Untitled Written: November 10, 2003 A cathartic little angstbomb brought on by a melancholy mood and all those C-list party photos. I'm really proud of this one, despite the fandom cliché. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “A really nice, deep love — but I’m not telling you any more than that.” Glasgow, 10:52 pm “You coming to bed, Bill?” She was standing in the dark square of the hall, blinking sleepily, one hand scritching in tangled red hair. Billy looked up, slightly startled by the dark and silent flat around him. His reading glasses twinkled in the lamplight. “What time is it?” “Nearly eleven.” “Christ.” Billy rubbed his eyes, let his specs clatter to the pile of papers. “I wanted to get this scene done before I turned in. Dom’s been waiting for three weeks now.” He caught her yawn and reciprocated hugely, covering his mouth with the back of one hand. She grinned at him and crossed her arms, all rumpled cotton and lazy grace, and he rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “Past my bedtime,” he said. She turned silently and disappeared down the hall, bare feet soft and light on the polished wood. Billy watched her go, hand still on the back of his neck, and called out into the darkness, “Those are my boxers you’re wearing.” “I know,” came the low reply, and the bedroom door creaked but did not close. Billy folded his glasses and left them neatly atop the stack of pages, his pen capped and ready next to them. He smiled broadly for a moment, then yawned again. Then he clicked off the little desk lamp and stood, stretching in the total darkness. He didn’t need the light anyway. He knew his way from here. Los Angeles, 2:52 pm It was the piercing glare that finally made Dom open his eyes. He jerked and closed them again, buried his face in the mattress. Eventually, he lifted his head and squinted blearily for the alarm clock. It wasn’t there. He reached up, fumbled for the watch on the nightstand, blinked at it over the sand in his eyes. Nearly three. “Christ,” he whispered. He sat up stiffly, turned to look at the rumpled sheets on the empty bed. He might have breathed a thank god, or he might have just thought it. The afternoon sun poured in between the crooked slats of the blinds, stabbing into his crusted eyes. He swatted blindly at the cord until the room went dim and grey again, and then he slumped and let out a long breath. His back bowed as he ran both hands through his hair. He could smell smoke on his shirt. Not the faint traces of warm spicy clove-smoke — those had faded weeks ago. The scent that clung to last night’s clothes was the foreign, flat smell of bitter tobacco and sweet-sour reefer. Dom’s stomach heaved, bile like cheap vodka, and he left the shirt in a pile of crumpled pink on the floor when he stood. Two steps and he nearly tripped over the alarm clock, unplugged and thrown into the wall across the room. He kicked it out of the way and rubbed his grainy eyes. Coffee, that’s what he needed. Coffee. Then check his messages. His untied sneakers left black footprints across his yoga mat, but he wasn’t looking. He didn’t need to see to make the trip from bed to toilet. He knew his way from here. Glasgow, 4:34 am The moon was full over the skyline, blurred bands of milky light across the dark bedroom. Billy blinked at the ceiling, his face striped in pale relief in the soft glow. He wasn’t sure what had woken him. He couldn’t remember dreaming, but he had that uneasy feeling of interruption, of things unfinished. He turned his head, looked out between the drapes to the white moon gleaming in the black sky, glistening in his wide black pupils. The wind stirred the thin material, bringing in the muted sound of the city below him on a breath of cold and crisp night air. It would be dawn soon. Billy’s brow furrowed. He held his breath in the silence and listened. The arm across his ribcage moved a bit, and he pulled his attention from the night outside. He looked down, going still, not moving until the arm relaxed again with the merest of sighs. He matched it with his own, and nudged his face into the warmth of soft hair below his nose. He drew in a long, clean breath, the lines in his brow disappearing, and fell asleep listening to his slowing heartbeat. He had been awake for four and a half minutes. Los Angeles, 8:34 pm “You OK, baby?” The voice startled Dom more than he could cover, and he sloshed his beer a little as he jumped. He looked over at the girl, staring at him over her cosmopolitan with hopeful confusion. He turned and looked back out over the balcony. “Yeah, fine. Just thinking. Looking.” He stared up at the full moon, shining dim above the orange-black smear of the sky, leached grey by the colors of the strip below. And still achingly beautiful. He leaned forward, breathing in the thick humid heat, eyes unfocused and soaking up the pale light as he stared. “You ever wonder if anyone else is doing the same thing at the same time?” His words made no sense to him, and even less to her. She slid open the patio door, let the pounding bass and shrill laughter curl around him and pull, and he turned away from the sky and creased his brow. He felt distracted, interrupted. He opened his mouth to speak. She shook her head, black ponytail bouncing. “You’re so weird, Dommie. Come on, come dance with me.” Dom drained his cup and left it perched on the railing as he followed her back inside. When they were gone, the cup teetered and fell over the edge, disappearing into the night below. Glasgow, 9:15 am Billy sipped at his juice and listened to the line click and buzz before the voice answered. “Yeah, Monaghan.” “Dom, it’s Billy.” “Billy? Bills, hey! What’s up?” Billy smiled at the west-coast greeting. “Look Dom, I’m sorry I’m calling so late, I know it must be past one over there—" “Naw, it’s fine, it’s early. How’ve you been?” “Good, real good. I’ve nearly got the second act revisions done, I thought I’d call and let you know I’d get them to you by next week. That alright? I know you’ve been waiting awhile.” “No, uh— yeah, no, that’s fine. Whenever you can, that’s fine. I’ve been— I’ve been thinking about them too, yeah.” “I’ve just been so busy lately. I know that’s no excuse, but still—" “No, hey, I’ve been real busy too. Real busy. Don’t worry about it.” Dom’s voice sounded cracked and filtered, light-years away. It stopped, and the line went flat and empty. Billy sipped at his juice and curled his hand around the phone. “Dom, how are you?” Dom laughed, hoarse and tipsy. “I’m fine, Bills. Just grand. I’ve just had a few tonight, yeah? It’s early, after all.” “Yeah.” Neither of them spoke after that. Billy could hear faint movement on the other end of the line. Dom’s breathing had gone uneven, and Billy clutched the phone tighter in his fist. “Dom, are you sure you’re alright?” “Of course I am, Bills.” “I’ve missed you, Dom.” A long pause. “I miss you too.” “I should let you get back to your evening. Why don’t you give me a call when you wake up tomorrow? Would that be alright?” “Sure. Yeah, sure. Tomorrow. I should get back, yeah. You need to get out here, Billy, it’s a ride and a half mate. I’m having the time of my life.” “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. You go enjoy it. Call me tomorrow, yeah?” “Yeah.” “Love you, Dom.” There was nothing for a long moment, and then a raspy whisper. “I love you too, Billy.” Billy felt a headache unwinding in his temples. “Dom—” “Say hello to your lady for me, Billy.” Billy’s eyes closed and he leaned on the table. “I will, Dom.” The line clicked dead, and Billy set the phone down. He looked at it for a few moments, swallowing the lump in his throat. Then he rubbed his face, and finished his juice, and walked down the hall towards the sound of the running shower and someone humming cheerfully over the water. The door clicked softly behind him. In Los Angeles, Dom dropped his phone onto the nightstand and covered his face with his hands. There were dizzy lights swirling behind his eyes, and his stomach churned and twisted until he forced a few long, steady breaths. He heard a muffled sound from beside him, and looked over at the shape stirring in the shadows, black hair spread across white sheets. And then he stumbled off the bed and fled into the bathroom, bile in his throat and one hand over his mouth. The door slammed shut behind him. The shape never noticed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ back