Hey, everyone. I've started a second story up, so that's why these chapters are coming in a little later then they should have. I've promised at least one more installment of "RPL" this week, though, so...
Once again, I know nothing about no one. Don't read if you shouldn't, or wouldn't like it. The title is from Bush's "Glycerine" and I don't own it, or Gavin either.
Special thanks to Justin, for the journal bit. It'll become more noteworthy in the next chapter or so.
Part 10: "I treated you bad, you bruised my face"
When Lance awaoke, he found that he had a very slight headache. The room was darkened, the curtains were pulled tight and there was a glass of water set on the bedside table, along with two tylenol. He sat up, carefully, and took the pills. He sat there for a few minutes longer, contimplating the merits of moving compared to the pain of executing such a maneuver. Finally, curiosity about how he had gotten hom won out, and he wandered downstairs. He found JC perched stiffly in one of the TV room chairs, watching CNN and scowling.
"JC?"
"What, Lance?" His lover was obviously angry at him. Lance sat in the armchair oppisite Josh and grimaced when the bright blue eyes didn't even drift his way. Maybe if he tried a little physical affection...he moved over to the couch and sat down next to JC, putting his arm behind Josh's shoulders. The rebuff was almost instantaneous. JC wheeled around on him, his face contorted into a mask of pure anger. "I swear, Lance, I am so angry at you that if I didn't love you, I would punch you."
Lance was shocked, for just a second, but then he pulled completely away and just nodded. He got up from the couch, and retreated into the kitchen.JC was puzzled for a second, but after the confusion passed, he got angry and upset. He rose from the couch as quickly as a single heartbeat. He stormed after Lance, only to find him with his forehead down on the cool countertop, looking apathetic (if anything).
"Oh, so all you're going to do is just stand there and ignore me, huh? Goddamn it, Lance, if I mean that little to you, I should just leave you now!"
Lance looked up at JC then, his forehead was red, as if he had hit it on the counter roughly. What really killed JC, though, were Lance's eyes. They were overly red and bloodshot, almost to the point of looking like the blood vessels had burst. The pupils were also dialated with a more physical pain. He met Josh's gaze for a second, then looked away. "Don't you have anything worthwhile to say, Lance?"
Slow, honest head shake 'no'.
"You would have no problem with me just walking out on you."
"I would deserve it."
"What?"
Green eyes met blue, and what Lance's eyes showed broke JC's heart, and his conviction. In Lance at that very moment was the broken little boy that Lou had taken advantage of. Every scar shone brightly in Lance's eyes at that very moment. "I don't deserve you."
"Oh God, Lance. You deserve me, I just don't deserve a drug addict."
"I'm not a drug addict, I just needed escape really badly."
"Escape, huh? So you go to a club with us, and get drugs from a club dealer that you don't know, without telling anyone. Smart, James. Real Intelligent."
Lance let his head drop, and one hand went to his temple. His headache was so bad that he could feel it pulsing whenever JC moved. And moving, he was.
Suddenly, a pair of hands encased his head and started rubbing softly. "Don't do it again, James."
Lance whimpered, and relaxed into the massage. "I won't."
"Good." The hands drifted down to Lance's neck. "Geeze, baby, you're so... tense. Go upstairs."
"Huh?" Articulation was not Lance's strong point at times like these.
"Just go."
Once they had made it to the bedroom, JC backed Lance, herding him to the bed. He hooked his hands under Lance's shirt hem, and lifted the shirt over Lance's head. There was a full second of pause before JC reacted.
"Oh my God. Oh, God. Fucking Hell, Lance! What did you do to yourself?!?"
Lance sat hard on the bed, almost crying. "I cut."
"God, just...God, I can't deal with this. I still love you, but I can't deal. It's.. it's gone, Lance. It is over. I'll be on the couch."
JC shut the door quietly and walked back down to the living room couch. He had meant that the drugs and the cutting were over. That all the bullshit that had cluttered their lives the past few days was gone, but JC's strong point also was articulation in times of stress, and it hadn't sounded that way. Lance was devestated. He curled up in a ball, shaking. He had driven someone else out of his life. First his parents, now Josh. What was worse, Lance had falled head over heels for him. After a few minutes, Lance lay down under the covers, and curled up. Worthless, broken, heart hurting, he pulled out the small black covered book that he had been keeping by his bedside lately, and hastily scribbled some words on it. Nothing was helping him regain his composure, but the activity was enough to make him fall into a restless sleep (after he had dated and returned the book to its hideaway, of course) full of comotion and turmoil. Little did he know, that would be his salvation.