Author: azzy
beta: goodbye_sun
rating/warning: none, and its quite emo.
An: just a stupid drabble that wouldnt leave my head. I realise the first half is better than the second.. sue me.
characters: Cloud & Reno.
je ne t'aime plus mon amour
je ne t'aime plus tous les jours
I used to love watching you sleep. I used to stay awake long after you slept, just to study that serene look on your face, but as I sit here in the dark watching you sleep on the sofa it leaves me with nothing. I used to think it was cute the way you rub your nose in your sleep. But then again, I used to find a lot of things you do charming.
I vaguely wonder why you fell asleep on the sofa. Maybe its because you want to punish me for the fight we had earlier, or maybe its just because you fell over where you sat, dead drunk. You snore loudly, so I know you must be drunk, you only snore when you are wasted. Maybe its both, maybe you think that getting drunk and falling asleep on the sofa will teach me a lesson? Reality is that I don't give a shit. Once I would have gone and fetched a blanket for you, tucking you in, but instead I find myself looking at the window, smiling when I see you forgot to close it. And I won't shut it either, I will just pretend that I didn't notice when you bitch about it in the morning.
Relaxing into my chair, I continue watching you. Maybe I should just kick the sofa table, scaring the living shit out of you and making you fall off of the sofa. Just earlier today someone asked me why the hell I kept you hanging on, and I didn't really answer.
I wonder who is keeping who hanging on?
I start to unlace my boots. Why didn't I answer? And why did I just leave the party earlier? You had been so excited that we were going together since it had been so long since we had been out, just you and me, I didn't really want to go, but you kissed me and told me to have a great time, and to stop being such a bore. I didn't know I was a bore. You didn't use to think I was boring, you used to laugh at my jokes, you used to pester me until I gave in and danced, you used to whisper sweet nothing in my ear. You used to think I was fun and interesting.
I can't really hold that against you though, since I used to think you were charming, sexy and smart. None of those adjectives are the ones that come into my mind as I look at you now, drooling on your arm in your sleep. What happened to us? When did 'hey there beautiful' become 'yo! Cloud' ? And when did 'be safe, I love you' become 'when are you gonna be back'?
We are both trying our hardest not to return home, staying out longer and longer. I wonder if you wrap your long legs around someone else these days, you haven't as much as given me a hug in weeks. I hate myself when I can't shake this feeling, I miss you, the real you. Or maybe this is the real you? I can't tell the difference any more.
Why did you have to be such a prick at that party? You knew they were my friends, yet you had to have a laugh at my expense. Once I wouldn't have left, but then again, once I wouldn't have gotten so pissed off, knowing that you ridiculed me on purpose. And once...once you would have come running after me. As I sit here I refuse to admit to myself that I looked over my shoulder when I walked down the street, secretly hoping you would burst out into the street, calling my name. And I refuse to admit that I sat on some steps for over half an hour waiting, before I started walking again. I almost went back to the party, but I didn't feel like I was welcome, you completely spellbound the crowd with your charismatic smile and contagious laugh. And me? I am apparently just a bore, they would much rather have drinks with you, than me.
I wish you wouldn't sell me so cheap, just for a laugh. Don't you know you're hurting me? Maybe you don't since I never bothered to tell you.
I realise that you might just not love me any more, you once did, you used to tell it to me at least once a day, but I haven't heard it in ages. Do I love you still? I don't know.
You told me that I was too fucking predictable, and maybe I am, maybe I should just get up and leave, go rent a room somewhere and stay out of your way for a few days, turn off my cellphone and just lay low, watching telly from a motel bed, eating shitty freeze-dried foods. But what if I came home, thinking I taught you a lesson, and you were gone? What if you left for real? And then I couldn't blame you, because the fault would me mine, I had taken the first step.
”Cloud?”
I open my eyes and look at you, you lay on the sofa, looking at me with little red slits for eyes. ”Yes” I say flatly.
”What are you doing sitting here?” You sound slightly worried, and sit up in the sofa with a slow languid move, not to disturb your aching head. ”Is everything alright?”
”Sure” I lie. Besides the fact I want to spit in your face, then everything is just dandy, I think to myself.
”Why did you leave the party?” You ask, reaching for the bottle under the sofa table.
”I just...” I hear myself say, starting yet another lie, but I am tired of lying, tired of being unhappy and lonely when you are right there. ”Didn't see the point in staying” I say acidly.
”Come on, man” You say, smiling disarming. ”It was just for fun, Cloud, you know I didn't mean it”
”I don't know anything, anymore” I say, I feel like screaming and punching you right in that god damn self righteous grin. ”And it was not fucking funny, Reno. It was degrading and stupid”
”Cloud” You whine, before taking another hit of the bottle.
I frown. This is getting us nowhere, just like all the other times we have had similar discussions. ”No” I hiss, feeling the anger boil right underneath my skin, I get up from the chair, but instead of kicking your teeth in, I set a course straight to the bedroom, it doesn't feel like I am just going to bed because I am not bothered with listening to your stupid drunken rubbish, it feels like a defeat, like I am running to hide under my covers, pretending everything is fine in the morning.
I am not even arsed to take off my clothes as I toss myself on the bed. And right now I just wish I could cry, I need to cry. But I don't, I never cry. I turn my head and watch the wall next to the window, listening to the sounds in the apartment to try and figure out what you are doing, and I am surprised to find myself that I am worried that the next sound I will hear is the door slamming.
But instead I hear soft footsteps as you enter the bedroom. Under other circumstances I would pretend I was sleeping, but I know you know I am awake. The bed shifts under your weight as you sit down at the foot end. Somehow it feels like we walked through hell just to get to this, maybe men like us need war? Maybe we really can't feel enough to make the moment linger forever. Maybe we are in reality warriors and not lovers? Didn't we both feel more passion when we were enemies?
Life is made out of choices, and right now I know I have to make one, I can either just get up and leave, even if I know my boots are in the living room and I would have to just grab them and hurry out the door, or I could just lay here and ignore your attempt to carry a conversation, listing to your half-assed apology and maybe have some mediocre make-up sex, or I could sit up and actually tell you how I feel.
I realise you have been talking since you came in here, and I haven't heard a word you said, nor do I care, I'm sure that you're saying the same as you did the last time we were in this exact situation, it feels like an downward spiral, an ominous circle bound to repeat itself over and over. I roll over on my back and sigh, ”Is it a man or a woman?” I ask, my own voice sounds out loud, so sharp it could cut paper. I didn't mean to sound this bitter.
You instantly start to yell like I knew you would, like you always do when I ask you something you don't really know the answer to, like your anger will hide the fact that you really just are an pretentious twat. ”You know what? It doesn't matter” I hear myself groan, pulling the pillow over my head, trying to block out your voice.
I feel the bed shift again as you lay down next to me, and I pull the pillow from my head again, turning my head I look you right into your eyes, those beautiful intelligent blue eyes, now they seem dull and puffy, too little sleep and too much alcohol. The hand that touches my face is warm and sweaty.
”I really am sorry” You whisper.
I just blink as a response, I am not bothered with a lie, nor do I want the discussion that would happen if I told the truth. Maybe you are sorry, maybe you are not. It doesn't really matter any more. I turn my back to you, and even if I really just want to move away from your touch, and the arm that you wrap around me, I can't help but to feel relieved and relaxed, knowing that it is not tonight I will sleep alone. I have to admit to myself that I can't even imagine falling asleep without you right next to me.
Maybe there really is something to salvage? Maybe that little warm feeling I know is still there are the embers of what used to be burning passion? And maybe you feel the same, I don't know because I have never asked you, simply because I don't want the answer.
(translation: I do not love you any more my love, i dont love you anymore everyday)