Summer Story part 9
12/23/04 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyKnowing everyone's busy, I post this now anyway because I'm excited about the bit farther on--I like it! So here's this part which I like too, just not as much. *simpers* Whit's gonna see some changes...*G*
The Previous Parts are here hanging mistletoe on their belts and snickering
Summer Story
Whit refused to come out of his room. He knew he should feel felt guilty, Pete was getting the third degree from Abbie and Bill but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. It took all his willpower just to keep on breathing.
Abigail knocked on his door what seemed like every few hours to ask if he felt better, did he want something to drink, did he want to come out and eat dinner with them—she was trying hard to give him space but he knew she wanted to know what the hell was going on. She probably figured it was about Sam’s marriage—they’d talked about Sam after he’d spent a lifetime yarking in the bushes. Or rather she’d talked and he’d listened after he confessed he had strong feelings for Sam. He rolled over and stretched out on the bed. That was a conversation that defined the word awkward, and more horribly, probably not the last time they were going to have a conversation like that.
He could hear Pete banging around outside the door now, “Let me in, Whit—I’ve got a tray here.”
Food. Who cared, but if he didn’t let Pete in, he’d just stand out there yelling until he did let him in. Whit slouched over to the door and opened it for Pete, ignoring the look of exasperation. He smothered a grin at the memory of Clark calling it the ‘Nostril’ what seemed like a lifetime ago, and that thought brought on another wave of depression. Why did it feel like they were so young then, why did he feel so old and used up now?
Pete set the tray on the desk, and noticed there where no pictures around at all. Not Sam, not Clark and Lex or him and not the small high school picture of Wade, the one that had ‘proof’ running across it and had been stuck in the lower edge of the mirror frame since Wade had graduated.
“Look, I know it’s been a horrible couple of fucked up days,” and Whit gave him a look of complete disbelief. Pete ignored him and continued, “I’m sorry for you. But in the long run…”
“Pete. Please. Please don’t say it.”
“Any way, when Lana and I visited Mike in Metropolis I learned a lot from him, you know, about Sam, what mom and dad were talking about in the kitchen that day. Gotta say, it’s hard to think of Sam as the same guy Mike told me about--said he took off when he was fifteen, moved in with some kid and a guy Abbie and Bill thought was the kid’s father. The whole situation was bad—Mom was being considered for her position and Dad was getting his practice off the ground and Sam was determined, and you know how stubborn he can be—Mike said they decided to let him live there until he would listen to them--"
Pete went on to detail a summer of pain and suffering on the part of all involved. The Ross’ eventually stepped in but not until Sam had been hurt by the supposed father, and Pete was vague as to what that entailed—“Mike didn’t say more then that, sorry—but the guy ended up in jail, and the kid he’d moved in there for disappeared.”
Whit’s head felt stuffed with cotton. Had Sam loved someone--a boy-- so much he moved out of the house...left his family for them? Suddenly all he wanted was for Pete to stop talking. He wanted to think or—or-- not think...shit, he wasn’t sure what he wanted except one impossible thing. A do –over. Another fucking chance, that’s all. Just another fucking chance and maybe this time, do it all right. Because he was so damn tired--he didn’t want to think seriously about any one or anything for a long, long time. He didn’t want to think about…he had no idea how *not* to think about Wade. He wished someone could help him—he wished all those memories could be cut right out of his head and disappear. All that…god, all that stuff.
And Clark kept trying to tell him he was some kind of hero and all he did was almost get killed trying to stop Wade from hurting Lex and he just didn’t want to talk to him anymore…stupid. Clark was trying to help, he knew it but--
He still had no idea what happened, all he could remember was pain, horrible pain and then Wade crying, screaming at him and –and….
And then dying.
Pete nibbled off Whit’s tray, and watched his face. Man, if ever Whit thought he had a poker face… The whole story of his life played out on his face. Poor guy. He tried to look so hard, but Pete had never had the heart to tell him he looked like an constipated little puppy, kinda cute …damn! And he blamed his girlfriend for thoughts like that.
He stood and looked at Whit.
“Whit, my brother, truly your life has been the shit lately, and you deserve to take time out to—to mourn,” And god! It galled him so to say that word in relation to that asshole. “But eventually, you’ll have to rejoin the living—you have to stop making mom and dad go nuts and you need to get your life back. I want you to come out with us again, go to the Beanery and the movies and just fuck around with us like you used to, before you turned into a humorless old fart who only cared about his …lover,” Pete choked out, “and forgot his friends.”
Whit wanted to argue that he’d barely seen Wade at the end, but in a way Pete was right, whether he was with him or not, he’d dominated his thoughts, twisted everything and haunted him day and night.
“Okay. Take me out Pete; get me out of this room. What are Clark and Lex doing? Can we get together maybe?”
Pete rocked back on his heels and blew out a long puff of air.” Weeeell,” he began, “that’s another story….”
TBC
The Previous Parts are here hanging mistletoe on their belts and snickering
Summer Story
Whit refused to come out of his room. He knew he should feel felt guilty, Pete was getting the third degree from Abbie and Bill but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. It took all his willpower just to keep on breathing.
Abigail knocked on his door what seemed like every few hours to ask if he felt better, did he want something to drink, did he want to come out and eat dinner with them—she was trying hard to give him space but he knew she wanted to know what the hell was going on. She probably figured it was about Sam’s marriage—they’d talked about Sam after he’d spent a lifetime yarking in the bushes. Or rather she’d talked and he’d listened after he confessed he had strong feelings for Sam. He rolled over and stretched out on the bed. That was a conversation that defined the word awkward, and more horribly, probably not the last time they were going to have a conversation like that.
He could hear Pete banging around outside the door now, “Let me in, Whit—I’ve got a tray here.”
Food. Who cared, but if he didn’t let Pete in, he’d just stand out there yelling until he did let him in. Whit slouched over to the door and opened it for Pete, ignoring the look of exasperation. He smothered a grin at the memory of Clark calling it the ‘Nostril’ what seemed like a lifetime ago, and that thought brought on another wave of depression. Why did it feel like they were so young then, why did he feel so old and used up now?
Pete set the tray on the desk, and noticed there where no pictures around at all. Not Sam, not Clark and Lex or him and not the small high school picture of Wade, the one that had ‘proof’ running across it and had been stuck in the lower edge of the mirror frame since Wade had graduated.
“Look, I know it’s been a horrible couple of fucked up days,” and Whit gave him a look of complete disbelief. Pete ignored him and continued, “I’m sorry for you. But in the long run…”
“Pete. Please. Please don’t say it.”
“Any way, when Lana and I visited Mike in Metropolis I learned a lot from him, you know, about Sam, what mom and dad were talking about in the kitchen that day. Gotta say, it’s hard to think of Sam as the same guy Mike told me about--said he took off when he was fifteen, moved in with some kid and a guy Abbie and Bill thought was the kid’s father. The whole situation was bad—Mom was being considered for her position and Dad was getting his practice off the ground and Sam was determined, and you know how stubborn he can be—Mike said they decided to let him live there until he would listen to them--"
Pete went on to detail a summer of pain and suffering on the part of all involved. The Ross’ eventually stepped in but not until Sam had been hurt by the supposed father, and Pete was vague as to what that entailed—“Mike didn’t say more then that, sorry—but the guy ended up in jail, and the kid he’d moved in there for disappeared.”
Whit’s head felt stuffed with cotton. Had Sam loved someone--a boy-- so much he moved out of the house...left his family for them? Suddenly all he wanted was for Pete to stop talking. He wanted to think or—or-- not think...shit, he wasn’t sure what he wanted except one impossible thing. A do –over. Another fucking chance, that’s all. Just another fucking chance and maybe this time, do it all right. Because he was so damn tired--he didn’t want to think seriously about any one or anything for a long, long time. He didn’t want to think about…he had no idea how *not* to think about Wade. He wished someone could help him—he wished all those memories could be cut right out of his head and disappear. All that…god, all that stuff.
And Clark kept trying to tell him he was some kind of hero and all he did was almost get killed trying to stop Wade from hurting Lex and he just didn’t want to talk to him anymore…stupid. Clark was trying to help, he knew it but--
He still had no idea what happened, all he could remember was pain, horrible pain and then Wade crying, screaming at him and –and….
And then dying.
Pete nibbled off Whit’s tray, and watched his face. Man, if ever Whit thought he had a poker face… The whole story of his life played out on his face. Poor guy. He tried to look so hard, but Pete had never had the heart to tell him he looked like an constipated little puppy, kinda cute …damn! And he blamed his girlfriend for thoughts like that.
He stood and looked at Whit.
“Whit, my brother, truly your life has been the shit lately, and you deserve to take time out to—to mourn,” And god! It galled him so to say that word in relation to that asshole. “But eventually, you’ll have to rejoin the living—you have to stop making mom and dad go nuts and you need to get your life back. I want you to come out with us again, go to the Beanery and the movies and just fuck around with us like you used to, before you turned into a humorless old fart who only cared about his …lover,” Pete choked out, “and forgot his friends.”
Whit wanted to argue that he’d barely seen Wade at the end, but in a way Pete was right, whether he was with him or not, he’d dominated his thoughts, twisted everything and haunted him day and night.
“Okay. Take me out Pete; get me out of this room. What are Clark and Lex doing? Can we get together maybe?”
Pete rocked back on his heels and blew out a long puff of air.” Weeeell,” he began, “that’s another story….”
TBC