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| Inconsolable; Het - starts in '86 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: August 7, 2012, 7:52 pm (205 Views) | |
| jØrdan | August 7, 2012, 7:52 pm Post #1 |
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Valar Morghulis
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This just came to mind. The character "Nicole" isn't romantically involved with any of the band mates, but she is a roommate and has come to know and love them. The first post is kinda sad, but you gotta see where I'm going with it if you want me to continue. Tell me what you think. 1986 - coming home after Cliff's death. Heavy hearts weren't the only thing weighing Lars and Kirk down when they came through the door at 9 o'clock that evening. The band's luggage strained their muscles, and exhaustion carved itself onto their faces. Kirk's cheeks were tear-stained and his baggy eyes blotched red. He set his portion of the luggage down, followed by a pale-faced Lars. When they closed the door they found Nicole leaning against the kitchen door with her arms crossed, silently sobbing and giving them a look of sympathy so powerful that Kirk started to cry again. Lars's face also evidenced happiness surrendering its light to tragedy, and tears welled up in his eyes. His mouth twitched when a sad half smile made its way across his face, and he started toward her with open arms. Kirk followed. Not a word was spoken in the first few reuniting moments of good friends silently grieving over the shared loss of a brother. They all knew nothing they could say or do would make anything less painful, so they gave silence its reign and embraced each other tightly. After minutes of uncontrollable hiccuping and tears dampening each other's clothes, Nicole pulled away and tried her best to compose herself for the good of all of them. She wiped her eyes with her arm and sniffled before being the first one to speak. Nothing fancy. "Where's James?" were the only words that came out of her tear-glossed lips. Kirk brushed a hand over his face and had to clear his throat in order to be audible. "He's sitting in the car." "Drinking," she stated softly. Lars nodded his head, then walked over to the overstuffed bags and threw 3 of them over his shoulders. "I'm going to bed." "See you tomorrow." Attempting to use consoling words would only make things worse. So for the time being, simple sentences and the occasional head nod would be the main form of communication around here. When Lars's door closed, Kirk sat on the couch and slowly sank into the beer stained cushions. Nicole saw sadness etched on every inch of his face and went to sit down next to him. She leaned her body into his side and he put his arm over her shoulder, hugging her to him. They sat there staring at the wall that needed a new paint job for years. Countless memories flooded Nicole's mind as she looked at the patterns of the weathered cracks and craters of fallen paint chips. She imagined Cliff standing in front of that wall like he had so many times before, making a speech on some mindless subject that would entertain them for hours. He smoked countless joints by that wall, even fucked a chick against that wall, had countless conversations about life and music with his back against that wall. To Cliff, the two were one in the same. Music was always playing with him around, whether they loved it or hated it. But tonight the record player lay stone cold and untouched, and their reticence became prominent among memories of their beloved friend. Kirk decided to go to bed. At least if this was a bad dream, he could decide when it would end. He kissed Nicole on the cheek and started walking down the hall to his room, disregarding his bags that still laid strewn by the front door. "Kirk!" Nicole called. He turned around lifelessly and nodded. "You think I should go and check..." She paused. "How long has he been out there?" "Too long. But I wouldn't bother. He wouldn't talk to either of us." She half smiled and nodded. "Night, Kirky." "Night." Nicole adjusted her body to lay flat on the couch, neither head nor feet touching each end. She remembered how much Cliff teased her about her height. He'd take off her hats and steal away her keys and would hold them high above his head, mocking her. She'd just sigh and laugh, knowing he would eventually feel bad and give them back to her. She smiled and more tears streamed down the side of her face and into her hair. Then she remembered James. Beyond the shadow of a doubt he would be taking this the hardest. Again she knew nothing she could say or do would make any difference, but she loved James like a brother. He was her best friend, and if she couldn't give him intelligible words, she would at least give him a shoulder. She lifted herself up and planted one palm on the couch to support her body as the other cracked both sides of her neck. She got up to turn the light off and looked out the window to see a deathly still James staring out the windshield of his truck across the street. She would have been scared for his life if he hadn't taken a swig of whatever it is he was drinking. She guessed vodka. Pulling on her boots she quietly opened the front door and maneuvered her away around the bags. When she closed the door behind her, the tip of her foot grazed over an unknown obstacle, and her heavy boot saved her from orchestrating another tragedy. That was truly the last thing they needed. She looked behind her and saw a bag like the ones inside laying dead at the bottom of a step. In any other circumstance she would scold them, but not tonight. Tonight, the little things like this didn't matter. She put her hands in her pockets and crossed the street. Dogs barking and distant sounds of late night television resonated all the way down the block. She took a deep breath and took a hand out of her pocket. She hesitated but knocked on the passenger side window anyway. The sound nor her presence startled him. She guessed that after what he'd been through, after what they'd all been through, nothing could surprise them anymore. He looked down, still emotionless, then turned his head to look at her. She sympathetically cocked her head and said, "Can I join you?" He reached over the empty passenger seat and manually lifted up the lock to let her in, then went back to his former deathlike position. She slowly opened the door and a sudden stench of stale alcohol reached her nose and burned her eyes. She sat down and closed the door, lifting her feet up on the seat so her knees were under her chin. Even though he physically didn't cry and his face showed no expression, she could sense in her spirit that he was in deep pain. She did what she set out to do. Using her hand for support, she scooted her way along the seat to lean on him like she had with Kirk. She folded her arms, knees still by her chest. After a few minutes and about 5 swigs of vodka later, James started to move. He leaned her way and his weight pushed her away. She scooted so her back was against her door. Gone was the element of surprise, she thought, but James's next move would prove her wrong. He leaned his body down between her legs and his back and head covered her torso. His knees were bent and his hands rested on her legs. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she decided to rest them on his head, stroking his hair. Finally, James succumbed to the imminent. He started to sob, not holding back at all. He took a hand and put it over his eyes, ashamed. He wailed and mumbled incoherent words. Nicole let go of his hair and constricted her arms around his chest and attempted to pull him closer. "It'll be okay... everything'll be okay... don't worry, James..." She let him rest his entire weight on her torso, and she had never felt more sad and more at peace the same time. Here in James's truck across the street, she was using the consoling words she swore never to utter that night, and though James said nothing, he was glad she did. |
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8:42 PM Jul 10