Ficlet: Memory - Set after 'Band Candy'
Join Giles as he wakes up the morning after the events of 'Band Candy'
FRT
Word Count: 423
Memory
Scents.
Sounds.
His head throbbed, as he slowly came to, through the haze of fog which encircled his every sense.
Closed his eyes, tilted his head to the side. Had to remind himself to breath, breathe deeply, steadily.
Smoke - J & B, and the sick-sweet scent of a joint, masked by incense which only really served to make it all the more obvious, a mixture which had his stomach threatening to crawl out of his mouth in protest.
Tried to remember. Joyce, but only for a little while -and then...
A gasp of pain, sharp breath drawn in, and a constant shiver running through the slim figure under him. Words said, yelled, in the heat of the moment.
Promises, threats, command.
Need, want, take. Have.
Smell of sex on the sheets, tangled around him, hands stiff, aching, toned towards dark brown -dried blood, all that it could be.
Dried blood, and another memory, which added to the sickening, painful clenching of his stomach, of the cool metal of a pistol, a hand-gun in his grasp and aimed.
Slowly, pushed himself to his feet, make his shaky way to the bathroom.
Had that been before or after he’d…? Didn’t know, didn’t want to know.
Dropped to his knees, hanging over the toilet bowl, until the worst of the nausea passed.
He turned on the shower, and stood under the strong, purgatorial flow of the water, letting it wash over him, soothing out the aches and knots in his muscles.
Closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead to the cool wall, as the water started to go cold.
Washing away the blood, and sweat, and the lingering smell of cologne.
Washing away the silent tears, that he couldn’t keep back, mixing with them, until they were nothing but water, running down the drain.
Couldn’t wash away the one word, the one name, that kept running through his thoughts, etched there like the bloody tattoo on his arm, echoing and repeating like a scratched record.
Ethan. Ethan. Ethan.
Finally, he shut the water off, and staggered back into the bedroom, throwing the sheets, blanket and pillow over towards the far wall, not wanting anything else that would stir those god-awful memories, that Ethan seemed to live for, that he seemed determined to draw around himself like a cloak.
Curled himself into a tight ball on the naked mattress.
Were they both doomed, damned to never learn from their mistakes?
Another thing that he didn’t know. Another thing that he didn’t want to know.
Because, even now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to.
FRT
Word Count: 423
Memory
Scents.
Sounds.
His head throbbed, as he slowly came to, through the haze of fog which encircled his every sense.
Closed his eyes, tilted his head to the side. Had to remind himself to breath, breathe deeply, steadily.
Smoke - J & B, and the sick-sweet scent of a joint, masked by incense which only really served to make it all the more obvious, a mixture which had his stomach threatening to crawl out of his mouth in protest.
Tried to remember. Joyce, but only for a little while -and then...
A gasp of pain, sharp breath drawn in, and a constant shiver running through the slim figure under him. Words said, yelled, in the heat of the moment.
Promises, threats, command.
Need, want, take. Have.
Smell of sex on the sheets, tangled around him, hands stiff, aching, toned towards dark brown -dried blood, all that it could be.
Dried blood, and another memory, which added to the sickening, painful clenching of his stomach, of the cool metal of a pistol, a hand-gun in his grasp and aimed.
Slowly, pushed himself to his feet, make his shaky way to the bathroom.
Had that been before or after he’d…? Didn’t know, didn’t want to know.
Dropped to his knees, hanging over the toilet bowl, until the worst of the nausea passed.
He turned on the shower, and stood under the strong, purgatorial flow of the water, letting it wash over him, soothing out the aches and knots in his muscles.
Closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead to the cool wall, as the water started to go cold.
Washing away the blood, and sweat, and the lingering smell of cologne.
Washing away the silent tears, that he couldn’t keep back, mixing with them, until they were nothing but water, running down the drain.
Couldn’t wash away the one word, the one name, that kept running through his thoughts, etched there like the bloody tattoo on his arm, echoing and repeating like a scratched record.
Ethan. Ethan. Ethan.
Finally, he shut the water off, and staggered back into the bedroom, throwing the sheets, blanket and pillow over towards the far wall, not wanting anything else that would stir those god-awful memories, that Ethan seemed to live for, that he seemed determined to draw around himself like a cloak.
Curled himself into a tight ball on the naked mattress.
Were they both doomed, damned to never learn from their mistakes?
Another thing that he didn’t know. Another thing that he didn’t want to know.
Because, even now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to.