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Duck! More! Summer Story part 14
And this is it for today folks! The shower has come to and end, unless I manage to get Clark and Lex to agree with me. *G* They're being a little shy-- silly boys.
The Previous Parts are here,swearing up and down Mystikal is on the down low. But you didn't hear it from me.
Summer Story
The morning had been hot and the afternoon was hotter. Even with air conditioning, everyone at home was a little cranky, and no improvement in sight, because Mom Ross got a call from Sam. About what, he had no idea, as soon as he knew who was on the phone; he’d left the house.
He’d shot a few baskets and wandered around the back yard, looking at the lilacs with nostalgia. Man, some horrible night that was—poor Pete and Mike. He’d thrown his guts up all over the lawn the night they’d pulled him out from under those bushes. And Mike had been real nice to him. He missed Mike. He almost sort of missed Matt. He tried to find something charitable to think about Kathy. She was doing well in her studies, he mused. God help her future potential patients, he chanted automatically. Thanks Pete, for drilling that in my head, he grinned.
He let his mind sneak up on thoughts of Sam. It wasn’t too bad really, more like poking your tongue in an empty tooth socket instead of an electric outlet. Good. He didn’t want to kill Sam anymore—that was an improvement. He didn’t feel as betrayed and as violated, that was an improvement too. Lately, Sam wanted to talk to him on the phone again. Not good. He just wasn’t ready. Some day soon though, he hoped he could talk to Sam again.
He missed the Sam of his childhood so much. The cool in control guy he’d loved without reservation. The guy that hugged them and even wiped their noses from time to time. The guy that punched them and stole their juice boxes, called them names, chased them out of the house when his friends came over. The one that hopped on his bike and went downtown and scared the hell out of a bunch of jerks that were making their lives miserable. He didn’t play it off with an ‘I’m too old for this’, he’d backed them up, no question asked. God he missed that guy.
It was strange to think that he’d fallen apart at one time, kicked in the teeth by love and life, and they never knew it. Whatever the case, he’d always been there for Pete and Lex, and for him. Whit wished he’d known then that Sam’s advice to him came from personal experience. Maybe things might have been different—no Wade, no drugs, no shit in his life—he bowed his head and sighed.
Yeah. And there still would have been a Sheryl and he probably still would have ended up in the bushes fucked up and crying, and eventually he would have found a Wade. That’s just the way he was made.
Whit looked around himself in surprise. He’d walked all the way out the drive and down to the road into town. And now the heat said, hello, hi there remember me? and punched him in the gut. Wow, it was hot as hell and he was halfway to town…he shrugged.
Maybe the Bobbsy Twins were in town. He grinned. Clark hated when he called them that. Man, he really needed to relax, Clark did. Be more like Lex--Lex just flipped him off and kept on doing whatever it was he was doing. Like he’s always done, ever since we were kids.
He tripped and staggered a bit out into the road and jumped when a car horn sounded right behind him. Thanks asshole, run me over why don’t you!
The car stopped and a head hung out the window. “Hey, you okay? Darn, I’m really sorry”
He turned and it was that guy, that Charlie guy. Out of uniform. And yeah, he looked like a band geek. No, he looked like a fucking boy scout, Clark without Clark’s ‘I’m so fuckable” vibe. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, and Whit was uncomfortably aware of small beads of sweat on the guy’s upper lip. Not full and kissable like Clark’s or knowing and playful like Lex’s or—yeah. Thin. White boy lips. With a cute dip in the middle that begged to be licked—damn. Okay. Horny? He sighed. Or just stupid--stupid and horny.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He barked, a little louder and harsher than he’d planned to and the smile disappeared from the guy’s—Charlie’s face, and recognition dawned and his eyes narrowed and, hey, not so crystal clear a blue now.
“Oh. Whitney Fordman. That explains why you’re in the middle of the road.” He stared at him in challenge, waiting for a fight or something Whit guessed. Sure, after all, that was his reputation, right? A smart mouth punk. Not even hanging with the guys helped his crappy rep. Obviously all Charlie knew was that his friends were druggies and probably…he probably knew about Wade.
He looked at Charlie and his mouth opened and closed, and suddenly he felt like his chest was in a vise. Holy shit, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Charlie began to look less belligerent and a little more concerned. Whit looked at him and tried to laugh, but he didn’t have enough breath to. Well, now was as good a time as any to have some kind of break down. He sat suddenly on the roadside and shook and Charlie got out of his car.
“Hey, are you having some kind of reaction—do you need a doctor, 0r--”
Whit choked and scrambled to his feet, fuck—he was on the verge of losing it--he had to get away from this geek. The guy cleared the space between them in an instant and Whit was startled that he’d been followed.
“If you’re having some kind of problem, you need help. Let me see,” he pulled Whit around and looked at his eyes. “Have you been doing anything, something that …”
“Wade’s dead.” He said it again. "Wade’s dead. He’s not coming back.” It was like his mouth kept on running and his brain just shut down. He said it again and again and one part of his brain was totally disgusted with him, checked on his breathing rate, informed him snot was running down his nose and that he looked horrible and was possibly insane. The other part just screamed and screamed. Finally he regained some control, enough to stop gasping and blabbering. He raised his arm, yanked his sleeve down and wiped his face and Charlie was there with a handful of wrinkled but clean restaurant napkins.
“I’ve got more if you need them.” He looked too sympathetic—Whit felt like an idiot, a big wet snotty idiot. God. Timing sucks Whit, as always.
“You want to talk about it?” and Charlie’s floppy brown hair swept into his eyes as he bent over to meet Whit’s. Tall, thin-- I though Marine’s were big muscular guys. This guys got forearms like matchsticks…
Charlie brushed his hair back and looked annoyed, the movement reminded him of Red. And he shook hard all over and more tears squeezed out of his eyes. He hadn’t thought of Lex as Red in how long—he’d slipped into calling him Lex even in his mind without a thought. He’d distanced himself that much from his friends. He’d pulled away from everyone since Wade started his crime spree—and then Wade died, and Whit was all alone behind the walls he’d built and couldn’t ask for help and he was alone and god—he felt trapped.
He was an asshole—he needed his friends back, he needed Red and Clark in his life as much as he needed Pete, just as much as he needed to breathe and a hard sharp knot in his chest slithered loose—he felt…light. Lighter.
“Hair’s kind of, kind of long on top for a marine, hunh?” he said shakily, trying for jaunty and coming off more as creaky.
Charlie responded to the smile warmly. “Well, shaved head is boot camp. And this stuff grows too damn fast. I’m on leave now, so…." He shrugged, smiled and brushed his hair back again in the achingly familiar gesture, the one Lex still did from time to time.
Red. Red. Whit grinned again, laughed. He did feel a little lighter, almost giddy with the release of some of the darkness. “I just want you to know, I’m not crazy.”
“Oh of course not--I never thought anything like that. And to prove it, I’m going to offer you a ride wherever you want to go. See? Would I do that if I thought you were crazy?" He stopped on his way back to the car and looked thoughtful. “You don’t want to go to Metropolis, do you?”
Whit laughed and shook his head. “Oh. Good.” Charlie went on, “Because I don’t think I have enough gas for that.”
They climbed into the car and Charlie immediately instructed him to buckle. He looked appraisingly at Whit.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
Whit nodded. “You can talk about it if you need to—I listen really well. I give good listen. Yeah, that was bad, I know.” he grinned. Whit smiled back. He’s even a bigger dork than Clark, If that’s possible.
He looked over at Whit and raised an eyebrow. “You ready?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m ready,” he grinned.
tbc! wow! what a lot of yakking today!
The Previous Parts are here,swearing up and down Mystikal is on the down low. But you didn't hear it from me.
Summer Story
The morning had been hot and the afternoon was hotter. Even with air conditioning, everyone at home was a little cranky, and no improvement in sight, because Mom Ross got a call from Sam. About what, he had no idea, as soon as he knew who was on the phone; he’d left the house.
He’d shot a few baskets and wandered around the back yard, looking at the lilacs with nostalgia. Man, some horrible night that was—poor Pete and Mike. He’d thrown his guts up all over the lawn the night they’d pulled him out from under those bushes. And Mike had been real nice to him. He missed Mike. He almost sort of missed Matt. He tried to find something charitable to think about Kathy. She was doing well in her studies, he mused. God help her future potential patients, he chanted automatically. Thanks Pete, for drilling that in my head, he grinned.
He let his mind sneak up on thoughts of Sam. It wasn’t too bad really, more like poking your tongue in an empty tooth socket instead of an electric outlet. Good. He didn’t want to kill Sam anymore—that was an improvement. He didn’t feel as betrayed and as violated, that was an improvement too. Lately, Sam wanted to talk to him on the phone again. Not good. He just wasn’t ready. Some day soon though, he hoped he could talk to Sam again.
He missed the Sam of his childhood so much. The cool in control guy he’d loved without reservation. The guy that hugged them and even wiped their noses from time to time. The guy that punched them and stole their juice boxes, called them names, chased them out of the house when his friends came over. The one that hopped on his bike and went downtown and scared the hell out of a bunch of jerks that were making their lives miserable. He didn’t play it off with an ‘I’m too old for this’, he’d backed them up, no question asked. God he missed that guy.
It was strange to think that he’d fallen apart at one time, kicked in the teeth by love and life, and they never knew it. Whatever the case, he’d always been there for Pete and Lex, and for him. Whit wished he’d known then that Sam’s advice to him came from personal experience. Maybe things might have been different—no Wade, no drugs, no shit in his life—he bowed his head and sighed.
Yeah. And there still would have been a Sheryl and he probably still would have ended up in the bushes fucked up and crying, and eventually he would have found a Wade. That’s just the way he was made.
Whit looked around himself in surprise. He’d walked all the way out the drive and down to the road into town. And now the heat said, hello, hi there remember me? and punched him in the gut. Wow, it was hot as hell and he was halfway to town…he shrugged.
Maybe the Bobbsy Twins were in town. He grinned. Clark hated when he called them that. Man, he really needed to relax, Clark did. Be more like Lex--Lex just flipped him off and kept on doing whatever it was he was doing. Like he’s always done, ever since we were kids.
He tripped and staggered a bit out into the road and jumped when a car horn sounded right behind him. Thanks asshole, run me over why don’t you!
The car stopped and a head hung out the window. “Hey, you okay? Darn, I’m really sorry”
He turned and it was that guy, that Charlie guy. Out of uniform. And yeah, he looked like a band geek. No, he looked like a fucking boy scout, Clark without Clark’s ‘I’m so fuckable” vibe. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, and Whit was uncomfortably aware of small beads of sweat on the guy’s upper lip. Not full and kissable like Clark’s or knowing and playful like Lex’s or—yeah. Thin. White boy lips. With a cute dip in the middle that begged to be licked—damn. Okay. Horny? He sighed. Or just stupid--stupid and horny.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He barked, a little louder and harsher than he’d planned to and the smile disappeared from the guy’s—Charlie’s face, and recognition dawned and his eyes narrowed and, hey, not so crystal clear a blue now.
“Oh. Whitney Fordman. That explains why you’re in the middle of the road.” He stared at him in challenge, waiting for a fight or something Whit guessed. Sure, after all, that was his reputation, right? A smart mouth punk. Not even hanging with the guys helped his crappy rep. Obviously all Charlie knew was that his friends were druggies and probably…he probably knew about Wade.
He looked at Charlie and his mouth opened and closed, and suddenly he felt like his chest was in a vise. Holy shit, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Charlie began to look less belligerent and a little more concerned. Whit looked at him and tried to laugh, but he didn’t have enough breath to. Well, now was as good a time as any to have some kind of break down. He sat suddenly on the roadside and shook and Charlie got out of his car.
“Hey, are you having some kind of reaction—do you need a doctor, 0r--”
Whit choked and scrambled to his feet, fuck—he was on the verge of losing it--he had to get away from this geek. The guy cleared the space between them in an instant and Whit was startled that he’d been followed.
“If you’re having some kind of problem, you need help. Let me see,” he pulled Whit around and looked at his eyes. “Have you been doing anything, something that …”
“Wade’s dead.” He said it again. "Wade’s dead. He’s not coming back.” It was like his mouth kept on running and his brain just shut down. He said it again and again and one part of his brain was totally disgusted with him, checked on his breathing rate, informed him snot was running down his nose and that he looked horrible and was possibly insane. The other part just screamed and screamed. Finally he regained some control, enough to stop gasping and blabbering. He raised his arm, yanked his sleeve down and wiped his face and Charlie was there with a handful of wrinkled but clean restaurant napkins.
“I’ve got more if you need them.” He looked too sympathetic—Whit felt like an idiot, a big wet snotty idiot. God. Timing sucks Whit, as always.
“You want to talk about it?” and Charlie’s floppy brown hair swept into his eyes as he bent over to meet Whit’s. Tall, thin-- I though Marine’s were big muscular guys. This guys got forearms like matchsticks…
Charlie brushed his hair back and looked annoyed, the movement reminded him of Red. And he shook hard all over and more tears squeezed out of his eyes. He hadn’t thought of Lex as Red in how long—he’d slipped into calling him Lex even in his mind without a thought. He’d distanced himself that much from his friends. He’d pulled away from everyone since Wade started his crime spree—and then Wade died, and Whit was all alone behind the walls he’d built and couldn’t ask for help and he was alone and god—he felt trapped.
He was an asshole—he needed his friends back, he needed Red and Clark in his life as much as he needed Pete, just as much as he needed to breathe and a hard sharp knot in his chest slithered loose—he felt…light. Lighter.
“Hair’s kind of, kind of long on top for a marine, hunh?” he said shakily, trying for jaunty and coming off more as creaky.
Charlie responded to the smile warmly. “Well, shaved head is boot camp. And this stuff grows too damn fast. I’m on leave now, so…." He shrugged, smiled and brushed his hair back again in the achingly familiar gesture, the one Lex still did from time to time.
Red. Red. Whit grinned again, laughed. He did feel a little lighter, almost giddy with the release of some of the darkness. “I just want you to know, I’m not crazy.”
“Oh of course not--I never thought anything like that. And to prove it, I’m going to offer you a ride wherever you want to go. See? Would I do that if I thought you were crazy?" He stopped on his way back to the car and looked thoughtful. “You don’t want to go to Metropolis, do you?”
Whit laughed and shook his head. “Oh. Good.” Charlie went on, “Because I don’t think I have enough gas for that.”
They climbed into the car and Charlie immediately instructed him to buckle. He looked appraisingly at Whit.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
Whit nodded. “You can talk about it if you need to—I listen really well. I give good listen. Yeah, that was bad, I know.” he grinned. Whit smiled back. He’s even a bigger dork than Clark, If that’s possible.
He looked over at Whit and raised an eyebrow. “You ready?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m ready,” he grinned.
tbc! wow! what a lot of yakking today!
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He’d pulled away from everyone since Wade started his crime spree—and then Wade died, and Whit was all alone behind the walls he’d built and couldn’t ask for help and he was alone and god—he felt trapped.
Yes.
I think Whit has just turned a corner to a better part of his life. Yep, moving on, dude. Charlie seems like he might be a pretty good guy.
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I wanted to make a point that part of his problem was thinking he had to spare his friends the crap he was going through and ended up isolating himself instead. so, yeah-- time for him to rejoin the living!
oh dear
Now what? Eep.
*huggles*
Re: oh dear
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Hahah. Someone dorkier than the BDA? I love it.
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Charlie seems like a sweetie, even if he is a giant dork. I just hope Whit doesn't latch on, just because he's hurting.
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*hugs Whit*
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Go on! Crank up the angst again?
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