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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 11, 2013 16:44:51 GMT -7
--I wanna be free, I wanna be loved, I wanna be more than you're thinking of Everything seems to be estranged when you're alone Whatever Oliver was doing, it was only so that he could be distracted. He had spent all morning developing pictures from rolls of film he didn’t even know he had and the afternoon shuffling photographs through albums hoping that he would be able to forget about the panic building in the back of his mind, the awareness of what today was. Oliver hated when things got like this, when it felt like he had lost all control over his mind and the rest of him was just along for the ride. It wasn’t right, a person was supposed to have more power than this over their own thoughts, their emotions. And it made him think of how he would have dealt with it before, back when he really did have no control. There were few things he regretted more than those days, especially now that he finally had his life back. Things could still be shaky, but for the most part, life was good. He had Caleb, he was living back at their house again, and at the moment, everyone they loved were happy and healthy.
It was the latter thoughts that Oliver tried to focus on, but it was difficult, and so he had sought activities all day that would distract him. To say that Oliver regretted not scheduling any appointments today under the excuse of taking a personal day would be a gross understatement. The entire day, he wished he had pictures to be taking, people to be posing and locations to be working with, fighting losing battles with clouds and daylight, anything that would give him the opportunity to be doing something that wasn’t nothing. Anything that could have the potential to really engage all parts of his mind, so that little piece that wouldn’t sit at the back of his brain and remind him. He hated being reminded; he wanted to forget, because if he could forget then he wouldn’t have to hurt so much. Sometimes he felt stupid and irrational, still being upset about things like this, when there was so much that he should be happy about these days. He had his health and his home and his boyfriend, and surely that should be enough to make him feel better? Yet he still found himself feeling empty on days like today. Not just being without things to do, though. It was today, specifically. Fuck anniversaries, Oliver didn’t know why they had to exist. When bad things happened, it would be so much less cruel if things simply reset and time started over, so that there would never have to be these memories when a certain day came around again. That was all he wanted, if he couldn’t take the dreaded events back altogether, and of course, he knew that none of it could ever happen. He would just have to learn to deal with it.
Once he couldn’t deal with pictures anymore, but still had a while before he needed to go get Caleb from work, he found himself wandering into his closet, figuring he would organize something, despite knowing that his closet was never anything short of organized. There had to be something he could do, and besides, the place always smelled a bit like Caleb, and that always improved his mood. He knew he was lucky to have Caleb again. It had taken a lot of time, and a lot of effort, and he was sure both of them had had their doubts along the way, but things seemed to be working. That was a relief, and it had helped so much in the process.
Getting Caleb back into his life, that was one of the best things he’d done in a long time, but he did wish it could have happened some other way. It shouldn’t have taken Penelope’s death to get them talking again, a car crash to get them to living together again...things should have been easier. But things hadn’t been easy in a long time, and today Oliver started desperately wondering if they ever would be again.
Things were undoubtedly better, though. Back in January, Oliver might not have believed that things could ever get to where they were now. The entire month after the funeral had been confusing, but in hindsight, they had been making progress. They spent several days a week together, at least for a little while, and it was common that Oliver would end up falling asleep, curled up against Caleb on the couch, because after six months of restless nights, sleep would often overtake him when he was finally comfortable, safe and sound in Caleb’s arms. Those weeks had been nervous and careful, but they had been good, helping them grow back together. It had taken that entire month for Oliver to finally gather up the words and the courage to ask if they could be together again--as boyfriends, officially--and even though they had been acting like it for most of the month, the confirmation that Caleb wanted it too meant so much. That night they had finally felt like the couple Oliver could remember them being, mixed in with the sheets and caught up in the whirlwind of their love for each other, and for a while Oliver remembered how it was to feel whole. Because, curling up next to his boyfriend after so many months without him, that allowed him to forget the world outside. Caleb could protect him from those things; the world could be dark and cold, but their love was something bright and warm. The morning after had served to reinforce it: their decision was not regretted, had not been made out of the unthinking nature of a tired mind but because they meant it, and that had been all Oliver needed to let his guard down again. They had made plans to get dinner for Valentine’s Day, and so Oliver had gone through the day, somehow both nervous and excited to finally be Caleb’s again, to finally have some sort of certainty in his life.
He started getting anxious fifteen minutes after Caleb should have been home. After living together, Oliver knew what time Caleb got home from work each day--there could be some variation because of traffic, but he knew how long the drive took--and if ever there was some holdup, Caleb would call. Caleb always would call and that was what had made him nervous, and so he had spent the next half hour pacing around the house, calling him once and texting him twice, not wanting to bother him too much in case he really was busy. When the phone had rung later, he’d almost tripped trying to get to it, because he was so desperate for something after forty-five minutes of waiting. He was being stupid, he told himself, he was panicking for nothing. Forty five minutes wasn’t as long as he thought it was, and it didn’t matter if their dinner reservations were approaching, because Caleb would be home soon and things would be okay.
The voice on the other line mentioned a car accident, and Oliver had to sit down before he fell.
By some miracle, he managed to to keep it together until he was in the room with him. It was one thing to hear of an accident, but it was quite another when his love was attached to machines, all bruised and broken, unconscious and oblivious to the way that Oliver hurt over the sight of him. Caleb hadn’t woken up for a few days, and all the while Oliver was closeby, wanting to be there when he woke up. Caleb had been confused and so apologetic when he woke up, but Oliver was just happy that he was going to be okay. When he went home, Oliver had gone with him, and that was the ceremony of them moving back in together. Caleb needed someone to care for him, and Oliver would do so happily, even forever if he had to.
Since February, though, things had slowly moved back to normal. Caleb was healing steadily, and, aside from a fear of driving, he was doing alright. They both were, really, it was just that today Oliver was a bit worse. Optimistic though he tried to be, he couldn’t change that it had been a year since he’d last seen his sister, and that was so much, too much...He didn’t want to think about it but he couldn’t help it, because everything reminded him. Seeing his clothes just reminded him of the times during their teen years, when he would raid Penny’s closet, which she always got frustrated with him for, but simply because he had a habit of never returning anything until she asked.for it. There were still some of her things in here, even, things he had kept over the years or things he had taken after she died, once he could bear to go in her room again. Today he wished he hadn’t taken them, because it was too much to look at them again. He missed her, and the missing was far too much.
When he found cocaine in one of his jacket pockets, he at first didn’t know what to do. Of course, he knew that he should get rid of it, since he wouldn’t need it, because he had sworn to himself and to Caleb and to God and to everyone that he wasn’t going to do it again, but, like the last time he’d tried to get rid of drugs, he had little success convincing himself to do so. Because, like the memories of Penny with the clothes, all sorts of things came rushing back at the sight of it, memories of how it had made him feel better and his mind said it wouldn’t matter because Caleb wasn’t home, no one was around and so no one would have to know if he slipped up, and so it would be okay. It wasn’t a relapse, it was...it didn’t matter what it was, it was barely anything, it was just a way to pass the time and feel less alone, to miss Penny less. That was all, and if he thought about it for too long he would end up making it into a big deal, so he didn’t think. And instead, he went into the bathroom and took a line.
Time passed. The high wore off. He took more. It turned into a cycle, uninterrupted until he heard movement in the house as he was coming down. His first thought was a product of the paranoia, of course: that someone had broken in. But no, of course not, because it was the middle of the day, and who would do something so stupid? It was confusing, how much time had passed? Caleb should be getting home from work soon, which, for a second, pacified his wonder of who was in the house. It occurred to him then, though, that he was supposed to pick Caleb up from work, and that wasn’t for...what time was it, anyway? Had to find a clock, needed to know the time...Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. How had so much time passed already? So it must have been Caleb home, but he didn’t know how, and he couldn’t be seen like this, because Caleb would know, Caleb would figure out what he had done and Caleb would be so angry, not just for the drugs but for forgetting to get him because he was getting high and things had just begun to get better between the two of them and he didn’t know what to do but to stay where he was, ignoring it when Caleb called out to him.
God, coming down off a high was not helpful in the process of trying to figure out what the fuck to do. He could wash his face but that wasn’t fixing his pupils or heart rate or anything else, and God, he was fucked, he had really fucked everything up, and unless he managed to disappear or Caleb left, this would be it. Because he’d broken all of his promises, and Caleb wasn’t going to trust him again after this. Now all he could do was delay the inevitable.
Word Count: 2048 | Tag: callie bearrrrr | Notes: instead of posting i'm converting templates. sigh. |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on May 15, 2013 10:50:37 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS: 2292 ONE LAST THING: its like a ~new beginning~
Loneliness was not felt just when someone was alone. It was the emotion that spawned from having being with a person or a group of people for a very long period of time, and suddenly being by oneself again. It was the missing of someone or something, the ache in your heart for company once given. Missing someone could come simply from wishing they were there, even a moment after they left, because you want to see the way they react to something, or watch them smile again, share an inside joke. Caleb knew what that was like, and he wished he didn't know how strongly he knew how that felt. He'd never called himself a dependant person, never based his happiness on the company of another, yet he broke all his preconceived notions for this one thing, this one man. Without the bitter, though, the sweet wouldn't be quite as good. Things were bad, they were bad for a while. Caleb knew he was lying to himself too. Telling himself he was fine, and even in the relationship, that things could be better. It would get better. At least that way, he was only letting himself down. Other people mattered far too much to him, and he should have at least been able to keep his own morals on himself up. In college, Caleb had learned to pride himself above all overs, if only for his own self preservation. He had a bad habit of putting others before himself, and that needed to stop. Oliver didn't break that, but the love didn't help. Caleb didn't know how to balance out caring for others and caring for himself. He couldn't be a hero, he couldn't stop all the pain in the world. There were things he couldn't control, and he had to let that go. He was learning though, healing, letting the bad go and moving onto the good. Caleb was learning, after two years. There wasn't anything he regretted about those years, they were still some of the best he'd had, but he knew they weren't healthy.
The disillusionment ended here, now. This was not a fairy tale. It was just so hard to give that up. Caleb tried not to think this was perfect, but it felt something near close. Caleb didn't feel hurt anymore, and that was enough to make him want to cry in joy. They were working at it, and that’s what they needed. Loneliness was not something that could be forgotten, but it could be fixed, could be forgiven. Oliver needed someone, and not simply because his sister had passed away. That played a big part in it, but there was more. Caleb wasn't one to say that people had to be in relationships, but he felt Oliver needed his help, needed the comfort of a familiar pair of arms. Caleb needed Oliver too, there was no doubt about that. He didn't know how to function without him, not happily at least. His emotional security and well being mattered much more than anything else. Half the time he didn't know what he was thinking, still. After they had talked, Oliver had kept his promise. Caleb had seen him again, and again, and it started to feel like normal. He had to be careful, contained, and restrain himself where he wouldn't have before. He knew how explosive they could be, and not in all the right ways either. Caleb didn't want to push anything, but often all he could think about was the man. It wasn't any different from the past six months, but his being there made it more intense. Seeing him, being able to make him smile a little bit, hearing his laugh again after so long. It made Caleb's heart ache, but with happiness now. Finally, everything felt right with the world.
It was impossible to believe, really, how well things were working out. Caleb hated that it all had to be tinged by such tragic events. At least he could have been there for Oliver, and he couldn't help but think at least it wasn't Oliver in the grave. Caleb didn't think he could have held himself together after that. Without him he'd already felt like he was coming undone. Now, he could be with Oliver, and be there for him. Caleb would drop everything when Ollie needed it, just because he knew he needed him. He hadn't know if he expected them to become boyfriends again, though he had certainly wanted it. It was too much for him to ask, though, given the circumstances. It would be a lie to say he was ecstatic when Oliver asked, though. They acted like a couple, and Caleb didn't know if it was a lie to say that he only wanted to make Oliver happy again by acting the way he had. He tried not to let his feelings get in the way. That even had to be altered, though, by bad happenstance.
Caleb still couldn't remember the crash. He had nightmares, of driving, of the car hitting black ice, spinning along the highway until he was jolted to a stop by a light post, at which point he woke up, sweaty and panicked. He'd never remember the dreams waking up, but he was scared. Scared and hurt. Waking up in the hospital the first time, with Oliver there, he'd been so confused. He didn't know how it happened, but the doctors told him he was lucky to have survived, really. Just a few broken ribs, a concussion, and multiple bruises. He still had his life, and he still had Oliver. It hadn't taken more than the news that Caleb would need constant care while his concussion lasted to get Oliver to move back in with him. The nightmares weren't the worst part, Caleb often found himself forgetting important things, and he couldn't sleep as much as he wanted. Driving again seemed to prove a catastrophe, but Oliver was happy enough to drive Caleb after he'd entered the house shaking and crying one morning. All he could think was that at least he had Oliver, at least he'd come back, at least Caleb had gotten his second chance. He didn't think it was possible, was sure ten months ago that was it. However, he was just that lucky.
The only thing Caleb wished, was that he could have been more help to Oliver in regards to Penny. He could listen, and he could talk to Oliver, and the man still looked broken. Caleb knew it took time, that Oliver would never quite heal right after this, but he could at least try to help. He hated seeing the man he loved – and it felt so good to be able to say that again – so broken. Caleb had to make sure Ollie ate, because he was prone not too. It was a good thing Oliver came to live with him, though Caleb encouraged going to see his parents often. He wanted to be as supportive as he could, but not intrusive. He knew what day it was today, but Oliver had told him that he'd be fine as he dropped Caleb off at work. The same as everyday. Caleb felt like he shouldn't have let Oliver drive home, but he couldn't stop him. Caleb, as usual, always worried so much he didn't know what the 'right' thing was to do. He went to work regardless, trying to clear his head. Oliver would be fine, and that was a sign that he was healing. It would be hard, but they could get through it. Really, a boy could be more naive.
The minute Caleb walked out of the office and didn't see Oliver's car waiting for him, he knew something was wrong. He'd had a bad feeling all day, Oliver hadn't seemed right this morning. Caleb had left stupidly, trusting him to be okay. He really should have been more trusting. Caleb still new Oliver well though, was learning more about what he was like when he was grieving. Oliver was smart, but maybe a little less than stable right now. Caleb had to stop himself from thinking something had happened with the car, his heartbeat jumping up into his throat. Fifteen minutes later, while Caleb was leaning on the stone ledge around the office, Oliver still wasn't there. He hadn't called, hadn't texted, and Calebs head was a whirlwind. He could have just forgotten, Caleb told himself, his hands gripping at the edge of the ledge to stop from shaking. Ever since the crash, ever since January, Caleb shook when his emotions ran high, and he couldn't control it. It only took five more minutes before Caleb launched himself off the ledge and started pacing. He called Oliver, but after a few rings, it just went to voice mail. Perhaps he was just upstairs, with clients, everything was fine. Caleb remembered Oliver saying that he hadn't booked anything today, though. Everything was fine. Caleb texted Oliver once, and did not call him a subsequent four times in the next ten minutes, each going straight to voicemail. There were images in his head, of Olivers car wrapped around a pole like his had been, Oliver body broken against the pavement. Caleb had started hyperventilating, but he didn't even realize. He was shaking and pacing and thinking he maybe aught to walk home – even if it would take over an hour. Something, anything. Oliver had to be fine, he had to be.
A hand landed on Calebs shoulder, and he jumped and spun around. He expected to see Oliver, hear an apology, how he lost track of time but that was okay, it was all okay because Oliver was still alive. Instead, Jon was standing there. Caleb fidgeted, realizing he'd been standing stock still, and how loud his breathing was. “Are you alright?” Jon seemed to be concerned, Caleb knew he was because Jon was one of the few friends that Caleb had in the office. He nodded, shoving his quivering hands in his pockets. Jon had noticed the ailment when Caleb had returned to work after the crash, but made no comment. He was always a quiet man, but nice, and looked out for Caleb. Maybe, not in the best way. The look he gave Caleb when he told him that he was waiting for Oliver was anything but happy. Caleb knew how Jon felt about this whole mess, because he'd told Caleb just that when he'd admitted to getting back together with Ollie. It was a hard thing to explain, but Caleb trusted Oliver. This was not a repeat from the past, this was not things getting worse. Caleb accepted the ride that Jon offered, though the thought of getting in a car that was not driven by Oliver made his hands shake just a little bit harder.
What if the cancer had come back? The doctors said that could happen, Caleb thought. Maybe it wasn't all the way gone, maybe Oliver had collapsed at home again. Maybe it was completely unrelated and the home had been broken into. Caleb tried the home phone once more on the ride back, but it went to the dull voicemail Caleb had recorded during the six months, just so that he wouldn't have to hear his and Olivers voices on the previous one, sounding happy and in love. It was the one thing he had changed, and now he figured they should really change it back. Once he was assured Oliver was alive. Jon didn't say anything on the ride home, but Caleb knew he was thinking it. He didn't approve of this relationship, but once things were more in the clear, Caleb would make him understand. Jon asked once more if Caleb was going to be alright, if he wanted Jon to stick around, but Caleb declined, getting out of the car as steadily as he could manage. Everything was going to be alright, he kept repeating that in his head.
“Ollie?” the house answered him with steady silence as he opened the door. No other car in the driveway, no unknown shoes by the door, and it was still locked tight. No sign of forced entry, Caleb knew what that looked like from court cases. It seemed just like no one was home. Olivers shoes were still there, all of them. Caleb swallowed, and called out his name a little louder. Still no answer. Shit, shit, shit. Caleb felt like he couldn't move through the house fast enough, calling through the room, expecting to see a form laying on the ground somewhere, maybe a note left because Oliver had finally had enough. Decided against being with Caleb, had moved onto something he actually deserved. He stopped dead when he opened the bedroom door – which was never closed – and Oliver was there. Standing, breathing, turned away from Caleb but still there. He was stopped short of barrelling at Oliver for a hug by the man not turning around to greet him. He'd been output by the fact that Oliver hadn't greeted him at the door. Caleb knew. He didn't let himself think it, but he was well aware of the situation that had unfolded before him many times before. He tried first, gently, “Ollie?” and at least he shuffled a bit, turning towards him. “Oliver!” he snapped, and finally he met Calebs eyes. His too large pupils, blown and scared, met Calebs. His hands had stopped shaking the second he'd seen Oliver, but now they curled into tight fists, feeling the need to hold onto something but all he had was air. Air that seemed far too hard to breathe. “You promised.”
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 15, 2013 21:41:12 GMT -7
--i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone Oliver was never a pessimist, despite everything he had been through. It was true he had doubted he would get better, and he almost hoped that he wouldn’t so that the pain would go away. Even still, though, he had always been able to find the glimmer of light in the darkest road, whether he liked it or not. He was wired too well, made to look on the bright side no matter what. He had never truly fallen into utter despair, with absolutely no prayer for resolution, though he may have thought otherwise in those six months without Caleb at his side. Truly, he had been able to think positively even then, whether it was that he wouldn’t have to die, or that Penelope would come home, or that Caleb would call. That had kept him alive, he knew that now; his ability to find some speck of hope had given him enough will to live to eventually pull through. It had allowed him to hope despite himself and despite their history that Caleb would forgive him, it had allowed him to remain sane while Caleb was in the hospital looking mangled, bloodied and bruised, and it had allowed him to finally relax into this relationship again, after what felt like a lifetime of painful separation and meticulous caution. The ability to be with Caleb was natural, because they fit, because they were meant to be, because they were made for each other. In the Greek mythology, they were the two beings who were cut from one and sought desperately for each other to become one again. In Chinese legend, they were tied together by red string, untangling their way through life to find one another. This was fact, Oliver knew it more than anything else in the world. He knew it through everything, every fight of the past and every moment of healing these days. And he still knew it now, even as his optimism fell away. Because he knew, too, that he had crossed a line this time.
It was true that Oliver hadn’t been as fine as he told Caleb he was that morning. But he hadn’t wanted to worry him, especially when there was nothing that could be done. Oliver knew it was unfair to expect Caleb to jeopardize his job simply because Oliver couldn’t handle spending a day alone, especially now, months later, when it should hurt less, when it should be easier. Caleb had to go to work, they needed the money, and he was finally able to after the accident. In a way, Oliver having to drive him was nice. It meant they got to spend a little bit longer together in the mornings, time they could spend talking about whatever came to mind, whether it was a dream one of them had, or what they wanted to do after Caleb got home. And once they got there, they’d have their kiss goodbye, tangled with promises for later and proclamations of love and constant reminders that they were meant for this, for these moments together. Today it had been mostly the same, but with the shadow of Oliver’s unhappiness lingering somewhere out of sight, waiting for Caleb to get out of the car before encasing him. Maybe he should have moved past it by now, but he couldn’t. To have had a sister all of his life, and to now at twenty-three years old find himself without one, that was something very difficult to adjust to. Sometimes it helped when he was with his parents, so he spent a lot of time with them, with Caleb’s encouragement, but he sometimes found it hard to motivate himself to go. It was easier to spend his time in the house where he and Caleb lived, because he knew that it was meant to be empty when Caleb was at work. His parents’ house, though, was meant to have a petite, curly-haired teenager floating gracefully through the halls, and that was missing. It felt unnatural, having it gone from him, and that made it so much harder to go through. He might have gone over there that day, one year since he last saw her, if he didn’t know it would just make him more upset, being surrounded by her things. Her chair at the dining room table, her bedroom badly hidden behind the partially open door, her photographs on the walls. Penelope had spent her life trying to be an enigma, and now that she was gone Oliver knew she had been. He wondered sometimes whether he knew her at all, and the thought that he didn’t scared him more than a little. Today, Oliver didn’t think he could deal with all of those things, and so he had elected to suffer alone, in his own house, and this was perhaps the worst decision.
All day, all he had wanted was for Caleb to be home, and then he was too busy breaking promises to keep track of time, and he knew it was terrible and unforgivable of him to do so, but he already heard Caleb in the house calling for him, so what was there to do? He had forgotten how strange this drug could make him feel when he was coming down off of it, how little control he had over things when his mind wasn’t quite his own. If he could just clear it out somehow, if he could push out the fog from his brain, things would be okay, but he couldn’t make it go away with a thought, a hand through his hair. It would take time, and he didn’t have time, Caleb was already here, and he was fucked, and they were over, he knew. He just knew, the same way he had always known they were supposed to be together. It felt so wrong, knowing what was going to happen and having no way to stop it.
Caleb had to ask him a few times before he turned around, because he was trying so hard to think, trying so desperately to find the words that he could say that wouldn’t drive the man instantly from the house. Oliver hadn’t meant this, had he? He hadn’t wanted to get high, because he knew this would happen, it wasn’t his fault, was it? Did he have something else to blame? Because, call it addiction, call it desperation, call it whatever, Oliver hadn’t been in the right state of mind in the morning. There was something else affecting his decisions, even if he didn’t have a name for it, even when he knew that an excuse like that was useless. No one would accept something so fragile, especially not Caleb, not after all the fighting in the past. They had just been getting better, there was no denying that, and if he trying to excuse what he done today, that would all go to waste. It would be better if Caleb left now, before Oliver tried to begging, but Oliver also knew he wouldn’t. And so the explanations would mean nothing, excuses would mean nothing, all that was waiting to unfurl was the breaking of each others’ healing hearts, and then Caleb would leave again. Oliver was hardly even sure if he could just predict this happening or if his drug-addled brain was somehow seeing the future before it happened, interpreting time in a way that only one who had no real sense of reality could. After Caleb used his full name, instead of just the shorter nickname, he decided it was best to look at him, take in the sight of his face, however angry, one more time before he was sure it would be gone for good.
“I...I fucked up. I don’t know why, it sort of just happened. God, I’m sorry, Callie, I just couldn’t help it. I fucked up, God, fuck, I fucked up so bad, I’m sorry, I just can’t think...”
Word Count: 1333 | Tag: Callie Bearrrrrr| Notes: I guess this gives me time to plan my post |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on May 16, 2013 10:44:00 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS: 946 ONE LAST THING: kdfgkbklckldkl;s;g;fg
Had Oliver promised? Not in so many words, but Caleb had assumed it had gone without saying. The drugs lead to the violence, lead to the cancer, lead to the entire downfall of their relationship. It represented their reluctance to deal with their issues, and Calebs inability to be there for Oliver. Whenever Oliver took drugs, Caleb felt like it was related to his own failings at comforting the man. Even if a hug seemed to be enough, even if he knew Oliver just needed someone to hold onto, he worried. Now, Caleb was going to make sure he was there for Oliver, he had promised that much, and Oliver doing this felt like a betrayal of that as well. How was he supposed to help him boyfriend if Ollie didn't seem to want his help? Caleb knew it would have been an inconvenience for him to stay home today, he was always on a tight rope at work. Oliver came before that though, family and love always came before his work. It hurt him that Oliver would turn to the drugs before he turned to Caleb, as well. Oliver was supposed to trust him, and if not rely on him, at least confide in him. That was what relationships were about. This wasn't supposed to be happening, things were just starting to get better.
The blame couldn't be placed on himself this time. Honestly, Caleb was tired of taking all the blame for things that weren't his fault. He was getting better at that. He could have stayed home, but Oliver hadn't asked, had urged him to go to work regardless. Caleb wasn't a mind reader, no matter how much the two of them seemed to be in sync. Oliver had every right to be sad, to still be mourning, even if four months had passed. Caleb hadn't thought he was well enough to stay home most days – least of all today – but he'd trusted Oliver. And Oliver broke that trust, broke it again and again. Caleb tried not to remember Jon's words, the way he said that once it started, it never stopped. It was a habit bad formed, and even if Caleb tried to stop Oliver, it would just continue. Oliver wasn't healthy, he was struggling. Caleb knew he was supposed to help Oliver with this, he felt heartbroken about the reasons that Oliver had gotten addicted to the drugs in the first place. That man wasn't a factor anymore – or at least Caleb hoped he wasn't, or that would have made this mess just that much larger – and this was pure addiction. Caleb didn't know how he could help with that, and he wanted to try, he really did. This was too much though, a relapse. There was no telling how often this had happened, if Oliver was just starting to slip up now, if he had ever really been clean. Oliver might have made up things, lied to him, because in his twisted brain, he couldn't be without Caleb. Promised him lies because Oliver was desperate and clingy and needed a scapegoat in his life.
Hearing Oliver stammer and blabber like he was, it hurt. Caleb didn't want to see Oliver distressed. He could have comforted him, if it would have worked. In the past, if he tried to touch Oliver, he'd usually end up hurting Caleb. He didn't want to play the sympathizer. More over, he didn't want to feel how warm Oliver was, the way he shook when he was coming down from a high, the erratic beating of his heart. Caleb could remember coming home so many times, where Oliver was so out of it he didn't even see Caleb. His hazel eyes would just stare straight forward, glazed with a world of his own. Caleb would hold him then, just to make sure Oliver was alive, feeling the heat that accompanied a high wax and wane. He never knew how close Oliver got to overdosing, but he was scared every time. He couldn't lose Oliver, not now or ever. That worry, and pain, was suppressed now. Anger only made sense, he was still scared, but it translated into this. “Stop it,” he snapped, pulling a hair through his hair, a little bit to harsh. He hardly felt the pain. “Just stop it. I don't care,” those words again. Caleb had said them ten months ago, and was confused if he meant them. He told himself after the fact, he hadn't meant it, but here they were cropping up again. He didn't know if he didn't care about the apologies or the situation or Oliver in general. His head felt a mess. “It just sort of happened, you promised me!” his voice rose on the last syllable. He'd started pacing, a tiny bit, feet shuffling, anger fuelling his need for movement. He was repeating himself, and Oliver, but he didn't know what else he could say. Not that Oliver would really understand him. “Don't apologize. You could have called me. What about the cancer? You told me you were clean. Was that a lie? I told you, you'd have to stop. Do you want to overdose? What about me?” his words were short and clipped, and he shut his eyes. He didn't want to be angry, he didn't want this to be happening, but he couldn't stop it. If he lost Oliver, if he...Caleb couldn't think about it. He'd stopped pacing after a short minute, his hands had gone back to shaking. He knew why this had happened, was unsure where Oliver got the drugs, but it had happened and that was all that mattered. “You promised.”
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 17, 2013 15:27:23 GMT -7
--i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone ‘Stop it,’ Caleb had said, and Oliver knew not to be surprised or hurt because he was right, Caleb was completely right to not want to listen to his apologies, because after hearing the same ones over and over across the years, they had to lose their meaning. Eventually, Caleb would pick up this trend, that the promises didn’t stay promises for long. Oliver had said he wouldn’t hurt him again, he had said he was clean and changed, and he had said all these things so many times that they were worthless. If they were true, then Caleb would know it without it being said, and so Oliver would have no need to repeat himself again and again. Somewhere along the lines, the promises had ceased to hold validity, and it became merely empty words. Did it make a difference that Oliver had never wanted to stop meaning it? Part of him said he still did, that he was still sincere in his words and that he truly tried to uphold what he said he would do. But after letting Caleb down so many times, after breaking so many promises and letting himself be ruled by drugs and cancer, how could he really say that? As long as he continued to say one thing and do another, he didn’t deserve to have his words listened to, because they meant nothing.
And so he did stop, despite that so many words were lining up behind his lips. Perhaps he would have tried, if he knew that there was some argument that he could make to build up his point, but with his state of mind he knew it’d be virtually impossible. Oliver’s vocabulary was too limited at the moment, his mind faded and blurred by the coke in his blood, and so all he could do was listen as Caleb ranted, the disappointment so clear, so sharp, that even Oliver in his haze could feel the pain, the anger, the upset within Caleb’s every syllable. ‘I don’t care,’ and Oliver was back to thinking of the first time it had gotten this bad, when Caleb was throwing him out for threatening him, back when Oliver thought he was going to die. Things had changed so enormously in the past months, but some things were still the same. They were fighting again, they were so clearly headed towards breaking up again, and through the comparisons he played back in his mind, he could remember how happy they had once been, how happy they had been to be back together this year, and it was too much, and he found himself shaking, a symptom he told himself wasn’t from the drugs but instead stemmed from the emotion. He needed Caleb to stay with him, to stop being angry so he could listen to the words that Oliver meant to say. More importantly, though, Oliver needed him in the long run, for days that were worse than this. How could he ever hope to break his addiction when he was alone? Before, he had thought it was gone, that he was through with it and that he wouldn’t go back, but he supposed now that necessity and inaccessibility was the only thing that kept him sober back then. Nothing had really changed, his mind and body still saw the cocaine as a refuge, and until he realized otherwise he could never improve. The fact that he hadn’t instantly removed it from his home upon finding it proved that some part of Oliver was still dependant, and he realized as he felt Caleb slipping out of his grasp that he couldn’t do this alone, that he needed the support of someone who knew and cared, and Caleb was the only one who fit. And Caleb didn’t even have to say he was leaving to know that he would, because running away was what he did. Oliver didn’t blame him for that, of course. Sometimes the best defense was staying away from the problem. It was just that they had sort of agreed to talk things through instead, but this wasn’t talking. Probably it was Oliver’s fault, too, because Caleb was right, he could have called. If they had been talking, even over the phone, Caleb would have been able to persuade Oliver into getting rid of what he’d found instead of inhaling it, and they wouldn’t be having this problem. Still, Caleb could be doing this differently, too, letting Oliver explain once he was sober enough to think of the words to say. The man had to realize that Oliver didn’t want to die, didn’t want to bring the cancer back or do this at all anymore. But if he was just talking over him, instead of letting him explain, then they would just end up back where they had been before January. He felt helpless, unable to make his way out of this hole he had dug for himself, so for a while he simply looked away, shrinking under the force of his boyfriend’s words, brain fogged but whirring, trying so hard to come with a response.
Once Caleb had stopped talking and Oliver deemed it safe to start speaking without worrying that he was interrupting, he shifted slightly, trying to look up at Caleb but hating the expression of anger he saw contorting his face. “I didn’t mean to, I just...You don’t know what it’s like, how bad it can be. I’m scared, I need help.” His voice sounded weak and unconvincing, even to himself, and he didn’t know how to fix it at the moment.
Word Count: 946 | Tag: Callie Bearrrr| Notes: this is a tedious process |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on May 22, 2013 18:22:27 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time [ how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS: 946 ONE LAST THING: everytime i see your template i violently start singing the song in my head
Breaking up was not the first thing on Calebs mind right then. He was angry and he felt hurt, but he didn't think of leaving. That was what he was good at though, running away from his problems. He ran away from this town when it didn't give him the life he had wanted or fantasized about. That had turned out well, at least. Who said he wasn't good at self preservation? This was beginning to look like another break up, but things were going so well. Oliver was doing well, and Caleb had trusted him too easily. He needed to learn to be more careful with his heart, and the first two times it had been broken had apparently not been enough. Would he leave? He didn't know yet, he hadn't thought about it. He wanted to try and talk to Oliver, but his anger was taking control. What talking was there to do anyway? It was over, Caleb had sworn to himself if Oliver broke another promise, that it would be over. He'd thought if Oliver hit him again, he'd leave. He didn't expect that to happen though, but wasn't that just like the first time? The signs of physical, and emotional if Oliver pushed it that far, abuse were obvious. A drug addict wasn't such an apparent problem. Caleb could help him, yes, Caleb could stay and get him sober. There came a point where helping was only hindering though. Caleb was far too kind to deny Oliver drugs if it made him weak, shaky, and Oliver was too crafty. Oliver needed help, yes, real help. Nothing Caleb could give him. He was sick of feeling helpless around the man he loved.
Oliver was right when he had said he influenced Calebs decisions far too much. Caleb couldn't bear to look in those pleading hazel eyes, see the way he was shaking. Usually, this would have broke him, settled him down so he could care for Oliver until he was sober. Then what, maybe then they could talk? Caleb knew they wouldn't though, everything was just the same, they had said they would but as soon as Oliver was sober he would pretend this hadn't happened. Caleb was weighing too much on the past, but it was all he had to go by. He didn't want to see Oliver high anymore, and it was naive but he just wanted things to be alright again. It had been four months, their situation should have lifted up. They were in love, they were supposed to be happy and Caleb felt like he was still walking on eggshells. It was just a time bomb, waiting. Jon was right, he shouldn't have let this happen. Oliver knew how to work at his soft spots though. If he broke up with Ollie now, it would have to be for good. If he left now, he couldn't come back. That was what Oliver threatened, the possibility of always coming back, hurting himself more. Caleb should have been smarter, but he wasn't.
“I love you Oliver, but I can't do this,” he shook his head once, twice. How easy would it be, to take Oliver into his arms again? However, then things would go back to normal. Caleb was too weak to face their problems, Oliver was. How long would it be before they weren't talking about their problems again, until Oliver was doing drugs again, until Oliver was hitting him again? Caleb knew he was hurt and alone and scared, but this relapse brought light to things. If Oliver couldn't quit when death started him in the face, what would stop him? Certainly not the loss of his boyfriend, that would only make it worse. Caleb knew he couldn't threaten Oliver with these things, but he was still going to leave anyway. For his own safety, and maybe for Olivers. He could dream and hope that Calebs disappearance would shake some sense into him. He had to give Oliver a bit of a chance, though. “What am I supposed to do? You never talk to me, you don't tell me things. You're going to get sober and forget this ever happened. I don't want you to hurt anymore Ollie,” and shit, he felt like he was going to cry, his emotions a whirlwind. Caleb clenched his fists, angry that Oliver was making him want to cry again. “I can't just sit around and watch you hurt yourself anymore, but you won't let me in.”
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 23, 2013 14:02:33 GMT -7
i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone Perhaps it was the part of Oliver that was drowning in a thick haze thanks to the drugs that prevented him from arguing more earnestly, because he didn’t know where to find the words he needed to say to stop this fight. He was past the point of logic, and half of the things he wanted to say, or thought he said, were simply caught in his brain and not making their way out of his mouth, caught up in the fog of his mind. It was frustrating, being trapped there; he’d forgotten the way it could be. Perhaps if he had been able to remember, maybe he wouldn’t have done it. Then again, he hadn’t expected to need to explain himself to anyone, and even if he had, addiction made it such that he had to forget. As much as he tried to believe otherwise, the cocaine was stronger than he was, and it had more effect on him than simply when he was on it. Today was a perfect example of that. All it had taken was seeing it, and now here he was, lost amongst it.
When, at seventeen, he had started all this, he never saw it getting to where it was now. The drugs had changed since then, and he had changed since then, and it was impossible to say anymore which had changed which. At one time, they might have been a way to have fun with his boyfriend, and then they became a way to get over him, but now they were something else, something twisted; a provider of false comforts, a lover for when he was alone. That was sick, Oliver knew it was, but the way it had warped him prevented him from minding enough to change. It was all in the chemistry of it, altering him mentally and emotionally as well as physically, and so by the time it had done enough to trigger the cancer, he was already dependent on it. Maybe he was partly to blame, even mostly, but it was debatable whether things would have been different if he had tried harder, simply because the drugs were undoubtedly more than he could fight against. That was what Caleb didn’t seem to understand. It wasn’t as easy as just saying no, stepping away, stopping the use of it all. In the state he was in, it didn’t even occur to him that his own situation was similar to Caleb’s predicament, and so the staunch differences didn’t stand out, either. Were they to, however, Oliver might have noticed that, though there was a similar influence affecting both of them, there was love between the two men, and that should count for something, should be stronger than the addiction tethering Oliver to conflicts like this. The real question now what whether or not it would be.
No matter what, Oliver had wanted Caleb to be independent, able to make his own decisions, but still choose to be with him. He knew what influence he had on Caleb, but he didn’t mean for it to happen. Of course, he chose to keep himself the way he was, dressing nicely, maintaining his hair, embracing that he was attractive, adorable, even; but it wasn’t that he actively sought the best ways to undo Caleb, to force him to stay no matter what the man felt was best. Oliver had been abusive, yes, and manipulative, regardless of if he meant it or not. But he flatly refused to consciously twist Caleb’s decisions around, because that was cheating. The point of a relationship was two people living and thinking as one because they loved each other. He could not be responsible for perverting that, making one to think a certain way through guilt or force. And so his actions in a fight were not something he created, pieced together to effectively break someone’s spine. It was genuine, he reacted solely based on his own emotion, and so, if anything, all Caleb should be feeling in seeing it was perhaps empathy, or sympathy. Instead, all that Oliver could find in Caleb’s face was anger and disappointment. And maybe it was justified. Oliver had had plenty of chances.
Caleb was saying so much at once, and none of it sounded particularly good, but either way, Oliver wasn’t completely sure he could understand it all. Too many words, too much negativity, and his coked-out brain didn’t want to hear it. It all blurred into one garbled mess that he couldn't comprehend, and he heard about love and can't and hurt, and it all made such little sense to him. It was nothing good, though; Oliver could see that in Caleb's face. It was just too much at once, and as much as he tried, he couldn't follow. His mind felt too fast, Caleb's words too slow to hold his attention. There were too many other things to think about. Disappointment in himself, fear for their relationship, wanting to clear his mind, fear of being left alone again. With cocaine hyping everything up, there wasn't much he could say. What would be harder than understanding, though, would be communicating that to Caleb without making things worse.
He made a face, something hurt and nervous and maybe a little confused, looking at the floor. “I--can we please talk about this later? I can’t focus right now, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, sounding more frustrated than he meant to be. That was the drugs, too, the cocaine causing agitation. Oliver didn’t want to fight, he just needed to be able to think. Word Count: 940 | Tag: Callie Bearrrr| Notes: I wonder if you're even reading these |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on May 23, 2013 19:43:39 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time ] how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS: 872 ONE LAST THING: lksdfjldkgjdfkjvlkdfg
The doctors said the agitation started with the drugs. It was a side affect of cocaine, as was the elevated heart beat, the widened pupils, the heat Oliver radiated. All things that Caleb had noticed before. The anger had grown as the tumour that started in Olivers brain had pressed against the wrong parts. The little bundle of cells slowly grew bigger, pushing Oliver's emotions around. At first, it took the drugs to make him mad, but it was only in the end that he didn't even need the substance. Caleb could remember the way Oliver would look, filled with hate and rage, and figured it must be something similiar to how he looked now. There weren't many signs, only near the end, before Oliver had feinted. Caleb had just assumed as with all things, this was only getting worse. Oliver was often irritable, but not so much that Caleb could attribute it to something like a tumour. If the cancer hadn't happened, if the drugs hadn't made Olivers brain cells duplicate with a flaw, Caleb had no idea where they would be now. He'd gone into the relationship knowing about Olivers drug problem, he might have had half a notion that he could fix that problem. Once he was with Oliver, however, that never came to light. Even Ollie's own best friend had said what a person did with their body was their choice. Oliver needed to admit he had a problem, but Caleb needed to admit that much to himself as well. His Oliver couldn't have a problem, he couldn't be addicted, he couldn't have cancer, and that was what Caleb had a hard time grasping. He needed to root the reality of this situation before they could get much farther.
It would have been lovely if the cancer never popped up, if the drugs hadn't been there. Caleb would have dated Oliver regardless, their relationship would have been a lot healthier. When there wasn't abuse, they were such a good couple, and that gave the frame work for how they would have worked out if it hadn't have happened in the first place. It was obvious what wouldn't have happened, they would have never broken up, Caleb wouldn't feel so torn about whether or not he really loved Oliver. There was only so much pain he could handle. Did he love Oliver, or did he just love the thought of being with his high school crush? Without the drugs, they might have been married already, happily ever after, living a life others envied only because it was so smooth. Penny might have still been alive, her death had nothing to do with the cancer but in this fairy tale world nothing would go wrong. Caleb and Oliver could grow old together, until they both couldn't get up from their own beds, until they fell asleep one last time wrapped in each others arms. That was what Caleb signed up for, and though relationships came with pain and hardship, this wasn't healthy. Caleb couldn't care for Oliver anymore, and that stemmed from his loss of love. Love equalled caring, and Caleb didn't know at what limit either of those stopped. They had though, he felt a distinct void of emotion where he used to carry Oliver around. It might have been numb from the pain of it all, but wasn't that worse?
When Caleb left that morning, he hadn't expected to come home to find this. He'd know Oliver would have a rough day, he'd expected a phone call or something, but not this. He couldn't believe the things Oliver was saying, it was obvious he couldn't pay attention, but Caleb didn't care. He needed to try harder. “You can't focus right now?!” Caleb was shouting, almost tearing his hair out, staring right at Oliver. He knew how out of it Oliver was when he was high, how little he understood things, but he was still angry. Caleb was being perfectly clear, and it was the fact that Oliver had to be high to not understand him that fuelled the fire. “I'm talking about us Oliver! You and I, the love we have between us, or lack there of!” there were so many things rushing through Calebs head, so many things he wanted to say but he knew Oliver wouldn't realize, wouldn't pay attention. Caleb stalked up to where Oliver was standing, his hands coming up, and clutching Olivers face between them. Not roughly, his hands couldn't form the right shape around Olivers face to be rough with him. It was still a caress. “I'm leaving Oliver,” he said the words, slow and deliberate, watching the way Olivers eyes flicked side to side. “I'm leaving and I won't be coming back. Can you understand that?” he almost spat the words, feeling disgusted, though it was unclear whether it was with himself or Oliver. He didn't move yet, but he let his hands drop from Olivers face, hating the way his palms heated up with the touch of Oliver skin. Flesh memory, from the number of times he had cupped Olivers cheek, leaning in for a kiss, smoothing away tears, as well as the pure warmth radiating from the mans body.
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 23, 2013 21:43:06 GMT -7
i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone There was something very piercing about panic that caused it to be felt, a stinging that could break through any walls, any denial or optimism falling before it. Sometimes it caused its own denial to build up again behind it, and then those walls were stronger than before, but the panic was trapped inside, doomed to flutter through a person until it was released through an open gate or another crumbled wall, or until it had gone on for so long and with so much vigor that it died, giving rise to intense sadness or--perhaps worse--an all-consuming apathy. Oliver was plenty familiar with this feeling. After Penny had died, the police officer telling the family of her fate had released it, setting his emotions into full frenzy, and for the longest time, the walls built up, and all he could think was no. No, his little sister couldn’t be dead. She was missing, that was all, no, she was still alive and well, no, no, no. Before then it had been other things: fights with Caleb, breakups where he’d gotten his heart broken, but this was perhaps more desperate than any of it, except maybe the time with his sister. Even then, though, at least he had had his mind all to himself, whereas today he felt trapped, separated from it.
It was the yelling that first triggered something, the loudness and the suddenness of it. Caleb got angry in the past, of course, but he didn’t often yell, and so the raised voice, the pure anger of it got through to the part of Oliver that was buried under the fog. And hearing Caleb talk about a lack of love, when Oliver knew he couldn’t live if that was the case, that started the rush of terror stirring through him. Caleb couldn’t stop loving him, they’d only just established that they wanted to try again. They were supposed to stay in love. Get married, start a family, watch grandbabies grow up and maybe even stick around for great-grandchildren. They were supposed to build something up, grow something good and pure out of the soil that was the love between them, until one day they would decide were finished, that they had seen enough of living and would somehow, against any logic of nature, they would curl up together and breathe their last, so that neither had to live without the other. That was how it was meant to be, and in hearing what Caleb was saying--yelling--Oliver could tell those things were falling away, falling out of possibility, because Caleb was out of love.
When Caleb touched his face, no harder or rougher than the soft caress of the past, he knew he was fucked. It was like being a child, when a parent got down to the level of a child, whispering in a voice made of pure disappointment, and how much more terrifying that could be than being yelled at. Here, Caleb was almost doing both, angry and yelling and disappointedly whispering, and it was too much to handle. The panic was there, and it was building walls behind it, trapping itself up until something more happened. He’s leaving. He says he’s leaving and not coming back.
No no no no no no.
Caleb let go of him, watching him, staring him down, and even though his hands had moved, Oliver could still feel them on his face, part of his mind remembering that this could be the last touch, the last touch, if Caleb was telling the truth, if he wasn’t going to stay, this could be the end of them, the last time Oliver could feel his love’s hands on his skin, and it was done in anger, in disappointment and frustration. Oliver was high now, yes, and his mind was half gone, half missing from the situation, but soon it would be restored to him and this would hurt so fully, so completely. There had to be something, some way to stop this.
“No,” Oliver found himself saying, his voice small, higher than before. Desperate. “No, no, Callie, please. Please, please give me time, I can be better I just need time, and I need help. Please don’t leave, Caleb. I need you, I’m not gonna be able to fix this on my own.” He didn’t bring up details that Caleb had mentioned, about how he never told him the problem when he was feeling it, simply because he wasn’t able to think so complexly while the drugs were affecting him. And the pure part of him, the part that truly, earnestly, desperately meant these things, that part knew he could talk about it, that he wanted to, that if talking could help him through the addiction, then he’d talk to anyone. Oliver wanted to be better, and he could if only Caleb would stay to help him. “Stay, please,” he said again, wanting nothing more than to take Caleb’s hand, hold him there, make him stay, make him understand, but that would feel too much like the past, and that was what the both of them were afraid of.
He made a mistake. It wasn’t meant to be like this. And Oliver knew that, he knew he messed up, even with his drug addled mind he knew that. All he needed was for Caleb to understand too, and then maybe he could have hope again.
Word Count: 926 | Tag: Callie Bearrrrr| Notes: two more to go |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on May 25, 2013 20:02:16 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS: 1118 ONE LAST THING: IT JUST GETS WORSE
Caleb stayed because he needed to stay, he told himself he was giving Oliver one last chance. For what though, he didn't know. Caleb had made his decision, he was going. It had been made months and months ago, almost a year now, but he'd just postponed things. He was weak to Oliver, he always had been, and it took so much to be strong. Oliver couldn't do anything to make this better, anything he would say in this addled state of mind would certainly make things worse. Oliver could beg, and Caleb would think of all the other times he begged and things got worse. It wasn't only that Caleb couldn't handle Oliver, Oliver needed to be able to change as well. Caleb stayed because he couldn't force himself to leave, quite yet. If he stayed, he might wake up from this nightmare, like he woke up from his coma. There were so many signs that this wasn't like the past. Usually, if Caleb had touched Oliver while he was high, Oliver would have hit him. It became an ingrained thing in their relationship. Caleb could tell between when Oliver was high and when he wasn't, and therefor could tell if he could touch Oliver. Sometimes even when his lover was sober, Caleb would shy away from touching him, resulting in Oliver instigating most of it. Which was never a problem, Oliver never noticed, but Caleb did. He seemed to do a lot of the noticing for Oliver. Caleb should have realized that if Oliver hadn't been able to fix this the first time around by himself – because Caleb had left him then to get clean, and get rid of the cancer – the second time wouldn't be any better. However, Caleb could only focus on the negative, trying to justify the thought of tearing his very heart to pieces.
There were only so many things to say when one was getting their heartbroken. Caleb had gone through the grieving process, or most of it. He'd cried for days and days and he finally felt like his tears had dried up. It wasn't that he wasn't upset, but he didn't want Oliver to see that. If he started crying now, there was a high chance he wouldn't be able to leave. Caleb could barely remember what Olivers body felt like against his. When they had finally started sharing a bed, something strange had happened the morning after. Caleb had woken, as usual, with his body flush against the bedroom wall. Oliver would normally be cuddled against him, trying in vain to mesh their bodies into one, it seemed like. That morning, and every one after that however, Oliver had ended up curled neatly on his side of the bed, no cuddling, no stretching across the vast space that was their mattress in order to reach Caleb, nothing. Caleb only wished it had been so simple as the fact that in their subconscious, the two of them were trying to escape the company of the other. That wasn't true. They both wanted one another. The fact was that there had been so much irreparable damage done. It was a question of whether things could go back to normal, and this one small thing stuck to that. Caleb had talked to Oliver about it, because they talked now, and it felt like a relief to get it off his shoulders. Oliver had suggested it was because he had spent so many months sleeping alone on a single bed, though, and that had made Caleb feel a little worse. They still fell asleep together, and sometimes would end up still in the others arms, but it wasn't the same.
All they were, was something that was never meant to be. Caleb should have stayed in the east, finished his schooling, maybe found some nice man to settle down with who would respect his feelings and not manipulate them. He was tired of sticking around because Oliver needed him. This was just a high school crush gone way too wrong. But god, god he wanted to stay, he needed to stay. His heart was holding him in his place and he felt like he was breaking again. It hadn't been so long since tears had been shed in this house, Hearing the way Olivers voice begged, seeing the look on his face, god. “No!” Caleb didn't mean to shout, didn't mean to sound or look so angry, but it was all he could resort too. He shook his head, backing away from Oliver. He wished he could storm out, wished more than anything this didn't feel as hard as it did. But he had to leave. And so he did.
Walking through the living room was like trying to break past a million and one memories. This house was so tainted, and how Caleb had ever lived here before baffled him. He had hung on then, and now, he couldn't bear any thing that even resembled something with Oliver. He hated the colour of the walls, the couches, the kitchen, the shoes sitting neatly by the front door. He hated having to go into the kitchen to grab his car keys, the little heart key chain on them, some gift from Oliver at some point or another. It hurt so much, but it needed to be done.
“Dont, don’t follow me,” Caleb said, spinning on his heel, because he knew Oliver was behind him, that helpless, lost look splattered across his hazed face. “I don't want you anymore.” He wished it were as simple as that, that those words could be true. He needed to hurt Oliver, it would help him get over Caleb. Hate was easier too forget than love. “I want you to stay out of my life Oliver,” he wanted to say more, wanted to yell and scream and push Oliver away, stop having to look at the face that had broken his heart. He also wanted to fix this, he didn't want to give up on Oliver, Caleb wasn't done with him. But he was shaking, he needed to leave. He didn't pause to grab anything but his keys, already holding them in his fist, almost like he was brandishing a small weapon at his side. But the blades were just cutting into his own skin, pressed tight against his flesh. Caleb walked again, pushing past the memories, heading out the door, closing it behind him, not looking back. Caleb didn't know if he'd ever see the house again, Oliver again, but it would be the last chance he got to see him while something was still hanging on, even if it were by a thread.
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 26, 2013 19:12:57 GMT -7
--i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone The first time Oliver had done cocaine, he had been half afraid that he was going to die. Somewhere he had heard that there was a fifty percent chance of overdosing on the first line, and, given that his boyfriend hadn’t, that fifty percent seemed to be closer to one hundred. He had thought, back then, that overdosing meant dying, and it was perhaps only with knowledge of these things that anyone could hope to understand how badly he had wanted that boy’s approval. It was only with enormous self-control and willpower that he even managed to do it without hesitating long enough to raise suspicion. Making it seem nonchalant was crucial, if he was to seem as eager, as willing, as his boyfriend would have wanted. Somehow he had managed to pull it off, and even passed off the frantic nervous heartbeat as a symptom of the high. At first, he had hated the feeling, hadn’t liked how cloudy and fast his mind felt, and he couldn’t understand how something could be cloudy and fast at the same time, even when he sobered up afterwards. It took days, weeks, even months for him to adjust to it, to slowly begin to get used to it and stop being afraid he’d die. That fifty percent didn’t seem right anymore, how could he die doing this? The two of them, they were careful. They knew what a good limit was and they didn’t cross it, because they were smart, and even when they were high they could keep their wits about them. It was just for fun, they weren’t addicted, they just liked how it felt.
Even after he broke Oliver’s heart, he still couldn’t believe that he had been used as a place to keep drugs, as a trophy item, or anything else Spencer told him it had looked like the whole time. That was where the heartbreak came from, of course: the inability to believe that he had been used and played and led to believe that their relationship was much more than it ever was. It had resulted in several nights where he had slept over at Spencer’s place, ranting and whining about how everything had ended, and as helpful as the other boy tried to be, it didn’t help much to be told that his ex was no good for him, it didn’t help to hear Spencer say that he’d find someone better, it didn’t help at all. The one thing that did seem to help was what Oliver kept telling himself shouldn’t help, and that was the drugs his ex had left at his house. The time he spent complaining to Spencer was simply distraction, really, because every night he wasn’t at home meant a night he wasn’t trying and failing to convince himself to get rid of it. If his best friend could put up with his negative aura, then he was safe from himself and the destructive behavior his ex-boyfriend had installed in him. For a little while, that was good enough.
But the behavior reached a point, it seemed, where it was no longer about the boy, but about the emotion attached to him. The missing of someone from his life, someone he believed could be a constant, that feeling was intense, and as Oliver had learned to associate the drugs with him, he used it to deal with his loss, and then once the boy was no longer a loss, he used it to deal with anything missing. If Penelope disappeared, he could ease the missing and the worry by not thinking about it, with the aid of a few lines of cocaine. It was simple. A lot simpler than the relationship that had started it all, even. And if it could make him feel better, who was to say that he shouldn’t? For some people, feeling better took a lot more than something this easy. He was lucky, really, to find an easy fix.
Those were his thoughts as a child, of course. He was foolish, young, barely old enough to understand what love and loss and grief even were. As time passed, he didn’t think of his reasons anymore. He simply did it because it was what he had always done.
It took until now for Oliver to realize some things. As Caleb was leaving him, he recognized what the other boy had done, the way he had been toyed with and manipulated, how he could never have been happy in that environment, how the drugs had effectively ruined a lot of things in his life, which he hadn’t been able to see before. And he realized that for the first time since the first time, he was afraid that they would kill him. If not from overdose, he would die of a broken heart at Caleb’s loss, of his own bad decisions while left alone once again, of the overwhelming sadness that would follow. It wasn’t a question anymore. Six months had been quite long enough to realize that he couldn’t live like this, couldn’t function when he was abandoned like this. Not after everything they went through, not after having been so close to fixing everything.
Oliver followed Caleb because Caleb was his lifeline. Even after being yelled at, even after being told there was no hope for the two of them, Oliver couldn’t let go, because that was giving up, whether he realized it or not. Though he couldn’t understand everything Caleb said, he seemed to have a rather accelerated understanding of the situation; Caleb was leaving, and if there was no way to stop him, then there would be no way to go on. And so the only thought on his mind was making him stay.
“Don’t say that. Callie. Callie bear. Please stay,” he begged, sounding pathetic, feeling worse. He had no right to ask him to stay and he knew that. Caleb felt unsafe with him, and so to ask him to stay was purely selfish, uncaring, cruel. If he truly loved him, shouldn’t he be able to let him go?
The problem with that, though, was that he couldn’t bear that he wouldn’t come back.
Short of touching him, physically pulling him away from the door, it appeared that there was nothing for Oliver to do, and he wouldn’t do that, not when the fear of being abused was what was driving Caleb away. So as Caleb pushed through the door, Oliver stood a step behind him, wanting so badly to reach out but instead kept his hands folded in loose fists, his knuckles against his nose and mouth, as though that would help get rid of the feeling of not being able to cry when he needed to. As the door slammed closed, he remained there for a moment, unable to pry himself away from the site, in case by some miracle Caleb were to return, even after he had heard the car pull out of the driveway and disappear down the road. He couldn’t leave like that, not again, not after he promised to stay. But then again, Oliver had promised he was done with drugs, and look how that turned out. Look where he was, how he was.
That was when he started crying. And it was the ugly sort of crying, with loud, choking sobs and tears he didn’t know what to do with. It wasn’t until then that he moved his hands, covering his mouth with an open palm and dragging his other hand through his hair, trying so hard to clear his mind a bit, because he couldn’t go on from here with the drugs making his decisions, he needed to be sober before things got worse.
He started pacing. The pacing became walking through the halls, became searching every room for something, but he didn’t know what the something was, and it wasn’t until he had started tearing Caleb’s clothes out of their closet and tossing them in a pile on their bed that he realized he was looking for purpose, for some reason to be alive, and when not even the smell of the man he loved could stir something up, that was when he knew there was nothing. If it couldn’t be found with Caleb then there was nothing to be found. Nothing, that was all that was left in this damn empty house and damn empty shell of a person that he was when he was alone.
It wasn’t until after he stumbled into the bathroom, one hand balancing himself on the door frame, that he realized he had fully given up, and somehow he felt strangely calm about that. The coke was going to kill him, sooner or later, and if he had it available, why not now, why not then, why not there. Why not?
Taking the rest of it was done without thinking, line after line, and it made him feel worse each time. That means it’s working. Somewhere in the haze of it all, he heard Caleb’s question from earlier. ‘Do you want to overdose?’ Yes. Now, yeah. Why not?
Eventually, he ran out, and so Oliver left the bathroom, walking back through the house, his heart beating faster than he could remember it ever going, but he couldn’t really remember much at the moment. And, Christ, it was warm, and he felt jittery but all he wanted was to sit down, maybe take a nap, if he could manage to close his eyes, but he didn’t know if he could. He was muttering something, but the words didn’t make sense to even him, maybe it wasn’t even words. Somehow he found his way to the house, somehow he was sitting down, somehow he got his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around, and somehow he knew he was dying and somehow he was still at peace with it. Because, after all things, at least the cocaine helped him not miss anybody.
Word Count: 1675 | Tag: Callie Bearrrr| Notes: yep |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on May 28, 2013 20:57:08 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS: 2,622 ONE LAST THING: :c
The time spent between getting back together and splitting apart had seemed so short. Only four months, shorter than them being apart, but the worth of a relationship wasn't measured by the time spent together. That much was obvious for them, nine months was not a long amount of time, but it was enough for the two of them decided they wanted to buy a house together. Six months wasn't long either, but it was enough for Caleb to know that he wanted to be with Oliver, despite the pain and hurt he had been put through. He couldn't pretend to understand it, he tried to pin it on a lovesick heart, but it was more than that somehow. Relationships were measured by trust, and once that was gone, it was near impossible to get back. Caleb always trusted Oliver, though he did put his trust too easily in many things. He had been broken and betrayed, but he couldn't say if his trust in Oliver had disappeared. He had done what he had thought was right, but he didn't even know to trust himself with these things. Things had been strained between them, when they were together, but they relied more on talking, and it was easier. The breakup had disillusioned them from the fairy tale from last time, and they were being careful. Apparently not careful enough. Caleb couldn't blame Oliver for the relapse, he didn't understand, but he still felt betrayed. And he promised to himself that if he felt that way again, that he would have to leave, no matter what.
As soon as he entered the car, closing the door behind him, settling himself in the seat he hadn't touched since the crash, he started crying. Loud, helpless sobs he had to muffle with an open hand, leaning his head on the steering wheel. He couldn't remember how to breathe past the pain in his chest, clutching at the wheel with one hand. He had to leave, before he convinced himself to return, before things came back to normal. Caleb couldn't help thinking about the first time Oliver had gotten high, how surprised he'd been. It had been at a party, and Caleb had assumed it had been someone elses drugs, perhaps something Oliver did just regularly, and he'd thought just that up until they had started dating. Even then, at the beginning, it was still just at parties and Caleb couldn't complain, everyone deserved to relax in their own matter. It was only when he came home one day to find Oliver unresponsive and jittery that he began to realize how far the drug ran into Olivers life. And Ollie never did it with Caleb around, but he would while Caleb was away, and Caleb never knew it was because he was scared, because he was lonely. That wasn't Calebs fault, really, as much as he did have to work. He came home and he devoted all hours of the day to Oliver, no matter what. It wasn't a problem to him, but he began to feel bad. When Oliver said how often he missed Caleb while he was at work, away for business trips, it was hard. Thinking now, like he did, that the drugs were a cause of the loneliness, made him feel like maybe it was his fault, but there was only so much Caleb could do. A relationship was about compromising yourself, giving up on things or standing for them, but not so much your entire being became there’s.
The driving, something that would normally terrify him after the crash, was at the back of his mind. Part of him was still trying to tell him to go back, to not give up, Ollie needed him and Caleb needed Oliver. Talk about hypocrisy, Oliver had promised him that he wouldn't do drugs again, but Caleb promised he would stay, he would help Oliver. It mattered that this happened, because it meant that Oliver wasn't okay. As a boyfriend, as a lover, he needed to be there for Oliver. It was just so complicated, his heart was so invested in the man. If he lived without Ollie, it would be hardly a life. He knew everything was a cause of the drugs, but it was a struggle to remember that, to understand that. It was an addiction, not Olivers personal choice. All Caleb could hear was the echo of Olivers voice when he'd said he needed Calebs help. Nothing else seemed to matter, he half convinced himself to go home, but as his car was driving down the familiar roads, he turned off, convincing himself for the better. Where could he go that felt like home anymore?
The two of them had both had their share of a bad romantic history. Caleb with the man cheating on him, Oliver with the drugs. And both had their lasting effects. The men separately needed someone who could understand them, take in their flaws, help them deal with the ones that were scarring, or learn to love them regardless. Some scars needed healing, like Olivers addiction to the drugs. Caleb didn't know if Olivers cuddliness had started there, or before, but it was still there and the only reason it was as bad as it was, was the drugs. Oliver needed to stop the association, and things would be alright again. Caleb hoped. He'd never asked, but he wondered if any of Olivers other boyfriends had suffered the abuse, if Spencer knew. It had just been bad timing, however.
It was hard to tell if Caleb was still crying, he felt tears on his face but he wasn't sure if they were old or new. If he stopped the car, there would be more, he knew that. He didn't know where to go, his car was shakily following the lines of the road, his knuckles white around the wheel. Everywhere he passed reminded him of Oliver, the town was so small they had run out of new places to visit long ago, but that didn't matter because all of the memories were good. The countless times he'd taken Oliver out to dinner, walking Oliver home through the park, holding hands, the butterflies of the starting of a relationship fresh in his stomach. He could see Oliver and him, sitting on that bench he rolled to a stop by for a red light, sharing an ice cream. Oliver laughing sweetly as Caleb pulled open a door for him on their second date, which quick became a joke between the two of them, and then a habit. Habits and memories and smiles gone past, so many things he'd gotten from the man he still loved. Caleb could never understand how a feeling like love could disappear, even with reason. He learnt that lesson during his first heartbreak. After that, he'd worried that he couldn't find love again, after loosing it so fast. It didn't occur to him that he hadn't really had it, because he'd loved Kale, no matter what happened. It was stupid and destructive but it was true. Love suddenly seemed fragile, resting on broken wings. Caleb was careful after that, because he was a careful man, until he met Oliver. It took him five months to ask Oliver out, but only two to fall for him all over again. Caleb swore he wouldn't let that happen again, but he couldn't control it. That was half the magic, falling head over heels for Oliver, and having the same happen to Ollie.
His mind seemed a haze, and he wished he could pay attention, but all of his thoughts were rushing so fast. It had started raining sometime in Calebs drive, and he didn't want to hear if it started thundering, see if light arched across the skies. Caleb was leaning close to the steering wheel, unaware how shaky his breathing was, how fast he was going down the highway. It wouldn't make a difference, he'd crashed once, he could again, what would it matter? He wasn't thinking about that, though, focusing on the look on Olivers face when he left. Even high, Oliver had looked devastated, had pleaded him to stay. He felt a little more clear headed now that he was away from the house, the hurt. It was betrayal, was what it was, and he couldn't let that rest. So was leaving though. He should have known something like this was going to happen. Or at least, not that he would have expected it, but accepted it when it did. He needed to support Oliver.
Somehow, in the rain, thoughts, tears and confusion, Caleb had ended up right back where he started. Had he even left? Was that just a hallucination? He wasn't sure. It felt like he'd been driving for ages, trying to find some place to go. He'd considered a hotel, but remembered the last time he'd been there, ten months ago, and that was too much like before. He could go to his parents, but they would ask about the tears in his red eyes. Jon would do the same, or look at him with that steady gaze. Caleb knew he was stupid, foolish, and mostly in love. It wasn't a high school crush or boyfriends or a heartsick fool or anything near 'in love'. That sounded to flippant to describe what was between him and Oliver. Their level of commitment didn't have a name, but it was there. Written in the trust they shared, the bond, the way they knew one another. Not so well now, but Caleb wanted to fix that. The trust they had, Caleb wanted it back, and that required work. He wasn't aware he'd been driving for nearly four hours, round and round Caroline, desperately searching. Caleb was lost without Oliver, and so it made sense that he would end up in their drive way, the rain a bare drizzle by now. He snuffled the tears, suddenly hitting reality, looking at the house in front of him. That building symbolized everything they had built together, and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Going back into the house felt right, again, as quiet as it was. It felt hollow, a little broken, and Caleb didn't know if Oliver would forgive him, after what he'd said. He wanted to scar, to leave without feeling guilty that Oliver would be heartbroken without him. It was a child’s wish, it was going to happen anyway. Caleb was surprised to see Oliver sitting on the couch as soon as he pushed through the door, wasting ten minutes on the porch. He couldn't even tell what he was thinking anymore, he was exhausted, his shoes wet from the short walk outside. Oliver didn't move when Caleb entered the house, didn't look over, didn't blink. Caleb knew Ollie well, he thought as soon as he pushed open the door, Oliver would be there. Whether to yell or to hit or to welcome him back, Caleb didn't know. Ollie wasn't the type to just sit there, staring ahead, even while Caleb walked toward him, forgoing taking off his shoes. Something was wrong. “Ollie?” Caleb asked, kneeling in front of the man. He didn't want to admit it, he really didn't, but he knew Ollie was high. Higher than last time, he'd gotten more, somehow. Oliver's hazel eyes were glazed, he was shaking, his face was pale and drawn. Caleb had never seen Ollie look so lifeless. “Ollie bird? I'm sorry baby,” he tried, though he knew there was no point. Carefully, he placed a hand against Olivers knee, feeling how warm he was straight through the fabric. “Shit, Ollie, you're burning up,” if he kept talking, if he kept pretending, everything would be alright. Oliver would be fine.
The signs of overdose were obvious, Caleb didn't have to question it. He had looked up the symptoms long ago, just in case, and sometimes Ollie would get bad, but nothing like this. He was barely breathing, Caleb could feel his jumping pulse when he took Olivers wrist in his hand, fingers wrapping around the thin limb. “Ollie, baby, talk to me,” it was turning more into a whine, as he tried desperately to meet Olivers eye, get a spark in there, or anything. He should have taken Oliver to the hospital, he should have called an ambulance. But, Oliver's parents couldn't find out, Caleb knew that. What if they tried to take Oliver away from Caleb? It was selfish, but he couldn't handle that. Oliver hated hospitals, Caleb figured that much from the amount Oliver had said so while he was recovering from the crash, and it only made sense. If Oliver...Caleb couldn't think it, but he needed to be with his love. Without much thought, he left Oliver, just for a moment, heading to the bedroom. He hadn't realized how trashed the house was, until he saw the pile of his clothing on the bed. That stopped him dead in his tracks. Had...had Oliver been getting rid of Calebs things? Ridding Caleb from his life. Caleb swallowed past the lump in his throat, that didn't matter now, he couldn't let anything happen to Oliver. If Ollie wanted him gone, then he'd leave, but only when the morning came.
“Hey, Ollie, I'm back. I just wanted to get us a blanket. We're gonna stay out here, okay? I'm going to be right here with you,” he said the words soft and slow, like he was talking to a child, settling himself down next to Oliver, settling the blanket down next to him. They wouldn't need it, not at the temperature Oliver was at, but he just needed comfort, safety. “I'm really sorry about what I said. I'll be here now though, I won't leave again,” it was like talking to air, Oliver didn't even look at him. Caleb could take his hand, but it wouldn't be the same. Touching Oliver scared Caleb, but he forced himself to put an arm around his shoulder and that lead to Caleb tipping his forehead against Olivers shoulder. “I was an idiot. I shouldn't have left, I just felt so hurt. I need to help you, Ollie bird, and I want to. You're gonna be okay” it was pointless to talk, but Caleb had to do something, anything, if only to keep the tears away.
He didn't know how long he sat there, the words he said to Oliver, constant mumblings and the tears came and went. He could remember leaning against the couch arm rest, dragging Oliver with him. The unresponsive body scared him, but he could feel Olivers heat, the jumping of his heart, his jagged breathing. Caleb was scared, he was panicked, he half convinced himself he had to take Oliver to the hospital, but couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He just held on, counting Olivers breaths, trying to think it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Caleb was exhausted, yes, but he couldn't sleep. Anytime his eyes would flutter shut or the endless ticking of the clock would lull at his consciousness, a sharp breath from Oliver would wake him up, or a twitch. Caleb missed how Olivers body temperature was slowly returning to normal over the course of hours that felt weird, he missed when Olivers eyes shut and the man passed out against his chest. Caleb was scared to sleep and wake up and the warmth beneath their skin was gone. One day, one day that was allowed, but never today. Lost in the haze of his mind, Caleb didn't notice himself slipping into a slumber in the early hours of the next morning, when Oliver had seemed to finally return to normal.
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on May 30, 2013 17:49:07 GMT -7
--i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone- There was something so distinctly comfortable about dying, a lightness of the mind and soul and heart, and Oliver supposed that meant that he wasn’t losing anything, that all the forces of the world knew there was nothing left for him. He had heard, of course, of how many suicide survivors recounted instantly regretting a decision that could cause their ultimate demise, and he felt that if that was the case, he might have felt something else. Something darker, heavier, something that said, ‘no, this isn’t right.’ Nothing like that came for him, nothing like that fluttered through his mind, not even the weakest disturbance penetrated through the serene thickness of the fog in his addled mind. His brain was content to bask in the nothingness because the nothingness could not hurt, he couldn’t suffer if he couldn’t think, could not wish to hold on to life when he didn’t realize it was slipping from him. Surely that was the way to go, surely it was better to die slowly, so slowly he didn’t know it was happening. In the grand scheme of things, all he wanted was an escape from hurting anymore, and giving up on it all could grant that relief to him. So it was alright, then, sitting all curled up, shaking from the way his body reacted to the overload of chemicals, to be dying the way he was. At least it was painless, or at least, he was unconscious to any pain that may have been. Oliver felt numb, and the numbness was good, so much better than what he had felt before. Numbness would, perhaps, bring him from the world, with not even himself to miss him.
Cocaine is not a hallucinogen, and so when Oliver started hallucinating, it would have come as a shock to him, had be been able to think that way. All he knew was that it had to be a hallucination, it had to be somewhere in his head, because Caleb had said so many times that he wasn’t coming back. He didn’t want Oliver, he wanted Oliver to stay away from him and remain out of his life, and so he would never come back. Caleb wasn’t one to break promises like that, was he? It had taken them six months to speak again after last time, so clearly they could do it; logic dictated that it could not really be Caleb crouching in front of him, trying vainly to catch his eye, touching his knee, his wrist, though he could swear it was like feeling it. Though he wanted to interact, he found it difficult, both physically and mentally; his body didn’t want to move, and his mind found it pointless to waste his last amounts of energy on something that might just disappear as he reached out for it. Caleb hadn’t stayed before, and so who was to say that this shadow of him would? Though the night may be encased in shadow, the light always comes in the morning. Even if Oliver somehow made it through this night alive, it would simply be him alone with the sunshine, that shadow of a lover gone with the night. Gone, like he always seemed to be.
Understanding the words Caleb--the image, of course, not the being--was saying, well, that was out of the question. The general tone was concerned, wasn’t it? Funny, really, in that cruel sort of way, that his dying subconscious would tease him way before letting go. Let him believe that in some universe, there could be a Caleb that was willing to put up with everything he did wrong, every promise he broke. In none of these universes should he have had to, but Oliver liked to believe that perhaps in this disillusioned one of his drug-numbed mind, he could create one. But even that didn’t last long, and he couldn’t do anything to change the outcome, even if the man he saw was the real one. Oliver couldn’t speak and couldn’t move, and so all he could do was think, and hope that that somehow there would be a way to make the company stay until he was so far gone he couldn’t possibly miss what he had lost.
Caleb was gone just long enough for Oliver to give up, figuring that the hallucination was gone, and that he was slipping further into his end. And then he returned, holding something Oliver couldn’t decipher within his hands, saying more words he didn’t know how to comprehend, sitting down next to him. Oliver still didn’t react, still convinced it was all in his mind. It made sense, after all; why shouldn’t his brain put on one last show? There’d be some grand finale later, like them falling asleep together, and that would be the symbolic loss of life from Oliver’s body. He’d be gone, but his body would remain, alone again.
But the vision simply kept continuing, Caleb touching him, leaning against him, still talking, still sounding full of regret and desperation, and it was then that he thought perhaps he could have been wrong earlier, that Caleb could have come back. The man had certainly surprised him before; what was showing up at the funeral after six months after they had silently agreed that they were finished, if not a surprise? Stranger things had happened, hadn’t they?
Only part of him was aware when Caleb dragged him on top of him, only part of him could feel the tears Caleb cried for him, only part of him heard the words the man muttered for him, but throughout the night, that part grew larger as his mind returned, as the drugs wore off and the fog cleared. There was a point where the muddled nature of his head became mostly just exhaustion, but Oliver didn’t realize because he was too busy falling asleep against his chest, the scent warm and familiar, the sensation natural and comforting, even through the haze of his mind. He could never forget how Caleb was, the feeling and smell of the man, so soft and comfortable and precious. He let himself go, relaxing into it, because that was what this had all been about; letting go, giving up. Holding on was so difficult when he felt so alone, and even with Caleb under him he still felt alone. In falling asleep, he managed to escape that, and he was grateful for it.
Waking up had never been part of the plan, but the plan was far from his mind when he found himself somewhat aware of his surroundings the next morning. Right now his body was full of sensation; he appeared to be laying with most of his body on top of Caleb, nose taking him in with each breath. Oliver whimpered slightly at the back of his throat, the way he always did as he woke up. His hands gripped bits of Caleb's shirt out of habit, as if needed to bring him closer than he was, impossibly closer. Caleb would have to go to work soon, Oliver would have to move from on top of him, but not now, not yet. For now he wanted to stay here, because he felt peaceful now, sleepy and content. It was good, that he had Caleb with him, he knew he had needed it yesterday, because of Penny. As he shifted slightly, hoping maybe to fall asleep again for a few moments, he tried to recall the day before, but after a certain point in the day his memories stopped. Tensing up slightly, he realized what that meant, and it was then that he realized that part of him was touching the back of the couch, and he realized he didn’t know how he got there, or how Caleb had gotten home from work, since he didn't remember driving to get him, or anything that had happened since he had first gone into the closet in their bedroom. In the past, he had only experienced this sort of loss when he was high, which didn’t make sense, because the last time that had happened was ages ago, and how could...?
He sat up suddenly, his hand flying to his hair, tugging slightly, trying so hard to remember what had happened, why he couldn’t remember anything since the mid-afternoon. Caleb was here, though, so it couldn’t have been anything too awful, since the chance was he would have left if it was, but then again they were on the couch and that made no sense at all, because had things been all normal, then they would have gone to bed. So he had to have been high, to have forgotten everything, unless they had for some reason gotten so drunk that they passed out before they could get there. If that was the case, though, then he should have been able to feel it, and as it was, he didn’t. So unless he’d been otherwise drugged against his will, which was an illogical conclusion, it was obvious that he had done something, and consequently found himself where he was now. The way he was sitting up hurt his legs, so he shifted towards the far end of the couch, past where Caleb’s legs ended, so he didn’t hurt him. It wasn’t to get away from him, though it probably looked like it, but Caleb was barely awake anyhow. Hopefully he wouldn’t pay much mind to his sudden movement, because it didn’t mean more than wanting to not hurt him.
Until Caleb woke up and was able to hear and comprehend him, he sat silently, curled up against the edge of the couch with his hand in his hair, and when Caleb stirred, Oliver made sure to speak before he could.
“I’m sorry, Callie. I don’t remember what happened but I’m sure it was nothing good and I’m sure it’s my fault and I don’t know why you’re here but I’m sure I don’t deserve it but I hope we can talk because I’d at least like to understand what happened first.” Oliver didn’t know exactly what the first implied, but he felt it was nearly impossible to move through this relationship anymore when he was always ruining everything. Eventually Caleb would have to give up on him. Everything he said was mostly based on assumptions, believing that past behavior would repeat, that he would slip up and hurt the one he loved again, that it would always be his fault.
Word Count: 1813 | Tag: Callie Bearrrrr| Notes: FINALLY DONE WOO |
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Jun 2, 2013 21:05:23 GMT -7
so sick of wasting all my time how in gods name did i survive? TAG: ollie-bird <3 WORDS:  ?? ONE LAST THING: :c
Death was not something Caleb was familiar with in life. He'd never have someone important pass away on him, just friends or relatives of friends. It was hard to watch, but he knew harder to experience. He'd been lucky in that aspect, and it seemed just right that tonight would be the day that would run out. Of course, it wasn't about luck, or lack of luck, tragedy was bound to happen. Calebs life was just filled with different ones, but he didn't want this. No one did, but Caleb couldn't bear to think about it. As he curled himself around Oliver, holding his wrist loosely in his fingers, he just pretended they were curling up to sleep another night, warm and safe in their bed. He pretended he hadn't shout at Oliver, hadn't left, hadn't thought he had fallen out of love with the man. Because if there was one thing Caleb could not do, it was fall out of love with Oliver Cardinal.
There was always a difference in waking up in falling asleep, the shifts of a body, or two in a single bed. Caleb was used to waking up slightly disorientated, pushed to a separate quadrant of the bed, though he rarely noticed. The only thing that would have ever been amiss, was if Caleb woke up without Oliver in his arms. The first nights after he kicked Oliver out, he'd often woken up in a panic, clutching at the sheets, until he realized Oliver was never in bed, and was not coming back. After months of sleepless nights and waking up in a cold sweat, Caleb started to get used to it. The sheets started to lose the scent of Oliver, and he seemed to be adjusting to the large amount of space he had. When Oliver had come back to live at the house, Caleb had adjusted back much quicker to the man being in his bed. It was only as if Oliver leaving had been but a temporarily absence from his life, which it really was. Everything was right in the world when he was able to fall asleep and wake up with Oliver in his arms. Even when the man would end up on the opposite end of the bed, it was okay because he was still there. Oliver would wake up, roll over, and curl straight back into Calebs chest, right where he belonged. He figured since he was not supposed to be sleeping, any movement from Oliver would have waken him right up. Caleb was exhausted though, his body had been pushed close to the limits. When he fell asleep without meaning too, he was in a good deep sleep.
In the mornings, the shifting of Olivers body, the soft way he whined, the way he clung tighter to Caleb was all ingrained into his being. He knew the feeling of Oliver waking up, and even in the light stages of his sleep, that could pull him from slumber. If only to kiss Oliver into full consciousness, or have the same done for him. They would often spend several minutes in bed together, if not longer. They could just lay and reminisce in bed, trading sleepy good morning greetings, a few kisses, holding each other because they could. That was all Caleb could ever hope for, and it had taken him this long to realize he could never lose that. Or at least, he knew now better than ever. He couldn't take Oliver for granted.
Caleb couldn't be sure what roused him, the loss of Olivers weight across his torso, or just his bodies natural functions, but soon after the man curled up in the corner of the couch, Calebs consciousness fluttered. All it took was the emptiness of his arms for him to realize that Oliver was not there, and the events of the previous night to fill them self in and he jolted up partway. Oliver couldn't have been gone, did he dream everything? Or did someone find them, his lifeless body? But Caleb couldn't think that, wouldn't. He'd already had a second of life where he thought Oliver was dead, gone, and he couldn't let it happen again. Oliver was there, as it were, sitting on the edge of the couch. Caleb sat up the rest of the way, his face pulling down. It only made sense that Oliver would want to get away from him, even if he didn't remember what happened. That hurt the most, the forgetting, Oliver was rarely ever that bad. Caleb swallowed softly, pulling a hand through his hair, rubbing at his tired eyes. “It's okay, we can talk, I'm not going anywhere” he wanted to express that, before anything else was said, before Oliver could consider kicking him out for the way he had acted.
“I got home from work..” god, how was he supposed to say this? He sighed, wishing he could hold Ollie, kiss him, make it all better, but they needed to talk. “You were high. I don't know how or where you got the drugs, but you were. I got...angry at you. You'd promised me, but I had promised you I would help” it was so hard to keep the truth of what happened from what Caleb wished had happened. He couldn't sugar coat this, though. “I told you I didn't care, you begged me, tried to explain, but I couldn't stay...” he couldn't put his own emotions into this, but he had too, even if it felt selfish. “I felt betrayed, but I should have stayed, I should have known. You need my help. I left...after saying I didn't want you anymore. But it was all a lie, Ollie bird, you have to believe that,” he had to stop, his voice was cracking. Caleb was dangerously close to tears, he didn't know what he could say to make this better.
i need a little sympathy, to sore my insecurities
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jun 4, 2013 21:01:36 GMT -7
--i wanna be free, i wanna be loved, i wanna be more than you're thinking of everything seems to be estranged when you're alone- It was fairly safe to say that Oliver’s childhood was free of tragedy, outside of his sister occasionally scaring everyone with her disappearances, or a heartbreak or two over a relationship that was never meant to succeed. No one close to the family died until he was thirteen, and even then, it was a great-uncle he had never met. The funeral was quiet; the man liked to keep to himself, and consequently he had few friends to miss him. Those in attendance that did know him assured the others that he would have prefered it that way, that he wouldn’t have wanted everyone making a grand fuss over him. Apparently, he had requested he not have a funeral at all, but that had been one wish the family wouldn’t grant. Few friends or many, they all needed a chance to say goodbye. Oliver, not knowing him at all, said hello and goodbye at once, and the experience was wholly tearless and mostly free of emotion, the only thing he felt being empathy. It was sad to see his family members upset, but he himself felt nothing, and so that was how he somehow figured death could be. Something peaceful; his great-uncle had fallen from the world with little consequence, under a hundred people coming to bid him farewell, Oliver himself feeling next to nothing about it. Few tears were shed, fewer people shed them, and it was somehow easy for him to think that it could always be like this. People died, it happened, it would always happen, and wouldn’t life be better if death was simpler, if it was easier to let go? Oliver thought then that perhaps it could be.
Back then, he couldn’t have imagined what would happen. How could he ever predict that he would outlive his baby sister, who, at ten years old, had been the youngest attendant of that funeral? She should have outlived them all, because she was the youngest, the most innocent and the one with the most life ahead of her. Penelope had potential like no one else there did, because she hadn’t had time to make mistakes yet. More than anyone else, she could dream big, imagine better; she was the laughter that rang through the church after the rest had died off following the single joke that had been told throughout the service, even though it was almost certain she didn’t understand what was funny about it. That was the innocence they loved: the ability to laugh at life, simply because there was beauty and joy in being alive.
Oliver hadn’t thought of that funeral in a long time. During Penny’s, he’d been too upset to think; how he’d ever been so disillusioned to believe he wouldn’t feel this baffled him, but then again, he’d never dreamed of attending his sister’s funeral, and certainly not while he was still young. And then afterwards, he had been too wrapped up in Caleb and in sadness and confusion and the thought of the first funeral never crossed his mind. For that fact, it was never drawn to the front of his mind, not for months and months after, not until now, when he started to consider his own, though it was hard to say why, because he couldn’t remember what he’d done. Waking up from what he believed would be his death--though he couldn’t consciously remember thinking that way--there was part of him that had to be relieved. He couldn’t imagine what it could look like, who would be in attendance. His parents would be crying, and Spencer would come, probably make a speech because he was good with words and Oliver knew he would regret it if he didn’t. And Caleb, God, Oliver couldn’t even bear to think of it. Dying was uncharted territory, even after all the drugs and the cancer and the immanent presence of death had happened. One of them would die eventually, that was still unavoidable the way it had been when Oliver was thirteen. The fear of losing the man beside him--or leaving him--was so terrible, overwhelming, and it flooded him with how thankful he was to have him back after the months of separation. That is, if nothing had changed in the night he couldn’t remember.
There was no way to maintain eye contact once Caleb was awake and talking, once he mentioned that he wasn’t going to leave him, because Oliver was embarrassed that he had even thought anything else was possible. He listened to the rest of what Caleb had to say, keeping his gaze geared down towards his knees, the cushions of the couch, the floor, anywhere that wasn’t Caleb. Everything was so awful in his words: what he himself had done, what Caleb had said, but he couldn’t help but trust that Caleb meant what he said now, because if he didn’t mean it then he wouldn’t be here. Oliver had to believe he was worth it at least sometimes, or he’d never have any hope in anything. And so, despite knowing that he had messed up again, he was feeling somewhat relieved, because he was being given one more chance, and Caleb said he was going to help this time, and maybe that meant things could work out, because Oliver was tired of messing up.
“I’m sorry, Caleb,” he said, daring to look up at him at last. “I’d...I would say more than that, but I can’t...I don’t remember much of yesterday. And it’s different than last year, because sometimes I said that to avoid talking about it, but now I want to talk about it and I can’t because everything’s blank and that only ever happened if I took more than normal and that’s scary because I keep thinking about dying and what if I tried to kill myself and I don’t even remember? Because if you said...all that, I probably didn’t react well and, fuck. I don’t want to mess up again.” He couldn’t tell if he was jumping to conclusions or if he was remembering, but either way, the suicide idea stuck to him, and he didn’t know how to handle it.
He curled up tighter then, because he wanted to be held but was still somehow afraid of being rejected if he tried to retreat into Caleb’s arms again. Nothing in his life could really have prepared him for this feeling, the leftover suicidal edge, the fear of the unknown, the guilt and the paranoia, and all of it was tied together and sitting in the pit of his stomach, even despite any relief he felt that Caleb was still here and still willing to try.
“I love you.”
Word Count: 1135 | Tag: Callie Bearrrrr| Notes: faalsjdflasdk |
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?? ONE LAST THING: :c