(no subject)
Author: veiledndarkness
Title: The Endless Months
Prompt #: 9 - Months
Rating: Pg
Summary: Jack waits as the months drag by.
Warnings: usual disclaimer. minor angsty-fluff..is that even a category? I'd say Jack's probably 17 or so here, so that would make Bobby approx. 29 according to the movie. Also, I hate the title, lol.
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15 Months
I write the words down, a sour taste in my mouth as I look over the number.
64 Weeks
I cross the words out angrily; dark vicious smudges on my notebook.
448 Days
I throw my pencil down, furiously biting my lip, struggling not to scream.
I can’t breathe. ‘How in the fuck am I supposed to get through this?’ I rage silently.
My door opens then. I can hear quiet footsteps behind me. I hunch my shoulders protectively over my notebook. A soft hand rests on my arm. Mom.
Her hand moves to my shoulder then to my back where she makes small, soothing circles. I bite down harder. Not going to cry, not going to cry...who am I kidding?
I turn around and wrap my arms around her, standing and hugging her almost too tightly. She rubs my back and makes comforting sounds.
“It’s alright Jackie. 15 months isn’t so long, you’ll see,” she says to me.
The tears fall from my flushed face and my shoulders shake. I cry for what seems like forever until, embarrassed, I pull back from her.
“It is to me,” I whisper. I swallow hard as my mind taunts me with a mental image that won’t leave.
She passes me some tissue and nods her head in wise understanding. “I know Jackie.”
“He’ll be back before you know it.”
I well up again.
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12 Months
I stare moodily at the calendar, each previous day marked with a large X through it.
52 Weeks
Still one whole year to go. I flip the calendar pages ahead, glancing wistfully at the one with the circle around it. The days crawl for me. Each filled with doubt, pain, and love.
365 Days
The phone rings, distracting me from my sulking. It rings twice more before Mom picks up. I scratch at the page filled with equations in front of me. Frustrated with the questions and at a loss for solving them, I doodle all over the margins of my page. Mom’s voice calls me then.
I head down to the living room, nearly running for the phone. She hands the receiver over to me with a small smile. She picks up the nearby laundry basket and leaves me alone in the room. For that, I flash a thankful grin. I settle in, talking excitedly, my mood increased tenfold.
After the connection is cut, I hang up the receiver slowly. As always, my happy mood has ended right after the phone call.
Mom stops in my room that night, under the pretense of putting clothes away. She listens to me struggle to stay happy, my false smile doesn’t fool her. She leans down over my desk in front of me and crosses off today.
“One less day now,” she says as she hugs me goodnight.
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6 Months
I’ve stopped pretending to be interested in regular stuff. I can’t keep up the fake mask.
26 Weeks
I pick at my food, barely interested in what’s in front of me. It could be cardboard for all I know.
Mom scolds me and tells me that I need to eat. Her lectures are only out of practice, no real annoyance behind them. She understands; I know she does. I push my plate away.
182 Days
I spend the days moping around the house. Mom gives me small chores to do. I do them with only the barest amount of effort. I can’t focus. I put any energy I do have into my music. I play my guitar, sad songs that leave me hollowed.
The phone rings less often now. I still run every time, just in case, only to find out that someone wants me to do a survey. I slam the phone down, each time hating the angry violence that is always on the edge of my mind.
I cross another day off, my hands shaking. I can’t take this, I can’t.
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3 Months
I watch idly as the pin sinks into the pad of my pinky finger. The blood wells up; a large blob that wobbles, and then falls off my finger and onto the sink basin. I blink as the pain only stings a bit. I sigh and scoff at myself.
Too scared to even try it for real. I resort to only using a pin on the tip of my smallest finger. The idea of doing it anywhere else frightens me. I let out a dry, bitter laugh.
12 Weeks
I lie in my bed, staring out the window. I haven’t been to school all week. Mom tried to yell at me, but she gave up after two days. When I get out of bed, I watch the cars drive by, and stare at my calendar.
84 Days
Jerry yelled at me, told me to stop feeling sorry for myself. I ignored him, feeling his words wash over me. He tells me that I’m selfish. I turn my back to him, but not before he sees the trail of one lone tear on my cheek.
He grabs me and hugs me while talking. “It’s gonna be fine man, it’s only a couple of weeks. Be strong for him.”
I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of waiting. I just want him back.
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Last Day
It’s been raining for three days, nonstop.
The sky is dark; the clouds heavy and hanging low.
I pace the length of my room, I can’t sit still.
What if...what if I wasted my time? What if he doesn’t care that I waited?
Last Hour
I stare obsessively out the living room window. Mom’s van pulls into the driveway.
My mouth is dry, my palms wet. I breathe slowly but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to throw up.
She comes through the door first, shaking the rain off her umbrella. She smiles and nods at me. I cross the room in three big steps, my heart pounding in my ears.
He comes through the door, wiping at the rain on his face. He looks up just as my body collides with his. He groans as the weight of my body slams into him.
He runs his fingers through my hair, his eyes closed in memory.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mom head for the kitchen. She always knows.
I pull back a bit and meet his eyes. “Bobby,” I breathe.
He grabs my face with both hands and our lips are together and my eyes are closed as the feel of his lips overwhelms me and I’m falling, sure that I’m falling as his kiss deepens, his skin rough against mine, a strong kiss.
We rest our foreheads together as we hug, I’m shaking as I whisper his name again and again. He pulls me close and claims my mouth. We part and I bury my face in his shoulder.
“Don’t go, don’t ever go.”
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Hmm, so this was to take place while Bobby spent time in jail for a petty crime I guess. Poor Jack...how I make him suffer.
Title: The Endless Months
Prompt #: 9 - Months
Rating: Pg
Summary: Jack waits as the months drag by.
Warnings: usual disclaimer. minor angsty-fluff..is that even a category? I'd say Jack's probably 17 or so here, so that would make Bobby approx. 29 according to the movie. Also, I hate the title, lol.
*********************************************************************
15 Months
I write the words down, a sour taste in my mouth as I look over the number.
64 Weeks
I cross the words out angrily; dark vicious smudges on my notebook.
448 Days
I throw my pencil down, furiously biting my lip, struggling not to scream.
I can’t breathe. ‘How in the fuck am I supposed to get through this?’ I rage silently.
My door opens then. I can hear quiet footsteps behind me. I hunch my shoulders protectively over my notebook. A soft hand rests on my arm. Mom.
Her hand moves to my shoulder then to my back where she makes small, soothing circles. I bite down harder. Not going to cry, not going to cry...who am I kidding?
I turn around and wrap my arms around her, standing and hugging her almost too tightly. She rubs my back and makes comforting sounds.
“It’s alright Jackie. 15 months isn’t so long, you’ll see,” she says to me.
The tears fall from my flushed face and my shoulders shake. I cry for what seems like forever until, embarrassed, I pull back from her.
“It is to me,” I whisper. I swallow hard as my mind taunts me with a mental image that won’t leave.
She passes me some tissue and nods her head in wise understanding. “I know Jackie.”
“He’ll be back before you know it.”
I well up again.
******************************************************************
12 Months
I stare moodily at the calendar, each previous day marked with a large X through it.
52 Weeks
Still one whole year to go. I flip the calendar pages ahead, glancing wistfully at the one with the circle around it. The days crawl for me. Each filled with doubt, pain, and love.
365 Days
The phone rings, distracting me from my sulking. It rings twice more before Mom picks up. I scratch at the page filled with equations in front of me. Frustrated with the questions and at a loss for solving them, I doodle all over the margins of my page. Mom’s voice calls me then.
I head down to the living room, nearly running for the phone. She hands the receiver over to me with a small smile. She picks up the nearby laundry basket and leaves me alone in the room. For that, I flash a thankful grin. I settle in, talking excitedly, my mood increased tenfold.
After the connection is cut, I hang up the receiver slowly. As always, my happy mood has ended right after the phone call.
Mom stops in my room that night, under the pretense of putting clothes away. She listens to me struggle to stay happy, my false smile doesn’t fool her. She leans down over my desk in front of me and crosses off today.
“One less day now,” she says as she hugs me goodnight.
*******************************************************************
6 Months
I’ve stopped pretending to be interested in regular stuff. I can’t keep up the fake mask.
26 Weeks
I pick at my food, barely interested in what’s in front of me. It could be cardboard for all I know.
Mom scolds me and tells me that I need to eat. Her lectures are only out of practice, no real annoyance behind them. She understands; I know she does. I push my plate away.
182 Days
I spend the days moping around the house. Mom gives me small chores to do. I do them with only the barest amount of effort. I can’t focus. I put any energy I do have into my music. I play my guitar, sad songs that leave me hollowed.
The phone rings less often now. I still run every time, just in case, only to find out that someone wants me to do a survey. I slam the phone down, each time hating the angry violence that is always on the edge of my mind.
I cross another day off, my hands shaking. I can’t take this, I can’t.
*******************************************************************
3 Months
I watch idly as the pin sinks into the pad of my pinky finger. The blood wells up; a large blob that wobbles, and then falls off my finger and onto the sink basin. I blink as the pain only stings a bit. I sigh and scoff at myself.
Too scared to even try it for real. I resort to only using a pin on the tip of my smallest finger. The idea of doing it anywhere else frightens me. I let out a dry, bitter laugh.
12 Weeks
I lie in my bed, staring out the window. I haven’t been to school all week. Mom tried to yell at me, but she gave up after two days. When I get out of bed, I watch the cars drive by, and stare at my calendar.
84 Days
Jerry yelled at me, told me to stop feeling sorry for myself. I ignored him, feeling his words wash over me. He tells me that I’m selfish. I turn my back to him, but not before he sees the trail of one lone tear on my cheek.
He grabs me and hugs me while talking. “It’s gonna be fine man, it’s only a couple of weeks. Be strong for him.”
I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of waiting. I just want him back.
**********************************************************************
Last Day
It’s been raining for three days, nonstop.
The sky is dark; the clouds heavy and hanging low.
I pace the length of my room, I can’t sit still.
What if...what if I wasted my time? What if he doesn’t care that I waited?
Last Hour
I stare obsessively out the living room window. Mom’s van pulls into the driveway.
My mouth is dry, my palms wet. I breathe slowly but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to throw up.
She comes through the door first, shaking the rain off her umbrella. She smiles and nods at me. I cross the room in three big steps, my heart pounding in my ears.
He comes through the door, wiping at the rain on his face. He looks up just as my body collides with his. He groans as the weight of my body slams into him.
He runs his fingers through my hair, his eyes closed in memory.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mom head for the kitchen. She always knows.
I pull back a bit and meet his eyes. “Bobby,” I breathe.
He grabs my face with both hands and our lips are together and my eyes are closed as the feel of his lips overwhelms me and I’m falling, sure that I’m falling as his kiss deepens, his skin rough against mine, a strong kiss.
We rest our foreheads together as we hug, I’m shaking as I whisper his name again and again. He pulls me close and claims my mouth. We part and I bury my face in his shoulder.
“Don’t go, don’t ever go.”
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Hmm, so this was to take place while Bobby spent time in jail for a petty crime I guess. Poor Jack...how I make him suffer.