Post by REVIVAL on Jul 14, 2012 3:20:50 GMT -5
It hadn't been more than four hours since our conversation... and I found myself staring down endless tumblers of whiskey, all while holding a simple ring in my hand.
The bartender had become my supplier, feeding my addiction by refilling every glass. I was never without my drug of choice, having willingly gulped down each drink to try and squelch this unquenchable pain.
Each and every time I peered down at the ring that was dancing on my fingertips, I couldn’t help but search for happiness. In that little circle, I saw hope. I saw promise. I saw a future. But I always wondered what she saw. And when I found out that she saw a clasp, an-ever-tightening collar choking her very soul to death, it killed me.
The moment she handed me the ring, I instantly felt everything. Every word she said was like a dagger, gouging deeper into my very essence with every word she said.
She looked at me, and I knew that she felt relief. When she returned to me my hope for a future, I saw a weight being lifted from her shoulders. It was almost as if her very self seemed to grow to proportions I haven’t been witness to since the early days of our whirlwind romance.
They say if you love something, then you must set it free. And if it comes back to you, it was always meant to be. I look back at that and I respond with a big old “Fuck You.”
How can you willingly give up something you love with all of your heart? How can you let someone walk away who you literally ache for? It isn’t easy and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not man enough to do it.
One more goblet of whiskey downed and I feel myself starting to empty of hurt. I must be pushing against my threshold, because I can sense my vision starting to blur as well. At this point, I’m begging to be put out of my misery.
I felt sophomoric believing those lies… those rumors, but she was a woman of a certain history. A history that featured both of those men prominently. And I would have had to have been a fool to never realize she still held feelings for both. Those late nights when we were walking a tightrope of intoxication and almost-slumber, I can recall her divulging her deepest, most inner-most reservations.
I always wondered if I was ever going to be able to live up to either man, both Demigods compared to my mortal self. I felt cast aside, living solely in their shadows. But I did it because I legitimately loved this woman. Our relationship was born out of booze and lust and blossomed into one that created a beautiful baby boy. If I honestly looked back, I could tell she was trying to make something work because of him. I was always blinded by my own happiness to even see glimmers of her sorrow.
I felt a pat on my shoulder, and as I turned around, I was met with a piercing green gaze. His face was masked in dismay, not sympathy.
“Drunk again, ya bastard?!" He had started off.
I knew why he was here, I could since his disapproval. He had found out about what went down a week or so ago. How I drank myself into oblivion and almost snuffed my guiding light.
“Myke… I…” I attempted to defend myself. I couldn’t believe I was actually defending my own actions, ones I detested to the very core of my being… he wasn’t buying any of it.
“No, you don’t get a chance at redemption. You know what you did, don'tchya!? You nearly... Ya know what nevermind, I’m almost a loss for words! I never would have expected this from you… of all people.” It wasn’t rocket science and I immediately felt his disgust.
I wanted to tell him how sick I was to even remember what had went down. I wanted to tell him that in the right frame of mind, I would have never done such a thing. To raise a hand to the love of my life, it’s a thought unheard of in my sane psyche. But that night, between too much booze and an abundance of rage and insecurity, my sanity left me.
“I’ll never be you, you know that?” Was what I had blurted out. He looked at me surprisingly.
"What!? What the fuck does that even mean?!” He says in near shock.
“I will never be you. And you’re what she wants. Or what she thinks she wants. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’ll never be Myke Adams, and in her eyes that’s all that matters.” I say, still staring down at the ring in my fingertips.
At this point, he sees the ring playing within my entangled fingers, my hand trembling not due to alcohol, but uncertainty.
“And let me say this, you have awfully big shoes to fill, brotherman.” I reply, a halfhearted smile appearing before I down another drink.
His electric green eyes narrow and he sits there, his arms laying across the bar counter, him searching for his next action.
I could sense he wanted to teach me a lesson, one I rightfully deserved. When you love somebody, you will literally fuck somebody up if they mess with the one you love. But what I didn’t get was his candor, he still seemed like that best friend I so desperately needed. He still seemed like that borderline brother I yearned for near me at all times; but as I watched him sit there, thinking, I literally didn’t know what was going to happen. He was this unwritten book, an enigma in every sense of the word--and sometimes, like now, it left me feeling scared and uncertain.
I went to take another drink, but he silently reaches up with one hand and stops me. I look over at him, my face turning from confusion to annoyance. He turns his head slightly and his eyes narrow, his brows furrowed.
“Christ man… enough! You need to quit wallowing in self pity and go do something about this. You say you’re sorry about what you did, but you’re fucking drinking yourself into an early grave. She's willing, she's there... Trust me. Ya know what... fuck it… you’re just sad, Bond.” He says, his face changing from anger to sadness.
I look up from my glass into his eyes and I can literally feel the disappointment in him. I can handle anger. I can handle him wanting to punch me in the fucking face… but for him to sit there and physically find me disappointing, it’s just… it’s just too goddamn much.
I set the glass down and lay my head on the bar counter, my eyes peering out just past the edge and stare at her engagement ring sitting in the palm of my hand. He continues to stare at me, his eyes searching over me, his mind continuously working like the Labyrinth, ever changing.
I feel my vision start to blur because of the tears that have welled up and begun to exit my body. I take my free hand and wipe away my sniffling nose, and slowly turn my eyes to meet his.
"Bruv... you're better than this." His green eyes show compassion, and his voice is filled with this borderline nurturing tone. Our brotherhood is clear, because minutes ago he wouldn't have thought twice about knocking me flat on my ass.
I turn my eyes back down to the engagement ring and I remember myself earlier that day...
“I need you.” I whispered into her ear and raked my fingers up and into her hair as I placed kisses along her neck.
He pats me on my back and tries to pull me up away from the bar stool that has been harboring my vessel for close to two hours now. I feel my body being lifted up and away from the leather seat, an indentation that greatly resembles my ass.
"C'mon man, let's get you sober, and cleaned up and on the right path..." He says softly. I hand him my wallet and keys. My threshold having been breached, I sort of fumble the delivery and while the wallet and keys make it into his hand, the ring falls to the wooden floor below. It hits with a clink, and I gulp and sniffle once more. I slowly bend down to pick up the ring, using the bar stool to keep myself from falling over. As I use my fingertips to pick up the one thing that symbolized a promise at happiness from the floor, I'm hit with another flashback from earlier today.
“I’m sorry. I can’t be who you want me to be for you. I can‘t be promised to you when I don‘t know what I want anymore.”
I watch her reach down and pull off the ring that I had given her to wear. I watched her take up my hand and she placed it back into my palm and I watched her slowly press those deviantly red lips against my upturned closed fist.
I feel Myke help me up, the room of course spinning and my own stomach turning with it. He helps steady me, and the two of us begin our exit from this den of repression. I feel the sapphire digging deep into my hand, as I keep her ring clinched within my closed fist. I feel like the best punishment I can give myself is to keep this ring with me as a constant reminder of what might have been... or as a glimmering hope, a possibility of what may still come.
The bartender had become my supplier, feeding my addiction by refilling every glass. I was never without my drug of choice, having willingly gulped down each drink to try and squelch this unquenchable pain.
Each and every time I peered down at the ring that was dancing on my fingertips, I couldn’t help but search for happiness. In that little circle, I saw hope. I saw promise. I saw a future. But I always wondered what she saw. And when I found out that she saw a clasp, an-ever-tightening collar choking her very soul to death, it killed me.
The moment she handed me the ring, I instantly felt everything. Every word she said was like a dagger, gouging deeper into my very essence with every word she said.
She looked at me, and I knew that she felt relief. When she returned to me my hope for a future, I saw a weight being lifted from her shoulders. It was almost as if her very self seemed to grow to proportions I haven’t been witness to since the early days of our whirlwind romance.
They say if you love something, then you must set it free. And if it comes back to you, it was always meant to be. I look back at that and I respond with a big old “Fuck You.”
How can you willingly give up something you love with all of your heart? How can you let someone walk away who you literally ache for? It isn’t easy and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not man enough to do it.
One more goblet of whiskey downed and I feel myself starting to empty of hurt. I must be pushing against my threshold, because I can sense my vision starting to blur as well. At this point, I’m begging to be put out of my misery.
I felt sophomoric believing those lies… those rumors, but she was a woman of a certain history. A history that featured both of those men prominently. And I would have had to have been a fool to never realize she still held feelings for both. Those late nights when we were walking a tightrope of intoxication and almost-slumber, I can recall her divulging her deepest, most inner-most reservations.
I always wondered if I was ever going to be able to live up to either man, both Demigods compared to my mortal self. I felt cast aside, living solely in their shadows. But I did it because I legitimately loved this woman. Our relationship was born out of booze and lust and blossomed into one that created a beautiful baby boy. If I honestly looked back, I could tell she was trying to make something work because of him. I was always blinded by my own happiness to even see glimmers of her sorrow.
I felt a pat on my shoulder, and as I turned around, I was met with a piercing green gaze. His face was masked in dismay, not sympathy.
“Drunk again, ya bastard?!" He had started off.
I knew why he was here, I could since his disapproval. He had found out about what went down a week or so ago. How I drank myself into oblivion and almost snuffed my guiding light.
“Myke… I…” I attempted to defend myself. I couldn’t believe I was actually defending my own actions, ones I detested to the very core of my being… he wasn’t buying any of it.
“No, you don’t get a chance at redemption. You know what you did, don'tchya!? You nearly... Ya know what nevermind, I’m almost a loss for words! I never would have expected this from you… of all people.” It wasn’t rocket science and I immediately felt his disgust.
I wanted to tell him how sick I was to even remember what had went down. I wanted to tell him that in the right frame of mind, I would have never done such a thing. To raise a hand to the love of my life, it’s a thought unheard of in my sane psyche. But that night, between too much booze and an abundance of rage and insecurity, my sanity left me.
“I’ll never be you, you know that?” Was what I had blurted out. He looked at me surprisingly.
"What!? What the fuck does that even mean?!” He says in near shock.
“I will never be you. And you’re what she wants. Or what she thinks she wants. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’ll never be Myke Adams, and in her eyes that’s all that matters.” I say, still staring down at the ring in my fingertips.
At this point, he sees the ring playing within my entangled fingers, my hand trembling not due to alcohol, but uncertainty.
“And let me say this, you have awfully big shoes to fill, brotherman.” I reply, a halfhearted smile appearing before I down another drink.
His electric green eyes narrow and he sits there, his arms laying across the bar counter, him searching for his next action.
I could sense he wanted to teach me a lesson, one I rightfully deserved. When you love somebody, you will literally fuck somebody up if they mess with the one you love. But what I didn’t get was his candor, he still seemed like that best friend I so desperately needed. He still seemed like that borderline brother I yearned for near me at all times; but as I watched him sit there, thinking, I literally didn’t know what was going to happen. He was this unwritten book, an enigma in every sense of the word--and sometimes, like now, it left me feeling scared and uncertain.
I went to take another drink, but he silently reaches up with one hand and stops me. I look over at him, my face turning from confusion to annoyance. He turns his head slightly and his eyes narrow, his brows furrowed.
“Christ man… enough! You need to quit wallowing in self pity and go do something about this. You say you’re sorry about what you did, but you’re fucking drinking yourself into an early grave. She's willing, she's there... Trust me. Ya know what... fuck it… you’re just sad, Bond.” He says, his face changing from anger to sadness.
I look up from my glass into his eyes and I can literally feel the disappointment in him. I can handle anger. I can handle him wanting to punch me in the fucking face… but for him to sit there and physically find me disappointing, it’s just… it’s just too goddamn much.
I set the glass down and lay my head on the bar counter, my eyes peering out just past the edge and stare at her engagement ring sitting in the palm of my hand. He continues to stare at me, his eyes searching over me, his mind continuously working like the Labyrinth, ever changing.
I feel my vision start to blur because of the tears that have welled up and begun to exit my body. I take my free hand and wipe away my sniffling nose, and slowly turn my eyes to meet his.
"Bruv... you're better than this." His green eyes show compassion, and his voice is filled with this borderline nurturing tone. Our brotherhood is clear, because minutes ago he wouldn't have thought twice about knocking me flat on my ass.
I turn my eyes back down to the engagement ring and I remember myself earlier that day...
.....
“I need you.” I whispered into her ear and raked my fingers up and into her hair as I placed kisses along her neck.
.....
He pats me on my back and tries to pull me up away from the bar stool that has been harboring my vessel for close to two hours now. I feel my body being lifted up and away from the leather seat, an indentation that greatly resembles my ass.
"C'mon man, let's get you sober, and cleaned up and on the right path..." He says softly. I hand him my wallet and keys. My threshold having been breached, I sort of fumble the delivery and while the wallet and keys make it into his hand, the ring falls to the wooden floor below. It hits with a clink, and I gulp and sniffle once more. I slowly bend down to pick up the ring, using the bar stool to keep myself from falling over. As I use my fingertips to pick up the one thing that symbolized a promise at happiness from the floor, I'm hit with another flashback from earlier today.
.....
“I’m sorry. I can’t be who you want me to be for you. I can‘t be promised to you when I don‘t know what I want anymore.”
I watch her reach down and pull off the ring that I had given her to wear. I watched her take up my hand and she placed it back into my palm and I watched her slowly press those deviantly red lips against my upturned closed fist.
.....
I feel Myke help me up, the room of course spinning and my own stomach turning with it. He helps steady me, and the two of us begin our exit from this den of repression. I feel the sapphire digging deep into my hand, as I keep her ring clinched within my closed fist. I feel like the best punishment I can give myself is to keep this ring with me as a constant reminder of what might have been... or as a glimmering hope, a possibility of what may still come.
