6 posts tagged “alabaster”
"DON'T!"
Meh. I don't think this conversation would ever take place, but it popped into my head, so I wrote it out anyway.
So, poor Tyler has been dying, because I gave him cancer. Well, I finally got around to writing his death. Originally, I was going to do two versions. This one, and then something else that wasn't quite as miserable, but the un-miserable one comes out sounding all fake and wrong inside my head, and I can only imagine what it would sound like on the page. So this is the one that's done so far. And it may need some tweaks, mainly because I ended up having to write from Al's perspective for a second, and we all know I'm not very good at that, but I think it came out okay. It is sad, though, because I've purposefully made his life suck slightly worse than mine to make myself feel better.
Tyler could feel it. He was dying. Really dying. Today. Now. In a few hours.
It'd been a year since he'd run away and then come back, and his health had held out for a while, but about three months ago, he'd take a turn for the worst. A month and a half ago, he could no longer deny it because he looked like he was dying. And now here he was. This morning. Fixing his coffee and wondering if he was even going to get to enjoy all of it. Well, that was no way to think. He liked coffee, and he was damn well going to drink it. If Death wanted, he could have a mug.
Didn't even break thirty. Damn. He looked at the calender. It didn't particularly matter what day it was, but he liked to know, anyway. He was three months shy of his thirtieth birthday. So close, and yet so far away.
He smiled to himself and sat down, watching the coffee pot as it brewed his caffeine. He was in pain. It was dull, throbbing, like it had been for a while now: months, it seemed. He was used to it, but he could feel it gaining in intensity. It hurt more, starting at his spine, clawing its way to his heart, his brain.
Ty downed two cups of coffee and then picked up his telephone. He wanted someone here. Someone around. He wanted to see his best friend.
He listened to the phone ringing. On the third ring, Sam answered.
"Hey, Sam. Can I talk to Al?" he was amazed that his voice sounded no worse (or better) than it had for the last couple weeks.
There was some grumbling, then the phone was passed off.
"Ty-boyo! How are you doing?"
Tyler smiled. He wasn't exactly sure why Al even asked anymore, but he always did. Ty wasn't about to tell Al the truth. No, he wasn't going to come out and tell the zombie that he'd be dead in a few hours. He didn't want to worry him, and he certainly didn't want Al doing anything stupid.
"I'm good enough," he told him, figuring that was close enough to the truth because, for the moment, he was still alive. "I was calling to see if you could come over and hang out for a while. I know it's short notice...."
Al came over a lot as it was, more often once Ty had been unable to deny the fact that he really was dying. It wasn't unusual for them to spend four or five days a week at one or the other's houses, sometimes with Sam, sometimes without. Sam was civil now, and Ty was at ease with him if only because he was the only person who couldn't really see how horrible he looked.
"O'course! I'm about to give Sammy some lunch so he can take his pills, then I'll be over in a jiff."
"Great. Thanks a lot." Ty hung up the phone and moved to get some strawberry tea ready for the two of them.
Al finished off making lunch and slid it onto the table with Sam's pills. "I'm goin' over ta visit with Ty fer a bit, do ye wanna come?"
"Nah, I've got some shit ta do."
"All right, but be sure ta take yer pills."
Al grabbed his jacket out of the closet and was about to leave, when the phone rang again. He picked it up. "Yeh?"
He listened, his frown growing deeper. "They did what?" He closed his eyes. "A knife fight? In the halls? Was anyone hurt?" He sighed. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"'Ey! Sammy! Yer bros just got expelled. I'm goin' ta pick 'em up! Try an' find another school fer 'em, eh?"
Tyler sat on his sofa. It didn't take this long, not usually. Ten minutes? Less sometimes when Al was in a good mood. It'd been thirty.
Then an hour.
Then longer.
Ty felt the sickness spreading. The pain throbbed all through him until it hurt to move. He'd taken up a seat on the sofa, their glasses of tea on the coffee table in front of him. His blue eyes trained on the door. Any second, he expected to see the bubbly, smiling-in-front-of-the-worry, redhead bound into his living room.
The longer it took, the worse things got. He hurt. But more than that, he was starting to get scared. Terrified, really. What did he know about death? About dying? Sure, he'd known that he was going to die. He even knew it would be soon. But now Death was sitting on the easy-chair across the room from him and he was stressed out.
He wanted someone here. Someone that knew Death, who understood it. He wanted Al to smile at him the way he always did when Tyler got stressed out or worried. But more than any of that... he just didn't want to be alone.
Tyler swallowed down a wave of bile and then shivered as a chill crept over him. He grabbed the blanket off of the back of the sofa and pulled it over himself, trying to push Death back just by shoving away the cold. I'm not cold. It's downright balmy in here. Think warm thoughts. He'll be here soon.
The clock's ticking got louder. He could feel his heart, slow and steady, but slowing down. He bit his lip and focused his eyes on the door. Any second. Any minute.
Ty grabbed a post-it note and jotted a quick note on it, then stuck it on Al's glass. Just in case. I won't need it. He'll make it. But just in case.
His fear got worse as the clock's ticking reminded him of how very alone he was right now. How cold. How tired. How... by himself. His stomach knotted. His eyes started to close, but he didn't want to go to sleep, because he knew he wasn't going to wake up. And he wasn't ready. Not until he saw that smile. Saw his best friend pretending not to be worried sick.
Tears slipped down his cheek. I'm going to die alone. And all I'm leaving him is a post-it note.
He felt the urge to add another. Just a quick apology for not being able to wait. Death was getting impatient.
His eyelids got heavier. He only saw half the door. A quarter. An eighth. Then just the impression of light on the other side of his eyelids.
Exhaustion took over and the cold melted away, the pain stopped, and the light faded.
"Hey, Ty! Sorry it took so long! Ye wouldn't believe wha' the monsters did this time!" Al announced as he burst into the room. He looked at Ty, asleep on the sofa, and the tea in front of him. "Sorry I didn't call..."
The redhead stepped forward and the light from the door fell across Ty's face, outlining the dry path of the tears.
"Boyo? Yo, wake up!"
His eyes slid to the tea, and the post-it note on one of the glasses. He knew, but his brain wasn't registering.
In the neat little scrawl that was Tyler's hand writing, the note read, Just in case: I love you, you idiot. Be good.
Al felt his heart clench and tears in his eyes.
"No... Ty, this ain' funny. Wake up, boyo... ye got me. I shoulda called..."
He knelt, touched Ty's cheek, feeling the almost sandy texture of the dry tears. He stared at his friend, at the quiet look on his face: a little sad, but calm. He couldn't see the doubt, the fear, the loneliness, but he knew. After all, Ty had told him, hadn't he? That he was scared of dying alone. He should have made the boy move in with them. Should have insisted. Should... should have done quite a lot of things, but that didn't help matters now. Tyler was gone, the damage was done, and all he had was a post-it note and a glass of tea.
"Oh, boyo, I'm sorry."
Tyler sat atop the parking deck, closing his eyes as the sun beat down against him. He was glad he'd headed south, the winter didn't sound too promising. Wind stirred locks of blond around his head.
The warehouse was quiet. Tyler's desk empty.
Six days to surgery.
Halfway down the last row of filing cabinets, Tyler was pressed against the cold metal, his hands gripping at the t-shirt of the boy pressed against him. Those lips pushed against his own, aggressive and demanding. He yielded. The lips left him abruptly, traveling downward and giving a gentle shove to his chin before latching onto his neck. The hand cupping the opposite side of his neck allowed the thumb to travel over Tyler's jaw as a soft moan left him.
John's hand ducked into the front of Ty's pants.
"Ah!" The small cry echoed in the empty warehouse. Tyler grabbed the wrist. "No, no... John, we can't..."
"Sure we can," came the breathy reply against his collarbone, "but we do have to lose a little of these clothes..."
"I'm at work," he said in a hushed whisper.
"You're on break." The hand wrapped around Tyler and squeezed gently.
The blond gave a gasp and a soft moan. "My boss..."
"Isn't allowed to join, but is more than welcome to watch. Now relax." He undid Ty's pants and pushed them and his boxers off. "We have to get you to start going commando..."
"Jo--" The lips pushed against his again. He melted.
John sucked his lower lip gently and slid his fingers into those blond locks. "I have to enjoy you while I can... in a week, I won't be able to do anything to you for at least six more..."
Or possibly ever again... Ty added mentally, but didn't bother to say anything. He smiled a little to John, but wasn't happy. Lucky for him, John didn't know him well enough to notice. "All right.."
"Thatta boy." John kissed him again, undoing the front of Tyler's shirt and sliding his hands over the pale body.
Tyler pulled John's t-shirt off, returning the heated kisses as he fumbled with the younger's belt. He froze.
"What?" John murmured as Tyler stopped. "I'll get it."
"No, I heard something. The door..."
John shook his head. "I didn't hear anything. Besides, you locked it. You're just nervous."
"But.."
"Shh... If someone came in, wouldn't they call for you?"
Tyler considered, then nodded.
"Well, then, there we go. Now, I believe we were right about here..." He took Tyler's hands and placed them on his unbuckled belt.
They kissed. The second pair of pants hit the floor, leaving the Irishman bare as he pushed against Tyler. He picked Ty up--he weighed nothing--and pushed his back against the cabinets, kissing at his neck again, making certain to leave Tyler with a hickey as he positioned himself at the other's opening. He started pressing...
BANG! CRASH!
"SONUVABITCH! OW! ME TOE! CHICKENSCRATCHPAD! DOORBELL -HANGER-TOE-JAM!"
A simultaneous gasp came from Tyler and John, both their heads jerking in the direction of Al's pained yelling. John pushed closer, not to enter, but to shield his lover.
"Who the bloody 'ell are you?" John yelled.
Tyler turned scarlet. "That's my boss, John." He wiggled a little. "Put me down. Lemme get my pants."
For once, this was not written longhand, but typed straight to the computer.
Tyler laid in his bed. Al had refused to give up the couch... or to admit that he knew that was where Tyler had been sleeping. But Al would not be denied, not when he was trying to prove a point.
Without the low buzz of the television, Ty was finding it harder to fall asleep. He lay on his back, watching the shadows drifting across his ceiling with every movement from outside and letting the words of his best friend wash over him.
Think, deal, heal, move on. The hardest part is now.
He closed his eyes. The hardest part was knowing. Knowing that he'd caused so much disaster and that he'd had a part in the murder.. no, the genocide, of an entire city.
When he'd come to Al, he was still naive. He could see it now. He was still that hopeless little innocent Al had met at the school. He'd honestly believed that the undead could just... wish everything away. Like it never happened. But he realized it now. That wasn't what happened. At all. What happened was not the forgiveness of some uncaring deity. It was forgiving yourself.
It's the things ye've done that can't be changed. All ye can do is figure out what comes next.
Tyler took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He wasn't at all surprised to find them wet, and that his chest was tight. He thought about those multitudes of people that waited for him as soon as he fell asleep as he listened to the light snores of the mad Irishman.
He'd been running from them for so long now. So much of him died with them... But so much of him had lived on. He blinked at the thought. He took a deep breath and did a quick survey of himself, until he could feel the blood in his veins, hear his heart beating, and feel his lungs expanding. They were basic. It was all basic, but on a deeper level, he could feel more. Trust and love for the man in the other room, sadness and guilt towards the people in his dreams... fear, hope, anger. They were all still there, reacting to the same things they'd always reacted to. Happiness seemed momentarily out of reach, but he remembered. What it felt like, who helped him find it.
See, I've learned that the only way ta deal with shit is ta think about it.
Tyler pushed himself up a little and looked around the empty room. He thought of Greg and saw him there, just beneath the window, smiling towards him with a sad little half smile.
"Was wondering when you'd think of me," he said, that light tease in the back of his throat.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," Tyler admitted.
"Yeah, but you never wanted to see me."
Ty looked away for a moment, then back at him. "Are you angry with me?"
"More angry than you are with yourself? Not even remotely possible." Another smile quirked on the pale lips. "No, I'm not angry with you." He turned serious then. "Listen. We fucked up. I fucked up even more. Nobody wants you to torture yourself over it. Not me, not them. Everyone makes mistakes. We made one that was slightly bigger than most, but it's still, just human err. That counts for a lot. So does feeling bad about it. And I think you've done more than enough of that."
Tyler felt himself shaking a little, then shook his head at him. "I can't stop feeling bad about it..."
"And you shouldn't. Nobody's telling you to forget what happened. It's part of you now, like a shadow. But that doesn't mean you should let it tear you to shreds. You made a mistake, do with it what you'd do with any other mistake--learn from it. Feel bad, absolutely, but don't let that bad feeling consume you. That's not what it's there for. It's there to remind you of what could happen, and to help you make sure it doesn't again."
Tyler closed his eyes, letting those blond locks fall into his face.
"Look at what you've done already. With how you grew up and how you didn't let that rule who you became. It's the same thing now. Take what's useful out of what happened and push forward. You're alive, Tyler. Mistakes happen as easy as breathing, it's a side effect of life. So live. And just roll with it."
The blond rubbed his face a little and looked up at Greg again. "Can you ever forgive me?"
"I forgave you ages ago, Tyler. All that's left is for you to forgive yourself."
And then, he was alone again, his heart pounding.
Tyler grabbed his blanket and pillow and crept out into the living room, where he could still hear the clove-scented snores of his boss. He laid his pillow down in front of the couch, then stretched himself out on the floor, pulling the blanket around him.
He laid still for several minutes, listening to Al breathing and the ragged breaths of the snores, and he slowly relaxed. And then, fell asleep.
I'm only puttin ye through hell cause I know ye can handle it, an I care. Ye know that, doncha? I mean, it might not seem like it half the time, but I do.
