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Dec. 4th, 2006 08:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veiledndarknessAuthor: Me!
Title: These Lies, This Pain
Pairing: Tony/Matt, Implied past Tony/Benji, Implied Benji/Joel
Summary: After the break-up, there's only pain. And a love that lingers on.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Heavy on the angst. Seriously, be warned. Fluff this ain't.
Disclaimer: I do not make any claim on these pretty boys. I certainly don't know them, nor do I make any claim on what their lives are like. Besides, I'm one of the many penniless fans out there.
*
He stands in the doorway, almost hesitantly, watching me scribble on paper. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes and wave a careless hand at him, urging him in.
He moves closer and shakes his head when he spots what I've been aimlessly scratching.
"You can't avoid this forever," he says quietly.
"I can try," I mutter, avoiding his eyes. I move the pen harder than I should, covering up my writing.
Benji sighs. "Fine. She called again."
"Can she not take a fuckin' hint," I grumble. He shrugs and half-laughs.
"Every time you go back, you give her hope," he says.
"Tell me something I don't know," I snarl. He gives me the look, the look that only he does best. I sigh, my mind filling me with unnecessary reminders of the days when he was my fallback, my in-between.
"Hmm, let's see," he says, ticking off the items on one hand. "There's the obvious fact that she's using you, the fact that she can't stand your friends, or that she tried to explain the time that you caught her with two roadies in an unexplainable position. Or maybe it's the constant cheating? Is that it?"
This time I do roll my eyes. "Enough," I say. "Look…" I start to say before he cuts me off.
"No! Fuck, listen to yourself Tony! You give excuses; you let her treat you like shit, and for what? All because he won’t return your phone calls?" he snaps.
"I'm outta here," I say, faking calmness. I try to leave, only to run into Benji's chest.
"Move," I say, my voice cracking. He stares me down, his eyes unflinching.
"Run all you want, doesn't change shit," he says. I feel my eyes burn.
"God damn you, get outta my way!" I yell, infuriated. I want nothing more than to drink this away.
"Not till you tell me the truth," he says. I laugh angrily, a harsh bitter sound.
"Yes, and you know so fuckin' much about being honest and telling the truth don't you?" I yell.
"Did it ever cross your mind in an interview to tell them what gets you off? That girls just don't do it for you?" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Fuckin' hypocrite," I snap before shoving him off to the side. He lets me push him and watches me leave, his eyes full of regret.
*
I rub one hand over my face, scrubbing my eyes after he's gone. I had a feeling it would go that way. His anger filled the room, and now the tension wears on me. I sigh and sift through his papers. He'd freak worse right now if he saw me.
I lift the papers closer to me. Scattered lyrics, little stickmen running from a giant blob and words written over and over, each scratched out more deeply than the last. I smile at the stickmen. He always did like to doodle.
I look carefully at the words and frown when I realize what he's scribbled is Matt's name all over the page. I drop the paper and wince. Three months, and he's only getting worse.
I leave the room, feeling guilty for even looking at the paper. I wander throughout the house, feeling restless and uneasy. He's right, I'm aware of that. But it's not as easy as he thinks it might be.
I want to scream the truth from the rafters, the things I've done, the things I do when everyone else is gone and it's just me and Joel. I wonder what Mom would say if she knew what her boys got up to when left alone. I wonder why I'm so afraid.
I want to feel guilty, but I just can’t. Tony knows and that's the problem. He feels the shame, understands the guilt and knows why love chases these things away.
I left the door slam behind me as I stand in the backyard and watch the sunset. I think wistfully of the old days when we loved each other, when it didn't matter what anyone might have thought. And I've been getting careless lately in the interviews, various photos. Joel's uneasy about it. He goes with it, pretends that he wouldn't mind if I told the world the truth. Somehow I doubt it.
*
I swallow the last of yet another bottle of beer and slam it back down too hard. It cracks from the force and I see the waitress wince. I glance around the room and see a few people staring at me, looking like they think they might know who I am.
I snort. I don't even know who I am. All I know is that I'm wrong. And that I've fucked up to badly to fix it all.
The beer bottles are covering the table when I focus my eyes again. I toss a couple of bills on the table and struggle to my feet. I stagger out of the bar and weave down the street and try to hail a cab.
As I slide into the cab and slur out Benji's address, the thought that I'm glad for once that the paparazzi never follow me around flashes through my head. The last thing I want…him…to see are photos of me drinking myself stupid.
I stumble up to the door and fumble for my keys in my pocket. I fall inside, my feet tripping me up. Somehow I make it to the guest room and drop down onto the bed.
I flop over and stare up at the ceiling, memories of him filling my mind. I swear violently as my eyes burn again, unwanted tears threateningly to spill over.
"He won't talk to me, won’t see me," I whisper, a heavy painful lump in my throat.
I remember the days when we were younger and so sure that love was enough. I swallow over the lump and my breathing hitches.
"It should be enough," I say softly.
After a long moment I drag myself off the bed and lurch over to the phone on the bedside table. I eye the phone warily; my fingers itch to pick up the receiver. I sigh and pick it up, and dial from memory.
The phone on his line rings and rings again. He picks up after the third ring, a quiet 'hello?'
I close my eyes and lean against the wall for support. "Hey," I rasp, my voice thick.
"It's me," I add a second later.
For a moment, there is nothing but silence. He sighs before speaking. "Hey Tony."
"How've you been?" I ask before gently bumping my head into the wall. 'Stupid' I berate myself.
"Fine," he says shortly. "Amelia's good too."
"That's good," I mutter. Another long silence drags out.
"Look Tony," he says, and I feel a shiver go down my back. "I…"
I rub my eyes with one hand. "I know," I mumble. "I just had to call and say…"
"Don't say it," he snaps. "Don't say anything."
I could swear the ache in my heart is blinding me. "Matt, please hear me out," I say, close to begging.
"No," he says in a fierce whisper. "This, I can't do this. I was wrong."
Before I can stop it, a small sob escapes my mouth. "What happened to forever?" I ask.
"She was right, ok. And I made my choice. Don't ask me to choose again," he says. I can hear the heavy sadness in his voice.
"I…I won't," I say. The silence is drawn out.
"I gotta go," he says finally. I sniff and wipe a stray tear away, angry for the tears, and angry that he didn't choose me.
"Yeah, ok," I say. "I lov-" I try to say only to hear the dial tone.
I stare at the receiver before throwing it against the wall and sliding down to the ground.
The tears drip down my face, unchecked and unnoticed. "Why isn't it enough?" I whisper again.
*
Title: These Lies, This Pain
Pairing: Tony/Matt, Implied past Tony/Benji, Implied Benji/Joel
Summary: After the break-up, there's only pain. And a love that lingers on.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Heavy on the angst. Seriously, be warned. Fluff this ain't.
Disclaimer: I do not make any claim on these pretty boys. I certainly don't know them, nor do I make any claim on what their lives are like. Besides, I'm one of the many penniless fans out there.
*
He stands in the doorway, almost hesitantly, watching me scribble on paper. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes and wave a careless hand at him, urging him in.
He moves closer and shakes his head when he spots what I've been aimlessly scratching.
"You can't avoid this forever," he says quietly.
"I can try," I mutter, avoiding his eyes. I move the pen harder than I should, covering up my writing.
Benji sighs. "Fine. She called again."
"Can she not take a fuckin' hint," I grumble. He shrugs and half-laughs.
"Every time you go back, you give her hope," he says.
"Tell me something I don't know," I snarl. He gives me the look, the look that only he does best. I sigh, my mind filling me with unnecessary reminders of the days when he was my fallback, my in-between.
"Hmm, let's see," he says, ticking off the items on one hand. "There's the obvious fact that she's using you, the fact that she can't stand your friends, or that she tried to explain the time that you caught her with two roadies in an unexplainable position. Or maybe it's the constant cheating? Is that it?"
This time I do roll my eyes. "Enough," I say. "Look…" I start to say before he cuts me off.
"No! Fuck, listen to yourself Tony! You give excuses; you let her treat you like shit, and for what? All because he won’t return your phone calls?" he snaps.
"I'm outta here," I say, faking calmness. I try to leave, only to run into Benji's chest.
"Move," I say, my voice cracking. He stares me down, his eyes unflinching.
"Run all you want, doesn't change shit," he says. I feel my eyes burn.
"God damn you, get outta my way!" I yell, infuriated. I want nothing more than to drink this away.
"Not till you tell me the truth," he says. I laugh angrily, a harsh bitter sound.
"Yes, and you know so fuckin' much about being honest and telling the truth don't you?" I yell.
"Did it ever cross your mind in an interview to tell them what gets you off? That girls just don't do it for you?" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Fuckin' hypocrite," I snap before shoving him off to the side. He lets me push him and watches me leave, his eyes full of regret.
*
I rub one hand over my face, scrubbing my eyes after he's gone. I had a feeling it would go that way. His anger filled the room, and now the tension wears on me. I sigh and sift through his papers. He'd freak worse right now if he saw me.
I lift the papers closer to me. Scattered lyrics, little stickmen running from a giant blob and words written over and over, each scratched out more deeply than the last. I smile at the stickmen. He always did like to doodle.
I look carefully at the words and frown when I realize what he's scribbled is Matt's name all over the page. I drop the paper and wince. Three months, and he's only getting worse.
I leave the room, feeling guilty for even looking at the paper. I wander throughout the house, feeling restless and uneasy. He's right, I'm aware of that. But it's not as easy as he thinks it might be.
I want to scream the truth from the rafters, the things I've done, the things I do when everyone else is gone and it's just me and Joel. I wonder what Mom would say if she knew what her boys got up to when left alone. I wonder why I'm so afraid.
I want to feel guilty, but I just can’t. Tony knows and that's the problem. He feels the shame, understands the guilt and knows why love chases these things away.
I left the door slam behind me as I stand in the backyard and watch the sunset. I think wistfully of the old days when we loved each other, when it didn't matter what anyone might have thought. And I've been getting careless lately in the interviews, various photos. Joel's uneasy about it. He goes with it, pretends that he wouldn't mind if I told the world the truth. Somehow I doubt it.
*
I swallow the last of yet another bottle of beer and slam it back down too hard. It cracks from the force and I see the waitress wince. I glance around the room and see a few people staring at me, looking like they think they might know who I am.
I snort. I don't even know who I am. All I know is that I'm wrong. And that I've fucked up to badly to fix it all.
The beer bottles are covering the table when I focus my eyes again. I toss a couple of bills on the table and struggle to my feet. I stagger out of the bar and weave down the street and try to hail a cab.
As I slide into the cab and slur out Benji's address, the thought that I'm glad for once that the paparazzi never follow me around flashes through my head. The last thing I want…him…to see are photos of me drinking myself stupid.
I stumble up to the door and fumble for my keys in my pocket. I fall inside, my feet tripping me up. Somehow I make it to the guest room and drop down onto the bed.
I flop over and stare up at the ceiling, memories of him filling my mind. I swear violently as my eyes burn again, unwanted tears threateningly to spill over.
"He won't talk to me, won’t see me," I whisper, a heavy painful lump in my throat.
I remember the days when we were younger and so sure that love was enough. I swallow over the lump and my breathing hitches.
"It should be enough," I say softly.
After a long moment I drag myself off the bed and lurch over to the phone on the bedside table. I eye the phone warily; my fingers itch to pick up the receiver. I sigh and pick it up, and dial from memory.
The phone on his line rings and rings again. He picks up after the third ring, a quiet 'hello?'
I close my eyes and lean against the wall for support. "Hey," I rasp, my voice thick.
"It's me," I add a second later.
For a moment, there is nothing but silence. He sighs before speaking. "Hey Tony."
"How've you been?" I ask before gently bumping my head into the wall. 'Stupid' I berate myself.
"Fine," he says shortly. "Amelia's good too."
"That's good," I mutter. Another long silence drags out.
"Look Tony," he says, and I feel a shiver go down my back. "I…"
I rub my eyes with one hand. "I know," I mumble. "I just had to call and say…"
"Don't say it," he snaps. "Don't say anything."
I could swear the ache in my heart is blinding me. "Matt, please hear me out," I say, close to begging.
"No," he says in a fierce whisper. "This, I can't do this. I was wrong."
Before I can stop it, a small sob escapes my mouth. "What happened to forever?" I ask.
"She was right, ok. And I made my choice. Don't ask me to choose again," he says. I can hear the heavy sadness in his voice.
"I…I won't," I say. The silence is drawn out.
"I gotta go," he says finally. I sniff and wipe a stray tear away, angry for the tears, and angry that he didn't choose me.
"Yeah, ok," I say. "I lov-" I try to say only to hear the dial tone.
I stare at the receiver before throwing it against the wall and sliding down to the ground.
The tears drip down my face, unchecked and unnoticed. "Why isn't it enough?" I whisper again.
*
