Feb 25, 2016
Did you and Rick do anything for Valentine's Day? Or just do some blow and relax for a day? ;)
“You don’t want to know.”
seen from China
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seen from Germany
Did you and Rick do anything for Valentine's Day? Or just do some blow and relax for a day? ;)
“You don’t want to know.”
some two martini grudge for your viewing pleasure
Walking out the boardroom after selling out your only friend for a promotion like
☯
☯ - My muse’s reaction to yours drunkenly confessing their feelings.
He’d kinda sorta known already, what with their now almost daily trysts, but actually hearing those words left him entirely dumbfounded. Maybe because Jeremy wasn’t even half as drunk as the sobbing mess next to him, or maybe because he’d thought the exact same phrases over and over again like a mantra, that to hear them coming from another person was too much to handle. For the first time in his adult life, Jeremy Blaire had absolutely no idea what to do or what to say, but he needed to react somehow, and the silence (more defeaning than Rick’s drunken wailing) was stretching to a full minute now.
"Uh, I…well - you know, I…me too. I But you knew that, right?", he weakly tried, inwardly cursing himself for not being able to decide whether to scream, run away, or fire Rick on the spot.
"I mean - oh, don’t give me that look. Rick, I can’t - I can’t say it here. I’m not going to. Not in this piece of shit asylum, I’m not gonna say it. Come on, get your drunk ass off the couch, I’m driving you home."
Jeremy had about 115 miles to decide how to confess in an equally pathetically honest way.
He barely made it to the slope when his vision clouded and it hit him. Someone loved him. Someone had said he loved him, and he’d meant it.
Nephews
“Grown-ups don’t have sleepovers”, the ten-year-old stated firmly, both hands clutching to the edges of his seat.
“But you just said that Mr. Blaire stayed with you for the duration of the weekend.”
“Yeah!”, Trevor answered, now more than a little annoyed. He’d already explained this! “But there was a snow storm and Uncle Jeremy’s car didn’t work so he slept on the couch.”
“On the couch you say? With no one else in that room?”
Trevor nodded. “But the Wii was there so he probably stayed up aaaaall night”, the boy sighed with a hint of jealousy. Playing that console for hours without being interrupted by his doofus brother Evan seemed like a dream.
“I agree that he did”, the interrogator said with a weird smile. Trevor didn’t like him too much, it was as if this man was playing a role, like when he was Joseph that one time in second grade, but he’d forgotten his lines. This man hadn'tt forgotten his lines, he knew them very well.
When more of these men – men who worked with Uncle Rick and Uncle Jeremy – had come to their place earlier, mom had been furious. She’d said the F-word a couple of times even though Evan was around, and she was so angry that she’d cried. Never before had Trevor seen his mother act like that, and it scared him a little. But then the two had had breakfast in the car that had taken them to a huge building with lots of elevators and more people in suits, and he was given all the candy he asked for, and even though mom had scowled a bit, she hadn’t said no. Mom wasn’t with him now, she had to wait on the other side of the glass. Trevor remembered how she could see him while he couldn’t see her, and enthusiastically waved at the black wall.
“What are you doing?”, the suit wanted to know.
“I’m saying hi to my mom, she’s sitting over there.”
Probably waiting to take him back home. He wished he had some of Uncle Jeremy’s pancakes right now, even though he already felt a bit sick from the candy he’d eaten on the way over here.
“We can’t keep him forever. You have ten more minutes, then he checks out for today”, another voice said. It sounded a bit like Uncle Rick, but more stern, kinda angry too. Trevor didn’t know why. Leaning back into his chair, he stared at the black ceiling, wondering who had painted it. It looked sad. Trevor frowned.
“Can I go now?”, he asked politely, wiggling in his seat.
“Not yet, son”, the suit said even though Trevor knew he wasn’t his dad.
“Does Uncle Jeremy stay with you often?”
Trevor squinted at the interrogator like his mother had, and was reminded of what she’d whispered to him in the car. “If you think whatever they ask you could hurt Uncle Rick and Uncle Jer, just say you can’t remember. They can’t read your thoughts.” But it looked like they could.
“Trevor? Did you understand the question?”
Trevor nodded.
“Good. So?”
“I…don’t remember.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
Trevor nodded again. It didn’t feel good to lie, and his stomach twisted a little.
“So whenever Uncle Jeremy is at Uncle Rick’s place, what does he do?”
Trevor breathed a sigh of relief – now that was an easy and harmless question! He laughed. “He makes pancakes because Uncle Rick can’t make them and Uncle Rick says he burns them all the time and Uncle Jeremy says Uncle Rick burned his kitchen and that’s why he’s not allowed to make pancakes anymore!”
The boy triumphantly beamed at the man who frantically scribbled down the boy’s words before turning to the wall. “Did you get that?”
“Loud and cleario”, almost-Uncle Rick stated.
“What else does he do?”
Trevor pondered. “He reads stories. He can read Harry Potter without looking at the pages!”, he whispered in awe, fingers now nervously fidgeting with the collar of his sweatshirt. “And, and, and when Uncle Rick says something stupid they do this – “ Trev held both hands up and smacked them together.
“They do what?”, the suit asked breathlessly, and suddenly the room’s atmosphere changed. Suffocating, intimidating, momentarily losing its face.
“Th-they high five”, Trevor mumbled, staring at the man. “Like this”, he quickly repeated, clapping once more. This was apparently an incredibly disappointing answer, and Trevor was let go with the promise of more chocolate should he ever come back to visit.
“Like hell we will”, Nadine muttered under her breath as she practically carried her oldest son outside, “Trevor, you’ve done a great job. Showed these assholes. Fuck if they’re getting anymore out of you.” She drew him into a tight embrace, one of those embarrassing ones he hated, but today was more than grateful for. “They scared me”, he mumbled, wrapping his arms around his mother, “those men; they were scary…”
“I know, honey. They won’t bother us anymore, I promise.”
“Pinky promise?”, Trev squeaked, holding out his gloved hand. Nadine smiled. Over her dead body would those fucking idiots ever say a word to her son again.
“Pinky promise.”
Run!
"Shut the fuck up, I’m running! I’m running!”
The campus is bathed in artificial blue light from the gigantic Murkoff signs decorating every single light grey dorm as they chase over the neatly cut lawn to their safety. MurPrep has gone to sleep for that particular Tuesday, as tomorrow’s future elite in every field of science, technology, and military clearly needed rest in order to make excellency and a few miracles happen.
Jeremy Blaire and Rick Trager are in constant competition for this year’s Valedictorian spot, and the institution only fuels their hatred during school hours, study groups, or meticulously planned and perfectly executed presentations. They’re under constant supervision from six in the morning until seven in the evening, and they’re being drilled through the nation’s toughest program.They’re supposed to hate one another. They’re supposed to be enemies, ready to fight to the death over choosing a topic for their thesis.
Right now, they’re running from security and watch dogs after TP’ing the main warden’s office - the very pinnacle of college pranking. Even with his constant training, Jeremy’s lungs start stinging after twenty minutes of zig-zagging to safety, so Rick grabs him by the collar and easily hoists him up into the nearest tree."You’re such a fucking pussy, Jeeezus Christ, Blaire”, he snickers, shaking his head as he skims the flashlights following a false trail. He takes off his glasses as Jeremy squints upwards. They could just climb up the wall and sleep in the hallway of the WatsonCrick dorm…"Be quiet”, Jeremy lamely adds and leans against the bricks.
Jeremy Blaire stands in silence as he signs off the final draft of Mr. Richard Trager’s positive Engine sequence. Lies, woven into wishful thinking. False hopes. A man can dream, can he not?