Help is Round the Corner Chapter 10 (Part 1 of 2)

[goblover.livejournal.com]

Sorry about the whole multichaptered chapter. I just write way too much.

Title: Help is Round the Corner, Chapter 10 part 1
Author: Goblover
Pairing(s): Chip/Ryan, Jeff/Ryan, more to come!
Rating: R
Warning: Possible character death, and other dark
Note: This part is in Jeff's POV which continues in part 2.

Comments are loved and appreciated lots! Even if you just punch the keyboard.

Something was moving. Deep inside him. It was buried in there. Cancer of the mind, not cancer of the brain. Get it out, cut it out, dig it out. Was it storming outside? That had to be thunder again. Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah. It was scorching hot, he could hell it-feel it, close enough. Hellfire was raining down on him. Fucking sin and all those things he had never believed in. Wait-believed in, sure. Absolved? Never. Someone’s in the kitchen I know, oh oh oh. He was losing it. He was fucking losing it. Hand on a windowpane just before he falls. He wouldn’t have a soul or a brain or a dick. Twitch more than an inch and…they’d cut it off for him.

 

Jeff awoke with more than a start. He nearly jumped up off the bed, his limbs flailing about helplessly for some kind of stability. He couldn’t breathe. Quickly he knocked Ryan’s hand away from his chest in his effort to get up.  Ryan didn’t seem to notice. He did. A bit of his chest hair came off and closed into Ryan’s hand, not that he felt it happen.

 

Jeff clapped his hand over his mouth, knowing what he was about to do. Being in the situation as often as he was, he was used to covering it up for another person’s benefit. He might have been a nuisance otherwise, one of those ones that people got tired of having around. He let out a muffled scream and stuck his hand partially in his mouth, to prevent him from screaming out any louder.

 

Ah the screaming. It didn’t happen in Addie’s bed. But then, he did feel safe there. So his reaction wasn’t as bad. He shouldn’t over think it, he might get caught up in the details. Don’t think about her, that was easy. Don't make her a person.

 

Jeff made a clear try at keeping his air flow going through his nostrils. With his hand shoved in his mouth to the point where he could taste the peeling skin between his knuckles, it was kind of hard to breathe normally. His screams had lessened to short squeaks of hot and coated air that didn’t make it to his nose. He pulled out his hand.

 

His legs kicked out uncontrollably. He scrambled up the edge of the bed, hugging the headboard with one arm and wrapping himself around it as best he could. He clawed at the fitted bed sheet with his free hand. Tears formed in his eyes. He corrected himself almost instantly, pulling his hand out from under the sheet and elastic band that it had wormed its way under. He brought it back up to his mouth as he chewed on the nail of his pinky finger. His teeth chattered around it. No, chewed was too polite a term. This was gnawing.

 

He wouldn’t make it a whole night without one of his little episodes. Not here, anyway.

 

He was cordial about it, ever since the beginning. That which had started too late in life to be protected and dismissed under the umbrella of childhood, that is if it went by age and not overall maturity. People were always telling him to grow up, man up, wipe his fucking nose and stop crying.

 

Okay, sure, it was probably the only one of his distinctly less than hale complexes he had that he was not keen on discussing. Extension of a dream, that’s all it was, that’s all they’d say in less words, if they’d say words-they didn’t.

 

Probably a good thing. Jeff always felt he was too conscious for it to be real. So he’d just be making it up for the attention. He hated that thought a lot, but not as much as the idea that he was actually that messed up. He didn’t want to believe he was sleeping with his inner demons like that. It made him look weak, pusil- what was that word? Pusillanimous, and generally afraid of that horribly rough darkness that came down on him-leaving him raw, tender, and completely open to attack.

 

And he was.

 

Jeff had a problem of sleeping through the night, plainly put. Everyone knew, no one talked about it. The thing was that it simply wasn’t going to work if he wasn’t comfortable. He didn’t even like sleeping in strange places- he liked the soothing soft security of his own bed and that was just about it. Anywhere else had the complimentary freak-out, only occurring when he would wake up. Jolting awake, eyes darting for safety. Every single time it was the same, he just didn’t know where he was. Sometimes people would remind him, most of the time he’d have to figure it out himself.

 

Sharing a hotel room with him wasn’t something they fought for. It was something they’d try and trade off. Like he was the walking disease of the tour, put up with him for the time being and eventually he’d die off. Not fast enough though.

 

The screams would get louder each day away. He said he hated being home but oh fucking hell that was where his bed was and nowhere else. His bed which had the same mattress and box spring since he was a kid. He could have bought a bigger bed, a softer bed, but not a safer bed.

 

He’d scream and he’d cry and he’d get scared, moving too fast for his own heartbeat. It would be slow enough to pound his chest, making it feel like it was moving against him, vibrating his ribcage as he focused on the similar pounding in the side of his neck. He’d scream more if he could, because it felt like a fucking heart attack. He wanted to fall over but there was nowhere to fall.

 

No one could calm him down for those few seconds. No one tried. It wasn’t their job, it wasn’t their problem, it was Jeff’s and Jeff’s alone to deal with. But…if anyone could have helped him out, he assumed it would have been Chip.

 

When Chip went into that ultra-soft voice that he’d talk to animals or children that weren’t his own, Jeff would feel so much smaller than he was. His throat would close up and he’d think Chip was talking to him directly. He shrunk down at least a few feet, focusing on things that were level and still. Not to tune Chip out, but to hear him more clearly than he thought possible. Pretend that the voice was for him.

 

Someone might think it was fucking sweet, too sweet to be genuine. Only Jeff knew that it wasn’t fake, that was the thing. It wasn’t some put on voice Chip did to help ease a transition, it happened naturally. It was Chip. Out of that caring gentle side came a distinct voice, that was all it was. That voice could have helped him, comforting Jeff through the shadows and blinds of crappy motels and smoky hotels. Right, but Chip spent his nights elsewhere, didn’t he? So Jeff never heard it when he needed it. Fuck, comfort was never something for him to receive, especially Chip’s comfort, no matter how bad he wanted it. Because it would have calmed him down like nothing else.

 

He learned to call the aftermath his recovery time-though that was the same line after a heavy night of drinking occurred. Even during the “recovery time” of his nightly panic attacks, he wasn’t any better than he was before. He’d love to get up and take a walk, maybe grab a beer and calm down. But those heaving breaths that followed his screams practically shut down the rest of his body. Their extreme effort at an exhale allowed no room for safeness. He still felt like he was sinking down into the inexplicable (well maybe not completely inexplicable) depths of cloudy despair. He was being drawn-no wait, lured there by the slippery, greasy tendrils of love and defeat.

 

Sure, everyone thought it was just some quirk of the road. Just at first. Jeff not used to touring. Jeff, the baby. Jeff away from home. Ruffle his hair or pat his head. Clip him lightly across the cheek, give him a cookie, make it a standard. Toss him an extra blanket before bed, assume he was cold and just really loud with his complaining. That kind of line of thinking only worked the first time around, first gigs and all that. Soon they all had to deal. Not that they’d say anything one way or another.

 

Jeff didn’t complain. Not out loud. He learned long ago how to be silent. Course, he didn’t learn how to stop shaking. His nerves always bested him.

 

Casual observance would have brought him down. Made him feel like he was faking it, or that he was acting too young to even be around the guys. That happened more often than not. Anything could be said to him, anything, under the guise of joking around that would make him feel even more ostracized than before. That was something Jeff could never get a handle on to use against them. Nothing he could say would fly under the radar, not like their comments. All he had was a well-placed insult-brash and obnoxious. Like he could be.

 

But no, Ryan and Greg and Chip, unsurprisingly enough-They could say what they wanted and it hurt like hell. They could do anything, taking him down a notch or two, and it was accepted. Jeff didn’t know pain until he heard the especially disapproving and sarcastic (but still ultimately relaxed) laugh Chip would give off when-

 

when Jeff knew he wouldn’t have done it were it not for Ryan starting shit, no Chip would have been concerned. So concerned, that he’d take Jeff aside and ask him what was wrong and then, maybe then Jeff could fight his way through being honest. He’d tell him finally what was…what was going on.

 

-when Jeff would do something too clumsily not to be noticed. His hands would slip off the bar and he’d bash the side of his face into the mahogany lip of the bar-immediately knocking him out for a few good seconds, or his shoelaces would untie on their own and he’d end up tripping over himself, (he stopped wearing anything that laced up for a reason), he’d find in his rush to put on a shirt that it was inside out and backwards-making him dash back to the bathroom or some other private room to fix, oh and there were always the times where his brain would move faster than his mouth-to the point of combining and stumbling over words until he had completely decimated the idea of being coherent. Chip and everyone else would just laugh in that empty heartless way and move on. Or, worse-continue to harp on his hang-ups. The whole night would devolve into ruthless comedy at Jeff’s expense.

 

Everyone would laugh, sure, but Chip’s would be clearer. Because Chip’s laugh hurt more than anyone else’s. It hurt more than it should have.

 

Were the situations funny? Yes, to some. Embarrassing? Oh, so much so that he learned to keep quiet. Drink and play on in silence. Never alert the others, because they didn’t care anyway.

 

Even the briefest mention of his sleeping problems would make him feel ashamed and foolhardy. Like the attention seeking bastard he knew he was, just searching for another way to invade the minds of the considerably smaller masses of his supposed-friends and bother them to death. Yeah, make everything about himself so everyday and mundane, even death itself. Just bore them all to death with his own internal one.

 

Like Chip.

 

He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t control it-sure, he could deal with the aftermath as best as one could, but he couldn’t prevent the lead-in.

 

Improv terms: Jeff gives open-ended offer by requiring sleep. Opposing force accepts offer, giving clear direction as to how scene evolves. Platform questionable, as is commitment. Failure inevitable.

 

Though he was never a big fan of the technical side of his work. Or his work in general.

 

Fucking lead-in’s always built him up. Intros in comedy, being talked up by pals before an audition, he hated it all. It played him up like he had a reputation to stand by. Like he owed people something. The lead-in being part of the essentials in life, along with frequent doctor’s recommendations.

 

When he was a kid he had a rule: Go to the doctor’s and lie, stay home from school.

 

The amended one now being: Go to the doctor’s and lie, get the shit you need and go.

 

If he avoided sleep, he learned, he avoided the problem. All that fright could just disappear from his life.

 

He had shit to keep him up, oh he had a lot. But ever since late 2006, new rules were implemented on tours. Chip and the others apparently decided on treating him like a prisoner, and because he needed the tour more than anything-he was forced to accept. His bags were checked daily. He’d be patted down before stepping onto the bus. He was monitored at bars and in bathrooms-though sometimes Jeff would try and pick up some girl at the bar, just so he could drag her into a stall and ask if she had anything on her. Chip had a blood pressure cuff with him that he’d force Jeff into before a show, just to check. Precautions, they swore. He wanted to find ways around them, but it was more difficult than before. They couldn’t really keep him away from alcohol though, that seemed like his only concession in the matter.

 

So he couldn’t avoid sleep forever, it was impossible. But to avoid that intricate detailing of his dreams would have been a definite plus. He had enough anxiety as it was without the added unconscious thoughts deconstructing his life as he tried to format it. Nothing went just as he planned it. Everything had to be stepped on- his life, his memories, his heart. All were expendable.

 

No, no he had no heart. He was sure of it. It wasn’t a joke anymore, it was the goddamned truth. It was just a trick of the world that he could live without it. The residuals that seeped through his chest were merely the discolored bruises and gashes from instigated bar fights and the occasional deal gone sour. What kept his blood pumping were the shapes and lines drawn through a buildup of past drug use and manufactured adrenaline. His pulse was threaded through his body on a long string of yarn with pieces of popcorn and leftover charges from old C batteries. Pain was different than a heartbeat, surely you could feel one and not the other. Having no heart was supposed to be a figure of speech, not a literal transcription of his current situation, that’s what he heard. Though he enjoyed it like he was meant for the loss, like life had set him up for it. ‘Twas a privilege for the underprivileged.

 

Having no heart-Did that cancel out possible emotion? That didn’t stop him from being scared, right? Hiding from thunder and lighting and everything frightening, that was him. Waiting for his mom to come into his bedroom to quiet his cries and hold him close, protect him from the outside world. That was him twenty-six years ago, that was him now. He brushed over the extraneous memories dividing him from his past selves. A rush of frustration flittered past him, leaving a sharp shocking sensation on his thighs and stomach. Could he really be feeling that pain? He couldn’t have. Oh he could feel several things, all of them bad. All of them bad. That wasn’t one of them.

 

If it was a dream, it was a nightmare. He didn’t have to acknowledge it any other way. It wouldn’t happen again, he was sure of it. He could stop the harassment with one simple motion--Leaving. He could scrounge his way through the dirty grimy basement of the city, Los Angeles being its own breeding ground for filth. He could find what he needed in a matter of minutes, depending on the mode of transportation. He could get booze, lap dances, any street drug like a regular Joe. Someone without a name or a face, friends, enemies, or problems. He could break off and be his own person, name an alter-ego and prowl the streets. Feel that slimy but coarse and scaly slithering all over his body all through the night and wake up none the wiser. Sin piled upon sin, if he believed in it. That was someone else, not Jeff. Separate himself from himself and he wouldn’t remember a thing, he made sure of it.

 

When he was a kid all he had to do was run headfirst into a wall. He’d be out for a couple of minutes and be back up with a fuzzy memory and loads of sympathy. He couldn’t do that anymore, the walls weren’t as soft and the tears wouldn’t fall as freely. Blackouts were harder. Now the easiest way to shut out all that noise was to depress it down to a manageable level. His favorite just happened to be taken like a shot. Bam, right in the circulatory system and that was that. No more problems. But just for a few hours and it was time to refuel. Refuel in a few. Say that one ten times fast. Please, three was easy.

 

Calamity seemed to seek out those inopportune times and strike, right-to turn a phrase- when the iron was pressed against his skin and fucking hot, right when he was vulnerable. Right when he knew it would hurt and he was just waiting for the unstable and unbelievable thing known as fate to rear its unparalleled ugly head and destroy everything left. Burning hot air steering him in the wrong direction. Just in those moments where Jeff didn’t want it to be so. Because he was trying.

 

Trying to get his life back on track, to make some member of his partially-there and partially his family understand that he was trying hard that time. Trying damn hard. Let Chip know he mattered every two months or so by showing signs of improvement. He wasn’t faking it, not most of the time. Not at the beginning. He genuinely wanted change.

 

But ever the pessimist, let one minute detail fall out of place and then the whole thing was gone. Unraveling faster than the threads and shreds of his sanity, humanity, and hair. Cut it off, cover it up, but still it remained. That sinking feeling that one day, oh one day yes Things were going to happen. Things out of his control for the somewhat to barely religious and things completely in control for anyone willing to admit complete defeat. He’d lose it all. He crumpled fast.

 

Jeff wasn’t religious but…Whenever it was really late at night, usually on tour, he’d go through Chip’s things and find a cross or a crucifix or whatever and hold it in his hand tightly for the rest of the night until it was morning again. Never letting go. He wouldn’t think about anything, he wouldn’t pray for anything or anyone, it was just there for him to hold onto and feel safe. He’d sneak the damned thing back into Chip’s bag afterwards but the imprint of it would stay on his hand for a few more hours. Chip would pretend not to notice, though Jeff was sure that he knew anyway. It was why Chip always kept it in a front and center pocket of his bag, so Jeff could find it easily. Part of a series of things Jeff liked keeping a secret, never ever to be discussed.

 

Early on, Jeff had always said that there was some drinking problem in his family so he didn’t want that rum and coke, or that he was afraid of needles so could he please not go to the doctor’s? He’d jump away from someone waving a steak knife illustrating a point because he was afraid he might get hurt. Lies for safety. Lies to prevent more talk. He liked silence. The real truth being that he had those mechanisms in place to prevent doing any actual harm to himself. Give him that drink and he’d have twelve more, get the needle near him and he’d inject himself full of whatever was around, give him the steak knife and he’d put it to damn good use. He had safety measures in place that were easily broken with a little push. He made sure it wouldn’t be that tough for himself.

 

Life became less and less of a challenge. Living became less of a simple understanding and more of an obstacle. Lying became his life, his fucking uninteresting life. Yes, it was less interesting, so he put less work into being alive. Noticeably deformed by his own ideals, he stopped trying. But the only way people bothered to notice was through his improvisation. Everything he had was a take-off of his earlier work, too stilted and fractured to be anything else. It was once original, didn’t that count?

 

Trot out some old work, what did he get as a response? Greg would roll his eyes, Ryan would keep his groan under the pickup level of the microphone, the audience would clap and laugh. Chip would…stay silent. Not acknowledge a thing, and just act like Jeff wasn’t even fucking there.

 

The last couple of shows they did together…he…he…

 

Jeff waited for something after a show, Chip bitching him out as usual. Coming up to him and just blowing off leftover steam and his frustration and losing that little high he got from performing out of complete concern of Jeff and his antics. But it never happened. Chip would just pass him in the green room, face completely emotionless. Jeff kept waiting for a rant that never came. And Chip stayed silent.

 

He must have given up. So Jeff did as well.

 

He lost control. Anything he ate tasted like castor oil, a shockingly fresh memory from his childhood still floating aimlessly in his brain. He forgot to keep up the public image of himself as somewhat put together, for everyone else’s sake. Maybe just to prove to Chip he could go further down the rabbit hole. Maybe so he’d snap back. But most likely it was because he had nothing else to do with himself but obliterate the remaining traces of his life, even if all that was left was the fake and made-up.

 

His own security detail grossly diminished within those last few weeks of shows. Pat downs for allowed entrance on the bus were infrequent at best, Ryan barely monitored him, but Greg for his effort did try to pick up the slack- making sure to check his bags every now and then, in the times when it was least embarrassing to Jeff. He liked that. Chip still brought out the blood pressure cuff, if only out of habit. Jeff didn’t bother to meet his eyes for it, but he did stop fighting Chip when he brought it out. After six times of Jeff knowingly failing to fall within a normal range, Chip stopped bringing it out. But Jeff still heard that disappointed exhale of air out Chip’s nose as if he was continually being tested. He didn’t expect Chip to stop, ever.

 

Delving back into former habits the way he did, Jeff was faced with the normality of living selfishly. The only way Jeff could have bothered to survive was through the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed, doubled only by the fruit attached to the drinks. Properly soaked in the substance, they held a taste like no other.

 

It wasn’t just bitter and mind numbing, it had that sickly sweet taste of redemption lost. Everything gone and never getting it back. Luxury staples of the accursed and mournful. Callous justifications for what had gone wrong, or if properly accepted like the revelation it was that all hoped to have had near the end- ever so right.

 

Undeserved should never have applied to anyone’s death. It was Jeff’s cleverly crafted philosophy. Everyone died. It was just a race to the finish line. And whoever got there first won. Offing yourself was like a taking the shortcut. And Jeff loved to cut corners.

 

Whether he believed in his own philosophy was completely unknown, even to him.

 

He had to calm down, he had to breathe. He wasn’t going to make it otherwise. He was losing track of whatever was left in him. Whatever it was that was left, it certainly wasn’t fucking goodness.

 

What Jeff had left of himself was made up of papier-mâché and coffee stains. He lived off of his own ruptured sanctimony. Torturous, but well deserved, he plucked his life from the fastidious underbelly of hell itself. Jeff had expensive tastes, expensive wine, expensive habits. Though, fear was cheap. And it seemed embedded in his system ever since what accounted for his childhood went to shit all those years ago. What was once a child’s kaleidoscope of colors and sequins and shiny flecks of glitter was crushed under the pointed heel of a wanted development of a quick and steadfast maturation. He was reduced to crippling fear at any obstacle he faced. Now that was supposed to be catastrophic for people. It got him through the week.

 

That fear he had that kept him from killing himself-that was supposed to disappear once Chip was gone. He was all that was holding him back, Jeff had decided that very early on. But it didn’t happen. Chip was gone and Jeff was still around. If the fear had disappeared though, he would have regretted not shoving Chip’s head through a metal spike years ago. End it all right there. Save himself the trouble.

 

A metal spike? A metal fucking-Jesus fucking Christ he wasn’t thinking clearly. Hell, when was he ever? Ah hell. He needed a break from himself. He needed to break himself. And that required-

 

He looked to his right, blinking once or twice to better brave the darkness.

 

That’s right, Ryan was there.

 

Ryan who he-Ryan who-Oh fuck.

 

Yeah, he remembered that.

 

He wasn’t sure how to take all of it. It was much easier when he just fell asleep, ignoring the night’s events completely. But now that he was faced with it, for exactly what it was- (For exactly who he was) all that he could feel was a gentle but persistent churning in his body too high up to be his stomach. It wasn’t pleasant but at least it stayed with him.

 

He couldn’t decide whether Ryan was using him to forget Chip or that maybe he was actually stupid enough to think that he was next in line to fix Jeff. Plan of attack being vastly different than Chip’s but nevertheless it was just as much of a failure.

 

But when you had a dick slamming into you with that kind of power behind it, rendering you useless, it was hard not to feel like the whole thing wasn’t just a well doled out punishment. (He wondered if it was the same for Ryan.) And Jeff needed that. More than the “spankings” he’d get as a kid.

 

Jeff knew it wasn’t for him, maybe the initial liplock was based in some attempt for a cure, but after that it was all Chip. Ryan working through him, taking out all of that shit he kept bottled up-hell, when didn’t he have a restriction on emotion? And Jeff stayed silent, biting and swallowing and keeping everything back-for the slightest fear of alerting to Ryan that he wasn’t Chip. Because in a way it was almost like channeling him and Jeff got off on it. Well, not that way- hah Jeff knew that wasn’t it…

 

But if he shut his eyes long enough, blocking out all that he was and all that he had ever seen-then maybe he could be that other person. That formulaic happy person with no problems that they were all trying to be. The original Chip in a way.

 

But Ryan saw him for what he was. A complete monster. And he turned off the light because he was just as sickened as the rest. He couldn’t expect someone to look at that and not cringe like they had just gotten hit with a bucket full of battery acid. (Jeff looked like he’d swallowed it.) Yeah…it had gotten significantly worse since Chip was gone. No Chip to stop him, no Chip to fool. Ah Chip, the one who kept things together in his horrible “I’m trying to be helpful” way.

 

Jeff just kept replaying that moment in his head. Ryan looking down at him for far too long and turning off the light in disgust. Jeff moaned quietly, partly thankful for the action. He was safer in the dark, he did better forgetting himself. And at the same time, he felt the last reserves of pain, sorrow, and a dash of hope ooze from his very pores and tear ducts. Something that happened, he supposed, when someone

 

got you naked, held you, kissed you like no one had ever dared, gripped your thighs, whispered onto your skin, touched you, traced you, fucked you.

 

Saw that, and reacted with an unparalleled repulsion. Just as well, it was all he had for himself anyway. So many aspects of himself that he hated and was sure everyone could see.

 

Had Chip ever seen, he would have reacted the exact same fucking way. It was probably a good thing he didn’t, couldn’t have Chip thinking he was a failure too.

 

He might kill himself.

 

Haha, oh wait…

 

Oh, he shouldn’t laugh. Hah, he really shouldn’t but he just-there was nothing left in him but that. Though Ryan had tried to give him something else there for a little bit. It didn’t fucking work, nice try though.

 

That needed to fucking get out of his head, he wasn’t going to sit around recounting the horror of the night. He had to be able to look Ryan in the eyes for at least a second tomorrow/today without breaking.

 

Oh hell, what if he laughed? That would just…No, that would-it’d be amazing but so fucking heartbreaking at the same time. So, him basically.

 

What he needed was indifference, play it down.

 

Ah, but how to face the person who fucked you. Chip would have been delicate, careful. Caring, in ways Jeff never could have imagined or really wanted to. It wouldn’t have even been considered fucking, it would have been lighter than that. Jeff couldn’t describe it.

 

He wondered if Ryan had offed himself, would Chip seek comfort in ways that Jeff could help with? Fill the void by fucking his way through it? He actually liked that outcome better than the one he had.

 

But Ryan had to start something. Not because he wanted to but because Chip didn’t do that. Chip never did that, Jeff would have remembered. Chip didn’t take a shotgun to Jeff’s face either, was that going to be round two?

 

It didn’t hit him until halfway through that they weren’t fucking in a guest bedroom. It was Ryan and Pat’s bed. Jeff smiled egregiously. One-up on Chip there.

 

Not that they were open enough to complain about that kind of thing, Jeff just knew. Because writhing in that bed was by far the nastiest thing he had done for himself since…since a couple of days. Chip wouldn’t have wanted or done that. There was just something about having a married person in their own bed, knowing fully well that they loved their spouse more than anything.

 

More than you.

 

No wonder Chip and Ryan avoided it. Then of course, who they loved more or the same was pretty much a mystery to Jeff so maybe it didn’t apply.

 

It wasn’t the same with him and Ryan, that alone should have caused a stabbing pain reminiscent of anguish. It didn’t, but Ryan more or less made up for that fact with his own particular brand of torture. Each touch of his was meant for someone else, tracing an outline of a smaller, shorter, and ultimately better man. Mark each difference, make him feel even worse, yeah that was the way to do it.

 

But in taking what should have been an overwhelmingly powerful guilt and turning into the perverted game Jeff believed it to be, he was compelled to go along with it. It was something he learned to thrive on-his own pain. He let Ryan run his fingers over his stomach all through the night, even though it hurt like hell, even though it was more painful than it should have been. It was enough to make him tear up. Enough to make him choke on those tears while trying to keep them inside. It wasn’t even an acknowledgment on Ryan’s side of what Jeff had done, it was a leftover motion for Chip being put to use.

 

Funny how he expected something different from Ryan. But history always managed to come back for him and bite him in the ass. No one had ever gone as far as to look at him without…without that. No fuck after a show, no crammed in a stall blow job and quick fuck, nothing got a blink of concern. He’d stopped taking off his shirt mid-fuck for a reason.

 

He’d paid a whore once. Degrading as hell, for both of them he guessed. One of his worst fucking nights. Bitch had laughed, followed it up with a grossly indifferent “Oh baby.” It was hilarious to him afterwards that it had gone better than most unpaid encounters in his life.

 

Ryan had to expose him, make him feel like he wasn’t even worth a fucking dime. If he wasn’t highly into that imaginary fuck, then he probably would have stopped in the first couple of minutes or so and gone “Well you’re definitely not the good one of the bunch, are you?” or something as equally as…painful. Or true.

 

How many audience members had gone for Jeff simply because he was the attainable one? How many of them were thinking of Chip? Hell, half of them usually came up to him asking where Chip was. And he’d always trail off in an “Oh he’s off with Ryan doing something…” He liked to see how many of them got the joke. Not really a joke there though, was it? He had to say it.

 

Maybe then someone would believe it, walk up to Ryan or Chip and ask them how they could do that to their families. Spoon feed them the guilt they had harbored but tragically kept underdeveloped for the good of their own psyches. It never would have happened. But they should have felt Jeff’s levels of shit, they wouldn’t have survived a minute.

 

For some reason Jeff always expected there to be some sort of “slap you to your senses” fight, where Greg would walk up to Ryan and hit him hard across the face. And Ryan would break down and end the affair for good-Jeff had seen too many fake endings to last him a lifetime-And they would both be unhappy. Like Jeff, forever, just living out that hatred and guilt with the spirit of a true self-effacer.

 

But no, no Ryan loved Chip. He said it. He said it to Jeff. Ryan had to cap the fucking night by admitting a love for Chip. Something Ryan had probably never done while Chip was alive.

 

Jeff’s eventual response having to be the only one that made sense.

 

‘I know.’

 

As in I know it wasn’t me you wanted, I know you wanted to be fucking him just now, I know the reasons you did this, I fucking know I’m disgusting. No one can stand the sight of me. It’s done and over and you’ve fulfilled whatever obligation you had to do for me, all right? I know. I fucking know.

 

He’d have loved to come back with a “Me too?” if only it were true.

 

Ryan and Jeff’s-their, was it sex or a punishment? It was a one time thing, he hoped. Because if Ryan kept it up, then that’s what he’d be hearing for the rest of his ill-fated life. Those same three words, over and over. He loved Chip, he loved him. It’d have killed him if the time he spent with Ryan allowed him to develop some kind of perverted and distorted love.

 

Would it be reverse Florence Nightingale effect or Stockholm syndrome? He wasn’t sure.

 

But he’d be doomed to love someone who felt nothing for him, absolutely fucking nothing. He prayed to the distinct lack of a god that that scenario would never happen. He could tell by the way Ryan would look at him, that pained look of desperation in imagining something else. Someone else, more aptly. Because the sight in front of him was too much to handle all at once, or ever.

 

He didn’t look like Chip, he knew it. He never could have. Given enough time and work ethic, he still wouldn’t have been able to. Were it anyone else and Ryan to start with, he could have gotten away with making a remark to Ryan- he was sure of it. How maybe he wasn’t so damn perfect either so he should stop judging Jeff. There wasn’t a problem how he-

 

Oh god I’m disgusting.

 

-looked. He was fine. He was fine, why couldn’t anyone see that? See him and not Chip. For once, just for once. He wasn’t Chip, god fucking damnit. Leaving him alone would have been better than starting something-even if it meant nothing, it was still just a…

 

He wanted to degrade it even more, if he could. Because he was left disturbingly vulnerable at the fact that he was the one being fucked instead of the other way around, by Ryan. Ryan, Chip’s Ryan. It shouldn’t have meant anything.

 

Okay it-For a second there, no wait maybe a little longer than that. Minutes, probably. For a couple of minutes, when Ryan was gripping onto his hipbones with such a fervor that it practically induced Jeff’s hips to buck-it made him feel alive. Like he was actually in the room, and that it wasn’t just another mindless fuck, that it meant that someone cared enough to-to do that. There was meaning there.

 

And he took it away so damn quickly. Any hope he had latched onto during it that it was something more than just something for Chip. He didn’t want it to be and then again he did, so very much. So much that he felt it, in every bone of his body. It ached like the touch could have been real.  

 

Was it bad that Jeff had actually gone uncharacteristically hopeful when he heard Ryan utter “I love-”?

 

Most definitely. Ah, god.

 

He needed to get up and away, he was remembering too much. He had to leave so he could redraft the memory of the night, in his favor. Completely deleting the night’s events. Though, that never worked to the extent he wanted it to. After all, there was still…that.

 

He crawled out of the bed, taking a bit of comfort in the fact that his underwear was right underneath his foot. He put them on, knowing that there was virtually no way of finding his other clothes. He was pissed for a good long minute about not being able to find his socks, but he decided he could brave the territory known as Ryan’s house barefoot if he absolutely had to. He closed the bedroom door behind him and started to find his way through the house.

 

It was hard to walk around Ryan’s house at night. Alone. Not that he was scared, please, he wasn’t five. It wasn’t even the complete dark rooms and hallways giving him pause. It was himself. And he didn’t know where he was going.

 

He had to piss. He was pretty sure his bladder would collapse soon enough. Eh, he’d find the bathroom eventually. If not, he could always improvise. Yes, there was always that.

 

Jeff banged his shoulder into the edge of a shelf, knocking over several items which by the sounds of things, were probably books. He got an immediate flash of all the books he had seen in Ryan’s house, the only thing that came to mind with a fucking title was the dusty and barely bookmarked first edition of Alice in Wonderland crammed in there somewhere.

 

Jeff had gotten Chip that as a birthday present years ago, when he cared about that kind of a thing. The one present he had actually bought for a person. Good to know it was sort of being useful, taking up space like that. He’d have rather Chip have forgotten about it during one of his and Ryan’s meetups. With Ryan meaning to but never actually giving him back the book. It was a nicer thing to think rather than assuming Chip had given it to Ryan, or even worse-just discarding it like that. It wasn’t Chip’s style and it’d have hurt Jeff more than he’d have wanted it to. Hell, it hurt imagining it.

 

Jeff stepped back, brushing off his shoulder only to step forward, crashing into a coffee table or end table, small table. He held back his accompanying whine and whimper of being in pain.

 

Evidently the house had shifted while he was asleep. Everything was angled slightly to the left in that damn unnoticeable way, just enough to make him wobble. Not even in a drunk way-how much had he had to drink? Didn’t matter. It wasn’t nearly enough.

 

He found himself in the kitchen. Well, that was familiar. If anything, he had that.

 

He opened the fridge. He didn’t know why, not consciously. It was just embedded in his head at that point.. He went to close it when he realized he liked that orangeish glowing light far too much. It was safe, maybe that’s what it was.

 

He reached towards a shelf, immediately correcting himself in that it wasn’t his fridge or Chip’s. It was Ryan’s and it wasn’t half as interesting as it could have been.

 

There was a creaking noise to his left. Reacquainting himself with the layout of Ryan’s house, he knew that was where the kitchen table was. He chose to ignore the sound. Some crazy normal sound of the house, his mom used to call it “settling in”. Jeff always went with that the house was sinking, being swallowed into the earth never to be seen again.

 

“Jeff.”

 

He heard the voice and went to turn his head. He stopped himself before it was too late, leaving his head in an angled shuddering position. Eyes closed, eyes closed, that was good.

 

It wasn’t his voice. Jeff closed the refrigerator door quietly.

 

It wasn’t Ryan’s either. Now that was a problem.

 

He kept his eyes shut and took a deep breath. It would go away, it would go away soon enough. He cracked an eye open at the fridge, reaching out a semi blind grasp at the freezer door handle. He got it on his first try. He nearly ripped the door off in his swiftness, also glad that he wasn’t in the way to bash his skull in with the freezer door.

 

He had to open the fridge again to get the light to see. As soon as he did, he scanned the well stocked freezer.

 

Heh, he hadn’t gotten to there yet. Right in front of him was a bottle of vodka. With a little blue label.

 

Oh wait-was that? Fuck.

 

Jeff quickly shook it off. No he wasn’t going to be able to flash back on a memory he had destroyed. But it just-it was-It was the same brand.

 

Carefully he slid the bottle out of the freezer, gripping it tightly as he did. He couldn’t let it fall and break. As he walked out of the kitchen, making sure not to look in the direction where he heard the noise-

 

It was a voice.

 

-Noise, he ran his hand along the counter. His hand picked up an all too familiar object on its own, much like a magnet did. Though, it wasn’t surprising that was lying around. It was Ryan’s house after all. Lighter now in hand, Jeff continued to walk. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he sure as hell knew he couldn’t stay in there.

 

He walked down a hallway, knocking himself into the wall more than once. He jutted out his elbow to purposefully hit the wall, feeling his way through the maze. He bumped that elbow hard against a door handle, and slammed down on it. He blindly entered the dark room. The smell of randomly splashed bleach and cleaner overtook his senses to the point where it was making its way down his throat. It was quickly replaced with the taste of bile.

 

Well at least he found the bathroom.

 

He kept the lights off, placing the lighter and bottle of vodka on the countertop closest to the door. What did he have to gain by turning the lights on anyway?

 

Thir-Rhetorical question, self. Don’t answer it. Don’t dare answer it.

 

He let one of his bare feet glide across the cool tile floor until it lightly hit the bottom of the toilet. He positioned himself over it and waved one hand closer, trying to tell if the seat was up or not. It was.

 

After fiddling for far too long with the elastic waistband, he peeled down the pair of boxer-briefs he was wearing right down to the break in his knees. Far enough down to feel like a kid again. A kid suffering through the aftermath of consensual regrettable-he, he wouldn’t even call it sex. Fucking clinical shit. Work through your pain.

 

Scowling bitterly, he took his dick in his hand. The pad of his index finger gently stroked the underside of his shaft. His thumb flicked out against the side of his groin. He turned his hand, changing his grip just a little. The bitterness began to dissipate. He almost smiled at that.

 

Was he really going to jerk himself in the bathroom? Nicer than what Ryan had done. The fact that he came was biological at best. Like most of the fucks in his life, this one had no emotion behind it. Well, none of it good.

 

When was the last time he actually rubbed one out? Not recently. Not because he was getting a regular “gig” somewhere else, he just…didn’t want to touch himself either.

 

And if there was some slut around who was willing to take it every now and then, what was the problem in that? He’d get some stares from Greg and Ryan and even harsher ones from Chip, but hell-demeaning was demeaning, no matter where it came from. No matter who it was for.

 

He sighed and shifted his feet, shaking out his leg as he pushed a steady stream of urine out. At that point, he didn’t even care about aim. As long as it wasn’t splashing back on him, he was fine. As he finished he wiped his hand down his dick and carefully put his underwear back on. He wanted to avoid the sound and the feeling of the elastic snapping hard against him. That was something he never liked.

 

He reached around in the dark to push down on the handle and flush the toilet. Cold fucking metal handle, he was surprised he could feel that. He stepped away from the toilet, running the palm of his hand along the counter to find the sink.

 

At any time he knew he could have turned on the light and made it easier on himself. He wasn’t going to do it. If it was dark outside, it’d be dark in the room. Turning on the light would just hurt his eyes and blind him temporarily. No point at all.

 

As soon as he found the porcelain outline of the sink, he shuffled his feet backward so he could lean over the sink. He turned one of the faucets and stuck his hands underneath the water. The water was hot, burning hot to any person. Jeff didn’t seem to notice.

 

He knocked the bar of soap into the sink and chased it around the edges. It flipped in his hands a few times before he dropped it completely, focusing on batting his hands under the water to clean them off.

 

He blinked, shaking himself awake as he realized he must have fallen asleep washing his hands. He found the bar of soap in his hands yet again. Only it was a new bar of soap when he started, now it was thin enough to break. And he did break it, shoving the tiny pieces down the drain until they fit.

 

Thanks to his sink related space-out, his now slightly burnt and mostly raw fingertips started to curl up into the palms of his hands. He forced them out with a flick of his wrists. Work to do.

 

In his effort to turn the water off, he ended up pulling on enough buttons and levers to start a world war. Leave it to Ryan to keep something complicated. After the water stream lessened considerably, Jeff gave up.

 

He turned to wipe his hands on a towel or something, whatever he could find. His stomach brushed up against the counter. More like scraped. It hurt like hell.

 

But-That didn’t just happen, that couldn’t have. It just, it wasn’t possible. Shit, did he reopen a wound there? It felt like something was leaking out of him. That was starting to sting. Or bleed. Or both.

 

How could he even- But he was standing a good ways away. He was trying to avoid hitting it for the very fact that…

 

His hearing cut out for a whole second as his inner ears wavered and he shook his head.

 

Oh god. He quivered. That just happened.

 

 --

Comments

[clayangel.livejournal.com]

This is fascinating to finally be able to see things from Jeff's point of view, but it really leaves you scratching your head. ^_^ The deeper we get, the less the narrative seems to make sense, like you're descending into madness with Jeff.

Ah! I have to leave and I just finished and god, you torture me, woman!

[sungreen70.livejournal.com]

Wow. Jeff is really fucked up. I mean, no shit, he's been fucked up all along, but damn... And you make it so horribly, scarily real.

It didn’t happen in Addie’s bed. But then, he did feel safe there. So his reaction wasn’t as bad. He shouldn’t over think it, he might get caught up in the details. Don’t think about her, that was easy. Don't make her a person.

OK, that creeped me out... what happened with Addie?

Just popping in to say I'm still reading, and still blown away.