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 Posted: Fri Apr 06, 2012 10:27 pm
He decided to skip practice. He'd stopped by his coach's office to try and quickly explain his sudden absence, but didn't stay long enough to find out if there was any disappointment in him. There were more important things today than throwing a ball around and doing drills for the next few hours.
His mother had tried calling him while he was in class and he quietly excused himself from the room, having already told his professor that he might be getting an important phone call at some point during the lecture. Important wasn't really the right word for it, but it was the only way he knew how to stress the need for him to answer.
"Marissa can't get ahold of him," he heard his mother's shaking voice from her side of the receiver. She was crying, or about to start. "He needs you, Christopher. Marissa's on her way down from New York, but won't get in until this afternoon."
Chris did his best to reassure her and quickly collected his things to leave class early. The first thing he did was try and call Paris, as per his mother's request. The two women thought that he would be more likely to answer a call from Chris than them, but they were proven wrong. Chris tried a few more times on his way to his car after leaving his coach's office, and then sent a text once he'd thrown his things into the passenger side's seat.
Still nothing.
Knowing Paris though... he would be in one of two places after something like this happened. He knew he wouldn't go home to an empty house, full of memories, so he would either be at his best friend's apartment (a location unknown to Chris), or back at his own apartment in order to be alone.
He could hear the music before he even reached the door, which had been left unlocked. Chris was both relieved and concerned that he'd found Paris, at the very least, although he wasn't sure what kind of emotional state he would be in at this point.
"Paris?" he called as he pushed the door open to head inside. He was sure to lock it behind him.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 7:12 pm
Paris had no idea where his phone was. He could hear it from time to time, buzzing away as it was bombarded with texts and phone calls that went unanswered. He didn’t really care to talk to anyone—not his mom, not his friends, not even Momma Gallo, because it would hurt too much and he was tired of hurting. He just wanted it all to go away. He wanted to pretend like it wasn’t happening, but that was impossible because there would always be something there to remind him.
The numbness was better. Scary, in a way, but better. If he could just stay like this for a while, maybe he could actually make it through, and everything could come back to him later, when it was safe to feel things again.
He had his iPod plugged in, working its way through his happy playlist—he called it that not because all the songs on it were necessarily happy ones, but because he wasn’t about to start crying over Kesha and Gaga and Miley—the volume cranked up high, but not so loud that he couldn’t hear his boyfriend’s voice calling his name.
It helped to drown everything else out, though. That and the alcohol, which he’d broken into as soon as he’d arrived. Chris didn’t keep any here, but Paris would occasionally bring some to enjoy by himself. Nothing terribly strong—he didn’t want to offend his straight-laced boyfriend with tequila and vodka—but at some point he’d left some hard cider and a few wine coolers in the fridge, and he’d been steadily making his way through them for the last… well, however long he’d been there.
Paris was halfway through another can of Strongbow and doing a rather uncoordinated dance around the couches in the living area when Chris walked in. He looked up with a wide, lazy smile and began to clumsily sashay his way over.
“Christopher!” he said. He draped his arms over Chris’s shoulders once he reached him, nearly spilling his drink in the process. “You’re just in time! The party isn’t even half over yet! Did you come to join me? I thought you might. I saved you a few drinks!”
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 9:20 pm
Chris glanced warily around the living room, trying to see if there was anything major out of place, or something that would alert him to what he should be expecting, but it was just Paris...
A rather tipsy Paris.
"It's not even... Paris, it's not even three yet," he let out a breath of disbelief, trying to check his watch as Paris draped himself over his shoulders. He did his best to hold onto him, not wanting his boyfriend to topple over and get hurt.
This wasn't really what one would expect, or at least he didn't think it was. After something horrible happens there should be some kind of grief, right? Instead, it seemed as though Paris was forcing himself to be cheerful and block everything out.
But what should he do? Stop him from this nonsense? Force him to be miserable in a way other than his own choosing? Or should he indulge him, at least this once...?
"I have come to join you," he said, pulling Paris away from him enough so he could brush back his bangs and fuss over him, trying to see if he was injured at all. But all Chris could see were red eyes, whether it be from drinking or crying, he was unable to decide.
"I'm not really sure what we're doing though... What kind of party is this...? What are we celebrating...?" It seemed kind of morbid to have a party at this point in time. It was Good Friday on top of that, but Chris highly doubted he'd be going to church that night. Even still, Chris pulled out his phone so he could text his mother.
He's with me.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 9:40 pm
“We’re celebrating life, of course,” Paris answered.
He slipped his arms away to take a few steps back once Chris had had his fill of pointless fussing and finally decided his phone was more interesting than holding onto Paris, which was fine by him because there was music playing and he kind of felt like dancing anyway. He let his body sway and move to a song that was much more upbeat, lifting his drink to his lips to take a few enthusiastic gulps as he did so.
“But not because it’s good,” he made sure to inform his boyfriend, throwing his hands in the air as he turned on the spot. His drink sloshed around inside the can, but only a couple of drops dripped out—one on his shoulder, one in his hair. “We’re celebrating because life has finally decided to remind us how shitty it is.”
Paris stumbled after a few steps, and paused just long enough to see what had tripped him up. A pair of sweatpants. They could have been Chris’s if they hadn’t been too small and too pink, with gold lettering scrawled along the backside. Paris had been wearing them earlier—something warm and comfortable while he’d been…
No, he didn’t want to think about that cold place or all the waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. And then what? Nothing. Not anything. He’d run back here alone and he couldn’t remember when he’d taken his pants off, but he didn’t care because if he couldn’t remember that then maybe he wouldn’t have to remember all the other things.
He kicked them aside and kept making his way back into the living area.
“We’re celebrating,” he said again, “because nothing has changed! You know, for a while there I actually thought things might go right for once, because I was doing better and I had you and my old ma-… he told me… he told me… he said to keep dancing and keep fighting and I think he might have been proud of me, but then… then…”
He couldn’t say it. Instead he raised his drink again and crowed “A toast for the world! For all the ways its managed to ******** up our lives!” and drank heartily.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 10:00 pm
"Paris," he tried again, watching as he danced and stumbled and chattered on about things that only made half-sense without knowing all of the context. It made him sad. Watching Paris like this made his chest and stomach feel too tight. He wanted to be able to hug him and comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay... But Paris obviously didn't want that.
"At least shut the window..." he mumbled, moving into the room so he could pick up the remote that controlled the blinds on the large window-wall. They began rolling down shortly after, and Chris placed the device back where it belonged. He tried moving closer to Paris, wondering if it would just take some coaxing to get him to open up and talk to him... but maybe he was much too drunk to really think about it.
Chris sighed and went to sit down on the couch, trying to let his heart calm down from being so anxious and worried all day. Things definitely weren't going well, but at least Paris was accounted for and uninjured.
"You weren't answering your phone. Your mom and my mom have been trying to get up with you," he informed him, trying to get his boyfriend to calm down. He didn't think that "celebrating how sucky life was" was such a great idea, anyway.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 10:19 pm
“The window is fine the way it is,” Paris said once he’d finished his drink, though he didn’t argue beyond that and didn’t even put up a fuss when the screen was lowered, dimming the lower floor considerably. He peered at his can for a couple of moments before shaking it. A few drops rattled around at the bottom, but they weren’t worth fighting for, so he just held the can and kept moving in odd ways that might have looked like some sort of a real dance if he’d been more graceful and aware.
He didn’t want to open up. Not really. Then again, he didn’t think he was being all that closed off. He’d answered Chris’s question, hadn’t he? He was talking and he wasn’t pushing Chris away, even though he’d planned on spending most of the afternoon alone. It was why he’d come here, after all. Chris’s apartment had always been the best escape from the rest of the world.
“I don’t want to talk to my mom ‘cause she’ll just… she’ll make things worse ‘cause she’ll talk and talk and talk about everything and she wouldn’t let me celebrate, and your mom… your mom was crying and I can’t stand the crying right now, and I just want it to go away.”
He might have been crying earlier. He couldn’t really recall that either.
“I can take care of myself. I can do everything myself. I was at the hos-… I was at that place myself today and I was fine until… but then I came here and now I’m fine… except I should pick a song, don’t you think?”
He giggled, but it wasn’t a very happy giggle at all. It sounded amused enough, but there was something desperate and manic about it, too.
“I should pick a song. For the… for when… I mean, there’s always music. There’s the cliché one… the one that goes… it goes aamaaaaaziii~iing graaaaace, hoow sweeeeeet theee sooouuunnnd, whyyy dooooeess li~ife suuuuck soo baaaaaaaad? Or there’s my mom’s favorite. She’d probably like it better if I picked it. I bet she’d pick it if she got the chance. Theeen I~I shaaall booooow, wiiith huuumble aaaadoratiioooon, and theeen prooclaaaiim, my God how great you’re noooooot!”
When he was through, Paris doubled over and burst into another fit of wild giggles.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 10:45 pm
Chris sighed, watching in exasperation as Paris stumbled around some more with his empty can, and then started singing... He couldn't help but glance away, not sure how to feel about the way Paris was behaving. He was obviously upset, but Chris had no idea how to help him. How the hell was he supposed to help Paris cope when Paris had no desire to do anything but drink.
"Paris," he tried again, a little louder so he could get his boyfriend's attention. "You don't have to pick a song. It's not time to worry about things like that," he tried to insist, but he couldn't help but wonder what Paris was going to do next. So far he'd only said some ridiculous things and had a lot more to drink than an eighteen-year-old should, but... Chris wanted to be supportive, but he had Paris's well-being to worry about, too.
"Come sit with me," he offered, shifting over so there would be more room on the couch. He eyed Paris warily when he giggled his crazy giggles. Usually the sound of Paris laughing made him smile. But now? It made him feel sick.
But that was only because he knew what had happened... or rather, what he'd figured from what his mother had told him. If only things could have turned out differently...
"I know you can take care of yourself, but I want to take care of you, too..." Especially now... At least until Paris could calm down.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2012 11:21 pm
It came and it went. A short while later and Paris’s laughter abruptly ended. It wasn’t real laughter anyway. Not like he was happy. If he was happy he wouldn’t be doing this right now. He’d be dancing, really dancing, or out with Chris or seeing his friends. This wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t really sad either and that was sort of the point. He didn’t know what this was, but he was doing his best not to feel too sad. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop when he did.
He didn’t really feel much of anything, actually, and his thoughts were so disjointed he couldn’t even focus—not enough to sort it out. One second it was the music that had his attention, the next it was Chris on the couch, then it was his empty can, then it was all the other cans and bottles waiting for him on the kitchen counter. It should be easier like this, and it was but it wasn’t at the same time, because he was thinking but not thinking, and feeling but not feeling. Everything was foggy and sort of muted. Almost like it didn’t matter, only it did. He knew that even under all the alcohol.
It mattered.
Everything mattered.
“No one needs to take care of me,” he snapped. He straightened back up now that he was no longer laughing, but he didn’t start dancing again. His mood had shifted after his humorless display. Instead, he started to slowly pace, going back and forth a couple of times before making some kind of circle around all the furniture.
“It won’t matter anyway. Nothing’s going to be different. I told you that, didn’t I? Everything’s still the same. That’s what all this is for,” he reminded him, making a vague motion with his arm that could have indicated the drinks on the kitchen counter or the fact that he was only half dressed. “It doesn’t matter what we do. Why should we even bother? He said to keep going, but who is he to say something like that when he just gave up?!”
He flung his empty drink aside. They were both lucky it was only a can and not a bottle, or else there would have been a shower of broken glass to contend with. Instead, the can bounced off the wall with a metallic ‘ding’ and rolled off somewhere on the floor.
“I’m tired of everything!” he shouted, raising his hands to both side of his head as if he could block everything out or force everything sad and upsetting from his mind. “I don’t want this! I don’t want any of it!”
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 12:07 pm
He didn't react to Paris's snap, knowing that he wasn't in full control at the moment. Knowing that he was upset and needed so many thing that Chris couldn't give him. He wanted to be able to make things better, to do something, but nothing could reverse the flow of time... and even if something could, would they really want the past to be changed? If it meant risking something else, maybe even risk knowing each other, would it be worth it?
"You don't know that," he insisted, rising from the couch to be able to cross the room towards where Paris ended up after moving around so much. "You don't know that he gave up. For all you know, he could have fought as hard as he could... But... sometimes shitty things happen. I'm so sorry, baby..." he said softly, reaching out to pull Paris to him. He carefully wrapped his arms around him so that while Paris covered his own ears, he could block out the rest of the world around them.
It helped that Chris was nearly a foot taller than his boyfriend, so he could easily tuck Paris's head under his chin, having him bury his face into his chest.
"I know you're tired... I know you don't want this... I don't want it, either..." He didn't want to see death in any shape or form. It was why he refused to fight unless for self-defense, and if he did fight it wasn't with the intention of killing. "If he told you to keep going, then he believed that you could, baby," he tried again, although he feared his words could possibly be going in one ear and out the others, or ignored completely.
"And I won't take care of you if you don't want me to... but I'm going to stay with you..." Whether Paris wanted him to or not. He didn't want Paris to be completely alone at a time like this, and he thought he knew his boyfriend well enough to know that Paris would appreciate the company of another person who wouldn't try to force him to talk or do something he didn't want to do.
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 12:32 pm
“He did give up!” Paris insisted. “I watched him every day!”
He didn’t struggle when Chris approached him. He didn’t do much to encourage the embrace, but he didn’t push Chris away either. He had to stop pacing but that was okay. He’d been getting a little dizzy anyway, and even though he felt a little too enclosed in Chris’s arms, at least nothing could get him there.
But that was kind of stupid to think, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Chris could stop everything, so how safe was he really?
“He just sat there and kept wasting away! He didn’t try! He didn’t fight! He knew he was going to… he knew it, and I knew he knew, and he knew I knew, and now it’s over and he’s gone and I’m still here. He said… this morning, he said mom left but he never did and he wasn’t ever going to, only now he has because he’s a hypocrite and he just gave up!”
Paris didn’t know what he was feeling. It came from somewhere beneath the numbness. It wasn’t sadness, not really, but it wasn’t quite anger either. His voice was raised, though he wasn’t shouting outright, and his vision was a little blurry, but that could be from all the drinking and not from tears.
“We’re going to die like this, Christopher,” he said, tilting his head back to look up at him. He smiled a desperate, forlorn smile. “We’re going to die like this, because today… today it was supposed to help him, it was supposed to make things better for a while, but it killed him anyway. And nothing we do is like that. It doesn’t help. It just keeps going on and on and on, and we keep fighting and losing and fighting and winning and fighting and nothing changes, and if something that was supposed to help him killed him, then how long do we really have if nothing we do helps anything?”
He couldn’t keep track of his thoughts anymore. He hadn’t been able to keep track of them very much to begin with, not after the first few drinks, but now everything was sort of blending together—all the things he hated, all the things that upset him, swirling around and around in his head until everything seemed interconnected, even if one had so little to do with the other.
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 12:53 pm
How the hell was he supposed to argue against Paris when he'd been there, knew his father, had seen all this happen... while Chris went to school against his better judgement. He should have been with Paris that morning, and he felt guilty that he hadn't been.
"Shh..." he tried, not minding that Paris was getting upset, but he didn't want him to get so upset that he started having a breakdown because of it. "Shh... baby... We're not going to die like this," he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against Paris's forehead, since that was all he could reach with the angle they were at.
What was he supposed to say...? It circled right back around to not knowing what to do. He wanted to reassure him, tell him everything would be okay, but how could he counter Paris's argument without the chance of just making things worse...?
"We're not going to die like this," he said more confidently, pulling away enough to look Paris over, although he still held him in his arms. It made him sad to see him pacing as he had been, so if anything he was keeping him from doing that. "We're not going to die like this, because I'm not going to give up, and you're not going to give up." Part of him was telling him how much of a jerk he was to tell Paris something like that. Why was he allowed to tell Paris what he could and couldn't do?
"If your father gave up, then it wasn't your fault, Paris. He gave up long ago. But I know he cared about you," he insisted, his brows furrowed in concern as he looked down at his boyfriend. "I saw you at my games... I saw how you took care of the store, made him take it easy and he let you do that... I was there for Thanksgiving, remember? I saw how you both were... And I don't think he did it to hurt you, Paris... Him dying wasn't to spite you..."
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 1:13 pm
Paris shook his head, not because he was trying to contradict Chris, but because he didn’t want to hear what he was saying. It made him think about things too much—the hand on his head, or the fingers grasping his hand, or the things his father had said before Paris sat alone, waiting and waiting and waiting until it was all over and everything was gone.
“He said… he said…”
But he didn’t want to say it because it hurt too much and he didn’t want to hurt anymore, so he kept shaking his head for a little while and he pressed his palms against his ears to keep blocking everything out, and he slumped against Chris and nearly went limp because he didn’t have the strength anymore, but it was okay because he knew Chris could hold him steady.
Of course it wasn’t his fault. Of course his father hadn’t done it to spite him. But Paris thought he could have done more to fix it. He could have tried to be a better comfort to his father. He could have tried to stop him. Years ago, if he’d been less self-absorbed, maybe he could have done something to stop it from getting to this point. He could have found some way for them to be happy together instead of miserably falling apart and looking for their respective escapes.
“He shouldn’t have died… he shouldn’t have died…” Paris said. He looked up again and the smile he’d been wearing was gone. “Things like that shouldn’t happen to people. He didn’t even do anything wrong. He just couldn’t do it anymore, and I… I didn’t know what else to do. I tried… I tried… but it wasn’t enough. Nothing’s ever enough…”
His vision went blurry again, and this time he could feel his face grow wet, so he knew he was crying. He didn’t try to wipe them away, just kept his hands by his head, palms at his ears and fingers tangled through locks of messy hair.
“I don’t want to think about it... I don’t want to do anything… Make it go away, Christopher. Make it all stop…”
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 1:33 pm
"I know... shhh, I know..." he tried to comfort him, although Chris thought he was doing a pretty sucky job. "You did everything you could, Paris... And I'm sure it was enough... He died knowing you cared about him and wanted him to fight... He didn't die alone, Paris... I wouldn't want to die alone..." But this wasn't about him, even if he'd only said it to make a comparison or to try and have Paris understand where he was coming from.
But there was nothing to do now. Nothing more than to carry on with memories and hope that they made a difference while alive.
Chris held him tightly to him, not letting him fall even when he went mostly limp against him. He held him close and pressed his lips against the top of Paris's head, quietly shushing him, but only to keep his crying in check. It was okay to be upset and cry, but if it started getting out of hand... He didn't want Paris making himself sick or unable to breathe.
He felt his chest tighten at Paris's plea. He wanted to do anything he could to help him, but how was he supposed to make everything stop...? He didn't have that power...
Against his better judgement, Chris gently pulled Paris along with him, edging over to the counter where Paris had pulled out the cans of imported cider and other drinks that he hadn't even been aware was in his apartment. With one hand, he reached over to open a can, and then, lifting it to his mouth, took a sip. At first he made a face, but then let out a small sigh. "It tastes like apple juice... almost..."
Not that it made it any better, but...
He handed the opened can to Paris, before opening another for himself.
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 2:01 pm
Paris followed Chris to the kitchen, finally taking his hands away from his head when all the difficult talking had stopped. Another strained smile twisted his lips through his tears, and he felt amusement over Chris’s comment about the cider. Then he took the can from his boyfriend and gulped some down to join all the rest.
This was better. This was easier. Maybe it didn’t solve anything, maybe it didn’t help the grief at all, but for just a little while it made all the bad things face away. He could feel and not feel, think and not think, and when he was done he could sleep it off and try again tomorrow.
“To my old man,” he said, raising the can in the air in another toast.
They drank the afternoon away. Paris sang to the music or made up lyrics of his own, and pulled Chris close to dance between sips of cider. It didn’t change a thing, but he could shout and laugh and… not forget, but he could overlook it for a time. He could pretend that nothing had happened, that it was just another day, and he could go numb inside so the pain couldn’t get him, and he wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.
It was what his father would have done. If he’d been in any fit state of mind, Paris might have thought he was more like Henri LeFay than he’d previously assumed.
Later, when there was nothing else to drink and he could hardly stand anymore, Paris let Chris drag him up the stairs. The sun was setting, throwing orange light throughout the apartment, and Paris couldn’t feel anything except Chris’s hands in his hair, Chris’s mouth on his neck. They fell onto the bed and Paris stared up at him, throwing his arms around him and drowning, drowning, drowning—in his voice and his eyes and his hands and his lips and the way he made it all go away.
“I love you,” Paris mumbled, quiet and detached as everything else went out of focus—everything except Chris, who was here and there and everywhere. “I love you… I love you… I love you… I love you...”
And he could die like this—gladly.
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