LABYRINTH 2015: NINE ½ WEEKS IN L.A. (American Idol S7 RPF), [Cook/Archuleta] - CUT SCENE
[Back to Part Two]
[CUT SCENE: ADDITIONAL WARNING. This scene mirrors a scene that was cut from the original Nine ½ Weeks movie and may similarly be regarded as a separate cut scene from this story, which stands alone without it. Please pass over this scene if you think it might be distressing or triggering in any way. Warnings: substance abuse, emotional abuse, self-harm.]
Cook has been on edge this whole week in the run-up to the premiere.
Halfway through the week he realizes that the yellow isn’t taking him up any more, the blue isn’t making him calm, and when he’s rummaging through his desk for the bag of white powder, it hits him: Arch has switched his pills.
In another life, maybe, Cook would have lost it completely. He certainly considers it, in the rush of red that doesn’t come from the pills for once, that fills him with rage from heels to eyeballs.
He contents himself with muffled cursing. He wants to pound his hands into the table and shriek until his throat is hoarse, but that won’t do with red carpet interviews coming up. Besides, Arch isn’t in the house; he’s off at some event and won’t be back until after dinner.
So he sits and waits, detachedly, for the shaking, the crashing of images in his head, to subside.
He’s quite calm when he dials up Steve and asks for something special.
(You’re mine, always.)
He, he’s going to show Archuleta what that means.
*
When Arch comes back to the house, everything is dark. The automatic porch lights don’t come on when he drives in, for some reason, and he stumbles on the polished step, has to fumble for the manual light switch.
He finds Cook sitting at the long table in the dining room. There’s a open bottle of wine on the table, a couple of glasses. Also on the table: a clear plastic bottle of multi-colored pills.
Cook's blond Labyrinth hair shines like a halo under the low lights.
"I’ve been waiting for you," says Cook, and Arch knows two things: first, that he’s busted, and second, that Cook is high as a kite and is mad as hell.
"You have?" Arch figures his best move is to brazen things out. For all Cook’s tone is mild, there’s an undercurrent which Arch hasn’t heard before, something which Cook’s hands may or may not have told him, fastening the velvet across his wrists, the silk over his eyes.
"Yeah," says Cook, calmly. "We need to talk about some things."
For some reason, fight-or-flight adrenaline is pumping through Arch like it’s a drug. Arch thrusts it aside.
Honesty’s best; he knows he should have been straight with Cook. "Looks like you found out about the pills," he says, cautiously, taking a seat at the table adjacent to Cook’s.
Cook waved a hand like it’s come unhinged from his body. "Not the nicest thing to do, though it’s not what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Really?" says Archuleta. "You promised me you’d stop, that you’d go to a clinic after the premiere. I got sick of checking your drawers for pills like you’re a child. When I finally found where you hid them, I figured I’d take a less direct approach."
"Nice one, babe. Way to come out swinging," says Cook, mildly. "What I wanted to do was to play a game."
"Another game?"
"You like our games, Arch," and Cook runs a calloused thumb across Archuleta’s wrist, above Arch’s watch. Despite himself, Arch shivers, and he's ashamed to note it's with desire. "You’ll like this one. We get to ask each other questions, and, before each question, we’ll take a pill."
Arch stares at the plastic bottle. The pills seem to grow bigger, somehow, under the low light, as if under a camera's magnifying lens.
"These pills…are these the ones that I…?" Arch manages to tear his eyes away from the pills to look over at Cook, who shrugs elaborately.
"Maybe. Maybe not. That’s part of the fun," Cook says, softly.
Arch is shivering with tenseness and desire. He stares into Cook's eyes, trying to read what's behind them. "Why are you doing this?"
"Hey, it was you who started it, with the funny business over the pills." Cook's casual tone isn’t fooling Arch. His thumb rests possessively on top of Arch's wrist.
Arch feels as if his head is filled with cotton wool, like he isn’t inhabiting his body. He has no idea what Cook is up to.
He transfers his attention to the pill bottle, tries to out-think Cook. Out loud, he says, "They're not real, are they. These are...these are the things I got from the clinic, made of sugar. Not the ones Delano gave you. They're not real." He looks back at Cook again. His voice is shaking. "Are they real, Cook? Why are we doing this?"
Cook reaches over, uncaps the bottle, shakes out two pills. Red ones.
"Because there are questions," Cook says, very quietly. "Because this will answer them."
He puts a red pill in Arch's hand like it's a weapon.
As casually as if they're playing Scrabble, Cook says, "You first? Me first? I forget how it's decided. Why not you? You go first."
And then Cook's eyes are anything but casual: "Since you're the one who thought to try this thing with the pills, Arch. Okay? You first."
Arch watches his own hand come up slowly and put the red pill in his mouth. It tastes of nothing.
He swallows with a sip of wine from the glass Cook pushes towards him.
"Good," says Cook, softly. "That's good."
Arch settles back in his chair. His head is buzzing, he's aroused and nervous and has no idea why he's playing this game. He takes another sip of wine.
"Now you get to ask me a question," Cook says. He clasps his hands on the table in front of him, and doesn't touch Archuleta. His gaze is very intent.
Arch reaches for the first question he can think of. It's always this question. "Do you love me?"
"Yes," Cook says, and for an instant, it's the old Cook, who would never have asked Arch to participate in anything like this game. Then Cook palms his red too, dry, and grins wolfishly, and the gentleness is gone.
"Okay, my turn now. Do you love me, Arch?"
"Yes...but..."
Cook clasps his fingers around Archuleta's wrist. "Hey. No buts. Just yes or no."
Yes, but it scares me how much I love you. Yes, but it's my fault that you're sick. Yes, but you need help, and I can't give it to you. "Yes, then. Yes."
"That's good to know. Here, try yellow this time." Cook hands the pill over, a slice of topaz.
Arch takes another swallow, chases it with wine. He watches, impersonally, as Cook pours more Chardonnay into his glass.
"My turn," Arch says, in a steadier voice, and, you know, he has kind of figured this out: Cook isn't crazy enough to want to harm them both. The pills are fake. This is just like the other games, a cracked-out test of love.
Okay, then, let's use this. Two can play this game. "Cook, why won't you give up the drugs, like you promised?"
Cook's gaze is dark and warning. "Hey, yes or no questions only, babe."
"Fine, then. Will you go to rehab, like you promised?"
He watches Cook's jaw work, the conflict in Cook's eyes. "Yes. No. I don't know," Cook confesses, finally, and Arch exhales -- the truth at last. He's shaking -- he can't believe Cook has tried to put him off all these weeks -- he takes a gulp of wine, just to give his hands something to do.
Cook's eyes never leave his as he swallows his own yellow pill. "So. Will you still stay with me, anyway?"
Yes, but you need to stop lying to me, Cook. Yes, but this is going to kill you and you know it. Yes, but this is killing me, I think, very slowly. Although games like this might speed that part right up.
"Yes. Yes, I'll stay," he hears himself say, and God help them both.
Arch watches Cook shake blue pills out of the bottle. His head is definitely spinning, but he can't tell whether it's from the pain of that last revelation or the wine -- Arch has a lousy tolerance for Chardonnay. It could be from drugs, of course. Maybe Cook is crazy enough to want to do this. Maybe.
Is he going to risk it?
It's his fault that Cook is like this. If he hadn’t left Cook those years ago, if he hadn’t chosen not to forgive…
… Maybe this will make Cook see that Arch really loves him, that Arch won't leave, if he thinks Arch is willing to risk everything for him. Maybe this will be the turning point for Cook. Maybe.
His head's pounding, the room's spinning. He stares at the blue pill in his hand.
"Is this real? Cook?"
"You already asked that, babe, and I already said, maybe they are." Cook shrugs; Arch squints over at him, it's getting a little harder to see.
"You said if I played this game you'd tell the truth! Tell me." His voice sounds shrill and at the same time muzzy to his ears.
"If you wanna waste your turn on that question, that's fine. But you'll have to swallow first." Cook taps Arch's wrist gently, the one that's cupping the blue pill.
Is this the pill that'll do it? Archuleta hesitates. He's shivering, it's hard to think -
Cook's eyes are huge, bottomless. "Arch, do you love me? Then, swallow - " and Arch shudders convulsively and puts the blue pill in his mouth.
It goes down bitter, bitter like grief. Arch gulps down wine, coughs and nearly chokes, and he has to put his head on his knees.
As if from very far away, he feels the touch of Cook's fingers, rubbing his back tenderly. Hears Cook make hushing sounds in his ear, "Shh, babe, it's okay, I've got you."
Oh God, like that's comforting. Arch has tears in his eyes, from the coughing, from the wine, from the drugs he's taken, most like; he shakes Cook off, raises his face to the light again, fiercely.
"Okay, I swallowed. Now answer me. Are these pills real?"
Have you decided to do this for real? Is there still time to call the paramedics, and have them pump our stomachs out, or will we run out of time, like cautionary tales for stupid lovers everywhere, and my boy will grow up and I won't be there --
"No." It seems to come from a great distance away. Cook's haunted, stricken face, wavering under the lights. "They're not, they're not real. Arch, I'm so sorry -- "
Archuleta shoves away from the table violently, pushes to his feet. The room skews crazily on one side as he staggers away from the dining room.
Somehow, he makes it to the bathroom, falls to his knees on the cold tile, and vomits into the bowl. It takes a really long time for everything to come up.
When he finally stops retching, he realizes that Cook's there, holding him, stroking his hair.
"Babe, I would never let you take pills that were real, you must believe me. I was just so angry, that's all, I went a little crazy with the game."
Arch leans back against Cook, shivering. Cook's hands cup his sweaty face, "Are you okay?"
"I wasn't sure," Arch mumbles. "I thought maybe you wanted both of us to ...” He can’t say it. “And it seems I was willing, too."
Cook's arms tighten around him. His voice is raw and aching. "I would never do that, never. I love you so much. I'll do the rehab, after the premiere, I promise. Please believe me."
Arch does, he does believe Cook. Because the alternative is too hard to consider right now, folded over on the bathroom floor as if his heart is breaking, and maybe it is.
[END CUT SCENE.]
Master Post : Part One : Part Two : Part Three : Epilogue
[CUT SCENE: ADDITIONAL WARNING. This scene mirrors a scene that was cut from the original Nine ½ Weeks movie and may similarly be regarded as a separate cut scene from this story, which stands alone without it. Please pass over this scene if you think it might be distressing or triggering in any way. Warnings: substance abuse, emotional abuse, self-harm.]
Cook has been on edge this whole week in the run-up to the premiere.
Halfway through the week he realizes that the yellow isn’t taking him up any more, the blue isn’t making him calm, and when he’s rummaging through his desk for the bag of white powder, it hits him: Arch has switched his pills.
In another life, maybe, Cook would have lost it completely. He certainly considers it, in the rush of red that doesn’t come from the pills for once, that fills him with rage from heels to eyeballs.
He contents himself with muffled cursing. He wants to pound his hands into the table and shriek until his throat is hoarse, but that won’t do with red carpet interviews coming up. Besides, Arch isn’t in the house; he’s off at some event and won’t be back until after dinner.
So he sits and waits, detachedly, for the shaking, the crashing of images in his head, to subside.
He’s quite calm when he dials up Steve and asks for something special.
(You’re mine, always.)
He, he’s going to show Archuleta what that means.
*
When Arch comes back to the house, everything is dark. The automatic porch lights don’t come on when he drives in, for some reason, and he stumbles on the polished step, has to fumble for the manual light switch.
He finds Cook sitting at the long table in the dining room. There’s a open bottle of wine on the table, a couple of glasses. Also on the table: a clear plastic bottle of multi-colored pills.
Cook's blond Labyrinth hair shines like a halo under the low lights.
"I’ve been waiting for you," says Cook, and Arch knows two things: first, that he’s busted, and second, that Cook is high as a kite and is mad as hell.
"You have?" Arch figures his best move is to brazen things out. For all Cook’s tone is mild, there’s an undercurrent which Arch hasn’t heard before, something which Cook’s hands may or may not have told him, fastening the velvet across his wrists, the silk over his eyes.
"Yeah," says Cook, calmly. "We need to talk about some things."
For some reason, fight-or-flight adrenaline is pumping through Arch like it’s a drug. Arch thrusts it aside.
Honesty’s best; he knows he should have been straight with Cook. "Looks like you found out about the pills," he says, cautiously, taking a seat at the table adjacent to Cook’s.
Cook waved a hand like it’s come unhinged from his body. "Not the nicest thing to do, though it’s not what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Really?" says Archuleta. "You promised me you’d stop, that you’d go to a clinic after the premiere. I got sick of checking your drawers for pills like you’re a child. When I finally found where you hid them, I figured I’d take a less direct approach."
"Nice one, babe. Way to come out swinging," says Cook, mildly. "What I wanted to do was to play a game."
"Another game?"
"You like our games, Arch," and Cook runs a calloused thumb across Archuleta’s wrist, above Arch’s watch. Despite himself, Arch shivers, and he's ashamed to note it's with desire. "You’ll like this one. We get to ask each other questions, and, before each question, we’ll take a pill."
Arch stares at the plastic bottle. The pills seem to grow bigger, somehow, under the low light, as if under a camera's magnifying lens.
"These pills…are these the ones that I…?" Arch manages to tear his eyes away from the pills to look over at Cook, who shrugs elaborately.
"Maybe. Maybe not. That’s part of the fun," Cook says, softly.
Arch is shivering with tenseness and desire. He stares into Cook's eyes, trying to read what's behind them. "Why are you doing this?"
"Hey, it was you who started it, with the funny business over the pills." Cook's casual tone isn’t fooling Arch. His thumb rests possessively on top of Arch's wrist.
Arch feels as if his head is filled with cotton wool, like he isn’t inhabiting his body. He has no idea what Cook is up to.
He transfers his attention to the pill bottle, tries to out-think Cook. Out loud, he says, "They're not real, are they. These are...these are the things I got from the clinic, made of sugar. Not the ones Delano gave you. They're not real." He looks back at Cook again. His voice is shaking. "Are they real, Cook? Why are we doing this?"
Cook reaches over, uncaps the bottle, shakes out two pills. Red ones.
"Because there are questions," Cook says, very quietly. "Because this will answer them."
He puts a red pill in Arch's hand like it's a weapon.
As casually as if they're playing Scrabble, Cook says, "You first? Me first? I forget how it's decided. Why not you? You go first."
And then Cook's eyes are anything but casual: "Since you're the one who thought to try this thing with the pills, Arch. Okay? You first."
Arch watches his own hand come up slowly and put the red pill in his mouth. It tastes of nothing.
He swallows with a sip of wine from the glass Cook pushes towards him.
"Good," says Cook, softly. "That's good."
Arch settles back in his chair. His head is buzzing, he's aroused and nervous and has no idea why he's playing this game. He takes another sip of wine.
"Now you get to ask me a question," Cook says. He clasps his hands on the table in front of him, and doesn't touch Archuleta. His gaze is very intent.
Arch reaches for the first question he can think of. It's always this question. "Do you love me?"
"Yes," Cook says, and for an instant, it's the old Cook, who would never have asked Arch to participate in anything like this game. Then Cook palms his red too, dry, and grins wolfishly, and the gentleness is gone.
"Okay, my turn now. Do you love me, Arch?"
"Yes...but..."
Cook clasps his fingers around Archuleta's wrist. "Hey. No buts. Just yes or no."
Yes, but it scares me how much I love you. Yes, but it's my fault that you're sick. Yes, but you need help, and I can't give it to you. "Yes, then. Yes."
"That's good to know. Here, try yellow this time." Cook hands the pill over, a slice of topaz.
Arch takes another swallow, chases it with wine. He watches, impersonally, as Cook pours more Chardonnay into his glass.
"My turn," Arch says, in a steadier voice, and, you know, he has kind of figured this out: Cook isn't crazy enough to want to harm them both. The pills are fake. This is just like the other games, a cracked-out test of love.
Okay, then, let's use this. Two can play this game. "Cook, why won't you give up the drugs, like you promised?"
Cook's gaze is dark and warning. "Hey, yes or no questions only, babe."
"Fine, then. Will you go to rehab, like you promised?"
He watches Cook's jaw work, the conflict in Cook's eyes. "Yes. No. I don't know," Cook confesses, finally, and Arch exhales -- the truth at last. He's shaking -- he can't believe Cook has tried to put him off all these weeks -- he takes a gulp of wine, just to give his hands something to do.
Cook's eyes never leave his as he swallows his own yellow pill. "So. Will you still stay with me, anyway?"
Yes, but you need to stop lying to me, Cook. Yes, but this is going to kill you and you know it. Yes, but this is killing me, I think, very slowly. Although games like this might speed that part right up.
"Yes. Yes, I'll stay," he hears himself say, and God help them both.
Arch watches Cook shake blue pills out of the bottle. His head is definitely spinning, but he can't tell whether it's from the pain of that last revelation or the wine -- Arch has a lousy tolerance for Chardonnay. It could be from drugs, of course. Maybe Cook is crazy enough to want to do this. Maybe.
Is he going to risk it?
It's his fault that Cook is like this. If he hadn’t left Cook those years ago, if he hadn’t chosen not to forgive…
… Maybe this will make Cook see that Arch really loves him, that Arch won't leave, if he thinks Arch is willing to risk everything for him. Maybe this will be the turning point for Cook. Maybe.
His head's pounding, the room's spinning. He stares at the blue pill in his hand.
"Is this real? Cook?"
"You already asked that, babe, and I already said, maybe they are." Cook shrugs; Arch squints over at him, it's getting a little harder to see.
"You said if I played this game you'd tell the truth! Tell me." His voice sounds shrill and at the same time muzzy to his ears.
"If you wanna waste your turn on that question, that's fine. But you'll have to swallow first." Cook taps Arch's wrist gently, the one that's cupping the blue pill.
Is this the pill that'll do it? Archuleta hesitates. He's shivering, it's hard to think -
Cook's eyes are huge, bottomless. "Arch, do you love me? Then, swallow - " and Arch shudders convulsively and puts the blue pill in his mouth.
It goes down bitter, bitter like grief. Arch gulps down wine, coughs and nearly chokes, and he has to put his head on his knees.
As if from very far away, he feels the touch of Cook's fingers, rubbing his back tenderly. Hears Cook make hushing sounds in his ear, "Shh, babe, it's okay, I've got you."
Oh God, like that's comforting. Arch has tears in his eyes, from the coughing, from the wine, from the drugs he's taken, most like; he shakes Cook off, raises his face to the light again, fiercely.
"Okay, I swallowed. Now answer me. Are these pills real?"
Have you decided to do this for real? Is there still time to call the paramedics, and have them pump our stomachs out, or will we run out of time, like cautionary tales for stupid lovers everywhere, and my boy will grow up and I won't be there --
"No." It seems to come from a great distance away. Cook's haunted, stricken face, wavering under the lights. "They're not, they're not real. Arch, I'm so sorry -- "
Archuleta shoves away from the table violently, pushes to his feet. The room skews crazily on one side as he staggers away from the dining room.
Somehow, he makes it to the bathroom, falls to his knees on the cold tile, and vomits into the bowl. It takes a really long time for everything to come up.
When he finally stops retching, he realizes that Cook's there, holding him, stroking his hair.
"Babe, I would never let you take pills that were real, you must believe me. I was just so angry, that's all, I went a little crazy with the game."
Arch leans back against Cook, shivering. Cook's hands cup his sweaty face, "Are you okay?"
"I wasn't sure," Arch mumbles. "I thought maybe you wanted both of us to ...” He can’t say it. “And it seems I was willing, too."
Cook's arms tighten around him. His voice is raw and aching. "I would never do that, never. I love you so much. I'll do the rehab, after the premiere, I promise. Please believe me."
Arch does, he does believe Cook. Because the alternative is too hard to consider right now, folded over on the bathroom floor as if his heart is breaking, and maybe it is.
[END CUT SCENE.]
Master Post : Part One : Part Two : Part Three : Epilogue