AN: Hi, guess what, that's John in the picture. He's so handsome. :D Anyway, please vote and comment and enjoy please. Oh, and follow.
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Tomorrow was the party. I gaped at the list of people my father invited, then gulped as I looked at the hopeful expression on my father's face, "This is a lot of people, Dad."
"They're even some people from the local colleges are on the list, so you can make a case to going to them. I've even got a professor from American Academy of Dramatic Arts and a director from Columbia University as well," he told me, with a big grin.
"No kidding?" I bit my lip.
"Yeah, always think ahead," he nodded and then sighed, "I really wished you applied, but maybe if they like you, they'll make a special place for you."
"Oh," I smacked my lips, "goodie."
I waited for a long moment, and my father caught on that I wasn't feeling it, he turned away before placing the list on a nearby table, "You okay, John?"
"I'm just..." I don't want to embarrass you. I looked down to the ground before forcing a smile, "I'm okay, just nervous, that's all." I felt my mother's necklace around my neck - gripping it until my knuckles turned white - and then leaned against the wall. I looked away and stared at the flickering light above us. It went out for a second and then made a buzzing sound before clicking back on.
"Don't be, everyone likes you, John," he told me, honestly.
I stared at him, blandly, "Yeah, sure."
"People get annoyed, but they think you're charming. You're a lot like your mother," he said softly. I stared at him and he smiled, "Sorry."
"You don't talk about her," I told him, softly.
"I feel as if I'm disrespecting her if I talk about her," he replied.
"Why were you divorcing?" I asked.
He stiffened but then sighed, releasing his breath and his posture softened, "I think we just didn't see each other and we changed, and soon we became strangers. And we realized we weren't the same person we fell in love with. She used to be so... free, she loved art. She loved to smile. Then she... wanted to be secure, and that meant she always had to be organized and black and white. I wanted to make new friends, she wanted to keep the old ones. I wanted to buy vacation homes and cars, and she wanted to make what we had already work. The person I became was someone she didn't like, and I didn't love the person she became."
"Why didn't you try to make it work?" I asked.
"We did," he frowned, "but I think we felt so much resentment towards each other already that it didn't last long."
"Oh," I said softly.
"John, if you ever fall in love, remember don't let go. Don't just give up. Love is worth every blood, sweat, and tear you put into it," he muttered, gripped my shoulder and rocked me back and forth. He exited the room and I stood there for a while, looking at him.
Then I pushed off the wall and was turned when I bumped into Damian. He grinned at me and then looked down, "I didn't know when to come in, I heard the conversation and it just... was a little deep."
I stared at him and nodded. I didn't know what really to do at the moment, I was caught in between confronting him and ignoring it. I was stuck in my inner battle, that I let an awkward silence grow and grow between us. Then he took a long breath, "Um, yeah..."
I coughed. It came out louder than intended. It made Damian jump at the sudden loud noise, before turning redder and redder. His embarrassment only made it worse for me, I coughed feel my palms sweat.
"Okay!" I said. He jumped and stared at me, his ears red, "Do you need something?"
"I think we should talk," he said softly.
"I don't," I told him, directly before turning around quickly and feeling my legs shake as I began to walk away.
"Wait, wait, wait!" he ordered quickly and fell in rhythm next to me, "Look, it took a lot out of me to come up to you. Can I just explain what happened in your room?"
"You kissed me," I stated, but half whispered it just in case anyone was near me. Then stopped and stared at him, "Just don't come near me, let's just pretend it never happened."
He choked on his own air, leaving me enough silence to look away and take a step away. Then I heard, "What if I don't want to pretend?"
I froze and then grabbed the scruff of his shirt before forcing him to take two steps back and his back clunk against the wall behind him. He gasped and I forced him to make eye-contact with me, "Damian, no. Please, just don't."
"I like you more than I should. And I get that you're with Owen. But you don't seem happy, I mean; am I just not your type or...?" he trailed off when he saw my glare, "I will back off if you tell me why not."
I stared at him for a long time and then felt the blood drain from my face. He was serious. I've never seen Damian serious about anything. He only had the same look on his face when I saw him singing, something so quiet and somber about it. Something so... earnest. His handsome face was stone, his eyes...
"I just can't, Damian," I told him.
He stared at me, "Why?"
I was about to leave again, but he grabbed my arm and forced me to look at him again. He pulled me closer and I felt his hot breath on my face, "Just tell me why."
"Because I'm terrible," I said.
"Liar," he said, "You're the most magnificent person I have ever met." His face was so grave, and I could tell he solemnly believed what he just said.
The words were so profound, so consequential, but I felt every word hit me like a arrow shot from an invisible enemy... I could speak and I could feel it. My mouth went slack and I gulped and then looked down, "You don't know who I am or what I've done."
"Then tell me who you are, what you've done," he leaned his head against mine.
It was quiet. The most genuine words I've ever heard came out of... this idiot. I felt my mouth go dry and my words couldn't compile, couldn't process. I stared at him and felt my spine become stone as he closed the distance between us, pressing his soft lips against mine for a solid second before I leapt backwards.
His face fell, becoming miserable. His hand levitated where my shoulder once was and he leaned his head back, "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."
"I know just what you mean," I said softly.
He looked up at me, "If you just..."
"I'm a very... broken human-being, Damian," I explained to him, "I've done some terrible things. Do you realize what you are doing? And to who are you doing it to? No, you don't even know the beginning of my story. And are you even acknowledging the fact you are with Penelope?"
"She isn't talking to me," he said and then scoffed, humorlessly, "I think I understand why now."
"Damian, I know you are doing this on a whim. I was a lot like you a long time ago. I know exactly what you're thinking..." I began. My voice was shaking, though I didn't know why. I felt blissfully calm for some odd reason.
"No, you have no idea..." he began.
"You think that if you say it all in one go, then you'll have a lot less pain. Like when ripping a band-aid off. But it's proving to be stupid, because you feel like a complete idiot and it's not helping one bit I'm explaining it to you, is it?" I asked.
"Then why are you still explaining it?" he stared at me and then his expression became distorted with pain and humiliation, "Jesus, fuck."
I saw, like me, his knees were completely shaking. I took a long breath and lead him into the resting room, closing the door behind us quietly. We were lucky we weren't caught, and I couldn't help but feel like we were both complete dumb-asses. I lead him to the couch and set him down, "It's okay."
"How the h-" then he stopped himself and looked at me, "Why the hell did you know how I felt?"
"I was like you once. But you're stronger than me. Hopefully you don't turn out to be like me," I explained to him softly. I went towards the far side of the room and rummaged around the bar before finding the key to the liquor cabinet. I opened the cabinet and grabbed one of the crystal bottles and a glass. I brought it over to him in the stone silence we created.
I put the glass in front of him and poured the liquor in it. I waited for a moment, "Drink it, it'd make you feel better."
"Why didn't you get yourself a glass?" he questioned me.
"Looks like you need it more than me," I replied.
He stared at it, "What is it?"
"Does it matter?" I asked. He rolled his eyes and took a drink, "I'm only twenty."
"Thought you were younger," I mumbled under my breath, when he looked at me with inquiring gaze, I said, "You're a year away, I don't think you are doing much against the law."
He took another tentative sip, "That's not what you said. You said you thought I was younger, it's because they say I am younger."
"Why?"
"The radio contest we started out in stated we had to be under sixteen, I was a little over and we faked it... Luckily, they weren't angry when they found out. Said they found real talent. Plus, we were six months in and it was a bit late to take it back," he grinned softly and twirled the liquor in the glass.
He began to drink a bit more and then looked up, pursing his lips at the air, "I usually only drink after we play. And it's only a little."
I laughed and he looked at me, slightly shocked. Then he blushed, "Oh, yeah, you know I've gotten drunk though."
"Well, yeah," I smirked.
"Huh," he beamed at me and downed the glass, before pouring himself another, "It was after that show."
"That show?" I smiled and then tip-toed over to him, "What happened that night anyway to make you get so drunk?" His face lost its joyfulness and I looked away, "Actually, never-"
"No," he stopped me, "I'll tell you why."
"I was getting off the stage and some guy came up to me," he smiled softly, "He began to flirt with me. And I was flirting back. It was the first time any guy had and I was kind of... enjoying it. Despite the fact I think I only ever wanted Owen to flirt with me..."
I chuckled, "Did the guy say something or...?"
"No, Owen did," he rubbed his temples, "He started telling the guy to fuck off. And they got into a small fight, and then he called him a faggot. Then the guy completely looked embarrassed and left."
"I'm so sorry," I said softly.
"No, it gets worse," he told me. He took a long gulp.
"Oh, no," I mumbled.
"I asked Owen if he was jealous and then he started yelling at me. To start being careful and to not fuck up the record deal with my 'faggy business,'" he explained.
"Oh, God," I whispered.
"I remember getting so pissed off that I started yelling back. And he looked surprised and then I started crying... He looked so guilty," he looked down and then frowned, "Then I went to the bar and started drinking...."
He stared at me for a long, then frowned, "Wait."
I looked back at him and then I froze. I saw something dawning on his face and I knew something sank in my heart.
"You were there," he said softly.
I gulped and stared at him.
Then his face paled and recognition came, "You were the... I slept with you. I was so drunk and I fell over, you dragged me up the stairs and I started kissing you. And you kissed me and I had... Holy shit..." I gaped at him and jumped as he quickly got up. He wobbled and then fell back, "Shit... shit... shit..."
I didn't know what to do, or how to react. So I slowly watched him as he drank the liquor and stared at me in our quietness, "Why didn't you tell me?"
He looked away and then bit his lip, before leaning back, "I thought I was straight, I thought... I missed something. I've never felt more stupid than I do right now..." He downed the glass and poured himself another.
"You were laughing about this. It's some sick joke... and I thought," he crumpled and I saw his eyes watering, "What the fuck's wrong with you?"
He didn't make a noise after that. His tears ran down his cheeks and he blinked every so often, brought the glass to his lips and drew the golden liquid down his throat. Every so often he'd get up, pour himself another. Then he'd drink it. Then he'd refill it again.
"I'm sorry." I saw no reaction.
After a long moment, I realized he wasn't moving. I got up and saw his eyes finally were closed, his breath even and heavy. He was asleep.
I took the glass from his fingers and placed it on the table. I took his body and laid him on the couch. I made sure his head was comfortable and made him lay straight before I went to grab a blanket. I draped it over his body. I tucked him in and then sat back in my position, staring.
His face - still wet from tears - was stony and serene. He didn't move a lot. I stayed there, quietly.
The door opened and I heard Owen walk over. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he took in the scene before him. I was sitting still, face blank. My fists on either side of me, knuckles white, fingernails digging into the flesh of my palm. Then he saw the table, the one full liquor bottle nearly empty and a empty glass. Then he saw Damian.
Owen slowly sat next to me and frowned, "Holy shit, you're shaking." It was so quiet that his whispering voice seemed to scream. He touched my arm, trying to make me acknowledge him.
"He remembered," I whispered.
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AN: This is the beginning of the end. There's about five chapters - two parts for the party, what happens after, the resolution, and then John gets either his love interest or resolves and stays alone... It's up to you.
Who do you want to be with John?