de♥ : Name one thing about the way their emotions work that they despise.
“Don’t you ever get tired of doing The Club’s bitch work?” The short answer was yes, of course he did, but the longer version landed somewhere along the lines of no.
Sure, he was tired of another mangled body landing his lap week after week after week, another mess to clean up, another crime to cover, it’s not like he enjoyed being the designated janitor.
However, every body that got cleaned up, every thug or outlaw who never returned to hurt someone else, was a Charming life that got saved. And those were the important ones. The ones with families, the kids who always approached Wayne and asked to see his badge up close, or begged for a sucker which was often stashed away in his squad car, or the newlyweds, the new mothers, new grandmothers or grandfathers, lives that could be lived in peace, completely oblivious to the going ons after sunset in Charming.
The stuff that actually bothered him, was committing crimes himself, infiltrating the department, lying, anything that involved children. And yet, the club always seemed to find a way to persuade him, to force him into doing what they wanted. This was probably the thing he hated most about himself, the way he’d always bend so other’s wouldn’t break. He’d put himself in harm’s way, his job, his family, his life, so other’s would be safe. Sticking his neck out for people who would only turn around and throw more on his plate.
He was a pushover, and frankly, it was exhausting. He was tired, tired of himself, of this illness, of this town. He didn’t want to lead Charming into battle, he wanted to protect the people, ensure they’d never see the horrors he saw, but his affiliation with the club, the ever growing closeness of his life with theirs meant worse for the club, and he wished he would’ve set boundaries at some point in the past.
That’s why he had pushed for Hale to move up and replace him, to ensure that what this was, stopped. It stopped with him. All of the niceness, the doing the dirty work, the pushover attitude, being on the club’s dime, it would all be over, and Charming could go back to it’s charming little way of life.
⊗ : What is something that causes them to question themself?
Have you ever had a specifically bad thing happen to you? Or a string of bad things, one after another? And somewhere in your soul, there’s a part of you, whether it consumes you or is just a nagging voice in the back of your mind, there’s a part which starts to wonder, What did I do to deserve this?, ‘Why do bad things always happen to me?’ or Why me?
Wayne felt that his string of bad luck had extended past this week, or this year, he felt that his life had been one long string of bad decisions or bad luck, and while he would never outwardly express it, a large chunk of his heart yearned for an answer as to why he couldn’t just be happy.
He was born into a family that never quite seemed to have enough time or money for him, made him feel more like an inconvenience than anything else. He enlisted and was promptly shipped to Vietnam, and now, every time he slept, he could still picture their faces, every person he had killed, regretting every bullet he had put in someone else throughout his life.
The woman he had loved since he was a child was rapidly moving from her first husband to her second, Wayne wasn’t even an option and he knew it. The woman he did marry was never in love with him, they were never head over heels, they were echoes of people, scared of being alone.
His daughters had both split moments after they became adults, and other than obligatory Christmas and birthday calls, didn’t give their father a second thought.
Diagnosed as terminal, placing an expiration date on his life, had rocked him to the very core, as though the time he had to fix everything he had done wrong was slipping away, water down a drain.
Wayne tried very hard to cope with his own mortality and struggled with it greatly, and then, Della pushed harder against him that she ever had before, pushed so hard that she tumbled backwards off the false ground that upheld their marriage. The divorce papers rolled in, and Wayne rolled up.
Now he sat alone, perched on the steps of a silver trailer, small puffs of smoke drifting up into the air after each drag from the blunt, he looked around at the dying trees, the fallen leaves, everything around him that had already given up on life.
♡ : Is there a certain scent that brings about nostalgia? If so, describe a memory this scent brings back.
Hiss, the door’s unfold and slide shut, there’s a puff of cloudy exhaust and the bus pulls away from the curb, an awfully anticlimactic scene, Wayne watches the buses chug out of Charming a handful of times each day, and like now, he was standing on the curb a few feet away, thumbs tucked into his pockets, chewing on his bottom lip. The Police Chief was often out and about in Charming, just observing, watching, looking for something out of the ordinary. And for the most part he was left alone. The cloud of exhaust left in the wake of the bus floated towards him, he wrinkled his nose as a wave of nostalgia came crashing into his body like a truck.
Wayne was nineteen, driving towards the bus station with Gemma in the passenger seat, she was practically vibrating with excitement, knowledge that she would actually get away with it this time, no one could stop her, or tie her down in this dead end town. Wayne however, leaned against the window, his eyes glossy, a feeling of grief nuzzling itself into his chest. They were silent for a good portion of the ride, their opposing emotions causing a communication break that they didn’t usually experience.
Once they arrived at the bus station, Gemma dug her suitcase out of the backseat and then of course, came the inevitable goodbye, the arms-wrapped-around-his-neck hug, coupled with a half-pleading, half-joking, “You know, could still come with me.” and one of those glowing smiles, beaming with opportunity and excitement. Wayne attempted to match her elation, but in comparison, his soul seemed much, much heavier, and unwillingness to live in this town without her, live anywhere without her.
She, of course, was a bit dejected at saying goodbye to her best friend, but she also say a looming opportunity, a better life, a bigger adventure, on the other side of this bus station and this town.
The big, loud bus pulled up to the curb opposite his rusted out car, and she’s slipping out of his grasp, crossing the street with a glance over her shoulder that told Wayne she wouldn’t turn back, no matter what happened. He pressed his lips into a thin line, pushing tears away as Gemma dragged her suitcase across the pavement, packed with clothes, copious amounts of weed and his heart.Wayne wanted nothing more than to scream, run after her, plaster a kiss onto her lips and beg her to stay, but he knew that wouldn’t work. she would’ve left whether he had said goodbye or not. He leaned against the hood of his car.
There was a soft hiss and the bus’s door unfolded, sliding shut, a puff of thick gray smoke is pumped into the air, and all Wayne can do is watch while his mind screams, “Make it stop, stop her, bring her back.” but he doesn’t, and he wont. He’d rather her be happy than him. This town was her cage, and she wanted to fly.
With a heavy heart and a face full of tears, Wayne watches as the bus lurches forward to take her away and the cloud of exhaust engulfs him.
