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 Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 9:44 pm
It was embarrassing to admit that she missed bothering Taym. She knew he was in no state to deserve a pain in the a** like her around, and reminding her of that was exactly why she'd decided to visit. It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd felt it important enough to point out that an attempt Lawr had made months ago to make her feel like s**t wasn't true. It had even less to do with the fact that she could have used his advice, his insults, his very existence, about a hundred times since he'd disappeared. It had little to do with how he'd always managed to point her in the right direction, if only because he knew what the wrong direction looked like. It was none of these things that had Maebe kicking her pointed shoe at his door, demanding to be let in at the most ridiculous hour of night. It was only, and always, because driving Taym crazy made her feel better. And this thought made her smile. "Open the door, sparkles. I brought liquor."
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 9:54 pm
"It's unlocked," sounded vaguely from somewhere within, and it was. The door's trip was faintly impeded by his coat on the floor. It wasn't the only thing in the floor--a change of clothes was lying where it had fallen by the bed, which was unmade. The cats were dozing peaceably enough in their usual corner, and their cage, at least, was as spotless as ever, although how much of that was due to Mimsy's recent oversight was impossible to say. Gone, too, the usual stream of moonlight through the window; the blinds were drawn and he was curled up in his chair under the too-bright room lights, a haphazard stack of files next to him on the floor and his phone huddled up against his knee and making the occasional cheerful ding-ding sound of some mindless glittery game being played. He was in short sleeves, the solid black band of his covered tattoo visible, but his clothes--suspiciously close to pajamas--looked clean, at least. It didn't smell terrible, but it didn't smell sterile. Less than a boy's dorm room but more than Taym's room--like very old laundry and the open Slim Fast can sitting on the nightstand had had a chance to go a little off, under the cigarette stink stifled by the windows being closed for once. "I hate hospitals," he said flatly, without looking up. Ding, ding.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 10:04 pm
All that smile and peace that had come from being able to just walk over and visit him for the first time in forever, disappeared the moment she opened the door. It took her a few tries, the coat gave her a hard time, but she'd slid through a crack just wide enough for her, and stilled once she saw it all. It wasn't the kind of mess that should have caused alarm, had it been anyone else's room. Compared to Mark's, this was heaven. But she knew exactly what the room should look like, and this shamble of comparison sent a shiver down her spine. Still, she remembered what her room looked like the day Otto had kicked the girls out. The dull, hollowed out memory of all that pain and all that mess gave her the rose colored glasses she needed to view his room as exactly the way it should be, all things considered. Break ups were hard. Especially when they made no sense at all. "Ohhh kay.." She drawled out, no less adamant about giving him a hard time. She put the bottle of Southern Comfort down on the floor, straightened up, and considered what she was about to do for a long, long second. Then, with a shrug, she started to pick up his room. It felt strangely, embarrassingly empowering. "I'd never have thought that, with how your room used to always smell like one. I thought you had a fetish for the place. Good to know." She picked up his coat first, and hung it from a hook. "You look like you've been taking all of this well." There was no sarcasm in her voice, for once. He was alive, wasn't he? That meant he was already better than she'd been. "What is thi- Oh for ******** sake." She took the Slimfast, after sniffing it and instantly regretting it, to sit just outside his door, where she could forget about it until she left.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 10:14 pm
He made no move to stop her, nor did he look up from his phone. Ding, ding. New high score!"She's in worse shape than I am," he said.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 10:21 pm
"Yeah. Actually. I believe that." Because between the two of them, America always was the one whose heart beat stronger. Despite knowing that America was hurting harder, Maebe did not slow down her attempts to pick up the mess of his room. "But you know what? Funny thing about America. You'd be surprised how many of us love her. And yes, that includes me, I love her to death. So I'm going to see her, and I'm going to hug her, and we'll probably talk s**t about you to make her feel better, and eat ice cream, and do whatever it takes." She folded the shirt she'd picked up, and gently placed it on a pile she was making on his bed. Then she stopped, and folded her arms tightly in front of her. "But I owe you more than I am ever, ever going to admit again." He'd been there for her. This was payback. "Besides. If I don't come around, you're just going to stay there all day, playing whatever the ******** that annoying sounding game is, and never talk to anyone again." She sighed, as if that sounded wonderful."But I hate everyone, so. We can't have that." Immediately, her hands returned to their idle work.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 10:25 pm
A long pause, broken by the occasional cheery noises announcing his successes. "You're wrong. I wouldn't be surprised," he said finally, quietly.
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 10:29 pm
God, damnit. She hated when she couldn't help but feel an emotion other than hatred, for him. It happened far too often for her liking. She put down the last shirt she'd folded, and then moved to stand in front of him, staring down at the hollow husk of a man that had never been much more, but had always been something, until now. She wanted to reach out and touch him, and she realized that was Dawson's influence, not her own. She felt like it was the kind of moment for hugs and affection, and Taym was nothing like Dawson, so it never would be. Instead, she crouched down, and gently tried to push the phone away from his empty-eyed face. "I'm sorry." She admitted, trying to elicit something from him. Anything. "I know what you're going through. And. And I want to help. Let me help."
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Posted: Sun Aug 23, 2015 10:40 pm
He made an agitated movement of his elbow in response to her interruption, but there was no passion in it--no sudden snap of irritation--and he just kept playing, hands moving gracefully over the brightly-colored keys. "You do not," he said, "know what I'm going through. You have no idea what I've gone through and if you think this is me reacting to not--" --and he paused, because he'd been about to sneeringly reduce America to easy access to sex, but he found that he couldn't-- "--having her around any more you really have no clue." And then, abruptly, he blanked the phone's screen and tossed it over her shoulder onto the bed, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. "I hate this place."
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 5:51 pm
At least he was talking to her, and in those few seconds, she could have made believe that it was the Taym she used to know. When the phone flew over her shoulder and he covered his face, that little game of make believe was gone. "You don't think - ******** you." Even her anger was weak, because it was too difficult to stoke the flame when there was no emotion in his own words. "I know exactly what you're going through. I was in love once, too. Okay. Once. And that love never really went away, no matter how much it hurt. What, do you think you and America were something different? Something special? Get the ******** over yourself. You're not special." She tried to make it sound like she was insulted, but her heart wasn't in it. Taym was an emotional wreck, and there was a part of her, however small, that wanted to heal, instead of hurt him more. A part that never should have existed. A part she didn't know how to deal with. She reached out, and pressed her hands on top of his. Maybe if she touched him too much, he'd get angry, and - and it would be better than this. Better than this nothing. He'd be Taym again. Her Taym - She rolled her eyes. That was a phrase that did not exist, except in strange hallucinations, and princess dresses. Her Taym was nothing more than a mirror of herself, in some emaciated male form, with a terrible smoking habit, and a much larger, more obnoxious vocabulary. It wasn't real. It never would be. That did not make it any less influential. rejam CHROME SAVEDD THE POSTTTT
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:08 pm
He shook her hand away, not with his usual cringing away from contact but with agitation again, and he looked very much like he wanted to spit in her face. "This has nothing to do with America. ******** America. ******** petty interpersonal relationships. You think I've never been through a breakup? ******** you, Maebe. I was engaged, we had a baby, and she left without even leaving me a ******** note besides the one implicit in stealing my ******** wallet on the way out. This--" and here he made some vast gesture that took in her, the room, the Island "--has everything to do with--with--there's nothing here. Just the capacity for--I have ruined so many lives. Every time I think I'm doing something good, I ******** it up. This is not about the breakup. I ******** sort my memories out from memories that aren't real. I don't know who I am. Konstantin Bashmet tried to have my daughter killed and he's running around this Island probably getting pats on the head from the administration. I almost got America killed. Again. I wish it was about the breakup. I desperately ******** wish that it was, Maebe."
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:19 pm
Once more, she was wrong, working off of outdated information and missing so many pieces to a puzzle she didn't really want to put together. She didn't want to try and make him feel better, anymore. How could she? She DIDN'T know how he was feeling. If this wasn't about America - if this wasn't about love, and heartbreak, and all the stupid s**t she'd only just learned on her own recently, how the hell was she supposed to help him through it? She wasn't. She couldn't. That much was clear. She fell down to sit on her a** in front of him, and stared at her knees with a furrowed brow. "I don't know much about all that." She admitted, not that he didn't know that already. "I don't know how you almost got America killed. I don't know why the russian's getting away with murder, if that's seriously what you're saying. I don't know what lives you ******** up and how. Because how could I? How could I know anything about you? You don't ******** TALK TO ANYONE!" But it was a lie, and she knew it from the moment it left her lips. He probably talked to people all the time. Just not her. Not her. "So you've ******** everything up. Congratulations. I always believed in you. You didn't let me down." She bit her lip, stuffing her sarcasm back down before it got out of hand. "Since when does that mean you won't get back up and make things right?"
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:28 pm
"Since now," he said, watching the cats, the moment gone, the detachment back. "Every time I try it gets worse." And he wondered, then, if she knew about Grace, but she had, after all, just accused him of not talking about anything, and then proceeded to remind him that he always lived down to her expectations. "I'm going off Island. You told me to tell you next time. Edith's sending me out to--somewhere. They gave me options. I asked for Australia. They're just gonna shove me in a hole somewhere to--to put up drywall and hang doors somewhere I can't hurt people. Finally." A pause, and then, dully again: "The clones are my fault, you know. The infrastructure's so bad here Lawrence and I got sent on a mission that the higher-ups didn't even know about, and I was--working for... for other people the whole time, without knowing it. And I thought I'd done a good thing, out in the Sahara, but really all I did was hand information over to people who were better equipped to weaponize it against us. Ruined my life. Ruined my family's lives. Hurt dozens of innocent civilians. Almost everything I've ever done, that's how it's gone. If I want things to get set right I have to--to stop putting my hands in it."
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:50 pm
She was glad he was telling her that he was leaving, again. She was not glad he was leaving again.There was a long, frustrating silence, as she sat there and tried to decide whether she wanted to punch him in the face, or cry. Neither would do her any good, but she didn't think she could stop the latter, and the former would have been a good distraction from it. So both seemed like the right answer. She got up, reared her fist back as far as she could, and punched him square right in the face. She did it because it meant he'd be too busy acting like he didn't care about getting hit, and wouldn't notice that she'd started to cry. "I hate you." She hissed out, and it was obvious she didn't mean a word.
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:55 pm
His serpentine reflexes, at least, were partially intact, and if she'd meant to crush his nose in she didn't quite get the satisfaction. He didn't make a sound. Other than the quick and only partially-successful attempt to weave out of the way he didn't really react at all, and it wasn't so much that he was acting like he didn't care as that he was processing something. He absently touched the spot where pain welled up but where Fiona, as tired as he was but still compelled, would prevent any actual damage. "A long time ago," he said finally--not leave or <******** you or haha--but this: "Konstantin Bashmet showed himself into my room late at night to kick me in the gut, and I made the mistake of chalking that up to an irrational over-reaction to his personal concern for me, only to find out later that he was getting off on kicking my clones in the face while he taught them how to act like me. You got something you wanna tell me?"
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Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 7:05 pm
What he was saying made no sense, except that he was somehow comparing her to Kostya in some way, and that was probably meaner than she was able to interpret it. So she shoved him in the shoulder after the clumsy attempt at a punch, and then used her arm to rub the traitorous tears out of his eyes. "Yeah, I've got something to tell you." Her husky voice spilled out, speaking without thinking as was her tendency. "You're leaving, because - I don't ******** get why, and I don't care. I just, I don't want you to go. I don't want you to go." Her voice was raising with each word, which each layered emotion. "And that doesn't mean s**t to you. It never did. You and your martyr complex, and your holier than thou attitude. You're not supposed to be the one who runs. You're not supposed to abandon me. But of ******** course you are, because it's not about me. It's never been about me. Not for you, and not for ANYONE." At this point, she was screaming, because she couldn't help herself. It was all coming out in one flood of hatred and betrayal and loneliness, so much loneliness. "I'm sick of this s**t. I'm sick of needing people who don't need me. I'm sick of not being strong enough to do this on my own. I'm sick of seeing the faces of the people who are important to me, in my own ******** mirror, telling me things they would NEVER tell me in real life, because I NEED THEM TO. I hate you. I HATE YOU." Tears had turned into rivers, and her hands were trying to punch him again, in their own pathetic, flailing way. She didn't hate him. She hated what he represented. She hated a lifetime of hims, all building up into this one moment.
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