A/N : Just a little chapter on how both men have changed in the last few years. I know it's a really short chappie, but Please tell me what you think? xxxL.
I construct my memories with my present. I am lost, abandoned in the present. I try in vain to rejoin the past: I cannot escape.
-Jean-Paul Sartre
2 years, 5 months and 11 days later.
Brians POV
Confidently, I make my way through the hallway. People are ducking left and right and are just so – scared of me. The way I’d always hoped they’d be. I am someone over here. A big shot. And even though the nightlife doesn’t treat me like it used to, it doesn’t matter now. Fucking has long since lost its original appeal to me. Every night someone new and different – a stranger to your body who doesn’t know his way? Pain management? Fuck that shit, it’s just a good way to release the pressure sometimes.
When, you may ask, did I have this epiphany – when did I start to see it for what it really was? I’d say it was about 2 years and 4 and a half months ago, when I realised that some things just can’t be replaced.
I haven’t called him. Not once.
Some nights though, I’d just open my cellphone and look at his name and number, little digits that are by now burned into my eyes, and I’d wonder if he has forgotten about me yet. If someone else came along who could do it all : say the words and make him feel them, all at once. Who makes him feel so damn good, that memories get erased and it doesn’t matter what got them there, but how they feel, right that minute where everything slowly disappears and the whole world becomes a blur around them. I wonder if anyone has made him feel that way, the way he made me feel every single day.
I hurt him. I hurt him so much, I know I did. But it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t have wanted me, shouldn’t have needed me, too much emotional baggage. Too many things just lurking around the corner, waiting to be thrown into the battle that was bound to be lost anyway. But sometimes, when I look back upon those happy times, I believe we might have made it, if we’d tried. If I had tried just a little bit harder.
If I had tried to tell him how I felt. How I still feel.
I shake my head and fall down into my fancy chair. That’s gone now, isn’t it? It’s too late now. And there’s no turning back.
I cannot escape.
Justins POV
Confidently, I make my way through the crowds, that automatically part for me. I am the king-bee and can almost feel the buzz of all my little workers, every single one eager to pleasure me. Time and time again. And each time I reject them after a quick fuck (if they’re lucky), they get disappointed. Tough luck guys, one fuck only.
Did more once, and guess what? Came back to bite me in the ass.
No way I’m going back to that again. I am done crying and hoping and daydreaming about him. That’s all in the past, and even though I cannot escape it, the least I can do is try to forget. Happy memories that haunt my day to day life, what the fuck? Can’t they just, you know, go away and leave me be? I’m tired of seeing those eyes every time I close mine. Tired of reaching across the bed every night and wondering why it feels so cold. Have had quite enough, thank you very much, can we flip channels?
I need to fix the tv, because no matter how hard I kick it, or bang on it with my fist, it keeps playing reruns of the damn tv – soap called ‘ Days of my life ’a.k.a. 'how things were when I was happy and alive'.
Fuck – you, Brian.
Why do I still miss you so fucking much?