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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jan 10, 2013 15:05:08 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Oliver didn’t even know where to begin to start thinking about things, but it seemed like his mind would never stop. Because of this, his thoughts were a constant tangle of nonsense, full of regret and guilt and heartbreak. But this tangle held him together, and the threat of it one day untangling was something that he had grown to be terrified of. It had been so long, so endlessly long since he had felt something that wasn’t so sad that he didn’t remember how to think on the bright side. His mind was in messy knots and his heart was torn in tiny bits, but the two kept each other balanced out in some sick form of equilibrium, and that was what kept him turning from one day to the next. He wouldn’t die until there was some sort of unravelling, until the shards were left go and the strings fallen away. In some ways he both yearned for and feared for that day. He wanted the release, the escape from the confusion and the pain and the past six months of merciless hell, but he was also terrified of losing it because it was all he knew anymore. If there was one thing he could count on to not leave him, to stand by his side day after day, it was his depression. The all-consuming black grip wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t throw him out or die on him. And he needed that consistency in his life because after those six months, Oliver had realized that there was absolutely nothing in the world that anyone could know for certain or could count on completely. Life was always going to disappoint. People were going to hurt him. It was easier to just accept that than to fight it, easier to embrace the demons than to fight them off, because they are always stronger. Had he known a year ago, ten months ago, even seven months ago, that he would be thinking like this in such a short time, he would never have believed it. Now he didn’t know if he believed it could ever go back to normal.
With all his thoughts in such a disorganized, nonsensical coil, however, he had taken to repeating some things in his mind. Mantras, almost, just to keep something with some clarity in his mind, just so he wasn’t so empty. Just to remind himself that he was still alive, in whatever loose definition held the term. He looked like death and felt like death, but he was still moving around, still filling up his lungs and sighing out the breaths he had once thought were numbered. With the cancer gone, Oliver was still very much alive, his body refusing to stop even when he was too exhausted to go on. There had been a point, just before Christmas, where he had said, this is it, I’m tired, I don’t want to try anymore, but that was when the doctors had said that the cancer might be gone in less than a month. But it was also then that Oliver didn’t know if he wanted it to be gone. It had been such a good excuse, cancer. He was depressed all the time because of cancer. His mood swings were because he was on cancer drugs and was dealing with radiation and had tumors affecting his brain. His behavior leading up to moving back with his parents had been because of the cancer and his inability to get over it was because of the cancer and his unwillingness to be a person anymore was because of the cancer. He was just so tired, so worn out and unhappy, that there was almost nothing left to convince him it was worth it anymore.
But still in his mind, he heard, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you. He didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. It might have been himself, his parents, his sister, his boyfriend, any number of his friends...the answer to that was somewhere in the knot of his thoughts. It was there somewhere, certainly, but he had no access to it anymore. He didn’t belong to himself anymore. For a long while he had been his disease’s, but now he had been passed into the poisonous, lonesome hands of black depression. He was a shell these days; everything inside of him was too fragile to get invested in anything else.
Sometimes he couldn’t help remembering where things went wrong and how badly he had handled it. If he had only listened when the problems started and when they were brought to his attention, if he had been willing to admit that he was wrong in being abusive, if he had only known what this would do to them. He shouldn’t have let it go so far, he should have realized that it wasn’t him, that he needed to figure out what was wrong with his mind, but instead he ignored it. He let it grow, figuratively and literally, until it essentially had torn the two of them apart. He needed someone, but he had lost all right to have anyone.
But maybe it was from before then, that he had first become this creature. Maybe if he had been better, Penny wouldn’t have spent her life running, would be safe and sound, at home with a loving family and not in that...not...
Thanksgiving had been the most painful. That was the first time Oliver really knew what it felt like to be alone for a holiday. His parents were there, but a celebration with only the three of them felt no different than any other day. He didn’t eat more than any other time, since cancer had so sapped his appetite, and so what should have been a holiday of thanks was just like any other day. His parents thanked God at dinner for Oliver’s health--what little he had--and they prayed that he would continue to get better and that their daughter would be delivered home safely...only one prayer was answered.
Christmas had been the most painful. How was he supposed to celebrate the birth if he felt so dead? For all he knew, he may never see another Christmas. His cancer was supposed to be getting better, but his miserableness kept him from really noticing a change. The gift he truly wanted was to have his old life back, and it didn’t come. It wasn’t something Santa could wrap up with a ribbon and stick under the tree. Most of the day was spent buried under blankets, sitting upright on the couch and surrounded by extended family who were all laughing, and he felt lucky to have the excuse of being cold to not be smiling.
His birthday had been the most painful. He was older, he was clean of cancer, and he was still dead inside. It hurt him that he couldn’t just keep it hidden, either, couldn’t just suffer on his own. Instead he had to be so see-through, and he had to watch his parents hurt because he was hurting. They were all just so sick of being unhappy, but before it got better, it had to get worse, it seemed.
On January the sixth, three days since Oliver turned twenty-three and found out that he was free of the disease that had so tried to take him down, six days the end of the old year, almost six months since Oliver had moved home and eight months since his sister had disappeared, the Cardinals received their first bit of word about their Penny. Though they had hoped so desperately for months that it would be good news, they had no such luck.
Oliver was sleeping. His father was making breakfast to eat with his wife before he would disappear to the early service at church, since he had work later that afternoon and wouldn’t have time to attend the later service with his family. Oliver’s mother had just set her morning tea down at her place at the table, had chirped a cheerful, ‘I’ll get it,’ to her husband so he would know not to abandon their eggs on the stove. She wasn’t quite dressed yet, a robe tied tightly around her over top of her pajamas and her hair in a bun, which was no way to appear in public, but on Sunday mornings, the neighbors are often more forgiving of looks.
It was his mother breaking that woke Oliver up that morning. His mother, who always bore emotion with grace, dignity, silence. This was the sound of worlds ending, of life ceasing, of pain unrelenting. So inhuman and yet pure humanity fuels it, and no person wants to believe the possibility of it. Hearing it is torture, creating it is hell. And the sound terrified him, beginning the day with such an unholy wailing, the cry that brought to mind monsters and devils and demons. Despite the fear it struck through him, rather than petrifying him, it propelled him out of bed and up the stairs, barely taking the time to smooth down his hair slightly.
Everything hit him very quickly. A cop in the doorway, his mother absolutely sobbing at the officer’s feet, and his father crouched behind her, tears running shamelessly down his face, it it was all he could do to catch himself on the sofa as his legs gave out. The situation didn’t need to be explained: he knew what was happening. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, God, someone say he was wrong in his assumption, tell him he was reading everything incorrectly, let him be wrong, if anyone had any mercy at all, this wouldn’t be happening. Oliver didn’t here the police officer’s words, but he felt their meaning, and he felt himself ending. Surely, surely it was impossible to go on after this. Surely he wouldn’t have to, that he could just give up life to avoid having to mourn.
Penelope was dead, and there was nothing else in the world but that. Somewhere they had found her dead body, her corpse, the lifeless form of the sister that had been so alive and beautiful and whole the last he saw her. He thought back to their last photograph together, on the day she had turned eighteen, and how he didn’t know what she would look like now, couldn’t even imagine. For a long time, he couldn’t bear to imagine. And his mind was overloading again, and so he lowered himself down to the floor and let himself let go, tears choking him, the chanting in his mind slowly becoming, ‘Penny’s dead. My sister is dead.’
He couldn’t understand the words, but as his mother sobbed and Oliver felt himself falling to pieces, the police officer explained what they believed had happened, and though Oliver blessedly managed to miss the gorey details, missed the way she had been kicked and beaten beyond recognition, how they had needed dental records to identify her, how she had seemed to be abused for months...though Oliver missed these things, he somehow heard it when it was mentioned that she had been dead for three days--and three days before he had wished nothing more than to have her home. Somehow, in his mind, that made it his fault, and it just kept adding up, piling on top of him, crushing him, breaking him but never letting it end, why, God, couldn’t it just end?
There was very little retained in his mind over the next four days. He never got to see his sister again. There was a great amount of debate over when they would have the funeral, if she would be cremated, what was to be done with her things, all these things that should never have to be said of someone so loved, so young and so innocent. He paid little attention to it all; there wasn’t room inside him to hurt anymore. Eventually, you just fill up. Eventually, you have to stop letting more in.
He wanted to say goodbye, but his sister was in a jar. He wanted to die but his cancer was gone. He didn’t know how to want anything anymore because it all just hurt too much.
And so Oliver found himself on a Thursday afternoon sitting inside a sunshiney church, sitting between his mother and his cousin, a box of tissues in his lap and a too-big suit on his body, loose from all the weight loss in the past months. It was his fault, he killed his sister. He hadn’t been there to protect her, he had selfishly wanted her back and gotten her killed, he hadn’t died and so the world needed to restore balance to itself and took her instead. No matter what it was, he blamed himself, because maybe if he hadn’t fucked up so enormously, things could have been better than this. The only thing more constant than the buzzing in his head were the tears that would never dry up, and for that reason he didn’t even try. He didn’t stand up to sing with the crowd, didn’t recite the Creed or the Lord’s Prayer, didn’t speak a word.
After her initial breakdown, Oliver’s mother found herself able to remain silent and composed, bearing her tears elegantly. No one doubted her mourning and grief, and that was simply the way that Eloise dealt with her emotions. At her side, her husband punctured the quiet sanctuary with the blowing of his nose. The parents were emotionally together, and so everyone focused on the son, the brother.
Not that he had the care to, but it would have been impossible to count how many times someone had tried to divert Oliver’s mind from what had happened. They asked him about cancer and congratulated him on beating it and tried to make him less miserable, but never to any avail. He had had six months to learn to thrive in depression, and this new extreme just was one step more to get used to. Everyone had tried something, but it was never enough, and he used the funeral for his poor beloved Penny as an outlet in which to pour his damaged soul. He hadn’t said anything since he went to bed the night before he knew, and he didn’t intend to, not anywhere in the foreseeable future. At any rate, stopping the tears for long enough to get out a few words was a task that was close to impossible. This was easier, just letting it happen this way.
He didn’t talk and he didn’t let anyone touch him, because every bit of contact reminded him of the way she died, which he had learned over the past few days. How much it would have hurt her, to have her organs smashed and her bones shattered and her skull caved in...until it didn’t hurt anymore. How she must have screamed for help, for mercy, and how it never came... He was reminded every second that at one time, he could’ve been that murderer... And it reminded him of the tight embrace he had swept her into as she entered adulthood, captured in a photograph that now rested in the house that was no longer his home, that hadn’t been his home for six months...the photo he couldn’t contribute to the meager collection of photographs they had put up in memoriam...and what a sad phrase that was, in memoriam... They shouldn’t have had to be remembering Penelope. It should have been a reunion they were having, but now it was departure. She was gone from them, gone from the world, and after this church service, they would have nothing more than memories and a jar of ash.
No one minded the noise Oliver made. They understood.
Throughout the service, Oliver’s cousin whispered some of the the names or descritptions of people in the pews surrounding them. “Her kindergarten teacher is that lady in the green, Oliver. And her dance instructor is somewhere over there with her husband...” she had said, looking around when the moment seemed appropriate. She meant it make him feel less alone in this, to make him realize that she was loved and everything was going to be alright, but it was hard to say if he even reacted. “And...Oliver, I think that’s your boyfriend.”
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[/color] She hardly breathed the last word, cautious, though what she had to fear was unclear, as Oliver was already as big a wreck as he would ever be. And he turned to face where she was, backwards to the other side of the aisle and a few rows back, to look only out of the numbed curiosity of who it could be, because he knew Caleb would never be here... But he was, and seeing him felt like an emotional landslide that moved in every direction. He didn’t know how he could still feel it, given everything else he was feeling, but he did feel it, and the one second that they held eye contact before Oliver flinched back to facing forward burned beyond description.Everything was too confusing and painful. After the funeral, the group went out to the graveyard to bless her gravesite, which was only a marker, having no body to return to the ground. The pastor said prayers Oliver didn’t hear, and every person there was handed a rose of different colors to drop on the ground around the grave, and Oliver was certain he was the only person who knew that Penelope couldn’t stand roses. His rose was red, and he sat it on top of the engraved bird ornamenting the smooth stone. Though the last thing Oliver wanted to do was eat, he obediently allowed himself to be led to the funeral luncheon and, with his cousin’s assistance, made a plate of food from the food available to him, and picked at it for a few hours until most of the other people in attendance had already left. His food was cold, and he ate pieces of it until he couldn’t anymore. He felt eyes watching him and didn’t feel any less weary when there weren’t. He wanted to stop existing. They had intended to go home after lunch. His parents would seek comfort in each others’ arms, and Oliver would spend the minutes trying to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Life, that didn’t seem to ever want to end. Instead, he decided to tell his parents he was going back to Penny’s grave. Even if she herself wasn’t physically there, the idea of remembering her with a stone, something even more permanent than photographs, that was what he needed. And so he broke his silence streak, shook his cousin off his arm and told his parents he was going to walk back to the graveyard and talk to her. They understood, they always did. Eloise nodded slowly, asking quietly that he would call her when he intended to leave the graveyard. He promised he would, and then disappeared out the doors and walked back to the church. It wasn’t far; a few blocks at the most. When he found her, surrounded by roses, the tears that had stopped only long enough for him to eat quickly returned, enveloping him. “Penny, I’m so sorry.”[/color] He talked for an extremely long time, until he couldn’t think of any words left to say to his sister. He told her everything she had missed in the months since she was away, told her every thought and fear he had had for her, every moment he spent wishing for her and crying for her. And he told her about having cancer and how terrified he was and how he genuinely was glad to still be alive, but how hard it was to be glad when it had to be like this. He told her about Caleb and their falling out and all of the terrible things he had done and how deeply regretted them. And she was the first he had said any of this to, just like she often was in life. Oliver had always told Penny everything, and the thought of it ending was terrifying. Even if she couldn’t hear, he would always tell her. Eventually, though, he was talked out, exhausted from the effort of speaking while he was crying, and it was then that he began being upset by the choice of flower used for the funeral. Penelope hated roses; she said they were too romanticized, not grounded into reality deeply enough to be of any real value. She didn’t like the smell or the look and somehow Oliver was the only one that knew. Without stopping to think he was gathering them up in his arm, lacking much of an idea of what to do with them, when he heard a noise and turned around to find Caleb for the second time that day. Oliver had only seen his shoes and the bottom of his pants, and, were he in any mood to, Oliver could have been amazed and entertained by his ability to identify him with so little information, and even after all this time. But he was too numb to be impressed, too upset to even be a little happy to see him or at all curious as to what he wanted. He had no idea what to do, what to say, how to respond, and so he simply continued what he was working on, picking up flowers that she would have hated so much and sniffling back suppressed sobs. Oliver wasn’t afraid to cry in front of people, that was obvious, but now that someone was here, he was overly aware of how noisy he was being. He wanted to become invisible, and so he tried so desperately to be quiet. He couldn’t even wonder why Caleb was there because, in the grand scheme of things, Caleb was inconsequential. Oliver had lost his boyfriend six months ago. Even though Penny had been missing longer, this loss was new, it hurt so much worse. It eclipsed his heartbreak, being here at his sister’s grave site, and not even the presence of his boyfriend--Oliver never really could make himself add the ex- to the beginning--could change that. Caleb had left him alone for six months, ignored him for six months, and so Oliver knew how to deal with lacking his company, could even almost fake it when he really was there. It felt like something out of a storybook; kneeling on the frozen ground at the grave of family, haunted by the ghost of lost love and surrounded by the roses, the symbols of everything he had done wrong to get him there. He deserved this, he knew, but he just never realized how hard it could be, how hurt he could feel. Through his mind ran faces: the people at the funeral; the people that must be buried around him, long since forgotten by their descendants; the doctors he had spent months and months in contact with; Penny, all bruised and bloodied; Caleb behind him now and Caleb six months before, with anger in his eyes and bruises on his body; his parents with brows furrowed in concern for him as he spent six long months doing little else than hiding in the basement; his own face as he had been losing weight and then gaining the smallest portion back... How was it possible to feel so alone when he could never separate himself from people? Millions of people had cancer. Billions of people knew loss and heartbreak. He was never far from anyone, never more than a phone call away from a voice or a click away from someone’s typed words. Oliver wasn’t alone, he knew he wasn’t alone, but he felt so isolated. He himself could hardly understand his thoughts, his emotions. Expecting anyone else to would be asking too much. He just wanted it to stop hurting. That was all. And it just wouldn’t.[/div] Words: 4147 Notes: finally Tag: callie
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Jan 11, 2013 0:28:02 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240]Waking up in the morning was like dragging his mind from a deep fog. Those stories about the second of peace people have after a great tragedy, the seconds they forget everything that happened before it all comes crashing back, was not a pleasure Caleb could indulge in. Every morning he woke up, marked how long it had been, casually gauged his pain, put another X on the calendar and moved forward in his life. If you could call the grey existence Caleb lived moving forward. He did, for a fact. Who needed happiness, when you had money. Who needed love, when you had a bed to turn to at night. This morning was no different than the others. A soft ringing pulled Caleb from his slumber. He couldn't tell if he enjoyed sleep, or if he despised it. Sleep was a break from the real world, a second to not feel the pain. Or rather, to not bother with suppressing the pain so it wasn't there anymore. Caleb had always been good at ignoring pain, he'd just push it aside, dive down into his work., and move on. He was becoming so good at controlling pain that it honestly scared him. He was worried something horrible would happen, something truly devastation, and he would have an inappropriate response. Not like that hadn't happened once before.
It could always be worse though, Caleb told himself though. It could always be worse. He could deal with his problems with booze or drugs or sex, but no. He didn't have an addictive personality like that. Or, he a predisposed addiction, a place to run to when things were going wrong. Work had always been his balm, and Caleb never knew how bad it could be. The satisfaction of a job well done was better than a glass of whisky, it cured him of all ailments. Caleb never though it was bad, until now. Never really knew what missing was, until now. He didn't realize how much he'd thrown himself into his work, even before he'd gotten depressed. You didn't need binges and relapses and bruises to be addicted to something. He understood how a person could be miserable, sitting at home, waiting for your lover, endlessly waiting. It was exhausting. This was different, yes. Worse. But it entailed the same thing. A missing so deep it carved at your soul. Caleb had understood before how a second from his lover could feel like a life time, especially when things were going hard, when something wasn't quiet right. Worries festered, grew, blossomed. Caleb should understand that, he was a world class worrier. Like the opposite of a six year old though, he was surprised to find that others had the same thought processes as him. This missing, this endless sorrow and pining for something that he would never get back, brought everything into sharp relief. How he wished he could have spent more time with Oliver, any time, ever. He realized how stupid he had been, running to work even when things were good. He should have treasured every moment with Oliver. And it wasn't like he didn't, he did. The care that Caleb had for that man, the love, was so complete it was incomprehensible. But, it could have been more, it could always be more. If he ever cared, he wouldn't have kicked Oliver out in the first place.
What it boiled down to was this: Caleb hated himself. He hated the way he dealt with things, the rational he used, how every morning he still went to work and didn't try to deal. How he couldn't deal with things. He never had a real reason, either. So yeah, he kicked Oliver out because he was scared for his life. Oliver was dying, dying. It didn't matter if Oliver fucking killed him, Caleb should have gladly laid down his life for that man. He would have any other time. However, just because he was not disposed to deal with the fact that Oliver was dying, he kicked him out. Like an old toy that was starting to stop working, he just tossed it out of his life. It made him sick. He couldn't even do anything about it, couldn't fix it, couldn't very well go back in time but he also couldn't just call Oliver. That was what made it the worse. Caleb was sicked with himself and he couldn't do anything about it.
These were the thoughts piled in Caleb’s brain as he reached over to switch of his alarm. He had never needed more than one. His body was wired with such purpose, such drive, that once it woke up it knew it needed to stay up. A list of the things to be done would ramble of in his head and by the time he was eating breakfast, Caleb was no longer tired. He had no time for tiredness. When his alarm didn't turn of with the touch of his hand though, Caleb rolled over, glaring at the time. It was early, way earlier than his alarm should be going off. His mind kindly suggested that alarms did not ring. Caleb sighed, dragging himself out of bed, not taking the usual time to flatten out the sheets as he walked to the line in the hallway. Oliver and him had never had a phone in the bedroom. Perhaps, maybe, yes. For the first few months of them living there. After too any late night calls interrupting better things though, they moved it to the hall. It was easier this way. Caleb cut those thoughts of with an easy knife. He was very good at this now. “Hello?” he questioned with purpose, traces of sleep gone from his voice. He felt tired, but not terribly sore. Just bone weary, the weight on his shoulders dragging him down. “Good morning sweet heart. I don't want to take much of your time, but I need you to put on a nice suit and come here,” it was his mother, sounding like she was drinking her morning coffee. “Home? A suit? But why? Is everything alright?” Caleb suddenly got nervous, a suit meant business or something tragic. His mother sighed heavily on the other line. “I suppose not dear. I don't want to explain on the phone, can you just do this for me?” “Mom, are you okay? Tell me you're okay,” Caleb’s voice was rushed, hand tightening around the phone chord. “I'm fine honey, I swear. Nothings wrong. You just need to come here.” Caleb hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, I will,” Caleb sighed, hanging up his phone. He hadn't felt this much emotion in a while. Even the short conversation had him on edge, head spiralling He was not prepared to deal with anything else now. With something close to struggle, Caleb pushed his worry down, easing himself into routine. He got ready, showering and brushing his teeth and putting on one of his best suits, carefully eyeing each detail. The tie was the only thing that caused him problems, the knot tripping over his fingers. Six months of doing this, and he still couldn't do it right. He sighed with finality, ignoring the tingling behind his eyes, gathering his things and walking out of his house. Their house, he tried not to think. Oliver's house.
This was routine, back out of the drive way, carefully watch the road as he drove. Stop at the red lights, not blast through like he had seen in his head a thousand times. He could think about it, imagine careening the car off the sharp turn on the highway home, pulling into the opposite lane of traffic, stopping in front of that semi. Thinking about it was no problem, Caleb never actually went through with these thoughts. He followed the rules of the road to a key, arriving home and to work safe and sound every day. He was wired well, he supposed. Today he simply took a different route, ending up at his parents home. His mother was already outside, wearing a dark dress. She looked tired, lines under her eyes, body strained. Caleb hadn't seen her for a while, since Christmas. He'd opted to spend New Years alone, explaining to her that he had work to attend to. She had only accepted with a sad smile, waving him on his way. She barely greeted him as he got out of the car, telling him they had to drive somewhere. “What about work?” Caleb asked, always the dutiful man. His mother sighed. She had such a kind and efficient way to do things, much like her son, it was strange seeing her even the slightest flustered. “I've already called them and explained, you have the next few days off work,” “Are you going to explain to me?” Caleb was allowed to be short tempered. He was with his work buddies, when they tried to get him to come out with them. How many times did he have to say no? “Once we get in the car, come on now sweetie,” she got in the drivers seat with the persistence of a woman twice her age. A stubborn old fool she was turning into. Caleb sighed, dropping into her car, smoothing out his suit. She finally looked at him proper. Always with those eyes, those sad eyes. They seemed darker now, looking down to his tie and tutting softly. “You could never do these right,” she muttered, her hands shaking as she righted it slightly. Caleb took her fingers carefully, holding them, looking into her eyes. She frowned, shooing him away, and started the car.
His mother did not talk as they drove. This Caleb could barely work with. Usually when she talked to him Caleb could sense words hiding behind her words, other things she would rather be saying. His mother was a practical woman, but she was never one to make her son uncomfortable. The once she had tried to talk about Oliver, Caleb had shot her down to effectively she had not brought it up again. He didn't know it was only because she did not want to see him in such pain, such sorrow. What any mother wanted for her child was too be happy. Caleb knew his mother well enough that he would have to wait for her to speak, to tell him what was happening. They'd been driving for twenty minutes in silence before she sighed. Another five before she sighed again. “Caleb, dear, I don't know how to say this. I knew you wouldn't come, or, I thought you wouldn't come if I didn't tell you when we were already on the way there. It's better this way. I think he would have wanted it. This is so terrible,” she sighed again, and Caleb stayed silent, careful. He didn't know what was happening, and it was a horrible feeling. He had no idea what to expect, what to prepare himself for, but there wasn't much you could prepare for. “We're going to a funeral for Oliver-” and for a moment that was all Caleb heard.
For one second, his world crashed in around him. His body broke and he could feel it. The entire finality of his life coming before him. He was able to think rather easily that he would have liked to drive into that semi truck now before his ears picked up on the rest of her sentence “-for Oliver's sister.”
There should not have been relief there, there shouldn't have been. It was only a second, a brief thankful second before weigh of a different kind crashed on his shoulders. Penny, Penny was dead. Caleb could only stare forward blankly, feeling a soft shaking working inside his body. He didn't shake on the outside, he could only feel as if he were shaking while his body stayed completely numb. And all at once again, his world crashed around him, but so slow he could see the pieces tearing off.
The hatred came back with whiplash, burning Caleb right beside the sorrow. He could only think, he could only think of Oliver. His boyfriend, his love, his life. The one person who meant everything to Caleb, and how much pain he would be in. How much utter pain this would cause. And Caleb could do nothing to help, absolutely nothing He had separated himself so completely and utterly from Olivers life that he barely deserved to be going to this funeral. The only connection these two had was a scarred past and a house full of things that belonged to Oliver. Caleb deserved nothing of it. Once again he was struck with thoughts that if he'd care, he could be here for Oliver now. Now, though, he was the last person that should be going to the funeral. But his mother was already driving up to the church.
It was hard, now, to distinguish between the thoughts in his head. Caleb sat in a far back pew, hidden behind all the people there. His shaking had turned into a soft tremor at his spine, he couldn't tell if it was only interior anymore. His mother had wanted to go up closer to the front, but Caleb had fixed her with an iron grip, all but dragging her into the back. Not so far back that they were the last row, but far back enough that from the front, they were all but invisible. Caleb had already pulled her away from the front entrance, catching a short glimpse of a familiar female head. His mother had been right, when she had said he would not have come to the funeral. If only to avoid seeing him, seeing his family, a task Caleb had managed to achieve for the past six months. He felt extreme sorrow, but it was hard to connect it with Penny's death. It was a tragic thing, and he felt the sorrow connected with knowing the sorrow of others, but he struggled to find any in his own heart. It wasn't that he barely knew Penny for the fact that he rarely saw her. Only that he did not deserve to even mourn her. She was Olivers, and Oliver's only. Caleb couldn't mourn and get over it. He only deserved pain. He felt completely selfish, and honestly he was. He tried not to think about it, the love, the boy at the front of the church, the things that had happened. Here was not the place to be sorrowful for that sort of thing. It was hard to stop those thoughts though, after six months of letting them run rampant under the surface. Caleb found himself crying, though he refused to look at Oliver. He didn't know why he was crying, what was happening, but all he could feel was this burning anger, frustration. He never thought he could hate anyone.
And still, he couldn't look at Oliver. Not while the priest talked about Penny. He didn't listen to the words, he didn't want to. He stared at his lap, fingers shaking now, blocking off his thoughts. The one thing he knew for now, things were definitely over. He was quietly arranging a plan for a few months when he could call Olivers mother, get her to come over to the house, take Olivers things. He would sell the home, move somewhere smaller, maybe leave the town. Live alone, die alone, just as he deserved. After this, after everything, Caleb did not deserve Oliver back. He’d been putting off giving him back his things for he simple fact that it made it all too real. Well, how was this for real. Caleb snuffled, suppressing a sob, clutching his fists harder so his nails dug into flesh, trying to stop the crying. He looked up, desperate for distraction, some sense of sanity, and that was when his eyes touched Oliver.
He was so thin. He was drowning in his suit. Caleb could see if from here, even when Oliver was sitting down. His hair lacked luster, he seemed shrunk into himself. And yet, still, his heart soared so fully with love that it felt like it was bursting. The pain crushed at that too, clamping down like a bears trap, crushing him in all one moment. Oliver was there and Caleb was here and this was the closest they had been in six months. Yet, the furthest they had been. Eons separated the once couple. Though, Oliver was still his boyfriend. Caleb didn't realize the shaking had taken over his entire right hand, and that his mother took his fingers in hers, trying to soothe. Caleb was unaware for how long exactly he was staring at Oliver, tears drying on his face because they finally found trouble in falling. It was only when Oliver turned around, his big, soft eyes turning and meeting his, that Caleb snapped out of it. He ducked his head, knowing anyway that Oliver had seen him. Caleb stared at his lap. He didn't think about how sad Olivers eyes had looked. He hadn't thought about how it would have been to be sitting beside him, holding his hand instead of his mothers, lending Oliver what strength he was willing to take. Caleb wasn't good with dealing with death, but he knew the presence of a loved one was always appreciated.
It was by the pure will of Caleb’s mother that he was forced to attend the luncheon. He wanted to go home, he couldn't stand to be here. Couldn't he just go back to his menial existence, plod on with his life, get his affairs in order? He went with her, refusing the food and placing himself in a dark corner, keeping his head down, not moving an inch. No one talked to him. Instead, after an hour, Caleb found himself looking up and seeing a collection of photo's of Penny. He was surprised, not because they were there – they should have been – but how little there were. Knowing Oliver, that boy would take pictures of nothing, and a thousand of them to boot. Many of the pictures though, Penny was hiding her face, caught of guard, just a shadow of herself. Caleb remembered then Oliver explaining how she had hated camera's. Strange, since he loved them so. Oliver was holding a frame of the two of them, him holding her in a tight embrace. Her face was still hidden, regardless. Oliver explained how if you wanted a picture of Penny, you had to trap her. Even if you tried to sneak one, she would catch you. Caleb had never known Penny well, but had heard about her always from Oliver. The love he held for his sibling was obvious in the amount he talked about her. Caleb felt he knew her well that way. But he'd never really thought much over i. He assumed she'd had some deep seated problems, always running away. But it could also be a taste for adventure. What sane kid didn't want to get out of this town? Penny was just brave enough to realize it. She wasn't cruel, only independent, searching of her own freedom. Caleb knew how much Oliver cared for her, and he often ached for that type of bond in his life. The type of knowledge Oliver had, without having to even breathe to bring Penny up in a conversation. Love was like this, but not the same. Siblings shared something special, a kind of understanding that went back to diapers. Finally, Caleb could feel in his heart sorrow that could only be a margin of what Oliver felt, but what felt appropriate for him. It was that Penny was young, carefree, so lovely, and now she was gone. It was so final. Caleb didn't know how he hadn't caught onto this before, the finality of death, how much it connected too, how it would carry on into life. How he'd never get a chance to know Penny, and now of course he suddenly wanted too. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't such a bad person after all.
It was after a few hours that Caleb was permitted to drive with his mother home. He no longer felt like he was running now, his thoughts felt more at peace. He'd settled, barely, with the fact that he would have to accept the break up with Oliver. Perhaps this was the start of something good, some kind of closure. Though, that made it hurt worse, Caleb could feel a hole yawning in his chest. He refused to fall in though. He would rather let the pain eat away at him then go back to the grey, the numb, the fake. He could deal with that pain later though, today was a day for Penny, for Oliver. Caleb knew this much as he dropped his mother off.. They had barely talked, and she sent him on his way back home with assurances that she would be alright. Caleb still felt within himself a great sense of tasks left unfinished though, something wasn't right. He would have to talk to Oliver eventually. The pain that he was in now, though, Caleb knew it was not his place to interfere. But why give up? Or rather, why let things fall so easily into disrepair? He knew it was strange, he knew it was odd, but he ought to be able to talk to Oliver now. Not about the things he wanted to talk to him about, but at least offer his condolences. Caleb had forgotten that he'd given Oliver keys to the house, never considered what it had meant. He'd known Oliver would never come back without his permission, and Caleb had never given it. He'd stayed strong, tried to rationalize. In the end, it added up to fear. Fear to talk things out, face conflict, deal with responsibility. Work responsibility Caleb could handle, that had routine, an ease to its step. Emotional responsibility though, that was tough, messy, not as easy. Caleb could as easy hurt someone as help him. So, he never tried, out of fear. He could learn though, what hurt. He was such a damned coward.
Caleb still returned to their home, his body still shaking with thoughts. He no longer felt bone weary, but the ache of depression called to him. Nothing had been resolved save for his own mind. Caleb had to force himself from his work, not to go back to old habits. If he went to work, he'd be drawn back again by the ease of the familiar. That was not what he wanted. So, instead, he sat himself on the couch. It was strange to think six nights ago he had sat in this same place, crying over a man he thought he would never see again. Things were much the same, now, but he felt...not more complete, but more at ease. Caleb wasn't sure if he was insane or not. It was possible that his mechanisms to deal with pain were back in place. It just felt silly to ruminate on such thing. Caleb was a man of purpose. He needed to learn to be a man of compassion, as well.
As before, Caleb was unaware of how long he sat on the couch in their home. The shaking had reduced to internal once more. He didn't realize he wanted to cry save for the soft water lining his eyes. It would not fall, but it was there. It was hard to tell what it meant, though. As with before, he was looking at a picture of Penny. The very one Oliver had been talking about so very long ago. Must have been over a year, placing that picture on the coffee table, among tangles of others. Oliver loved pictures, he had to as a photographer. He told Caleb he loved the moments they captured as well, but not just that, peoples personalities as well. Pictures could catch a certain feeling, the exact one you were holding in that moment, and carry it across time. A simple visual image that could do so much. Caleb was busy thinking he had no place, having this picture. Now, more than ever,he knew Oliver deserved this picture. But before, as well. Caleb should not be one to hold onto things that were not his out of fear. Out of habit, Caleb was drifting back to his purpose, storing away his pain, but the edges still shone raw. He only knew right now, his pain was not as important as Olivers. Oliver came first, he always should, Caleb had to take care of his love. He knew then what he had to do, but first, he had to wait.
Caleb didn't know how he knew this, but he was certain that Oliver would still be at the graveyard. It was fascinating, how he knew. He hadn't seen Oliver stay behind. He should have thought Oliver would be with his parents. For how long they had been together though, Caleb knew Oliver better than that. However, Caleb waited, because he knew Oliver would also need private time. He was half delusional by this point, running off pure will and love alone. This was a madman’s journey. Caleb did not mark how much time had passed, simply after he felt it had been long enough, he walked himself back into his car, backed out of the driveway, and drove himself to the church. It was not safe that he was going back to the grey, but sometimes, it was needed. Caleb parked at the church, his fingers shaking, breathing ragged. His thoughts were catching up to him.
What right did he have to be here again? What right did he have interrupting Olivers life? His part in it was over. He was not a man to comfort Oliver anymore. Just as he had no right to have the picture, he had no right to have come back to the graveyard. He'd left already, he should not be back. That was the finality of it. However, Caleb was not satisfied with not talking to Oliver. With avoiding him with such skill they only shared once glance. The partial and small closure Caleb had felt deserved to be felt by Oliver as well. He propelled himself forward by this thought, only stopping dead when he was by Oliver and the grave of his deceased sister.
He'd never seen anything more depressing in his life. His boyfriend, gathering roses by the grave, Caleb could hear his snuffled sobs. Snuffled, he knew, because Oliver was trying to suppress them. Oliver seemed to notice him, stopping in his tracks for one moment, but continuing on after that, and they were in a strange little moment. Caleb was consumed with thoughts. The fact, one, that Oliver had to try and suppress his crying. Caleb knew Oliver to be an open crier, always. Their past prevented that now. And perhaps Oliver didn't want Caleb to know he was suffering, even if it were entirely appropriate. Caleb wished he could stop Oliver, take his hand, pull him into his arms. Caleb knew that Oliver would fit easily, would fall easily if the situation was right. Caleb might not be able to offer much, but he could offer a smidgen of comfort. He knew how much Oliver was suffering, and could only hope to take a little away. Even that was crazy, it wasn't that. It was a simple offer to be there, always. Too bad Caleb had broken that months before. Now he was stuck standing on the sidelines, watching Oliver pick up roses. It took him all this time to figure out what he was doing.
“...” Caleb opened his mouth, and closed it just as fast. Ollie he'd been about to say, the comforting words of a lover. He had no right to call him by that name, felt wrong even saying that name. He ducked his head down, seeing a rose at his feet. White, like the one he'd been given. He swooped down, picking it up, examining it in his fingers. His hands were shaking again, the leaves trembled in his grasp. “Penny hated roses.” Three words, simple, neat. Caleb thought he'd croak out words, but they were clear. He didn't know why he said them. But if he remembered anything about Penny, it was her distinct hatred for the flower. Why no one else but Oliver, and he, knew that was strange. Funeral homes probably didn't pay attention to those details. Caleb wasn't looking at Oliver, to see his reaction to any of this. “I brought you something. Her something,” Caleb spoke again, shifting his gaze only to look at the grave. He walked the few feet to it, and settled down the polished frame holding the picture of Oliver and Penny within upon the grave. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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holy hippopotamus does it feel good to post these two again even with all the sorrow going around <3
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jan 13, 2013 22:35:24 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Oliver didn’t even question how Caleb had found him here. They had been together long enough to know each other well. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Caleb had the ability to know where he was at any given time. They’d had that once, the closeness. The connection. Now...Oliver didn’t know. And yet Caleb had found him.
When Caleb spoke, the closest thing Oliver could compare to what it made him feel was if, perhaps, he had been sentenced to death by stoning. It was like he was being physically hit, he was almost sure he would wake up tomorrow with bruises from everything that was bombarding him all at once. And he knew that what he was feeling was strictly emotional, but maybe he just didn’t have enough room to feel more emotional pain. Maybe now it was simply leaking over. He didn’t know that was possible, but it didn’t surprise him.He wasn’t sure if anything would surprise him at the moment. Oliver could almost visualize the shattering of the wall of six months in silence. Caleb’s tiny words had crept through the cracks and tore the whole damn thing down, and shards flew at him and cut tiny holes in him. He almost wanted to duck away, to avoid all of the debris, but instead he remained still, accepting the blow. Six months of silence was an endlessly long time. Six months was so long to be away from someone he loved so much, to never hear their voice or see their face or be able to touch their skin and suddenly all of that was different. He could now, if he dared.
It just tore him up so much. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Because, here at the grave of his sister, how was he supposed to be happy that Caleb was here with him again, just like he’d been dreaming since they were separated? How could he celebrate that when he was hurting so much about everything else? And anyway, was it really anything to celebrate? If Caleb wanted him back, he would have said something before. Six months was too long of a wait, Oliver should have known it was hopeless anymore. Caleb was probably here to...to...just give him his condolences. Or something. Something that wasn’t worth getting excited about, something that wasn’t even really worth starting to talk again. Everyone was always so sorry for a loss, but what about when they were in the process of losing? When Penny had run away this time, Caleb didn’t take it seriously. Couldn’t he see how it was hurting him? Thoughts like that had torn Oliver up for ages, and now they were just looping back, making him wary of accepting Caleb’s presence. And hearing Caleb’s voice now, it just reminded him so much of the last time. ‘And I don’t care, Oliver. I really don’t. I think it’s best if you just leave.’ Six months, and those words still haunted him every day. Six months and those were the only words that he could remember.
But he remembered. Caleb remembered something that it felt like no one else knew, something about Penny. Caleb didn’t know Penny, he’d only really met her three or four times because she was always either busy somewhere else or on the run from her life. And that meant he had listened when Oliver was talking about her, he was listening and caring and learning and remembering and it meant so much to him, even if it was Caleb, even if Caleb had hurt him so desperately with his silence and his apathy for half a year.
Why did he choose to talk now, and why did he choose those words? But most importantly, did it matter to Oliver why? It was impossible to say.
‘Penny hated roses.’ It was so simple, just three little words, six syllables, an elementary sentence. But it hurt him in a hundred different ways.
It shouldn’t have been past-tense. Penny shouldn’t have been a was or a used to or a hated. If there was anyone who deserved to live, why couldn’t it be her? So full of life, barely an adult, barely out of high school, not knowing anything of the beauty in the world. And now it was too late. Somewhere along the lines, all that potential had been drawn out of her and left her as nothing more than ash. Ashes. Anything could become ashes. Wood from the fireplace and charcoal from barbeques and papers destroyed to keep a secret. And roses. Roses, he was sure, would burn just like anything else. It just wasn’t fair, that his beautiful sister, his glorious Penny Bird, would become of as little value as the waste left behind. What could anyone do with ash? Nothing, nothing, she had become worthless in her death. And it made him wonder if she had ever felt anything besides worthless in life. He should have told her more often how much she meant to him. Somehow, this was all his fault.
‘Penny hated roses,’ Caleb had said, and Oliver found himself replying. “Yeah, she does. Did. Fuck. Did. She fucking hated them and now they’re all over and she’d be so pissed at me for not telling them not to get roses but I didn’t even think of it, yanno? I was just. I had so many other things happening in my mind but I should have paid attention, right? Because this mattered, all the other stuff in my head would still be there after the funeral but no I fucked this up and now she’s going to hate me and--and she’s not even alive to hate me she can’t feel anything anymore because she’s fucking dead oh God.”
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[/color] Ignoring the flowers draped over his arm, he reached up with both hands and pulled at his hair, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. It stung, thanks to the tears making almost permanent residence there, but he didn’t care, it wasn’t like it hurt more than anything else at the moment. “I keep thinking it’s my fault.”[/color] It didn’t make sense to blame himself, Oliver knew that. It had been Penny that left the house, Penny that chose to surround herself with those she surrounded herself with. Where the line was drawn between a willingness to stay and being held hostage was different, but even still, he couldn’t have done anything. He hadn’t let her get taken on his watch, her disappearance wasn’t his fault. At any rate, he was living his own life at that time; he had his own house and his own boyfriend and his own job and eventually, eventually one has to stop focusing on the life their little sister is living. And he did know this, and he accepted that as true, but he still kept thinking, ’You should have done better.’ It was impossible to say what he could have done better, but there had to be something. He knew he failed her, he knew he had done something wrong, and so he knew that he had killed her. It was that simple. He put his hands down after a few deep breaths, simply because there were flowers covering his lap and he was too aware of Caleb there watching him. He remembered in the funeral service, the way Caleb had looked when Oliver met his gaze, how he had turned away, afraid to even look at him. And yet here he was, barely a few feet behind him, and Oliver just didn’t know why. He wished he could understand something, why Caleb was here or why roses or why Penny had had to die or why he couldn’t stop fucking crying. It didn’t even make sense, that he could still have any water left in his body with which to make tears. What was even left inside him, anyway? With all the weight he had lost, it was a marvel he was still even moving around. Maybe that was why he felt so empty these days. When Caleb started talking again, saying that he had brought something for him, Oliver found it extremely difficult to care. What could he possibly have for him that would make anything go away? Give him booze or pills or drugs and everything he had gone for six months without, and what would that do? He’d realized in the time since he’d last done anything like that that it doesn’t do anything about the problem, just makes the awareness of it somewhat blurred. Then again, maybe that was what he needed. Some kind of distraction. Even still, Caleb wouldn’t bring him drugs. Caleb was always trying to make him stop; it made it ironic that he finally did when Caleb was no longer around. And so Oliver couldn’t imagine anything that would matter to him now, anything that could possibly mean enough to him to make it worth coming out to him here. But he elaborated, ‘Her something,’ and suddenly it became valuable. He knew it from the frame. How many times had he walked past it, only to be put into a better mood? The picture made his house with Caleb feel more like home. Oliver was nostalgic, sentimental; he needed a piece of his childhood inside the house of his adulthood, and that had done it so perfectly. Now, though, the sight of it made him sick. Not because he didn’t want it, because God, he might have been happier to see that picture than to see Caleb, but the realization that that had been the last he had ever seen her. There had been that day and none other. And there would never be another. Seeing this so clearly made him sick. Part of him wanted to be able to say this, to warn Caleb, ‘I’m going to throw up, before it happened, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was, “Thank you,”[/color] almost choking or stuttering or whispering or something, it was hard to say. Maybe his hearing was just distorted because he was so clogged up with tears. If only it was possible to know where this was going to go. He didn’t know what would hurt more: Caleb staying or Caleb leaving. Everything was so complicated and he just didn’t want to deal with it because his sister was dead and surely that was enough suffering at one time? Not knowing what to do now, Oliver went back to putting all the flowers in one pile, this time beside him instead of on top of him. His head was spinning, and doing menial tasks would relax him. At least, that’s what he told himself. If he could just do something about the flowers, then maybe he could be forgiven for something, and then maybe he wouldn’t have to live with that guilt. Yeah. And then he and Caleb would magically fix everything. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Things weren’t going to get better.[/div] [/center][/div][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Jan 14, 2013 21:52:25 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240]It shouldn't have been like this. Caleb shouldn't have been wishing that he knew Penny better, spent more time with her, just so that he could condole Oliver. So that he could understand a little bit of the pain, so he could share it somehow. It was more than simply wanting to make Oliver feel better though, he knew Penny was important. It was easy to be sad about the pain Oliver was in, but it was a different story to be sad about the death. Caleb didn't know how to be sad about death, because there was no fixing that. And that was all Caleb wanted to do, was to fix things. He needed to realize somethings couldn't be fixed though, or rather not quickly. The only balm for this was time. Time and comfort with a huge dash of understanding. But, without knowing it, Caleb would now have given all the time in the world, just to see Oliver smile again. He couldn't even remember when he'd seen Oliver smile last, not even in the last bit of their relationship, things had been so messed up. He should have realized then that something was very wrong. Caleb had been too busy running away though.
He also realized too late that because Penny had been so important to Oliver, she should have been as important to Caleb. They should have been like family, and yet they were not. It was hard, yes, because she was rarely home. It was harder still because Caleb knew he was slightly jealous of their bond. It wasn't that Penny was stealing part of Olivers affection, Caleb wasn't so petty. It was simply because he could never have anything like that for himself. He had always desperately wanted for a sibling, and seeing Oliver with Penny only compounded that. When he was at Olivers parents house with him and his sister, he could only watch them as they joked and fought and still there was so much unconditional love there. So perhaps it was not jealousy but envy he experienced. Now that he was here with Oliver and his dead sister, he couldn't even say anything, draw from anything to compare to what Oliver must feel like. The only thing he could think of that could be half as painful as loosing a sibling was your dick bag boyfriend kicking you out when you had cancer, and Caleb had been on the giving end of that pain. His pain over loosing Oliver was a pinprick compared to everything he was going through currently.
It wasn't even fair that he was here now. He knew Oliver was grieving over Penny and his boyfriend was the last thing on his mind, but the added tension and confusion wasn't fair. Caleb couldn't bring himself to leave though. He had been planning on doing something (though he couldn't think what) to settle things with Oliver. Seeing him here though, kneeling before the grave of his sister, weakened his resolve. He could never give up on Oliver, no matter how much Oliver hated him. All he could think of was the fight they'd had before things had gotten really bad. When Penny was first missing, and how Caleb had dismissed it. He shouldn't have done that, he should have been as concerned as Oliver was. Even if it were just for the fact that Oliver had been in distress. That should have been enough. It took six months to realize just how self centred and idiotic Caleb could be. He had been so sure that Penny would have come back, happy and healthy like before. She knew how to get herself out of trouble, Caleb thought. He was far too optimistic, things always went easy for him. But, who could have thought this would happen? And Caleb wished he had the reason and the right to comfort Oliver somehow. But he could never do that now.
Hearing Oliver ramble like that broke Caleb’s heart all over again. Seeing Oliver hurt was enough, but hearing it too was absolute torture. He couldn't even say anything, he couldn't assert that it wasn't Olivers fault – because it wasn't – because it wouldn't help. It didn't matter that Oliver had nothing to do with the death, he would still place the guilt on himself. Caleb had realized a lot in the past six months, and a good portion of that was how Oliver worked. He'd known it before, subconsciously and perhaps not well enough though. He just wanted to take Olivers hands in his own, whisper soft words, fix everything, and it would magically be better. Instead he sighed, looking across the empty graveyard. “She wouldn't even appreciate the sentiment. People should take the time to get things right, it shouldn't be anyone’s responsibility. Penny would take these roses and burn them, one by one,” Caleb sounded angry, his voice raw. He wasn't sure how he felt. Cheated, angry, determined, alone. So many things and only half of it made sense. “No one could ever hate you Oliver,” he added the words, spoken softly, his gaze drifting back to the thin man.
Seeing his love, his boyfriend kneeling there only made Caleb think how one day he thought they were going to get married. They lived together, it was the next logical step. After so long, it just became an unspoken fact between them, it was only just when it would happen was the question. Caleb had no reason to wait, only that he needed to find the right moment. It already felt so much, before, that they were family. It felt pointless then, to ask Oliver to marry him. They had their life to settled, so surrounded by the other. Caleb's life always circled Olivers, but that was love. Oliver came first in everything he did, and his opinions were weighed heavier than any others. It was just as natural as breathing, to take Oliver so swiftly into his life like this. Now though, now it was like Caleb could no longer breath. He didn't know how to talk to this man, this broken shell of what he used to be.
He heard the soft thanks given to him from Oliver, choked from somewhere deep down inside of him. Caleb had no idea how to feel about the words, he couldn't even manage to feel good about doing something right. He only hoped to give Oliver back what was rightfully his. Perhaps then Caleb owed Oliver his life as well, or something to that measure. It was then that Caleb realized that he ought to be careful for more than hurting Olivers feelings. It felt stupid to think of now, with how broken and little Oliver was that he could still abuse him. Would it even be abuse? They were no longer together, though Caleb refused to think that. Oliver was always little and always able to overpower Caleb. The usual fear and hurt that rose in the event of any abuse from his lover was absent. He, more than ever, deserved it now. He'd had false pretences before that he'd deserved it. When he had told his friend Jon about this, about what happened, Jon had spent half that night convincing Caleb he had never deserved anything Oliver had done to him. And now he believed it. He'd never done anything but love his boyfriend. Yes, he'd run away, but he'd had good reason too. Not to break up with Oliver, but to be cautious with him. Now though, he had no reason to run. He only simply deserved it if Oliver would hit him. What he would give, just to be slapped by Oliver again. At least it would be some sort of physical contact.
Caleb knelt down, near Oliver, close enough to touch. Did he dare though? Never, not now, and that hurt the worst. Where before Caleb would have never hesitated to pull Oliver into his arms, now he knew he could not do just that. It hurt so much. He was sure Oliver wouldn't react if Caleb were to touch him, even if it were accidental, but that was just worse than if he did react. Caleb could only dream of the nights Oliver would curl into his arms, pressing a smiling kiss against his lips. Oh, what it was to kiss Oliver, to remember when they had started dating how bad Oliver. Caleb wished these memories were still funny and didn't rip at his heart instead. He regretted every moment of apathy he'd fallen through, every moment of possibility he'd let slip past him. Those six months, he should have been working to get Oliver back.. That was the thing though, he'd kicked him out in the first place. Oliver didn't need to come crawling back to him, Caleb didn't even deserve that. He examined the rose in his fingers, crouched on the ground, and plucked a petal off with nimble fingers. “There's too many petals on these things,” he said softly, tugging at another one, letting them drop and float in the cold wind. “It takes to long to get it down to the core, the basics. It's too complicated,” his fingers plucked at the petals, careful of the intricate way in which they overlapped. When pulling petals off roses, even when you had gotten the larger outside ones off, the petals shrunk smaller and smaller until you got to the very centre, a simple collection of seed and pollen stems. It would take a long time to get down to that point however. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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click me click me you horrible human i love you so much.
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jan 15, 2013 20:11:51 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
So many of Oliver’s thoughts lately had been about deserving. How Penny hadn’t deserved to die, how she hadn’t done anything that would have elicited her tragic end, how her actions could never have added up to something that needed a punishment like this. Penny was good, pure, innocent; maybe there was something wrong with her, maybe she didn’t think about things the right way, maybe she did push the limit and take risks, but that was how she was. Being adventurous was never a sin, and wanting to see the world shouldn’t have killed her. She just didn’t deserve this. It was unfair, and, more than anything, that was why he was angry and sad and feeling hopeless. If there was some force in the world that would dare to steal the life from someone like Penelope, what hope was there for anyone else? She, of all people, didn’t deserve this.
And his parents didn’t deserve this, to have to bury their daughter so soon after rejoicing in the fact that they wouldn’t lose their son. They didn’t deserve to lose all the milestones of having a grown up daughter. They would never see Penny off to college or watch her graduate. There would be no delighted phone call when her true love proposed. His mother would miss out on taking her baby wedding dress shopping, his father would never walk his little girl down the aisle, they’d never get to delight over her baby bump or hold the child she brought into life. They didn’t deserve to be deprived of these things. Oliver only wished he could fix it, make up for something, solve the problem, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be son and daughter. There was nothing to be done to alleviate their loss.
In some ways, their lack of guilt in the matter made him more sure it was all him. Somewhere along the lines of addiction, abuse, and challenging death itself by fighting off the cancer, there had been some kind of crack. He had overstepped, and life got fed up with him. But instead of punishing him directly, instead of just letting him die, there was a twist, and instead they decided to torment him. Death was too easy an escape; this pain would never end. Maybe one day it would get easier, maybe he’d start to forget just how bad it was, but he would never have a sister again. From his twenty-third birthday onwards, he would be an only child. He’d never have nieces or nephews, not unless he married someone with siblings that had children, and after the tragedy that was his last relationship, he knew that would never happen. He lost more than a sister that day, just like his parents lost more than their daughter. He lost memories that could have been made. He lost the confidant and the source of happiness and a beautiful subject for photography. Penelope wasn’t just Oliver’s sister. She was so much more than that, and now so much more than that was lost from him. And he supposed he deserved it. This had to be someone’s fault, and it might as well be his. He’d take all the blame, any punishment the world could offer, if he could only have his Penny back. What else did he have to lose? Nothing.
Oliver didn’t know what to do because he didn’t know what he wanted. The only thing that could have made him better was some act of God, something to turn back time and this time bring Penelope home safely instead of in the jar their mother had carried home until they decided when and where to scatter her ashes. What a terrible, hideous thought; scattering a person. If they hadn’t been completely incinerated first, it would be an atrocious thought, something saved for serial killers and psychopaths. But after her death, they had turned her into something less than human, and it was less than cruel to consider keeping her in a jar until they could throw her out to the wind. It made him sick, but only because he couldn’t let go of the wish for her to be alive. Maybe if he knew how to accept her death, he could maybe see it as something beautiful, being able to become a part of nature that way. Maybe she could become part of the soil that grew a tree, or a riverbed that felt the cool stream wash over it for all of eternity. She could become something beautiful in death as she had been in life, and were it possible for him to think that way, Oliver would have appreciated it. But now all he could think of was how the had had to cremate her, how there was no alternative because she was so damaged in death. That thought, the Penny bird with broken wings, it killed him.
And so what could he want? He wanted to wallow in his misery forever, but he wanted the pain to stop. He couldn’t have both, and it seemed unlikely that he would ever have either. Loss was so agonizingly infinite.
Caleb talking about what Penny would have thought of the flowers could have made him angry. Oliver was within his rights to get angry with Caleb. How dare he come back like this, watching Oliver mourn his sister, someone Caleb himself had hardly known, and then expect it not to be upsetting? But Oliver wasn’t angry, not really. It meant something that Caleb was there, that he was trying to relate, trying to make conversation. And so he tried to play along, but talking was so difficult, and not just because of the crying.
“I--yeah. That sounds like Penny,”
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[/color] he said, closing his eyes and tracing the engraved letters on the headstone in front of him. P-e-n-e-l-o-p-e E-l-i-z-a-b-e-t-h C-a-- No, it hurt too much, he couldn’t finish. He pulled his hand away, looking beside him and picking up a rose and using it to occupy his hands. He pressed a finger against a thorn slowly, just to see how much he could stand, if he even felt it at all. It didn’t draw blood, didn’t even break skin, but eventually he tossed it down, not wanting to have the power to hurt himself. How many times in the past months had he had thoughts like that? He wasn’t going to cater to them. And oh, there was Caleb, being his same charming self, selfless and sweet and so impossible to be angry with, but he was so naive, so beautifully pure and unknowing. Oliver didn’t know what Caleb wanted any more than he knew what he himself wanted, and the words didn’t help to enlighten him. Maybe Caleb was trying to get back on Oliver’s good side--as if he had ever been somewhere else--or maybe he was just saying what he thought was the truth. But it was ridiculous, so ridiculous, how-- No one could ever hate you, Oliver, and it was so funny, so funny because it was so untrue. And he laughed, hollow and humorless and only for a moment, but a laugh nonetheless. Something cold, but not directed at Caleb for saying them, only towards the words and the sheer enormity of how wrong they were. “I could--”[/color] he said, without anything resembling hesitation. He knew this much. “--I do. After everything I...”[/color] After all the ways I fucked everything up, how am I supposed to not hate myself? He just couldn’t understand, couldn’t fathom how Caleb in any part of his mind could believe that Oliver was entirely unhateable. He’d done everything wrong. Every moment of silence between them felt like an eternity. It made him wonder how they had ever spent six months apart. Yet even now, they weren’t really together. They were still separated by some indestructible wall, even with their wall of silence broken. There were still too many things left unsaid, too many problems ignored and too many fights pushed to the side. Eventually, it built up between them, causing this rift. Oliver didn’t have the energy to fight it. He was going to let the wall stay there, at least for now. Caleb was there, and Oliver didn’t care. He didn’t mind it and he didn’t want it. He could stay there for as long as he pleased and it would never make any difference. At least, that was what he thought until Caleb got so much closer to him. And then it felt like magnets; not even necessarily a strict attraction to him, but just this energy between the two of them. In that moment, Oliver wanted nothing more than to be held, he hadn’t realized he’d been craving it before, but he would’ve given almost anything. And yet...and yet there were six months--maybe more--of hurt between them, six months of walls and regrets. Six months of having no one to hold him while he cried, no one kissing away his tears or brushing his hair back and telling him it would be okay. Without having that for so long, Oliver didn’t even know if he could have it anymore, if he deserved it, if he would receive it if he asked, and especially when it came to Caleb. It really depended on which way they allowed the poles of the magnet to face. Whether they were willing to try, whether they wanted to be close to each other again, or whether they’d rather just turn the magnet around and continue being separate forces, repelling one another until they were so far apart that they had no effect on each other anymore. What did he want, could he even decide? His head felt foggy and dizzy. He didn’t know it was possible to feel all these things at the same time. Caleb’s voice seemed to relax him somewhat. Talking about nothing, about stupid, insignificant flowers, about tearing apart something Penny had hated, that was soothing, because it was so much less emotional than anything else Oliver could think about. He watched the petals float from Caleb’s fingers, trying to lose himself in the way they fell to the ground or got caught in the January breeze. Clearing his mind, though, only allowed for new things to come in, some sort of hidden significance in Caleb’s words. It’s too complicated. Too many petals, too complicated, takes too long to get down to the core. He couldn’t stand finding deeper meaning in it, he needed something shallow, he needed a break from the crying so he could find his breath, stop from drowning himself in the constant stream of tears. “I’m clean, you know,”[/color] he said, bringing up the first subject he could think of that wasn’t already hanging around them. “Of everything. The cancer’s gone and I haven’t drank or done drugs or anything since...for a long time.”[/color] Perhaps not the easiest subject, not the best thing to be talking about here at the grave of his sister, but it was something different, something not so dangerously close to acknowledging how complicated their relationship was. If they didn’t move too deep into the conversation, Caleb could just be happy for him, for getting through the cancer and staying away from everything. But then again, if they continued talking that way, they would stray into other territories; how the cancer and the drugs had torn them apart in the first place. Almost instantly he started regretting even bringing it up. And then he broke again, realizing he couldn’t even talk to Caleb anymore, someone he loved so much and knew so well and wanted back more than anything in the world. “It’s so fucking complicated, Caleb,”[/color] he said, pulling at his hair again, tears spilling heavily down his cheeks. Even through it all, even as much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't stop dwelling on how good it felt to be speaking his name again, to speak to him again, Caleb, whose name he had tried in vain to forget. “I can’t handle this. Fuck, I can’t deal with anything.”[/color][/div] Words: 2027 Notes: cannot even
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Jan 18, 2013 21:47:06 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240] There was always so much love between Caleb and Oliver. It was so obvious, just in the way they acted, the way they breathed. If they were together, there wasn't a moment that one wasn't touching the other, even if it was a soft brush of fingers as one handed something to the other. They gravitated towards one another, always. Caleb didn't know how he could breathe without Oliver, could live without the man always by his side. It was so wrong then, to be sitting here with him, so quiet and calm. After six months, which was something of one hundred and eighty days apart, Caleb should have been clambering to be with Oliver again, be able to attach himself to him. Even if he was the one to break up with him – though he still refused to call it that – he should have been the one trying to get Oliver back. Six months was far too long, he knew that. He'd told Oliver he didn't care, those words echoed in his head everyday. However, he didn't know how much they could have hurt Oliver. He'd said it in a pit of desperation, in a mass of confusion. He didn't know how he felt. It was all conflicting in his mind. Even as he'd said the words, I don't care he knew that he did. He wanted to help Oliver, he wanted to be there for him, pull him through the cancer. He only felt unable to due to the circumstances Oliver had put him in. So, he was forced to lie, unknowing of the pain he would cause in the future. Caleb never thought Oliver would believe him, because he thought his love of the man was etched into every inch of his being
That was why it hurt so much, when Oliver said he hated himself. Because it was like injuring a part of Caleb, a more important part of Caleb than Caleb himself. He would always hold others higher than himself, and especially those like Oliver. When Caleb loved, he loved with his entire being, mind and soul. There wasn't an inch of him that still wasn't in love with Oliver Cardinal, and there never would be. What was worse was Caleb could empathize with the feeling, because he hated himself with such passion. Or that passion could have been bred from the lack of emotion Caleb had over everything else. As he tried to tell himself on a daily basis, at least. The thing was, Oliver didn't deserve that. He did not deserve hate from anyone, much less himself. Caleb didn't even understand how Oliver could hate himself. Yes, he had done some stupid shit in the past, but it wasn't his fault necessarily. Caleb had never known what got Oliver into the drugs, and the drugs had lead to the cancer, and the cancer had lead to the beating. Caleb had never blamed Oliver, he had been more scared and confused. Though of course, this was hypocritical. He had no idea what made Oliver abuse him, if it were the cancer or if some part of Oliver that really did hate him, and he couldn't live with that thought. More so, that thought meant he didn't trust Oliver, and trust was essential in a relationship. It had just been a whirlwind of emotion, and Caleb had sought the only way he could see to solve it. It was just coincidence that the solution involved him completely excommunicating Oliver from his life.
“Ollie,” the word came out choked, as Caleb struggled to breath. He'd refused to call Oliver that name, think it, breath it. Simply because while Oliver was his name and it hurt to think of that, even if he refrained from saying it, he was referring to Oliver. However, Ollie, that was Caleb’s name. Caleb had been the only one allowed to call Oliver that, and that meant something. This was the first time he'd shown a shard of emotion, as he felt water crawling to the corner of his eyes. He refused to cry though. He wasn't allowed to cry, just as he was not allowed to mourn. This was not his to mourn. He blocked out the emotions he felt warring in his chest, poking spears and arrows through his heart regardless of what side they were on. Oliver did not deserve to see Caleb cry, see how much he hurt. Caleb didn't want Oliver to feel worse, though Caleb wasn't sure that a show of emotions would make Oliver feel worse. He had no idea how Oliver felt about him. There was also the fact that Caleb was not a publicly emotional man. Born from his emotional insecurity and a career of needing to hide his emotions, it was always hard to display any emotion. Thus, possibly, the lack of empathy he felt he was able to show. He shoved his emotions so deep down they were hard to find again. Oliver, though, Oliver was the only one who Caleb let himself cry in front of, bared his heart too. It took a bit of time, months of careful treading, but Caleb had finally become comfortable with telling Oliver about his emotions. Yet still, he never told Oliver everything. It wasn't out of mistrust, but his belief that his problems didn't matter. And they honestly didn't, when Oliver was around. All his problems melted away.
Now though, here they all were, staring him straight in the face. The words Oliver had said, that was what made him so emotional, to suppress a hiccup of emotion. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. There was happiness, yes, happiness in the worst kind of situations. Pride too, but also regret. He felt selfish that it could be possible that he could think this would automatically get them back together, everything would better. It wasn't just that though, Caleb knew the dissolution of the cancer, the drugs, of everything did not guarantee anything. He felt dispirited to know that he could not celebrate this fact with Oliver. This was such an odd circumstance, that he couldn't share joy with him. There was such a rift between the two, and Caleb wasn't sure if he could fix it. It was why, when he got his promotion at his job, he had felt no joy. Because without Oliver there to share it with, the joy had no real point. “I'm glad,” he said very quietly, the words strange coming out of his mouth at a grave site. Honestly, he didn't know what else he could say to that. That he was proud, that he'd wished he could be there for Oliver through it all. There was still the hanging fact that Caleb had not been there through any of it.
And the cancer, gone, eradicated. Caleb didn't know what that meant. Nothing good for them, it wouldn’t make a difference. If Caleb took Oliver back now, well that would just compound the fact that he was an asshole. You can't just leave someone who has cancer and then take them back the second they got better. It was extremely selfish and shallow, Caleb knew this. So he resigned himself to plucking the petals from the rose a bit more aggressively, hating himself a little more thoroughly.
It hurt to see Oliver cry so much, to be in obviously so much pain. All Caleb could do was watch, it both hurt and sickened him. Oliver had been crying this whole damn time and Caleb had done nothing about it besides utter some damn useless words. Caleb looked up at the poor man, reflecting again on how thin he seemed, how tired, how dishevelled. “I know,” he said, more useless words, sighing to himself. “I'm sorry,” this was probably the most heartfelt thing Caleb had said in a while, and he tried to pretend he was only saying the words in order to condole Oliver over the loss of his sister. “If there's anything I can do, any way I can help...I'm just a phone call away,” he had to stop himself, before he said more, before the words piled up in his head spilled out. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jan 19, 2013 20:04:44 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Oliver had always hated the nickname Ollie. It started even before he was in school, when he was maybe three or four. His mother would chide him, ‘Oh, Ollie!’ when he got into something he shouldn’t have, when he started picking flowers from the garden or messily smearing his mother’s makeup all over his face. But the name stirred up something rebellious in him, and for the few months that she used it, Oliver was more and more ill-behaved, until one day he decided upon the right words to tell his mother that he didn’t like being called Ollie. She had laughed then; leave it to her son to be this dramatic over a nickname, but she humored him, avoiding using the name from that point on. He had started acting better then, happy to be free of it. When Penny had started showing signs of speech, though, the name came back again, his parents believing that it’d be easier for the baby to say than his real name. Oliver didn’t care, arguing against the use of the nickname. He wasn’t even sure why he didn’t like it, but he spent his whole life telling everyone no. Penny wasn’t allowed to tease him with it, teachers weren’t allowed to use it to differentiate between him and any other Olivers that might be in the class, the people he dated weren’t to use it as a pet name to show affection, no one. He didn’t like it, didn’t like how it sounded coming off of the tongue, and no matter how much his college friends teased him with it, he couldn’t get used to it. After he graduated college, a few of his friends held on to the name, and when Caleb started hanging out with all of them when he came back from the east, that’s where he picked it up.
Somehow, the name meant something different when it fell from Caleb’s lips, even before they were dating, before Oliver even knew Caleb was gay. Maybe it was because Caleb was so attractive, Oliver having a silent crush on him for ages. Secretly he liked when Caleb called him that, though it didn’t make logical sense for this one person of no real consequence to be such an exception for a rule he had had all his life, but where he would have corrected anyone else, he never said anything to him against using the name. One day, though, Caleb suddenly stopped using it, and Oliver almost went crazy trying to think of why. He didn’t remember telling him not to say it, it didn’t make any sense that things would just change so suddenly. It was maddening, and for weeks he tried in vain to figure it out for himself. In the end, when he couldn’t, he had finally confronted Caleb about it. ‘Why don’t you call me Ollie anymore?’ he had asked, while the two of them were alone together. ‘I overheard you saying you didn’t like it, I thought it bothered you. I didn’t want to bother you.’ Caleb’s reply was innocent, concerned. If it had happened while they were dating, Oliver would have found it impossible to resist kissing him then, but given that their relationship was that of friendship, he had to live with the slight guilt that followed the rush of affection he felt for him at the moment. It was so sweet, that Caleb would be considerate that way, to stop without being told a hundred times like the rest of his friends. ‘Oh,’ Oliver replied then. ‘I didn’t mind when you used it.’ And perhaps that was the very start of loving him. Maybe love was not minding the nickname you’ve always hated, because that person can make it sound so beautiful. Oliver didn’t know he loved him, didn’t know until months later, a few months into their relationship, but to Caleb, Oliver had always been Ollie. Perhaps it hadn’t always been, but it eventually became a pet name, a short and sweet show of affection, a way of telling him that he loved him without saying so directly. Oliver had adored this about him, the way that Caleb could put such passion into his words, such affection, such love. It meant the world. What could he ever love more than being held in this man’s arms, the flighty and delicate Ollie Bird protected by his Callie Bear?
And so that was why it cut in so deeply when Caleb said it again. There was so much history in the name, so many memories. They were just friends, and Caleb was phoning him to ask if he wanted to come over. They were on their first date, Caleb calling him over to the table in the cafe. Caleb was patiently, so patiently, teaching Oliver how to be a better kisser, stopping every so often with a frazzled exclamation of the nickname to correct some bad habit. They were falling asleep together, moving in together, entangling themselves with the bedsheets and with each other. The nickname had been there through everything, and hearing it for the first time after six entire months felt...indescribable. He refused to get his hopes up, but what was he supposed to see in the name? It meant love, it had always meant love, could it mean the same now? After six months of silence, after a breakup such as the one they had had, how could there still be such love? Oliver had spent the months telling himself he was being foolish, stupid to still love someone who didn’t love him. But here was Caleb, sounding on the verge of crying, calling him Ollie again. He didn’t know what to think. Not that that was a change from his condition for the past six months. Everything felt like mixed signals, and it was impossible to know what Caleb was feeling and thinking. If only it was easier to talk to him now, if only Oliver could just ask what he wanted to know. But they’d never been good at communicating, and that’s where they had gone wrong, more than anything else. They didn’t talk outright about their problems, and most of that was Oliver’s fault. He avoided the bad, ignoring it, pretending it didn’t exist until the drama blew over. But that was a faulty strategy, something that would only make things worse when they eventually came back. Everything had built up like this, the abuse and the drugs and everything he had ever done wrong. And maybe those were gone now, but their effects and the memory of them remained, and those were harder to get rid of. He didn’t know if they ever could get rid of them. Some wounds were too deep, some scars too permanent. And yet...Caleb had called him Ollie. He didn’t know what that meant.
It was hard to know how to feel when Caleb told him he was glad that Oliver had gotten through his disease and addictions. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for to begin with. What was there to say? He regretted that Caleb hadn’t been there to help him through it, maybe he wanted an apology. But he didn’t know if he deserved one, or if he would be able to believe it if Caleb said it. But even if he got an apology, what did that mean? Regrets were something completely different from a desire to fix things, Oliver knew this from experience. After his first real, significant heartbreak, the boy who had dumped him apologized. He had been sorry for hurting him so badly at the end of it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to leave his new boyfriend and try for a better relationship with Oliver. ‘Sorry’ wasn’t the same as ‘I want you back.’ Oliver didn’t know if he was allowed to want either one from Caleb.
There was too much uncertainty, and it hurt. But the certainty before him hurt, too. The certainty that, no matter where his relationship with Caleb ended up, Oliver would remain broken for his entire life. His sister would dead, and that wouldn’t change if he had his boyfriend back. Caleb’s words meant a great deal, but had little effect; what could be said to make make him feel better?
Apparently, offering to let Oliver call him could. Because it meant he wasn’t alone. It meant that he could talk to someone, finally. It meant that, even if they never went back to what they had before, at least he’d have Caleb as a friend. And that was enough, really. If that was all he could have, he would be able to smile again eventually. He had other friends, of course, but Caleb meant so much more than that to him. Without Caleb, he had felt so entirely alone. If all they could be were friends, it would be so much better than nothing.
“...” Oliver opened his mouth but nothing came out, and so instead he just nodded. He wanted to tell Caleb that he appreciated it beyond words, that it was a relief to be able to know it would be okay to talk to him again. He had been afraid for months of what would happen if he called him, but now it was welcome. This felt like progress. And, if nothing else would go right, this would be able to get him through the day, the week. Maybe it was possible to be friends again, maybe he could stop tearing himself apart for ruining everything. He just needed forgiveness, needed to be able to stop hating himself for everything he was and everything he became. “I’m sorry,”
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[/color] he said then. “I don’t know if you can even understand how sorry I am for everything.”[/color] It felt strange, talking to Caleb without looking at him. But he could hardly even speak, tears still streaming down his face and his breath shaky. It wasn’t that he minded being seen this way, he just didn’t want Caleb to have to see it. If Caleb didn’t hate him completely--and, from his actions and words today, it appeared that he didn’t--then watching him cry would hurt, and Oliver didn’t want to hurt him. They had done enough hurting each other in the past.[/div] Words: 1752 Notes: they're so perfect
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Jan 25, 2013 17:06:33 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240]Nothing had ever been as painful as this. Sitting across from his crying boyfriend, he felt a sick hollow in his heart. He didn't know what all this meant, the words tumbling from his lips, the actions he was taking. Caleb didn't know what he hoped to gain from this, except for perhaps a little relief for the both of them. The sorry he had uttered was one of sorrow, but not one of finality. Nothing was final about this, there was too much between them. The mountain seemed impossible to go through, but Caleb would scale any heights, just to make things better. He'd said sorry because Oliver deserved it, but then again, he deserved so much more. He deserved to not have a boyfriend who would desert him, a sister who was still alive, to not have gotten cancer. There was no way Caleb could remedy any of that, though he could have prevented at least one of the things from happening. Caleb didn't offer his full apologies, explain about how bad he felt, how bad he had felt these past six months, because it felt like it didn't matter. No in the sense that it would have been worthless, but there were worse things at hand right now. Caleb had to think about that, be considerate, try and muddle through this wash of emotions. Oliver and him had never been good at communicating, and it took Caleb months to realize that. It had rested at the back of his head before, how they would ignore their problems. Oliver would hit him, Caleb would try to talk about it the next day, but he would get shut down with such finality that Caleb eventually stopped trying. He was just doing his best to make Oliver happy, the people pleaser he was. But you needed to talk about things in relationships, not just let them pass. Caleb had come to realize that too late.
The words between them were the only things that could really fix them. Caleb had to trust them, trust Oliver he could understand. He wanted him back, he didn't even realize how desperately until now. Caleb had know he had loved Oliver, that he missed him beyond compare, but he didn't add this up to wanting him back. Caleb just didn't know how to go about this, wasn't sure if he could get Oliver back. That line and sinker had been broken too long ago, Oliver washing off to live his life. If Caleb could secure him again, the love of his life, the only man he could really see himself having a future with, he didn't know how he could go about this. He couldn't very well say “I want you back†like some tossed up pop song, overplaying on the radio. The most he could do was offer friendship, and even that was a stretch. Caleb felt like he was invading Olivers life, his purposes selfish. Oliver didn't deserve this unwelcome interruption. Caleb only wanted to help though, and if they were to go back as friends, than he would deal with that. He'd dealt with it before, when they first met. He hadn't known why he'd played straight for Oliver, didn't ask him out right away. At first it had started that he was going back east when fall started, but Caleb felt even then that he may not go back. He'd felt as if he were to ask Oliver out straight away, things would go the direction of his past relationships. Caleb had been hurt in the past (though not as much as now) and he didn't want a repeat of what had happened. It wasn't that Caleb never told Oliver that he was gay, he just didn't say it outright. He thought perhaps his high school crush, a guy a younger Caleb would have loved to kiss and hold (and surely do other things with, considering the fantasies of a younger mind) deserved some chance at friendship. Caleb didn't want it to be all about looks, and he needed to get to know Oliver before anything else. If any questions came up about relationships, Caleb never overtly said he'd had girlfriends, but he seemed to lean that way. It was a mess in the end, and it left him off worse of than when he started. At least he'd had a chance to stare at Oliver without making it awkward.
The fact that they were both so broken though, that was a sign. They weren't meant to be like this, weren't meant to be torn apart so aggressively. There was something special between Caleb and Oliver, something irreplaceable. It was so rare that a connection was forged like there, and Caleb had to go fuck it all up. Hearing the apology from Oliver, well, he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want those words to be falling from Oliver's lips, so broken by the tears he was shedding, the tears Caleb wished he would wipe away. It hurt him so much, so much he could feel physical pain in his chest. It was a small mercy he wasn't crying himself. “I can, believe me,†because how could Oliver be sorrier than he was? Hearing that Oliver was hurt though, it made Caleb feel all the worse. How could Oliver even begin to be sorry? But those words were the best thing Caleb had heard. He could feel tears heating his eyes, dangerously close to falling. He didn't know what it meant, that Oliver said he was sorry. For one, Oliver shouldn't have been sorry. Though, Caleb had to remember, he was partly in the wrong as well. It was hard for Caleb to look past his hatred for himself to see that though, to remember He was so used to blaming everything on himself. It was just hard, to fathom. What did this all mean? Oliver was seeking forgiveness, for hurting Caleb? It was the only thing that really made sense. It was all Caleb ever needed, a small apology for what had happened. It said that he did feel bad about it. But, just because he felt bad and consequently might have realized he was in the wrong, did not mean that he wanted to take it back, however. Yet, Oliver was apologizing to him, and Caleb knew it was for more than...well, there was no immediate reason for Oliver to apologies to him except for what had happened. That made Caleb’s stomach flip, and it was hard to bundle down a small balloon of hope. He didn't think that by coming here, talking to Oliver, would mark any form of progress, but that seemed to be what was happening. Not a closing of a book, but an opening of a new chapter. Caleb had no idea what would happen, but this was a beginning. He felt like an idiot, because at any time these words could have been said, and he had simply been to afraid to say them. Fear was a staunching thing.
However, this wasn't going to be a magical be all end all to their problems. They were not going to end up happily ever after, things didn't work like that, Caleb had to remember this. Oliver would be so broken, so alone now, and Caleb didn't know what he could do to help besides offer his own words, his comfort. He didn't know if Oliver wanted to talk about it, but he had to do everything he could to help him. Even if that was only an offer of friendship. He felt so tangled, between all of his thoughts and emotions, on what to do. So, he let his mouth speak for him.
“Come home Ollie,†the words were out before Caleb could stop them. “I mean..the house is open for you to...come by, if you want,†Caleb rattled off, fingers shaking again. The house, home, because the house was still as much of Oliver's home as anything, and Caleb still say it that way. “I can make us something to eat, and we can talk. About Penny, or anything. I think there...there's some things of hers, yours too...â€he stopped himself, feeling a warp ripping open between them, encroaching the forbidden territory the both of them seemed to be scurrying around. Caleb heaved a deep sigh. “Forget about it. I'm sorry, Ollie, I'm really sorry. For...everything. I'll just...†again he paused, head whirling. How could he think with a few sparse words, everything was going to be okay? “I should go,†he muttered lamely, standing slowly, feeling like the weight of the world was crashing on his shoulders again. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jan 26, 2013 11:57:34 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Oliver’s reaction was instant, without a moment to think through what he was doing. Caleb mentioned leaving, started to get up and abandon him and after being so close to him, after finally talking to him for the first time in a half a year, Oliver couldn’t stand to have that happen. He couldn’t let go that easily, after being so close to this something, something that could have turned into a second chance or an attempt at closure or a possibility to stop feeling so goddamn miserable, and Caleb was trying to leave thinking that Oliver didn’t want him to try anymore. That was wrong, it was so astronomically wrong, he wouldn’t let him keep thinking that. And so it was automatic, once Oliver could hear Caleb standing up, for him to do what he did then.
It was a move of desperation, and Oliver was aware of how pathetic it must have looked even as he was doing it, but there was no way to stop himself because at the moment he was desperate and pathetic.
He turned quickly, scrambling to reach Caleb before he disappeared from him forever. “No don’t leave me again no please stay,”
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[/color] he rambled helplessly, his voice thin, his face flushed from the January air and streaked with his tears, his hands clinging to whatever he could reach. In the end, he was clutching one of Caleb’s pant legs in one hand and Caleb’s hand in the other, and he stared up at Caleb, finally looking at him properly, maintaining eye contact until he couldn’t take it anymore. His breath got caught and then attacked him, and he broke his gaze when he started hyperventilating, everything hitting him at once, as if he wasn’t already broken up enough about it. He was scared of being alone, tired of only thoughts to keep him company. Before Penny died, he could at least pretend she was there, because it was realistic that eventually, one day she would come back. If he had nothing else, at least he knew that she could come back. Now, though, he felt like he had lost everything he had clung to after being abandoned by everyone. If he could keep Caleb here, if he could just have one thing... As he released Caleb and curled up, legs to his chest, forehead on his knees and arms wrapped around, holding himself together, he was still trying to process all of this. Caleb seemed to keep speaking and then regret what he was saying, but whether he regretted saying it for himself or because he didn’t think Oliver would agree to hearing it was still a bit unclear. Oliver’s desperation allowed him to believe that it could be the latter, but he didn’t want Caleb to think that way, because it wasn’t true. Oliver wanted Caleb back more than his lungs wanted air when he held his breath, more than his stomach wanted filled when he starved himself, more than anything. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t accept that until now, and he didn’t know if it was even right to think about things like that here at the grave of his sister, but if he didn’t address them now, when would he? And it was just hard to really think, because since he had touched Caleb, his hand was almost burning. It was like Caleb was a flame. He had gotten too close, the heat had gotten to be too much and so he had had to let go before getting burned, but the intrigue was still there. He was still trying to be close to him. The last time they had touched was six months before, as Caleb handing him his keys. If they never touched again, if this didn’t work out the way that Oliver hoped they might, at least this was better than that. Focusing on his breathing, trying hard to keep it under control, Oliver spoke again. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,”[/color] he said, shifting so that his arms were crossed on top of his knees and his chin rested on top of them. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. You didn’t deserve this.”[/color] It wasn’t supposed to be like it was. They were supposed to be happy. Why couldn’t they just be happy? Falling in love with Caleb had been so gradual. It had taken a few months before he was sure enough that he could say it out loud, but every day they were together, his certainty grew. Every day there were more and more reasons to love him, every day was another page of the fairytale. It wasn’t supposed to end in tragedy. There wasn’t supposed to be domestic abuse or cancer or drugs or family death. They had been so happy, the sort of happiness that didn’t have rhyme or reason aside from being together. Oliver knew this was all his fault. He should’ve stayed off drugs. He should have listened to Caleb when he voiced concerns instead of shutting him down. But there was just something inherent there, something that was so ingrained in Oliver that it was impossible to say whether or not there was anything he could have changed. The cocaine was the way he dealt with things when he was upset, and his over-emotional nature made for a lot of demand. Here was the catch, though: he wasn’t like that anymore. He dealt with six months of hell without any help from any drugs except the ones he was prescribed. Oliver was different, he had changed, he had bettered himself, whether he had wanted to or not. And maybe he could stay like this, and maybe if he stayed fixed maybe then Caleb would take him back for certain, instead of hesitating about it. Maybe if he proved it...maybe then? Shakily, Oliver tried to stand up. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was doing, his emotions leading him before his mind had time to catch up. He pulled his coat tighter against him as he tried to combat the cold air that he was now noticing, then wiped the tears off of his face with the palms of his hands, sighing out breaths sporadically. Now that he was on his feet, he felt weaker than before, like the effort of this conversation was sapping him of what little energy he had. It was probably just all the crying, he knew, but it felt like more than that. He didn’t know what it meant, though, didn’t know if it was good that he was putting so much energy in only to feel like this, or if he was just wasting his time. “Okay,”[/color] he said, then cleared his throat because he was unhappy with how thick and crackly his voice sounded. “Okay. We can...you know, talk. If you want. I don’t want to bother you or...or anything. You don’t even have to cook if you don’t want to. I...yeah. We could talk.”[/color] There was some kind of fluttering inside his stomach, as if he actually had some hope for them. It seemed almost too early to be so optimistic, and maybe he was going to get hurt again when it didn’t work out, but he couldn’t help. Even if he was overreacting to this invitation, it was already so much progress over what they had had before. They had spoken, Oliver had touched him, they had apologized to each other, Caleb was offering to let him come home. How was he supposed to not be hopeful? So he was setting himself up for disappointment, but he couldn’t help it. He had wanted this too long.[/div] Words: 1313 Notes: alsdfalkfd
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Jan 27, 2013 22:04:22 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240]Don't leave me again, those words echoed in Caleb’s head with force, feeling his body freeze. Don' t leave me again, because he'd been enough of an ass hole to leave him for the first time. There he was, leaving Oliver again, abandoning him at the grave of his sister. He needed to stay, he needed to not be a coward.. How could Caleb not realize he was pulling the same shit he'd pulled before, abandoning the one he loved? He had his excuses. He was making things harder for Oliver, hurting him, speaking out of turn. He wanted to be happy. If only Caleb could realize the only way to make Oliver happy again was to not leave, to take him up in his arms and hold him close. That was a shred of a dream to Caleb, a hopeless wonder. Here Oliver was, babbling after him, begging him not to leave. Caleb didn't realize the water edging his eyes had spilled over at that comment, his body shaking again. What was he supposed to think about that? His natural first thought was...well he didn't know what to think. Until his brain half-heatedly spat out the idea that Oliver was desperately lonely because of the tragedy in his life, and thus would vie for anyone company. It had nothing to do with Caleb. But it couldn't be, it couldn't, his poor broken heart told him. Oliver in the very least didn't hate him to the core, or at least hated Caleb less than Caleb hated himself.
That hatred took a grudging backseat though, as Olivers hand latched onto Caleb’s, and Caleb’s fingers automatically wrapped around his. His breathing was shaky, whilst he was contemplating the tragedy of Olivers words, he was also holding Olivers hand. Oliver was kneeling there, hyperventilating and staring up at him with those damn eyes. Caleb could remember staring in those eyes as he told Oliver he loved him, coming home from a long day of work, working his fingers through Oliver's hair as he voiced his worries over a missing sister. He'd fallen in love with those big, innocent eyes, and every other part of Oliver. He loved him so breathlessly it hurt. 'Ollie, baby the words floundered through his head, mouth opening, but they couldn't form past his lips. He just watched, he watched as Oliver collapsed into a little ball, his frame so thin. Caleb wanted to kneel down, cradle Oliver, do something. There was six months too long between them, his own insecurity. This was why he hated himself, because he could feel himself disappointing his own expectations. And still, he didn't do anything about it. He looked at his hand, where he'd let Olivers fingers slip from his grasp, like it was some kind of alien appendage.
There Oliver went, apologizing again. Caleb didn't care that Oliver was a mess, he only cared that he felt like he couldn't pick up the pieces of his boyfriend. Or rather, if he could, Oliver might not let him. “It's okay,” he voiced softly, shifting slightly, looking at the dying grass around his feet. The groundskeeper aught to look at that, don't want more death than needed in this place. “I...” Caleb hesitated. Every word Oliver said both pulled him together and broke him apart. There was a wetness to his cheeks now, the spare few tears he had having made their way down his face. He rubbed at his eyes, annoyed. He knew how bad he looked when he cried, his eyes red and pathetic. “I probably did. Deserve it,” he finished, sighing. He was so selfish, dragging this to be about him. But he didn't want Oliver to be sorry, because he did deserve all of this. Somehow karma came around to nip him in the butt, and he got what he deserved. The only thing he really didn't deserve was Oliver, Oliver crying over him, holding his hand, coming home with him. That was why he wanted to leave, before he really did get something he didn't deserve.
The only reason Caleb wanted to leave was for Oliver, he wouldn't have either. He was acting selfishly as it was, and it wasn't in Caleb’s nature to consider himself before others. Every action he took was with Oliver in mind. It hardly made sense, then, when he went off to work without feeling a little bit of guilt. There was a difference between acting selfishly though, and doing his duty. He had to balance, between his love for Oliver and his love for work. Though, in that balance, Oliver should have weighed a little heavier. Caleb had realized in the end, and even before that when the abuse got bad, he hadn't mattered as much as he should have. And that was a crack to Caleb’s own heart, to realize he had been indeed falling out of love with Oliver. Because he was beating him though, it was a legitimate reason. In these past six months, it had all come rushing back, and Caleb didn't know if it was because he never truly stopped loving Oliver, or if he was loving him because Oliver wasn't there to hit him. The scary thing was, Caleb didn't even know if Oliver had changed. The cancer was gone, and the drugs, the two things that had made him violate, but Caleb still had a fear that Oliver would start again. Who knew, maybe it was in his personality, or maybe it would just be habit. Caleb would act or speak wrong, and Oliver would just go off. Caleb had promised himself six months ago that if Oliver ever hit him again, it would be over, but he still went back and dealt with it. Now though, now...He had to take it to heart. He couldn't take it again, the heart break. It had been bad at the beginning, worse than this, and Caleb had gotten used to it, almost. However he could not deal with it happening again. This time it would be worse, Oliver calling him back into the trap, fixing his heart so well, getting his hopes up. And then it would be dashed all back down to hell, and Caleb would know he should have known, would know he should have been more careful. If Oliver hadn't changed, if things went back, he had to promise to himself right then that he would break things off, for good this time.
Caleb started when Oliver stood, noticing how shakily it went, how his small body struggled with just the movement. It occurred to him that Oliver was probably freezing. It wasn't that cold out, and with a suit it was fine for Caleb. But Oliver was always so cold, even on the warmest days of summer. Caleb attributed it to his thin stature, and now that was worse. He looked so unhealthy, barely holding his body together. “I...”Caleb stuttered, feeling himself once again shocked. Oliver was doing a lot of that, surprising him, throwing him off his guard. He'd come here with the expectation of sealing the break up. But how could that ever happen? Now, apparently Oliver was coming home with him, and he wanted to talk. He wanted to talk, and Caleb didn't know what that meant. If they were still going to cut things off, or if he had a chance. It was a blind hope, for a chance, but Caleb was naive enough to think it. Oliver wanted to talk. his knees could go weak. “Okay, yeah,” that was all he could say, all he could do without throwing himself on top of Oliver. How very much he wanted to kiss that face, just for a moment, forget everything that happened, but he refrained. His head was fluttering with thoughts as he watched Oliver carefully, taking a step off, and when Oliver followed, his steps seeming heavy, Caleb's heart swelled.
It was odd, to be walking with Oliver again, even if they weren't holding hands. In the past, that would have never happened. Oliver was always affectionate. If they weren't holding hands, Oliver was holding onto his arm, or had a hand around his waist, or the both of them would have hands in the others back pockets. They used to be such a good couple, the super couple, pulling open doors for the other, whispering sweet phrases over dinners, falling over each other in love. It hurt, to have the distance between them, but Caleb tucked his hands in his back pockets, walking away from the graveyard. He tried not to think of a term for him and Oliver then, he couldn't call them ex's. He didn't know, anymore, but he wanted so desperately for things to be fixed. His car wasn't far from the graveyard, parked in the lot. It was another day, taking Oliver to the park or to dinner or on a date, Oliver laughing that wonderful laugh. What Caleb would give to hear that laugh again. They reached the car, Oliver walking around to the passenger side. At least, he was, before Caleb spoke. “Ollie,” he said again, surprised as the name came out half chocked again. He had no idea what he was doing, but he'd reached out and stopped Oliver by lightly grabbing his wrist. It was as if the one touch from Oliver had let loose a flood of physical affection. Though, one touch wasn't a flood. “Can I...Did.....Do you want a hug?” the words came out in a rush, a half garbled form of a thought. Caleb didn't know where the notion came from, or what the reaction would be. He had no idea if this was a good idea or not, but it was killing him. Things were so wrong, and he had to try to make them right, even if this fucked things up even more than before. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Jan 30, 2013 22:31:06 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Oliver wasn’t exactly prone to feelings of abandonment, but it happened enough anyway. Maybe he blew them out of proportion, but he had plenty of times where he’d been left, forsaken, thrown out as though he was nothing. He didn’t mean to overdramatise it, really he didn’t. It just got a bit tiring. His sister ran off all the time growing up. Back then, it had only lasted hours, maybe days, nothing serious like it became. It had been almost more irritating than worrisome, but Oliver still stressed out, still felt like the world was caving in every time she disappeared, still felt like it was some fault of his. Suppose he had angered her, offended her, upset her somehow? He spent most of the time she was missing completely despising himself for it, terrified of the idea and overanalyzing every recent interaction he had had with her, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. She always came home and assured him that it wasn’t his fault, but the next time it happened, he was back to the same routine. This happened when he started dating, too, but somehow it was worse. Oliver didn’t often get broken up with, since he was usually the one unhappy with relationships, at least before Caleb. The only relationship before him that had really mattered though, that had sent Oliver into such a feeling of abandonment and a belief that there would be no getting over it that he found his comfort in drugs that he couldn’t give up even when he had found other ways of moving on. But the first time Caleb left him, it had been even worse. Because that time, Oliver knew he was at fault, that he deserved to be left, that he had fucked up royally and Caleb left him for his own safety. Oliver had made such a dangerous environment that his boyfriend, who swore time and time again to stay and love him had left out of the sheer fear of him. This had happened more than once, too, and it never got easier. And then came the six months from hell, months he still didn’t know how he survived. The thought of Caleb leaving him again meant indefinite amounts of time telling himself that he had ruined everything forever, and he didn’t want to live through that if he had any chance of getting around it. He didn’t want to hate himself for the things he had done, the things he hadn’t been able to prevent.
Seeing Caleb crying was maybe the hardest part of this. He missed the familiar smile, the happiness that was so often to be found in his eyes. In that moment something shifted, and he stopped believing quite so wholly that Caleb didn’t care. Because thinking that was impossible, really, when the man was looking at him that way, and when his fingers curled around Oliver’s own. And the contact just made some sort of light appear, some kind of signal that maybe, maybe one day something would be okay again. Even if it wasn’t Caleb that helped him out of this hole he was trapped in, the fact that someone holding his hand could make him feel that little bit better, that gave him some hope for the future. He could be happy one day. Not now, certainly, maybe not for a long time. But one day. And sometimes that knowledge that things will eventually get better is the only thing that can get you through the worst. Strange how simply touching Caleb, the boy who had broken his heart so effectively, could instill that knowledge into him. Strange how Caleb still had that calming effect on him.
But then again, no, it wasn’t strange at all. Because despite everything, despite months of telling himself to stop, he couldn’t not be in love with Caleb. And despite only being a touch as simple as this, a sight as natural as crying in a graveyard, the signs made Oliver think perhaps it wasn’t as unrequited as he had once believed. For the first time, it occurred to him that Caleb could have been hurting just as much as he was. And for once, the negative pieces of his brain didn’t argue. They didn’t tell him that Caleb would have called if he had been in love with him this whole time, that they would never have spent six months apart. He didn’t think those things, too hung up on what good this could mean for them.
But all too soon the feeling slipped away, and he was back to that state of falling apart. Because God, how could he dare to think of being happy when his sister was dead? People had told him already, and he knew that they would continue to tell him that Penelope wouldn’t want him to be beating himself up about it, that she’d want him to be happy, but who ever said that people, live or dead, should get what they want? Oliver hadn’t wanted any of this. He didn’t want a dead sister or a broken heart or a one-true-love who might not even be his anymore. And he was still alive; what made the dead so much more deserving of having their wishes fulfilled? They could no longer feel the disappointment of not getting what they wanted. And so Oliver reveled in his sorrow, because at least it felt real. Something stable and certain, something that wouldn’t leave.
“No,”
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[/color] Oliver said automatically, when Caleb mentioned that he probably deserved what had happened to him. “No, you didn’t. Nobody deserves that.”[/color] How sick had he been, to do what he had done? Not only the abuse. Not only did he knowingly and at least somewhat intentionally inflicted physical pain on the one he loved, not only did he cause Caleb to question himself and his worth, not only did he blur the line between love and hate in their relationship, not only did he put his boyfriend through the emotional turmoil of trying to hide bruises and make up excuses, but he had denied it, faked ignorance, pushed the problem away and expected it to just disappear. And it was so unfair, so cruel of him. No one deserved that, but especially not Caleb. The man was too innocent, too sweet and concerned and loving, and Oliver didn’t think there could ever be a way to make up for everything he had done. Was there a more epic way to fuck everything up? Probably not. There was never a time in Oliver’s life where he had really had weight to spare. Losing so much from cancer and the choice to skip meals despite being advised otherwise took from him what he really did not have to give, and that on top of his emotional state made standing rather difficult. It was humiliating, really, to be seen that way by Caleb, but Oliver knew that he’d seen enough of him that it didn’t matter. That was what hurt the most. They had all this history, they had once been so comfortable with one another, known every little thing about each other, memorized every inch, and now it was like they could declare no claim over any of that. Despite his cousin saying it and despite his mind repeating it, Caleb was hardly his boyfriend. Boyfriends didn’t ignore each other for six months. It was hard to say what he was supposed to think of him as, though. Oliver had dozens of exes. But there was only one Caleb. He couldn’t bear to make him as insignificant as the rest of them were. Before either of them moved anywhere, Oliver looked back down at the grave, still covered by all of those hideous roses. He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but he bent down to pick them up, the job requiring both hands, for how many there were. So many people wishing Penny a safe journey through Eternity with a flower she despised. Irony. He couldn’t deal with the irony at the moment. He didn’t know what he thought he was doing with them, what he would ever do with all the roses he could fit in his hands, but he knew he couldn’t leave them here to rot on top of Penny’s grave. Even if her body wasn’t there, she wouldn’t have liked for there to be such a collection dying with her. So he was taking them away, taking them with him, and he would figure out a place for them later. And anyway, holding all of them prevented him from jumping into habit and clinging to Caleb as they walked. Maybe they didn’t hate each other, but he wasn’t sure that was quite appropriate. But he wanted to, Lord, how he wanted to. And so it was good for him to keep his hands busy elsewhere, somewhere he couldn’t fall into temptation. Ollie, Caleb said again, trying to get his attention. Every time he heard the name, Oliver was instantly reminded of everything they had once had, and it was impossible not to listen completely. The hand around his wrist made it worse, physically holding him there instead of letting his mind wander in order to cope. And then his boyfriend--because, fuck it all, that was what he was, in the end--asked for a hug. It was badly disguised as an offer, a service to Oliver, if he needed it, but he didn’t miss the ‘can I’ at the beginning of the sentence before he changed where he was going with it. That had to mean something. It did. And it killed Oliver to have to refuse, but he knew that if he let himself relax into Caleb now, he’d never let go. And things would never get solved because they would go back to the fluffy and ignorantly blissful existence Oliver had perpetuated before, and it was so unhealthy. He couldn’t do that to them, not now, not again. “I uh... I have my hands full and...”[/color] he found himself saying, making up excuses despite how badly he wanted this. It wasn’t right, the timing was off, he couldn’t do it. And he knew it would disappoint Caleb immensely, and he was disappointed too, but it would have been wrong, fixing things with a hug, putting a bandage over the cut and pretending it would disappear without anything there to heal it. This would take time, not some sort of instant cure. Oliver knew that, and he had to just hope that Caleb could understand it, too. So instead of wrapping himself up in the arms of someone who had always loved him, Oliver struggled to open up the passenger door after Caleb released him and dropped the roses in his lap to put his seatbelt on. He looked down at them, the different shapes and colors and thought about what Caleb had said, about how they were complicated and difficult to take apart completely, and it was hard to think about anything else. Maybe Caleb was right, maybe they were too complicated. Even Oliver knew they were too complicated for simply a hug to solve their problems. Oliver, who had always ignored everything that was wrong, wasn’t willing to cover it up anymore. It was time he faced what he had done, wasn’t it? Time to catch up.[/div] Words: 1925 Notes: babies
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Feb 3, 2013 21:33:31 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240]Unrealistic expectations, that was what Caleb’s life was filled with. He was floating through a dream world, where nothing could go wrong. Everything and everyone he touched became charmed for a moment as well. The problem with reality though, was it didn't work like that. He didn't have a charmed life, he simply lived through very little strife. It wasn't magic, his luck wasn't running out, things just happened. It seemed strange, but life was complex. Caleb, though, always expected the best. Oliver and him fought but things would always work out he told himself. He pushed himself on these unrealistic expectations, the only way he could cope with his emotions. He would feel sad or hurt, and would tell himself that things would right themselves if they were meant to be. Trying to hard to make others happy often resulted in him pushing out what really mattered. Having to deal with the pain was part of it all. His career didn’t help with this disconnect, being a lawyer required him tuning out several emotional aspects of himself in order to do his job right. He had to keep a clear head, think of things in a clinical manner. When emotions got in the way, things got messy. Caleb sometimes forgot how to turn this off, sorting out the emotions and taking the most logical step. Relationships were the same, where when emotions got in the way things got messy. But they were not dealt with in the same manner. Caleb couldn't turn his emotions off in a relationship, push his problems to the side to make himself and everyone else happy. Part of relationships was fighting, and messy emotions. Love came from living through those faults, wanting to be with a person even when they hurt you beyond belief. Part of love too, though, was not wanting to hurt the other person, and thus came even more pain from lying about your own feelings in a attempt to uphold that.
Caleb knew now that he'd been an idiot to think that perhaps things could be good again at the snap of a finger. He in no way thought this simple exchange would fix it, but that perhaps from here on out, it would be better. They could collapse into old habits, mend themselves. It wasn't that easy. It didn't seem easy, at first, the fixing of two very broken hearts, but somehow Caleb found himself thinking it would be. That there would be no pain, no tension, that he could hug Oliver and talk to him like nothing ever happened. The thing was though, they needed the pain in order to mend it. They needed to struggle a bit to understand what they'd lost, though both of them seemed to know that much. There was no telling if they could get things back to normal, what with what happened. There was far too much between them. All they could hope for, if they wanted anything, was a better future. And they had to battle through hell to get there. Caleb needed to be strong, and not for Oliver. For once, he needed to have strength for himself.
Caleb needed to remember not to jump into Olivers arms, he needed to remember to compose himself. The few tears he had let slip were just that, the only few tears he would shed over this. When he was alone, he could let the rest out. He was good at not crying these days. He needed to be strong in order to resist his eery impulse he thought would fix this. He had to be careful, and for once, self preservation mattered. Caleb wanted to be valiant and say he could deal with a broken heart as long as Oliver was okay. That was the problem all along, he knew Oliver was in pain. Despite everything, he'd seen the pain in his eyes when he left, the actual anger that caused Oliver to throw the photo album at his head. That had honestly hurt more than anything else, even though Caleb had not been hit. He knew this one he deserved, because he'd hurt Oliver so completely. He'd done it in hopes that Oliver would get over him, or at least hate him, and not spend his life in pain. It only made things worse. If Caleb could leave Oliver off being happy and healthy in life, then Caleb could deal with himself again.
It was the only way to get through this, really, trying to shove his own heartbreak down where it belonged. He wanted to talk and hold Oliver and do whatever he could yes, but this was all up to Ollie. He needed to keep stock of that. He tried not to take it too heart when Oliver hesitated and ultimately declined his offer. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said, quickly, eyes falling on the roses. Right. It didn't matter that Caleb would have hugged Oliver, arms full of thorns. He was slipping into old habits, he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, moving back around to his side of the car. It didn't matter, it was just an offer, he had no sway in the matter. It wasn't for him, the 'can i' he'd muttered at first didn't say a thing. Keep pretending, keep pretending and maybe the pretend would become real. He realized to late he should have probably helped Oliver with the door, the flowers, but since when was Caleb in the habit of helping him? He sighed, putting on his seat belt, starting up his car, pulling out of the parking lot without a word. He tried not to think of Oliver sitting beside him, the way Olivers hand had felt in his. It was hard, when all he could smell was Oliver. Strange, how he still remembered what he smelt like. After all this time though, Caleb hadn't forgotten a thing. There were the little things about Oliver he always remembered. He had the radio on, hushed though to a barely discernible level, but to make the silence in the car not awkward or tense. Not a word passed between the two as they drove, Caleb focused on the road. Not on how his hand wanted to wander into Oliver, brush over his knuckles. If Ollie was still crying, Caleb couldn't hear it. He felt like crying himself, but he sealed that away in a pit of grey. He was being so over dramatic. Caleb pulled up to their house easy enough, pushing out thoughts of himself. It was the only way he knew to be strong, shove everything away.
“Let me take those,” the words were not a question, not a choice. Before Oliver could even really object, Caleb had shifted, swooping up the pile of roses in his lap. He didn't know how he managed, but he barely touched Ollie in the transaction, carefully cradling the flowers against his chest as he toed his car door open, stepping into the drive way. This way, Ollie could take care of himself. Caleb struggled at the door for a moment to grab his keys and unlock the front door, checking behind him to see Ollie there still. He didn't think about how strange this was, Oliver finally coming home, or how right it felt. He only slipped of his shoes, moving into their home, settling himself in the kitchen with a vase, the roses laying on the counter now. He didn't look at Oliver as he called out to the quiet house. “Are you hungry? I could make you something, some soup or anything you want. There's tea, too, anything you need,” he didn't want to turn, didn't want to see Oliver in the house, didn't know how he could stand the sight of it after so long without crying. He'd filled the vase with water, clipped the bottoms of the roses and plunked them in the large vase, unsure if Oliver wanted that done with them. It was better than letting them rot, heads falling down and the petals starting to drift off. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Feb 6, 2013 14:53:08 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Oliver worked so hard not to cave. Little touches of hands, fingers wrapped around wrists, those were all fine, but to surrender himself completely into Caleb’s arms, that was different. And he couldn’t help imagining it. The warmth, the safety of being surrounded, the comforting smell and the familiar feel; Oliver knew that even after six months without so much as a glance in his direction, that he would feel so at home there that he could never face everything that was wrong. Everything would feel too right, he wouldn’t want to go back to that, to ruin the mood so completely. How could he ever think of problems when the mere feeling of Caleb--chests pressed together, his face buried into where his boyfriend’s neck met his shoulder, arms encasing them--was so certain to patch up the broken hearts beating between them? He knew Caleb would feel it too, Oliver knew him well enough. But that wasn’t the way to go about this, and if either of them thought otherwise they were just deluding themselves. This would take work. And finally, after six months of realizing what he had to lose, Oliver was willing to put in that work.
But it hurt to hear the disappointment in Caleb’s voice, even when it was expected. But surely that had to be a good sign: both that Caleb sounded disappointed to not be able to touch him and that it hurt. It could have been different, with Caleb shrugging it off as nothing because it was nothing but a genuine offer, with no ulterior motive behind it. Yet it wasn’t, and it was obvious that the contact would have been just as much for the one who suggested it as it would have been for his boyfriend. And that was progress.
Being in the car was almost overwhelming. Because, Jesus Christ, how was he supposed to deal with the smell? It didn’t matter that it had been six months, Oliver would recognize Caleb’s scent anywhere. It was subtle, certainly, mixed in with the smell of the car, but it was there and it made him feel so desperate, made him yearn so intensely for the past. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he didn’t notice it, but he did notice and there was nothing to be done to make him stop, nothing that could release him from the tense feeling it filled him with. He just wanted everything to be okay so it didn’t feel like stealing when he inhaled him.
He didn’t know how he was going to handle it when he got into the house.
The silence was deadly, too. Even with the small radio noise filling the air, it was as bad as perfect silence because of the simple fact that neither would or could speak to the other. Before, when things had been wholesome and pure, they would have a constant stream of things to say, hardly a moment of silence between them, and even then only when the silence was desirable. Something awkward like this, well, it would never have happened a year ago at this time. Oliver just wished it wasn’t happening now. He had never known it to be difficult to talk to people, and suddenly he couldn’t speak to the one he had the most things to say to. And so instead he allowed the background noise to take the place of speech, hoping that later it would be easier to tell Caleb the things he wanted to tell him, even if they weren’t even quite comprehensible thoughts yet. Somehow he had managed to stop crying, but he was still buzzing with the feeling of grief combining with hope and longing. The three made a combination that was impossible to relate to anything, and the only small comfort to be found in it was the fact that he wasn’t the only one dealing with it.
Caroline was not, by any means, a particularly large city. In order to get from place to place, one typically had to take the same paths. So Oliver had seen his house in the past months, having had to pass it on the few occasions that he left the house plus the hundred thousand times he had gone to the hospital. But he had never seen it from the driveway, not for six months, not with Caleb at his side and a lap full of roses. Everything was changing, and he knew he maybe should have been happy about that. Instead he just felt scared, really, scared that things weren’t going to work out how he wanted them to, scared that he was misinterpreting everything that was going on. And sad, always sad, because the nagging knowledge of Penny’s death was always eating away at him. It was hard to say which would last longer.
Before he even had a chance to speak, to think, to do anything, Caleb was leaning over, his hands scooping up roses from Oliver’s lap, as close as he could be without really touching. Oliver didn’t know what on earth he meant to do with them, but it didn’t matter, just as long as they didn’t have to be within his sight for a little while. It was too much to deal with all at once. He could mourn Penny forever, but the window of opportunity to fix or end this relationship seemed far smaller, and if he could just focus, things would be easier. By removing the roses, it almost took away that entire problem. It promised to return, certainly, but just for a moment, he could live without the guilt of believing he killed his sister.
So he got out of the car empty-handed, following a small distance behind Caleb. The last time he had walked on this pavement, the last time he had seen the lawn from this close, the last time he’d moved through the doorway, that was all six months ago, and he’d thought he’d been leaving for good. Despite all of this things still being there, Oliver had somehow expected for most of those six months that he would never be coming back. Maybe it was leftover anger from that last moment when he’d thrown a book at Caleb, maybe that made him feel like a line had been crossed and that he could never be welcomed back. It didn’t matter that his name was just as much on the deeds as his boyfriend’s. It was hardly his house anymore, he didn’t deserve it.
Caleb was already out of the entryway when Oliver finally stepped through the door, which he was glad for; he didn’t need Caleb to watch as he struggled not to break again. Because everything was theirs, every inch of wall, every frame and picture, every strand in the carpet. Theirs, Oliver and Caleb’s, theirs together. And nothing there had changed at all. Not that he had ever expected it to, but it was just hard to handle. He couldn’t see much of the place at all, but somehow he knew that the house was the same, arranged the same, decorated the same, the only difference between then and now was the people living in it. He could only speak for himself, but Oliver was different now, not the same person he had been before. He only hoped that he could make Caleb see. The house was exactly the same, but Oliver wasn’t.
After taking his shoes off, Oliver moved slowly through the house, cautiously, as if it could ease the blow somehow. Everything was how he remembered, of course it was, it was his house, after all. Caleb hadn’t tried to erase him, hadn’t changed everything in order to stop being haunted by the memories. He hadn’t moved on any more than Oliver did, and it was obvious. He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes, but he fought against them, wanting a break from it all. Moving into the kitchen where Caleb was, Oliver felt himself tense up when he saw all the flowers again, and in response he diverted his gaze from the counter to the cabinets, the floor, anything to avoid looking at what mattered. His boyfriend offered to make him something, but he didn’t feel able to think straight. “Just...I need to call my mom. I told her I’d call if I left the graveyard. If you want something, I’ll just have the same, I guess. But you don’t need to make anything special for me, I don’t want to be inconvenient.”
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[/color] He had almost forgotten what he had promised his mother, but it was nice to have an excuse to remove himself from the present situation, at least until he could calm himself down. With only a short hesitation as he caught Caleb’s eye for a moment, Oliver navigated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, calling home. It took a bit of time to explain to his mother why he had gone home with Caleb, especially since he wasn’t entirely sure himself, but in the end she told him she supposed it was fine, that it was good that at least they were talking again. She hung up after asking him to please call if he left the house. Stowing his phone into his pocket, Oliver regarded his reflection. He looked a mess, face flushed from the crying and from the chill outside, hair disheveled from the wind. The tears had mostly dried from his cheeks, but he could still feel where they had been. He turned on the sink, letting it run for a moment because he remembered how it always seemed that no matter what temperature was desired, the water would always first come out as the other. Once he decided it was an acceptable temperature he splashed water on his face, trying to make himself feel less gross. Then he focused on his hair, because it was embarrassing, really, to look the way he did. He should have at least been able to fake stability. Eventually he stepped out of the bathroom and wandered back to the kitchen, hoping Caleb would still be there, but not knowing what he would say if he was. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back.[/div] Words: 1714 Notes: augh
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Post by caleb jay ierie on Feb 10, 2013 13:11:43 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] & BUT WHEN I CAME BACK IT WAS MORE OF A RELAPSE` THEY SAID 'IF YOU DON'T LET IT OUT YOU'RE GONNA LET IT EAT YOU AWAY I'D RATHER BE A CANNIBAL BABY ANIMALS LIKE ME DON'T TALK ANYWAY FEEL LIKE AN AMBULANCE, CHASER OF - - - - - - - - - - - faith | [atrb=width,240] Caleb tried so hard not to look up from what he was doing, focusing on the task at hand. If he had something to do, he could ignore the ache in his chest. His mother had told him she'd booked him a few days off work, because she must have thought he would need the time. Surly not to grieve, though there was that too. She knew Caleb to understand that he didn't grieve, not in the way other people would. If he didn't go to work, if he just stayed at home, he might never leave again. Caleb needed purpose in his life, or it would collapse around him. He couldn't even take time to grieve over losing Oliver. The day after Caleb kicked him out, he'd gone to work, same as always. Work gave him something to live for, and Caleb had needed that desperately. It was odd, how he hadn't told Oliver about the promotion he'd received, but he supposed it wouldn't matter much to him. So Caleb got promoted, so his hours were a little bit shorter but yet he still got paid more before. That would have very little sway in Oliver's life now. Caleb still worked overtime, as he usually did. Not for lack of finishing his work, but for dislike of returning home. He only didn't want to feel the emptiness in the walls, how quiet it was without Oliver there. For the first month after he'd kicked Ollie out, Caleb had returned home everyday praying that he would open the door and Oliver would be there to greet him with a kiss. This wasn't a nightmare, though, this was as real as things got.
Having Ollie back in their home, where he belonged, should have been a joyous occasion. Caleb should have spent those six months getting Oliver back and finally the man would come back home with them, the roses would be ones Caleb bought for him, and they could fall into the couch together to watch movies and cuddle and talk, like usual. Instead it was tinged with this ever present sadness that ate away at Caleb’s heart. When he finally looked up from the roses, watching Oliver making his slow way through the house, he could feel it. Like needles in his heart, and he tried not to stare. Oliver looked even worse in the house, a place only blessed by his smiles and laughter. He'd shrunk so much, his shoulders were slumped in, carrying the weight of six long months and the grief of a lost sister. Caleb couldn't even comprehend the pain Ollie was in, he could only hope to lessen it. Somehow, maybe, things would be at least okay between them. He could get used to this, he could offer the simple comfort of someone who could try and understand.
He tried not to remember buying the couch in the living room with Oliver, the struggle that had nearly caused a fight while getting it through their front door. They'd eventually after an hour of lifting and moving – mostly by Caleb – gotten it in the house and collapsed on the seats, sprawled out over each other. He tried not to notice the decorations, which were really all Oliver's ideas. Caleb wasn't bad at decorating, Ollie just loved it so much more. It had never occurred to him to change any of it, not a shred, after Oliver left. Because this was still his house as much as it was Caleb’s, and why would he change it? He didn't want to stop thinking about Oliver, even if opening the front door broke his heart. Oliver wasn't something to go chasing out of his life like a virus, and he would not be eradicated by making over the entire house. Ollie would still be here, in the walls of the house, tagged into the memories. Caleb could never escape him, and so he would never try.
Inconvenient and how it hurt that was necessary to be said. It used to be that Oliver could never be an inconvenience, the thought would never enter either of their minds. Everything in the house was shared and so it wasn't a worry if you were tressmeone elses territory when making food or anything of a such. Guests didn't want to be an inconvenience, overstay their welcome. Was that what Oliver was now? Caleb supposed so, since he kicked him out. What was worse was that it could have been the case. If Caleb had any sense of morality and a backbone, he might have actually fallen out of love with Oliver, broken up with him properly. He'd just be a name to add to the list. Having Oliver here might have been an inconvenience for Caleb now if he was a different man. He might have gotten over him, been happy in the fact that he didn't have to worry about an abusive lover. Another man might have started dating him, Caleb could move on with his life. And today instead of standing here with Oliver and two broken hearts, a man might have been comforting him that it was okay not to go to his ex-boyfriends sister's funeral. It was okay because Oliver broke him. And they would have cuddled and Caleb would try and be happy and they would eventually make love that night – because that man wouldn't be man enough to have sex – and Caleb would try not to think of Oliver. He didn't know what scenario was better, but he wanted to be with Ollie. He wanted to make things right. He just wished things weren't so broken in the first place.
A simple nod would suffice for acknowledging Oliver's words. Caleb found it suddenly hard to speak past the lump in his throat. He didn't know how it could be that Oliver was in his house and things were like this, so broken. He didn't want things to be this way, and he knew he needed to fix them. It would be less pain, in the end, for him to try. For a moment Caleb was stuck where he was standing, fighting past the tears in his eyes, feeling like he was drowning. He couldn't breathe past the sudden absence of Oliver. After all this time, Caleb finally had him where he wanted, and he had no idea what to do. He only stood still for a few minutes before he collected himself back together enough to place a kettle on the stove. By the time Oliver came back from the washroom, looking much better than before but Caleb could still see the weight around his shoulders, the water was boiling. “You can sit, if you want. I made you tea...” Caleb wanted Oliver to stay here, it was so right seeing him in the house again. If Oliver left, Caleb didn't know if he would come back again, and he couldn't deal with that pain again. He poured them both a mug of tea, taking them to Oliver. “Did...Did you want to talk or...” Caleb was so bad at these things, but he was trying, he really was. | [atrb=width,140] words ,
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Post by oliver rhys cardinal on Feb 16, 2013 13:40:48 GMT -7
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OH, TAKE ME BACK TO THE START
Breakups were so hard. Ending a relationship asked the impossible: cut away the memories of places and experiences that once made you happy, stop feeling something that had been your source of light and happiness for however long. Days had to be changed around, because you could no longer devote time to them, all planned dates were cancelled and everything that had only been a fantasy would never become anything more. Every always and every forever was taken back, voided of all meaning. Promises were broken like it never mattered to begin with. Some items were returned and others were thrown away, and to maintain a heart that was fixable, nothing could be kept as a reminder, because seeing those were sure ways to hurt again, again, again. Oliver knew these things, like laws engraved in stone and installed into his mind, he knew there were no exceptions to these things. He was supposed to let go, because they were broken up, and there was nothing to be gained of clutching tight-fisted to the shattered pieces of something that he’d ruined like he had.
Maybe it was the lack of anything else to hold onto that kept him clinging to the idea of Caleb. He hadn’t gotten rid of anything, not one memory, not the fights or the abuse or the disappointment in the face of Oliver’s drug use, not the cuddling or the kisses or the sex or the way they let their bodies touch even when it wasn’t necessary, not the way he was so in love with him that every day apart from him was agony. Oliver was stupid, unhealthily refusing to let go of any of the memories, and so he allowed his heart to be broken every day, and almost embracing the pain. He feared getting over him, he was plainly terrified to be apathetic of this loss. Because it was a loss, it would be a loss even if he let go. Caleb was all that anyone could ask for, there could hardly be many more like him. Caleb completed Oliver, and maybe he wanted to forget that so that it didn’t hurt so much, but there wasn’t a way to do that because he was half empty, he was broken, he was less than a person. And so what was there left to do but to hope desperately that something could come out of all of his wishing?
Though he was sure he at least looked a bit better as he emerged from the bathroom, he felt very much the same. He didn’t know what he was doing here, now that he was actually there. The house was full of his things, maybe this would be the day when he finally accepted that six months was an ample grace period and that he should see about getting his stuff moved out, and then maybe he’d be able to stop living in the same few outfits. Because he knew he needed this to finally end, this limbo they were trapped in, and despite wanting nothing but Caleb back, despite that evidence was pointing to Caleb sharing this wish, what good could possibly come of getting back together? There was too much bad between them. A lot of good, too, and it certainly outweighed the bad, but it wasn’t a matter of balance. It was simply the fact that once a relationship became abusive, nothing else mattered. Fights were one thing, fights could be worked out and looked past and forgiven, but abuse was a black mark, permanent, beyond repair. They would always remember that that had happened. Anytime they fought, Caleb would expect Oliver to lash out, would remember the sting of harsh hands and angered words, would think of nothing but the bruises and worry about the next time they made a reappearance on his skin. Oliver in theory could never hit him again, but he was sure that there would always be the worry. Living in fear was hardly living at all, and it would be wrong to subject themselves to that again, wouldn’t it?
Oliver couldn’t think of sufficient words to say to Caleb when he announced having made tea, and so, as he bit nervously at his lip, he decided he’d just go sit down and try not to think about how wrong it was that he needed to get permission before he could go sit down on his own couch in his own living room. He didn’t say anything to Caleb before, there wasn’t words to say. Thank you, maybe, but Oliver couldn’t bear to say that for this, not when it was partly his money that went into the purchase of not only the furniture but the house around it, not when he didn’t need anybody’s say-so before using it. Instead he had only looked at him, held eye-contact for several moments until he couldn’t anymore, at which time he just nodded quickly and went to sit down.
He couldn’t get the image of how completely torn Caleb looked out of his mind.
He shouldn’t have to be torn.
The problem with breakups was trying to forget things when there was too much that you knew. Caleb hadn’t even seen Oliver for six months, and yet he hadn’t forgotten exactly how Oliver took his tea. There was too much to forget, they never would. There would always be something. He curled up a bit, his tea in held both hands between his legs and his chest with his heels propped on the edge of the couch. Caleb asked him if he wanted to talk, but Oliver didn’t know where to begin. He wanted to be graced with the words that would stop the hurt and the fear and put them back to the blissful state they had once been a part of.
“I...I...yeah. We should. I just...don’t know...where exactly to start out.”
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[/color] he said, avoiding Caleb’s eye for some reason this time. He wasn’t sure why anymore. Inspiration struck suddenly and strongly, after a few moments he spent curled around his tea, sipping slowly. “Is her death my fault, Caleb?”[/color] he asked desperately, grabbing at something to say, finally voicing what had been worrying him since he found out when she had died. Part of him knew the idea was insane, that he had nothing to do with it, but no one told him either way, not clearly. He just needed someone to remind him that the grief he felt didn’t have to be guilt, too. But it never stopped haunting him, the fact that it’d been his birthday the day she was beaten to death; suppose she had tried to get away to see him? And he’d never know either way, whether it was coincidence or if it really was because of him, at least unless they found the man who murdered her and they managed to make him tell them why he killed her. Needless to say, Oliver didn’t want to find out that way. He wished he just knew, wished there was no need for questions like this. But he’d always wonder. “Could I have done anything? I just need to know I didn’t kill her.”[/div] Words: 1222 Notes: asdfja
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