| Pain by destiny Lance crouched in the perfectly pedicured bushes of her home, gazing up through the gauzy fabric of her bedroom. He knew it was wrong to be there, knew that the restraining order was looming large, and he'd already been caught near her once. Only a call from management saved him that time. He barely drew breath as he anticipated her being, her body coming to the window so he could see her again. Being without her was like being without oxygen, without any air at all. He needed her, and it was so painful to see that she didn't want him. In the shadows, he made out her figure approaching the window. She took his breath away as she propped her head up on her elbow, staring out into the darkness, her long red hair swaying against her pale skin, a gleam in those dark eyes. He gazed at her as she admired the evening's stars, now out for the world to veiw. Lance felt his heart stop, get caught somewhere between breathes. He wanted her, he needed to be with her. The break up had been over two months old, and he was obsessed. Every waking moment he dreamed of holding her just one more time, of touching her skin and inhaling her scent, of things that should have been, things that may have been. At first the male figure seemed like a mirage to him, a foreign entity with no real substance. The giggle in her voice shot through his being, though, and made him face a reality he was hardly prepared for. "What are you doing?" she laughed, and Lance forced himself to strain in the dead of night, narrow his gaze to catch a look at her visitor. It was not something he'd expected, nothing he'd been prepared for. "What do you think I'm doing, woman?" the male voice chuckled back. Lance froze, the bile rose into his throat and his vision blurred. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be. But it was. His fucking friend, the person he'd been crying to all these long and lonely nights, all these useless days in the studio when he had so much goddamned time on his hands because he was only the bass. His idle mind always lead to thoughts of her, romantic daydreams about what he wanted to happen, and he'd let himself be taken under his friend's wing. "Chris, you feel so wonderful." The actual word stung Lance hard, beating the breath from his lungs. He saw Chris, so bold and brash, standing behind her, running his filthy hands over her breasts, over the silk of the nightgown Lance had bought her on the last Christmas they'd spent together. He couldn't focus and the hot tears formed in his eyes, stinging like pure alcohol. He tumbled backwards onto the damp ground and tried to focus, tried to make sense of the travesty going on before him. Chris, the fucker. Chris with his "go find her, man" and his "don't let her scare you off. make her know you want her." That's what caused the damn restraining order in the first place. Chris with his phony concern and offer to let him cry on his shoulder. Too many questions flooded Lance's senses and it was insant overload, casuing the bile to rise and expel in such a violent manner he trembled. How blind had he been? How played? How long? "What the fuck?" he heard Chris yell, apparently in response to the loud retching sound. Lance scrambled to his feet, a pain of which he'd never known ripping through him with each breath, each little movement. The soft ground gave way to his dash, and he heard the screen door slam angrily on his heels. He moved faster, not wanting to face Chris, fearful of what would happen. Emotions flew fast, making his skin hypersensitive, each burst of cool wind shearing into him like a needle. His SUV was parked several housed down and he flew down the driveway, tripping over a basketball. The blacktop connected with his chin, and skinned the palms of his hands roughly. He glanced over his shoulder and made out the unmistakable figure of Chris headed for him. "Lance? Is that you?" He forced himself up and continued down the driveway, feeling the trickle of blood trickle down his neck. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys, having a hard time seeing through the abundance of tears that flowed down his cheeks. "Fuck," he muttered, hurrying into the road. "Lance, man, it is you. Hold up." Lance pushed the key in, letting out a sniffle. He felt strong hands yank on his collar, causing his keys to clink to the road. "Lance, I was calling you. Man, you're not supposed to be here, you know that." There were words caught in Lance, stalled somewhere where they wouldn't come up. It was a vacuum and the severness of the situaton lazed about in his mind. He wanted to yell, scream, pummel Chris and his fake friendship into the ground. Nothing would happen, though. His arms were stuck, and his fists were numb. "Dude, you have to go. You know better than this." Lance jerked away, concentrating on the pebbles on the road, ignoring the sting of his palms and the anguish in his heart. He found some minor amount of strength to pull away from Chris, backing himself up against the car door. He didn't dare make eye contact. "Talk to me." The hair on Lance's neck stood up, and he wanted to rip it out. How in the fuck could Chris act like nothing was going on, ignore the fact that he was here. Lance was obsessed, nuts, that was his excuse. Nothing Chris could say would excuse his being here. Pain surged again, and he wasn't sure he could take it much longer. His love, the first true love in his life was fucking his friend. "Shut up," he managed, the actual words sounding oddly far away, like the mist in a dream, but not one he could awaken from. He looked up, forced his face to meet Chris'. "Leave me the hell alone you piece of fucking shit." Chris sighed. "Come on, don't be like this." He placed his hand on Lance's arm. The touch sent flashes of agony into Lance's skin, needle like sensations boring into him. He recoiled, balling up his fist and striking quickly, without warning. He connected with Chris' gut sending him backwards but not down. Lance cried as his hit him, walls of ache breaking down all at once. He shook as he tried to get the keys again. "You little fuck," Chris hissed, clutching his stomach. "You wanna play? We'll fucking play. JC said to be easy on you, help you out, and I did Lance. I kept quiet for you. You wanna hit me? Fuck you. I'll tell you." His gentle eyes turned hard and evil, hate and secrecy oozing out. Lance knew it was coming, and admission he knew his body wouldn't handle. He looked down, away from the traitor that stood behind him and felt the roar of silence in his head. He knew he should go now, leave while there were no words spoken because the truth was about to be told, a truth that he was certain could rip him down the center. Somehow his feet stayed put. "I've been with her since the middle of your relationship. How's that? I've been right where you were, right in the same fucking body. Damn, I didn't think you'd actually fall in love with her. How was I supposed to know that? She's no good for you. She's a player, like me. She don't want marriage, kids, house with the damn picked fence. Me and her are the same type of people. She'd only eat you up, then spit you out." The words hurt fiercly, so horribly that Lance covered his ears to fend them off. He'd heard enough, he'd had enough. It was too much pain now and he glanced up blindly, tears running endlessly down his face. He saw Chris's face fall in compassion, maybe some regret there in those eyes now, a sorrow for what he'd done. It was too late. The pain had taken seed already. The key finally entered the hole and Lance tumbled in recklessly, slamming the door, oblivious to Chris' other words. It may have been an 'i'm sorry' or something, but it no longer mattered. Whatever he'd hoped by coming to her home that night was shattered in a million pieces. He could not have dreamed or imagined Chris doing this to him. Taking him by the hand through the worst break up of his life while fucking the love of his life behind closed doors. It was too much betrayal, too much to handle. He gunned the engine and ignored Chris' hand on the door handle. Darkness was ahead, not only on the road, but in his heart, his soul and his spirit. The road was fuzzy and he sniffled loudly, trying to clear his eyes, trying to see the yellow line and make it home, make it somewhere safe where the buzzing in his brain would stop and leave him in peace. If there was peace. Chris and his love. Too much pain. |