake up.”
He smirked and shoved his face back in the pillow. “Fuck that,” he moaned.
I rolled my eyes and rubbed his back. “Come on… Chuck promised to get us coffee and this interview should be cake anyway.”
He snorted. “Cake for you… Chuck and I do all the talking while you and Jeff sit there and make eyes at each other.”
I grinned. “Someone has to give them something to gossip about after we’ve left.”
“Well no shit, but could you at least be more subtle about it?”
“I could… but what’s the fun in that? I like seeing people’s reaction when I rub down Jeff’s shoulder and thigh.”
Pierre sighed, turning his head and meeting my eyes. He looked abnormally serious. “And you wonder why we’re fighting all the time these days?”
I frowned, not understanding how my actions had led to his statement. “Because I’m harmlessly pretending to come onto Jeff?”
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem like you’re pretending.”
I raised an eyebrow. His admission had surprised me. “Are you jealous?” I ventured, unsure of what his next response was going to be.
He sighed. “A little… sometimes.”
“Pierre-”
“I know, m’being stupid.” His gaze dropped to the comforter and I felt his feet pull away. “But honestly, David, can’t you see that it would hurt? I know you get worried when Chuck and I spend too much time alone together.”
“But that’s-”
“Different? Not so much. I know you and Jeff are close, and that he’s got a family, but sometimes it seems like it would be so easy for you guys to…” He trailed off.
I stared at him. I had definitely not been expecting this confession to be the root-cause of our relationship turmoil; just as I had not been expecting to actually have this conversation when we both woke up. We were both so good at not confronting out problems that we never dealt with them until they’d blown out of hand. Somehow, Pierre felt that my silly advances were something more. I wondered if that meant my problems with him were equally as petty and ill-informed. I swallowed, measuring my words and tone. “So what do you want me to do?”
Pierre raised his eyes and studied me for a quiet moment. “Nothing,” he finally said.
I frowned. “How does that make sense?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to, David. I just want you to be aware of it… be mindful that when you’re cuddling up to Jeff it’s sending a mixed message.”
I licked my lips. “So, you don’t want me to stop?”
“It’s not my choice, David. I’m not going to outright tell you that you can’t do something, because it’s not my place. I just want to let you know how I feel about it, and you can do with that whatever you will.”
I was still confused, but part of it made sense: he didn’t want to start writing laws for our relationship. I respected that, because it wasn’t right to make decisions for someone else. However, his explanation still didn’t account for all of our problems. There had to be something more. I just didn’t know if I really wanted to go looking for what lurked beneath the surface. My resolve had disappeared overnight, but the problems were still there. I sighed inwardly. None of this was going to go away easily.
“We should get ready,” Pierre said, dropping the conversation. “Otherwise Chuck might blame us for his next ulcer.”
I tried to smile, unable to shake the previous topic from my mind just yet. “Sure.” I avoided his eyes as I pushed the covers away and stood up, pulling on clothes automatically. I stuffed my socks into my shoes and grabbed them by the laces; I wouldn’t mind going barefoot back to my room and it would save me a little time anyway. I stepped toward the door just as Pierre’s voice called me back.
“David, let’s not do this… okay?”
I turned, facing him. “Do what, Pierre?”
“Fight like this… over what we know we need to talk about.”
I looked at my hands, wondering if this all had something to do with the night before. Maybe the sudden attack had woken him up to dealing with his problems. “We’re not fighting about it, Pierre. I just… need some time to think about what you told me, and figure out what I need to do.” In truth I had a lot more to figure out than that, but I wasn’t about to spill everything to him right then. I looked back up at him. He stood at the end of the bed in his boxers, skin a little paler than normal, and his chest was marked with faint red spots. I grimaced; the blood vessels had exploded during the attack.
He nodded. “All right… just,” he hesitated.
“What, Pierre?” I kept my voice as even as I could.
“Don’t do anything that makes you unhappy, okay?” He closed the space between us and pushed my hair from my eyes. “I hate seeing you unhappy.”
I held back a sigh, wondering how he believed that I was happy at all. I hadn’t been happy in a very long time. Instead of replying, I nodded, feeling his fingers slide down my neck and shoulder. We both wanted things to work out between us, but I wasn’t sure now who would be able to make the necessary sacrifices. I blinked slowly and pulled away, heading to the door. Pierre’s hand slipped from my skin and I turned away. “See you in the lobby,” I said, opening the door. I didn’t hear if he replied; I was already halfway down the corridor.
# # #
I suppose if I was being really honest with myself this all started about seven months ago. The band was on a long break from touring and shows; Pierre and Chuck were bouncing between LA and a few other places, working with different producers and writing songs for the next album. Sebastien had seen moderate success with his solo EP, and Jeff and I were just hanging around. Of course, he had his family to keep him busy, so basically all this left me free to do whatever the hell I pleased. What I really wanted was for Pierre to invite me to tag along with him and Chuck, but that never happened. So instead of doing anything constructive with my time, I chose to go out and drink every night, sometimes partaking in a random act of karaoke, but for the most part being low-key. Somehow my nights out culminated with a six day bender after Boxing Day and ending with New Year’s Eve. I spent the first day of the new decade in bed in a vodka induced stupor and on the second day I felt like I was waking out of a coma. When I stared at myself in the mirror later that day I could hardly meet the eyes of my reflection. I looked like shit.
For the first time in months I realized I’d been gaining weight again, was in desperate need of a haircut, and the last productive thing I’d done… I couldn’t remember. What the hell was wrong with me? The longer I looked at myself, the more I felt like I had no idea who I was anymore. Something needed to change-something drastic. After all, it was a new year. Maybe I could make a resolution: no more being a depressed shithead. That seemed like a good enough start. And how about losing thirty pounds along with the attitude? I’d done it before, hadn’t I? I wrinkled my nose, hating my reflection. The worst part about gaining weight for me was that it always went straight to my face, so everyone always knew when I’d pigged out. What made it harder was that it was always the last fat to shed. I didn’t mind my cheeks being fuller, that actually made me look healthy, but the puffy jowls weren’t a good look. I didn’t have any desire to look like a fat Elvis, so I had to do something about it.
The month after that had been a blur of skinny lattes, too many hours at the gym on the elliptical, and more than a few unhealthy hours in a tanning bed. Somewhere along the course, I’d developed what I liked to call my ‘figure skater’ complex. I became obsessed with Pilates, bought three too many jackets with fur trim, and wished I had my own reality TV show on the Sundance Channel. Thank you, Johnny Weir, for being an inspiration. The height of that obsession peaked in mid-February during the Olympics and then I was onto something else. I flew down to Florida and hung out for two weeks with a friend who was playing a few shows and finally getting his music career back on track after a three-year debacle with record companies and a messy divorce. I’d never admit it, but I think I was secretly in love with him and not Pierre.
Oh right, Pierre. Where had he been during the last two months? With Chuck… somewhere. Wasn’t I supposed to be having a relationship with him? I wasn’t sure. Lately it seemed I’d become celibate through sheer uncertainty. I didn’t actually care though because all my insecurities made it too much work to even bother with one-night stands anymore. So the cycle continued and before I realized what had happened my resolutions were blown: I’d put fifteen pounds back on and was coming home drunk every night at 3 a.m. I’d lost myself again, but before I could do anything about it the studio time was booked and we were locked up finally recording the new album. It was supposed to drop in July, and it was already April. I had no fucking clue how we were supposed to pull this off, but through some miracle it happened. Along with the album coming together, Pierre and I had also picked up where we’d left off. Neither of us spoke about the extended time apart, instead focusing on being together again and having the band keep us busy. Our time with each other was strained though, and instead of dwelling on it, I threw myself into other things. When I wasn’t at the studio recording I was at the gym, and when I wasn’t at the gym I was off riding motorcycles, or doing Pilates, or pretending I was an artist. I was doing everything I could to avoid my real life and self and unhappiness. That’s all it came down to.
And then the album had finally come out and we were thrown into the whirlwind of press, and shows, and continent-hopping. So here we were, in Arizona of all places, and Pierre had blind-sided me with his jealousy over the stupid, innocent flirting I did with Jeff. Of course, me being me, instead of dealing with the situation, I chose my default response and went out drinking after we’d finished things for the day. Sebastien and I had dinner together and then hit a few bars. It was always nice to go out with Seb because he never asked questions. He also made sure that I’d make it back to the hotel, no matter what happened. Typical, but at 2 a.m. I was blacked out. The last thing I remembered was pounding another whiskey sour while some chick tried to hit on me, and then I’d woken up back at the hotel, face down in bed with my shoes still on.
Seb had, thoughtfully, left a note beneath a glass on the bathroom counter. Thanks for not puking on me! Soundcheck is at 2. I’ll bring you food before we go. -S
I barely skimmed it over before sinking in front of the toilet and puking. Hangovers were something I’d gotten used to, and even though it felt like I’d ralph if I ate anything, I knew that the food Seb brought would curb any lasting symptoms. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t done soundcheck while hung-over before. Christ, I think I’d spent the entirety of my early twenties in a constant fluctuation between drunk and hung-over with no happy medium. I spat the last of the bad taste from my mouth, flushed the toilet, and climbed to my feet. I spared only another minute to rinse my mouth with water, getting the fuzz off my tongue, before going back to the bed and burrowing under the comforter.
I didn’t bother looking at the clock because I knew it would only depress me and make me wish I had more time to sleep and avoid things. I groaned into the pillow; the last two nights hadn’t gone at all like I’d wanted. I’d been so close to actually telling Pierre everything. I wanted him to know all the thoughts and emotions that were in my head. He, of all people, deserved to know what I was going through, but the situation didn’t lend itself to simplicity. Every time I’d made the decision to tell him-to confess everything-I was sidelined. The only so-called upside to this time was that it hadn’t been my own psychosis to hold me back. I stuffed my face further into the bedding, having circled back to the original problem: Pierre. What the hell had happened between us? And how the fuck were we supposed to fix a problem we couldn’t even diagnose? I felt like I needed to puke again and this time wasn’t because of the hangover.
Through some miraculous occurrence I fell back asleep without blowing chunks again and the rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. Sound check was fine, the meet and greet was fine, and the show was fine. Even things between Pierre and I seemed fine, but of course that all changed the next day on the bus. If there was one thing I truly hated about touring it was being confined to the small space on travel days. We’d all learned tricks to dealing with the imposed claustrophobia, but all they did was make it a little more bearable. My trick was to sleep through all of it. I’d hole up in my bunk and only venture out when the bus stopped somewhere for gas or whatever. Today, however, my plan was foiled.
Jeff, of all people (well, I guess it was understandable that it was him because one he could kick my ass and not feel sorry about it, and two he’d already called me out to deal with the issue the other night), yanked back the curtain on my bunk and dragged me out. Two mugs of coffee and a bag of donuts sat on the table in the front lounge. Clearly, he’d planned to accost me and wasn’t going to rest until he’d finished.
I threw myself onto the bench and glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “What now?” I asked him.
He sat across from me and picked up one of the mugs. “Same shit, David.”
I rolled my eyes and took the other coffee. “Do we really have to do this?”
“Yes, because we can’t keep picking you up every time you come down from a manic episode.”
My eyes went wide. What had he just said? “Pardon?”
“You need help, David. Maybe you’re not full blown bi-polar, but something is sure as hell going on.”
I took a large drink of coffee before meeting Jeff’s gaze. “You’re not the person I want to talk to about this.”
“Then talk to Pierre already! You know he’ll understand… and even if he doesn’t at first he’ll make every effort… we all will.”
I set the mug down and rubbed my eyes. “Jeff, I don’t…” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“Avoiding it isn’t going to make it go away, David. Is it really so hard to talk to him?”
I sighed, feeling pushed into a corner and like I was about to lose it; the fallout wouldn’t be pretty. “What am I supposed to tell him, Jeff? That I’ve been totally fucked over with depression since October and instead of doing anything about it I’ve wallowed and floundered and been pulled in so fucking deep that I have no fucking clue how I even function anymore? Because that’s guaranteed to go over so well… and really this has nothing to do with him anyway, since the person I’m totally in love with sees me as nothing more than a friend, so I’m settling for the person who wants me, but only some of the time. Oh sorry, David… I can’t love you right now… it’s the wrong month. Oh really? Sorry for you then, because I thought that actually being together meant something different.” Anger flushed through my limbs and my fingers locked in a death-grip around the mug. Had my hands somehow been around Jeff’s throat I was sure he’d have been dead by them.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, David.”
Pierre’s voice was an electroshock to my veins and my stomach immediately thrust up into my lungs, wanting to projectile vomit coffee onto Jeff. I swallowed back bile as our guitarist slid out of the bench and left the lounge. Now I had no fucking choice; there was nowhere to run. I stared at the vacant spot where Jeff’s head had been, paralyzed. I felt like my lungs were going to cave in from lack of oxygen in the room and somehow my thoughts leapt back to Pierre’s asthma attack. I still didn’t know what had caused it. Thirty seconds of eternity passed before Pierre finally sat down across from me, a strange look on his face. Apparently neither of us wanted to have this talk and somehow I knew he’d laid a false trail anyway. He didn’t give a shit about me flirting with Jeff. That had been a sack of bullshit to keep me from the real issue. My anger flared again, but I remained silent.
“I am sorry, David.”
I stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Not your fault,” I shot back.
“It is though, at least partially. I should have…” He sighed and slouched down, eyes dropping to his cup of coffee. “David, when I was in LA… it was like a test. I wanted… I wasn’t sure about what was going on between us. I mean, it’s been…” he hesitated. “I feel like we’ve been together for so long that we got really complacent and it was all… it was just expected or something. I don’t know… I guess I got so comfortable with us that I haven’t thought about it or worked for it or anything. I guess… I’ve taken it for granted.”
I listened as patiently as I could, practically biting through my tongue before I started sipping what was left of my lukewarm coffee. Apparently Pierre didn’t give a shit about how I felt regarding our so-called relationship. Of course we’d gotten comfortable in it and taken everything for granted. When one person gave up and stopped trying to fight for what he wanted then the other person naturally assumed everything was fine. I almost rolled my eyes, really wanting to spit in his face, but I held back. I knew it was a two-way street and I was probably as guilty as he was, but it was because of his ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude that I’d given up in the first place. I suppose if we’d tried harder, both of us, things would’ve worked out. I swallowed hard, words wanting to avalanche out of my mouth. Apathy was the easier road to take and I found myself shrugging my shoulders again. “It is what it is, Pierre.”
He sighed. “David, you say that every fucking time, and you never mean it. I know you’re pissed at me… why else have we been avoiding each other the last few weeks? Why else would I have had to force myself into asthmatic bullshit just to make you wake up and pay attention?”
I stared hard at him. “What?”
“Yeah, David. I did it on purpose so that maybe… just maybe, you’d finally come out of your fucking hole and see something beyond yourself for a minute or two. Of course I didn’t plan on you walking in when you did… I fully planned on involving paramedics and being in the hospital for like two days, but-”
“You are unbelievable!” I shoved my coffee mug away from myself and stood up from the bench. I couldn’t listen to any more of his explanation, lest I end up slitting his throat, which was what he obviously wanted because why else would he have intentionally gone into an asthma attack that was potentially fatal? “What the fuck were you thinking, Pierre?! You could have died!”
“David-”
“NO! Do you have any idea how fucking moronic that is?! Why didn’t you just say something to me? Fucking… clocked me in the face… I don’t know. Something else would have been better and easier than harming yourself like that.” I couldn’t stop shaking my head. My hands were shaking too. Fury radiated through me and I couldn’t stop it. I wanted off the bus terribly. I wanted to be home and away from everyone. I didn’t want to deal with the situation in front of me. I wanted to be over in Europe with someone else who actually loved me and wasn’t in love with the idea of me. How had one of the closest friendships I’d ever had mutated into such a clusterfuck of an intimate relationship? I knew that both Pierre and I were a little fucked up, but now I finally knew just how much so. My gut screamed at me to cut off all ties. Things would be better if we were just finally done with it. Somehow we’d turned the relationship into a co-dependency that was worse than even Sid and Nancy. I didn’t know who would stab who, and I certainly didn’t ever want to find out.
“David,”
I shook my head more. “No, Pierre. I’m done. I am totally fucking done with this. I know everyone expects that we’ll both understand and come to terms and have a happy fucking ending, but I can’t do that. I am just too fucked up right now to try to deal with someone else’s shit on top of my own… maybe when this tour is all done with we can have a fucking do-over, but right now…” I glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry… we’re through.” I tore my gaze away and turned back to the bunks, climbing quickly into my own and yanking the curtain closed. I hoped to God no one else tried to drag me out again because if they did, they would fail spectacularly.
# # #
Thirty. Holy fucking shit; I’d turned thirty. I had crossed a threshold that I had dreaded for months and it wasn’t sitting well, as evidence by the amount of vodka currently in my bloodstream. I suspected that if I’d had to take any one of those police-issued sobriety tests I would have failed. I was so completely intoxicated by happy hour that I had no idea how I’d not passed out by seven. Yet, here I was at midnight, still not blacked out. Pierre was hauling me into a taxi and back to the hotel. Somewhere in a back corner of my brain I knew that this was significant, but the alcohol-haze was too thick to penetrate with conscious thought. Instead I gave into his smell and warm body. I wanted to sleep it off.
When I woke up the next morning the first thing I realized was that I wasn’t alone. The second thing I realized was that I was ferociously hung-over and if I didn’t get to the bathroom in three seconds I would most likely puke on a) Pierre, b) myself, or c) everything else in the general vicinity of both of us. I ungracefully rolled off the bed and staggered into the bathroom, slamming the lid of the toilet up just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach into it. Why the fuck did I always do this to myself? I never liked these mornings. There was never anything great or glamorous about them, and inevitably I always ended up wasting a day because I was too preoccupied with trying to not puke that everything else went by the wayside. What the hell was my problem? Aside from the obvious of course. The obvious reason being that I was shallow and hated turning thirty so much that it had fucked me up for an entire year beforehand. The other reason being that I was still in love with Pierre despite the fact I’d broken up with him a mere six weeks before because why else would we have ended up in the same bed? I flushed the toilet then lay my head on my arm, eyes closing as I started to fall asleep on the toilet. Someone call TMZ, I was a genuinely hot mess this morning.
“David?”
Even though Pierre’s voice was a whisper I cringed at it. Any noise was too much right then. “What?” I whispered back, not moving or opening my eyes.
“Um,”
The hesitance in his voice was thick and I smirked. He was clearly about to ask whether or not I was all right, yet I was basically passed out on the floor in front of the toilet and generally that meant things were not all right. “M’fine,” I mumbled, even though I totally wasn’t, and turned my face to bury my eyes on my arm. He sighed and ran the tap and took care of me for the next few minutes because I was too out of it to bitch at him properly. Finally, what was fifteen minutes, but felt like an hour, later we moved from the bathroom back to the bed. I had no other intentions than to fall back asleep and wake up around five to have dinner and pretend the whole episode hadn’t happened. Pierre, however, had other ideas. We lay together in the bed, in just another random hotel room in another random city for another random performance. Somehow my life seemed to be absolutely made up of random connections and coincidences, but maybe that’s what made it what it was. I closed my eyes tighter; I was way too hung-over to be having thoughts like that. Pierre’s fingers dragged through my hair.
“I still love you,” he said quietly.
I sighed, making no effort to hold it back. “Pierre,”
“I can’t help it, David. I’ve been in love with you forever and I hate seeing you do this to yourself. I’m sorry about not being there for you while I was in LA, but I had to figure my shit out. I didn’t realize that by the time I got back and was ready to really be together again you would’ve given up. I was a total fucking moron, and I know that now. I just… I want this again. I want lazy, hung-over Sundays together. I want your shallow, cynical bullshit. I want our little bubble of absolute fucked-up-ness, because it’s our fucked-up-ness and I really can’t imagine my life without that. I need you, David… and not just because we’ve been together forever and it’s some kind of weird parasitic relationship. I honestly love you and it feels like something is absolutely missing when I don’t have you.”
I kept my eyes closed; my head was throbbing against my skull and somehow Pierre’s fingers sliding over my skin weren’t making me feel any better. I shifted uncomfortably, swallowing hard. “Pierre… m’too hung-over to think, okay?”
“I know, that’s why I wanted to tell you this now… so you can sleep on it. We can talk about it later.”
He kissed my head then and I sighed, pressing my face into his chest. He always made it so hard to just walk away. And I knew that no matter what, I’d cave. Regardless of the reservations I had, or any of my doubts, and all the reasons I’d wanted to break up with him in the first place, they’d all get cancelled out and we’d end up together. I held back another sigh, feeling like I needed to puke again. It almost made me laugh, because I finally realized the point I’d been missing all along. Pierre was here… with me. He hadn’t left me on the floor of the bar, or bathroom, or anywhere. He’d taken care of me, and knew exactly what was wrong before even I did. I was always the one running away from him, because it scared me that I would actually spend the rest of my life with him. And of course we’d fight and probably break up eleven more times, but that’s because it was what we did. We had to do it… rather, I had to do it, because it made me feel better. I needed to constantly feel like he wanted me, and the easiest way for me to feel that was to always try to push him away. I rolled my eyes at myself and pushed closer to him. I had too many issues to work through at the moment, so I settled for the easiest solution that wasn’t avoidance.
“I love you too, Pierre.”
His hands were hot on my skin as they stopped moving and his palms pressed down flat. I knew I’d probably caught him off guard, but surprise was something at which I excelled. It guaranteed that our relationship, however much of one we truly had, would never be boring.
“You mean it?” he asked, unsure.
I sighed into him. “I always mean it,” I replied. “I just… I have issues. You know that.”
He laughed, his stomach convulsing against my hips. “Oh, I know.”
I curled closer against him and tried to breathe evenly. “Now let me sleep? Otherwise I’m going to puke all over you.”
He kissed my head again and pulled the blankets tight around us. “Sure thing, D.”
I stretched out against him and readied to pass out, thoughts drifting until I vaguely made out the sound of my cell phone ringing. I sighed; it was Alex.
“You need to get that?” Pierre asked.
I shook my head, burrowing my face into him. “It can wait,” I told him, and it was true. For the moment, we had each other, and that was all I cared about.
- - FIN - -