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rainbowfic2013-03-31 11:09 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-03-31 11:09 pm
Kelly Green Saturation, Paprika 16: Revolution in the Head
Author: Kat
Title: Revolution in the Head
Story: In the Heart - Sisters AU
Colors: Kelly green saturation, paprika 16 (Never give up on the good times. )
Supplies and Materials: Eraser (Sisters AU), portrait, glue (Consider the possibility of backing down from your original position), glitter (argue), novelty beads (this picture), seed beads, graffiti (St. Patrick's Day challenge).
Word Count: 6604
Rating: R.
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth, or, how an alcoholic, lazy son of a bitch wound up dating a flaky, commitment-phobic wannabe actress and made it work.
Warnings: sexual content, implied sexual abuse of a child, very argumentative relationship, some sexist and ableist insults, death of a child.
Notes: Title from a Girls Aloud song.
1. "If you're lucky enough to be Irish, then you're lucky enough."
Grandda and Mam were from Ireland, and did Grandda ever make certain that Lewis and his brother Allen knew it.
"It's not your pappy," he'd tell Lewis, when Lewis was a little boy. "Your pappy was English, God rot his faithless soul. But you, you and your brother, you're Irish like me and your mammy. You be sure you do us proud."
Lewis would ask then how, exactly, he was meant to do Grandda proud. Grandda would just snort, and wave his hand. "You do what you think's best, boy. You listen to your blood. It's the blood of kings. It'll steer you right."
Lewis always felt lucky when Grandda said that. Like a little prince in waiting.
15. "The Irish - Be they kings, or poets, or farmers, They're a people of great worth, They keep company with the angels, And bring a bit of heaven here to earth."
Every year around Christmas Lewis's house was flooded with men and women, stomping cheerfully around the house, yelling back and forth to each other in Irish. Family, Grandda told him, before he put his cap on and went out to go drinking with the men. This was Lewis's family and he was to get along with them. Family, Mam told him, before she put on her shoes and went out to go dancing with the women. This was his family and he and his brother were to play.
So Lewis dragged his brother out of his room (they were made to share, over Christmas, even though Lewis was four years older) and made him play with the cousins. If Lewis had to talk and share his things, then so did Allen. Allen always put up a fight, but if Lewis could just get him out of the room he'd go quiet and stiff and do what he was told.
Allen would go and sit in the corner and not play, of course, but that wasn't Lewis's problem.
19. "The Irish do not want anyone to wish them well; they want everyone to wish their enemies ill."
When Lewis was eleven, Allen got sick.
He didn't know why, or what happened. He didn't know why Mam cried at night, or why Grandda went around looking old and ill. He didn't even know what was wrong with Allen. But he wasn't allowed to go into Allen's room or visit Allen in the hospital when he had to go, and Allen never wanted to talk about it. Not even Grandda, that usually reliable source of information, would tell him what was going on.
"It's better you don't know," was all he'd say to Lewis. "Just pray they get what's coming."
Lewis didn't even know who they were, but he prayed with all his might, prayed every day in church and didn't even confess to the sin of wishing someone else ill.
Whoever he was praying for, they obviously didn't get what was coming to them, because Grandda just looked older and sicker, and Mam started crying in the day sometimes, just breaking down into sobs over the dishes, and even Allen looked unhappy, all the time, forever. Whatever happened, it was pretty obvious to Lewis, even at eleven, that God didn't care. Otherwise He would have granted their prayers, wouldn't He?
It was, Lewis felt, extremely unfair of God. Especially given what happened next.
17. "Both your friend and your enemy think you will never die."
A few months before Lewis turned twelve, he woke up in the middle of the night because Mam was screaming.
She didn't stop, either. She went on and on, screaming like breaking glass and nails on a chalkboard. She hadn't screamed like this when Da left, way back when Lewis was a little boy. She hadn't screamed like this when Grandmam died, before Grandda came to live with them. The sound dug into Lewis's gut and clutched his throat in a fist of iron.
He pulled the covers over his head, put a pillow around his ears to try and block out the horrible scream, but it clawed its way through those feeble barriers, shredded at his mind and his spine.
The scream finally stopped, God only knew how much later. Somehow, the echoing silence was worse.
Lewis was not surprised when Grandda came up and told him, in a voice hollow as a tomb, that Allen was dead.
30. "Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat."
Grandda died and family came to his funeral, much more family than had come to Allen's. Lewis, newly sixteen, was conscious of some distance between the family and Mam, who stood stiff-faced at the edge of the crowd and refused to let any of them stay in their house (except Aunt Noreen, who had been the only one to come to Allen's funeral).
Mam didn't go to the wake either, but Cousin Rory said Lewis could come with his family, so he got to go along. Uncle Kevin laughed when he noticed Lewis there among his cousins, and told him it was a proper Irish wake and he should have a proper Irish brew, to celebrate his grandda's life.
The brew tasted so good Lewis asked for another, and because Uncle Kevin was in an expansive mood, he got one, and then another, and another after that. They laughed when they saw the weave in his walk, and gave him more brew, and more.
He came home drunk and hiccupping, and Mam never let him go with the family again.
9. "Questioning is the door of knowledge."
Mam didn't really tell him anything. She never had; wasn't in Mam's character, to be talking about family business. Even Lewis, who was all the family she had left that she'd talk to, even he didn't get to know family business.
It didn't stop him from asking. When he was a boy Mam had just smiled and ruffled his hair and said that it wasn't for little ears, and now that he was grown (or nearly so) she just wouldn't answer at all, sometimes wouldn't even acknowledge that she'd heard his question.
Sometimes it was just annoying. "Mam," he'd say, "why don't we ever talk about Da?" She'd shrug, and change the subject, and he'd be left frustrated.
Sometimes it was infuriating. "Mam," he'd ask, "why doesn't the family come for Christmas anymore?" Mam's mouth would tighten and she'd slap back, "It's nothing that concerns you," and he'd have to fume in silence, because if he raised his voice to Mam he really would get slapped.
Sometimes it was terrifying.
"Mam," he asked once, when he was seventeen or so, "what happened to Allen? How did he die?"
Mam's face went white and she swayed on her feet, and by the time Lewis had got her sitting down with a cup of tea in her hand, he'd forgotten all about his question.
He never asked about Allen again.
16. "The best horse doesn't always win the race."
The first year of college was amazing. The rest... not so much.
Lewis had thought—he'd really thought that there might be something to believe in. God had let him down, making Allen sick and then letting him die, and family, Da and his uncles and aunts and his cousins, they'd just disappeared after Allen got sick, only showed up after Grandda died and then only to make fun of them. Mam tried, she really did, but she was sick and sad and scared herself; she did the best she could, Lewis knew that, but he couldn't help being disappointed in her.
But in college, there was something. There was a cause.
They were going to build a nuclear power plant close to the town where he went to school. Everyone knew the dangers, and everyone wanted it gone; all the people Lewis talked to, his classmates, his teachers, the townspeople who showed up at the protests. And they were big protests too. Hundreds of people, every one with a sign, catchy chants, everything they needed. Some of his classmates even chained themselves to equipment and the chain-link fence, refusing to move until the plant was cancelled.
For a while it even looked like it was working. A nuclear power plant in the next state over was cancelled, its blueprints turned into scrap. Construction on the one in their town was slowed, nearly to a halt. He went back to class, smug and pleased, did his homework on the picket lines, raised his voice and felt, for the first time, like he was making a difference.
Then one morning they came to the picket lines, and the police were waiting.
The power plant was built, and Lewis stopped believing.
23. "I spent 90% of my money on women and drink. The rest I wasted."
The rest of college was a blur. Alcohol, some drugs, a different girl every night; he went out to clubs, woke up with a hangover, bought rounds for the bar and generally made himself very popular. It was fun, kind of, and while he was drunk at least he didn't feel disappointed—and somehow he managed a 3.5 GPA so it wasn't as if it was doing him any harm, really.
It did dent his faith in his professors a bit. If they couldn't tell that he was drunk or stoned out of his mind in class, they probably couldn't find their asses with both hands and a map. Whatever. He just needed the degree.
He got the letter a month before he graduated.
Dear son, it began, and he jerked at the signature; Dylan deForrest. His father, holy Christ, he hadn't heard from his father since he was five years old, and now this.
It wasn't much; an apology for not being in contact, expressions of grief at Allen's death which Lewis skipped over, congratulations on his graduation, and a request. I would like to come see you, Dylan deForrest wrote, to reconnect, and be at your graduation, if you'll let me. I understand fully if you don't want me there, but I would love to see you again.
There was still a tiny flicker of hope. Lewis thought he'd killed all of it, but there was still the barest possibility that his father was sincere, and maybe—maybe something could go right in his life.
He wrote back.
They sent letters back and forth for a bit, and every time one appeared Lewis felt just a little better. He didn't tell Mam... not yet. She wouldn't believe it, and anyway he wanted this just to himself for a while. Just for a little while, he wanted his da.
The week before graduation, Dylan deForrest asked for five hundred dollars. Just to get there, he said. It was a long trip. Lewis sent the money.
He never heard from his da again.
13. "You'll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind."
After that nothing really worked out.
He graduated college, sure, and he got a job, fine. But he got fired after two years—well, they said he was "let go," but he was fired. Lewis was never really sure why they got rid of him. Sure, he came in hungover more often than not, but he came in, didn't he? He did his job. They couldn't fault him for that.
It kept happening though, job after job. One year, three years, eight months, one year again. He kept moving, on the off chance that it was a conspiracy of bosses, but no, it happened everywhere.
Which meant it was him. But that was all right—he was used to disappointment.
It happened in his romantic life, too. Girlfriend after girlfriend dumped him with uncomfortable speeches, over wine or left on his answering machine. Lewis grew numb to it after a while, the romantic rejections, the ones at work. One could only be hurt so many times before one stopped feeling it.
The alcohol helped, of course. Nothing hurt when he was drunk. He felt good, when he was drunk. He didn't feel good any other time.
Not that it mattered. No one cared about him. No girlfriends would stick, no coworkers gave a fuck, his da had never cared, and even Mam had better things to do, wailing at the grave of her younger son. She didn't need her older son's problems too.
Lewis plowed on. It was about all he could do.
28. "This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever."
He tried going to therapy once.
It was pretty much a bust. The woman kept asking questions, annoying, invasive questions. "Why do you think you can't be happy," or "why do you think you can't win?" He felt the answers to those were obvious—he couldn't be happy because he was a complete fuckup, and he couldn't win because he was a loser—but she wasn't satisfied, and he had to go on explaining himself over and over, all through the hour-long appointment.
At the end, she told him that he needed to come back, once a week, for at least three months. "There's no telling how long this sort of thing can take," she told him, earnestly. And she told him that he should probably start attending Alcoholics Anonymous.
Bullshit. Lewis wasn't an alcoholic. It wasn't as if he was addicted; it just took the edge off. He wouldn't drink if his life didn't suck. The rest of it was just a blatant plea for money. He wasn't about to give her his hard-earned money for something that she'd just proved was essentially bullshit, especially when he had so much trouble holding down a job.
He never went back. No point.
25. "I only drink on two occasions - When I am thirsty and when I'm not thirsty."
It took until his forty-second birthday to admit that maybe, okay, he really was an alcoholic.
At that point at least two of his bosses had admitted that they fired him—ahem, "let him go" because he came in hungover and had a bad attitude, whatever they meant by that. It didn't interfere with his work, since Lewis had had plenty of practice dealing with hangovers, but whatever, they didn't care and he'd stopped caring a long time ago. He'd deal with it.
The last boss had at least been considerate enough to point him towards a new job. "You're really good," he'd said, leaning earnestly across the desk. "You just need a place where your attitude won't matter." And so he'd been appointed to a minor position in the New York City department of education.
Total crock, if you asked Lewis. Education did squat for kids and the government did less than that. At least it was a job. At least it paid.
And at least he could come in hungover.
4. "Continual cheerfulness is a sign of wisdom."
Jake Foster was a good enough assistant, got his work done and didn't talk much. He'd be better if he wasn't obviously looking for another job, but Lewis wouldn't want to work for himself either, so he didn't really blame the kid. He'd give him a good reference when it came time for Jake to move on, and he'd find another assistant somewhere.
Probably not one who'd do most of his job for him, but those were the breaks and anyway, if he wanted an assistant who wouldn't abandon him, he probably shouldn't be giving him so much experience.
Whatever. Lewis was only in this job until he got fired anyway, so what did it matter?
At any rate, the kid was good enough and he'd worry about later when later came. The problem wasn't with Jake, it was with his sisters.
Because, oh yeah, the kid came with sisters. The older one was okay, Lewis guessed; she gave him death glares every time she dropped by to see her brother, but Lewis was used to that and could ignore her. The little one, though, she was obnoxious as hell. Always cheerful, always noisy, popping by to take her big brother out to lunch or brag about the great audition she'd just had—because, of course, she was an aspiring actress. Like the family always said, aspiring was just another word for failing, but she didn't even seem to care.
Lewis had no patience for her at all.
29. "When I realized what I had turned out to be was a lousy, two-bit pool hustler and a drunk, I wasn't depressed at all. I was glad to have a profession."
He cornered her one day on her way out of the office, and said, point blank, "Isn't there some kind of medication you should be on?"
She raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. He resisted the urge to demand that she stop, and instead folded his arms and glared at her.
"Uh, no," she said, after a while. "Why, do you need some?"
"I'm the sane one in this conversation," he said. "You're the one who's insanely cheerful. Just... what the hell?"
Lauren Foster rolled her eyes. "Okay, first of all, you're an ass. Second, you're my brother's boss, not mine. Where the hell do you get off interrogating me? Third, I like my life. I like enjoying things. I'm sorry you're a bitter and sad old man, but that's hardly my problem."
"I'm not bitter and sad," he said, stung. "And I'm certainly not old." He was only forty-three, that wasn't old, Jesus.
"You're old," she said. "And you're so bitter. I'm willing to retract the sad, though, if you're willing to accept pathetic."
Lewis stepped back, disgusted. "And you're a floozy."
Lauren cracked up, laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall for support. There was something about her laughter—he wanted to stay irritated, but it was all he could do to keep scowling.
"Wow," she said, when she'd recovered. "Floozy. Didn't think anyone said that anymore. Thanks, Lew, I'll take that as a compliment." She chucked his chin, and sauntered down the hallway, whistling.
"It's Lewis," he said, after her, but he couldn't quite sound as annoyed as he wanted.
10. "It's for her own good that the cat purrs."
He understood her a little better after that, anyway. The older sister was still a pain in his ass but Lauren was a little more fun now that he understood. She'd drop in his office sometimes after she went to see her brother, to laugh at him and trade insults. For some unknown reason she found that entertaining.
"It's because you don't pull your punches," she said cheerfully, when he asked. "I can't get a good honest fight from anyone else."
"You have siblings, don't you?" He remembered very little of his relationship with Allen, but fighting featured prominently.
Lauren shrugged, and put her feet up on the edge of his desk. Lewis poked them back off with his pen. "Yeah, but Jake doesn't fight—you employ him, you know that—and Amanda fights mean."
He felt obscurely offended by that. "I fight mean."
"No, you don't," she said, and laughed. "You just fight. You're fun, I like it. Learn to take a compliment, Lew."
"It's Lewis," he said. "How would you like it if I started calling you Laure?"
She shrugged again. "My brother and sister call me that, so... weirded out? You're like my dad's age."
Which was weird on a whole different level. Lewis pushed that aside for the moment. "Then don't call me Lew."
"Fine," she said. "I'll just have to think of something suitable." She paused on her way out, blew him a kiss. "See you next week, Lew!"
Women.
8. "All sins cast long shadows."
Jake transferred to Gail Hirschfeld's department not long after that conversation, which Lewis would say was about time. The kid had promise, and while that promise was probably going to get crushed in a few years, for the time being he deserved to be in a place where he could get something done. And Lewis—Lewis would find a new assistant, and ask out Jake's sister.
Well, why not.
Lauren was probably too young for him, but she was also really gorgeous, and surprisingly fun to be around. The relationship would crash and burn sooner or later—probably sooner, given his track record—so Jake would be able to breathe again. In the meantime, they could have some fun.
Or they would've been able to had she not laughed in his face when he proposed a date.
"Oh, wait," she said, when he didn't laugh with her. "You were serious?"
"Yes, I was serious." He gave her a wounded look that only made her laugh again. "Come on, it could be fun."
She raised her eyebrows. "Fun? You're an alcoholic dickbag who's forty years older than me."
"Twenty."
Lauren waved a hand. "Forty, twenty, same deal."
"And you," Lewis said, "are a flaky wannabe Jezebel twenty years younger than me. What's your point?"
Typically, she ignored him. "I just dumped my last boyfriend because he's hung up on someone else, and you want me to date you?"
"Why not?" he asked. "You know I'm not going to demand anything of you. Let me take you out a few times, then stomp on my heart in high-heeled shoes. It'll make you feel better."
She pursed her lips. "You make a compelling case, Nebuchadnezzar."
7. "Don't give cherries to pigs or advice to fools."
Well, that was slightly unexpected. Still. Lewis pursued the advantage. "I'm not asking for commitment, just a few dates. You never know. It could be fun."
Lauren frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."
He prevented himself from doing a victory dance only by sheer willpower. "Great. You like dancing?"
"Love it," she said, "but I have some conditions first."
To get in those pants, he'd take a few conditions. "Which are?"
She began ticking things off on her fingers. "Well, first, you can't tell Jake, he'll have a stroke and I like him healthy."
"I don't make a habit of discussing my sex life with former employees," Lewis said, as dryly as he could.
Lauren ignored him. "Second, you don't talk to me and I don't talk to you unless we're actually out together. And that won't be a lot."
He'd figured as much—he wasn't exactly a catch—but he let her go on. It was kinda cute, the way she went on.
"Finally—" she turned unusually serious—"you have to understand that this is just sex. I am not in the market for a relationship, and definitely not with you."
Lewis shrugged. "I'm not good at relationships anyway," he said, and he wasn't, he was terrible at them. She ought to know what that was like. She didn't even want to talk to him in public, for Christ's sake.
"Great, then we're on the same page." She eyed him up and down, appreciatively. "This should be fun."
He couldn't help but agree.
20. "There is a courageous wisdom; there is also a false reptile prudence, the result, not of caution, but of fear."
First date was out in a dance club, Lauren in a painted-on black dress with lace panels in the front and sides. Lewis wasn't nearly as presentable as her and he couldn't dance nearly as well, but he could make her look good, which seemed to be all she wanted.
Bump bump bump and his heart was pounding to the music, to Lauren's hips rolling against his, and it wasn't long after that they bolted for the car and wound up in the back seat. Lewis generally tried to be a little more gentlemanly about things, but it was Lauren who pulled him back there, Lauren who unzipped his trousers and pulled her skirt up and rode him right there, her head thrown back, her skin sheened with sweat. He took her home and fucked her again, this time in a bed, slow and easy until she made a furious noise of frustration, flipped them over and nearly fucked him through the headboard.
She was gone when he woke up, and he spent a while wondering if he should worry. Not, he decided eventually. Lauren seemed like the type to dump him in person. Anyway, it wasn't like this was anything. It wasn't like it mattered.
He rolled back over and pulled the pillow over his head.
3. "Beware of people who dislike cats."
Lauren had a cat, which surprised him.
"Why?" she asked, picking up the white purring thing and cuddling it under her chin. "I like cats. I love cats. Do you not like cats?"
The dangerous tone of voice told him that would be the dealbreaker from hell. "No," he said, quickly. "No, I love cats. I just thought you weren't real into commitment."
Lauren shrugged, and put the cat down. "I'm not, but cats don't need a whole lot of commitment. They just need food, water, a litter box and a warm place to sleep. I can handle that."
Sounded about right. Lewis bent down and ran a hand over the cat's back. "You have pets growing up, then?"
The stretched silence that ensued was not what he expected. He sat up and caught a frozen look on Lauren's face that changed quickly to a sudden nonchalance. "Yeah, a dog. Don't know what happened to him. Probably sent him to the pound after my parents died." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, bent over to give him a great look at her ass. "But what are we talking about pets for? I got a pussy here needs your attention."
Sounded good to him.
5. "A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures."
They fought a lot. A lot. Lauren picked at his drinking; he picked at her life choices. It was kind of fun, like she said—they didn't pull punches but they didn't really aim to hurt either, and they always made it up afterwards. Either he'd call her Jezebel or she'd call him Nebuchadnezzar and they'd laugh, and then they'd have sex.
Lewis was quickly learning the benefits of makeup sex.
He felt like it should bother him, that they fought all the time. It bothered Mam when he talked to her, which wasn't very often about Lauren because she didn't get it. Mam wanted him to get married and settle down and name his firstborn son Allen. Mam was deluding herself, but Lewis let her do it.
He just kept his mouth shut about Lauren most of the time.
Anyway, the fighting was fun, and the makeup sex more fun. So Lewis didn't worry.
It was all going to crash and burn anyway, so what did it matter?
24. "Though I soon became typecast in Hollywood as a gangster and hoodlum, I was originally a dancer, an Irish hoofer, trained in vaudeville tap dance. I always leapt at the opportunity to dance in films later on."
"So you're Irish?" Lauren asked. They were hanging out on the edge of a club, both of them nursing drinks, Lewis a little more so than Lauren. She wasn't saying anything, though she did keep shooting his glass nasty little looks. "Explains the Guinness."
"All civilized people drink Guinness," Lewis said, loftily.
"Whatever, Neb," Lauren said, and giggled. "I just didn't know you were Irish, that's all."
"Half," he said, and didn’t bother explaining it.
"Huh." She took a sip of her whiskey, then set it down on the table. "I hear Irishmen dance well."
Lewis snorted, and drained his glass. "This one doesn't. You know that, you've seen me try."
She giggled again. "Yeah, but you can sure grind good." The lift of her eyebrow sent a little rush of heat snaking down his spine. She knew it, too; she went up on her tiptoes and let a breath of air ghost across his lips. "Tell you what, you come dance with me, and I'll let you fuck me in the bathroom."
Lewis put his glass down next to hers and spread his hands. "Lead on, Bel."
Lauren smiled sexily, grabbed both his hands, and tugged him onto the floor.
11. "The full person does not understand the needs of the hungry."
It wasn't all perfect. There were things that Lauren just didn't get, things she accused him of not understanding. Sure, she'd lost her parents, but she couldn't possibly understand what it felt like to watch a father walk out, to watch him come back into his child's life just to scam him for money. And sure, she'd spent some time in foster care, but she couldn't possibly know what it felt like to watch your entire family pull away and not know why.
She couldn't know what it was like to watch your brother die from something you didn't even understand.
They fought about that more and more lately. Probably about time for this thing to fall apart, Lewis thought, not without regret, as they fought yet again about not understanding.
It was a shame. He'd miss her.
27. "Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither."
"You're such a... you just don't even get it!" Lauren screamed at him, and raked her hands through her hair. "You don't even try. Why the hell should I put anything into this when I'm not getting anything out of it?"
"Excuse me," Lewis said, stamping hard on genuine hurt. "You're the one who just wanted sex."
"Oh, fuck you," she snarled, and turned on her heel. "Look, you just... you just don't try. You don't care. Then you bitch about everything going wrong for you. I'll tell you why it goes wrong, it's because you don't give a fuck! Maybe if you cared for ten seconds about something that isn't you, your life might actually take a turn for the better." She looked him up and down for a moment, then sneered. "I doubt it."
12. "Praise the ripe field not the green corn."
"Like you even know," Lewis snapped. "You're the one who tries and tries and never gets anywhere. You're a wannabe, Lauren, that's all you are."
She rolled her eyes. "You're such a fucking cynic. Can't even look on the bright side."
"Looking on the bright side never got you anywhere." He hated the words, couldn't stop them pouring out. "You never get anywhere, do you? You fucking child. The world isn't any good. You just have to learn to fucking live with it."
Lauren looked up at him for a moment, with a set face that he couldn't read. Then she threw her hands up. "What the fuck ever. Can't believe I wasted my time on you."
21. "I think the Irish woman was freed from slavery by bingo. They can go out now, dressed up, with their handbags and have a drink and play bingo. And they deserve it."
Because that's what he was, a waste of time. Lewis knew that, had always known that, but somehow it hurt more hearing it from Lauren. "Yeah, well, you knew what you were getting."
"An alcoholic, lazy son of a bitch," Lauren said, practically spitting the words.
"And I got a flaky, commitment-phobic wannabe actress," he snapped. If he was going to hurt, so was she. "Go on, run away, that's all you ever do, isn't it, Lauren? Just... fuck off and go try again somewhere else. Christ knows you'll never get anywhere."
She went white, and stared at him for a frozen moment. "Fuck you," she whispered, then turned around and walked out.
Lewis sat down, hard.
14. "Where the tongue slips, it speaks the truth."
"I don't miss her," he told the bartender, five shots of whiskey in. "I don't. She's a bitch and I don't need her around."
The bartender mumbled something unintelligible, but he poured Lewis another shot, thereby upping the amount of his tip considerably.
"Fuck her," Lewis said, and tossed it back. "Fucking bitch. Saying I'm a drunk."
"You kinda are, dude," the bartender said, and Lewis mentally subtracted several dollars from his tip.
"Whatever," he said, intelligently, and tapped the glass.
The bartender poured it, but not silently. "You trying to get hosed or something? What happened, you get dumped?"
"By a fucking bitch," Lewis slurred, and threw the shot back. Seven, that would be good, but maybe he should get one more.
The bartender shook his head. "You're telling me, man. They're all bitches when they leave you."
Lewis put his head down on the bar, folded his arms around it. "Bitch. Fucking bitch. Fucking love of my life." He froze, appalled. What the hell was that?
The bartender paused, then said, gently, "I'm gonna call you a cab, man."
That was probably a good idea.
22. "Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity."
The cab took him home, but his hand was shaking too much to open the door, so he sat on the front steps instead.
It didn’t make sense. It just plain did not make sense. Lauren was not the love of his life, for damn sure—she was twenty years younger than him, flaky, commitment-phobic, way too optimistic and energetic for him. And, if Lewis was strictly honest with himself, there was no way in hell he was anywhere near the love of her life. Probably not even the love of a minute. He was cynical, way too old for her, a lazy bastard and an alcoholic. Why the hell should she hang around?
And then again.
He could call her. It wouldn't take much to call her. He had her number. He could—he could call her.
She ran away. It was what she did. He didn't understand why but he understood that she did, and people who ran away—sometimes they ran back.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
18. "What is nearest the heart is nearest the mouth."
"I miss you," he said, the moment her voicemail clicked on. "I know you probably hate me right now, and that's okay, I pretty much hate me too, but I miss you. And I know this wasn't supposed to be anything but it sort of is for me, and I miss you. You should come back. You should come back and hang around with me." He paused, coughed, reached for words. "So... I don't know, I don't know if this is love, it's probably really fucked up, but whatever, you work for me. Things don't work for me usually. But you do, and I miss that. I miss you. Please come back. I miss..."
"You said that already," she said gently, and he looked up, startled, saw her standing above him on the steps.
Lauren reached down, closed his phone gently, and sat down beside him. "So you miss me."
"Yeah," he said, and she winced, fanned her face.
"Christ, how drunk are you?"
Lewis leaned over and deliberately exhaled in her face. "Very."
She shook her head. "You need to stop that, hon. Not the drinking, just the getting trashed bit. Life's more fun when you're sober."
"You say that," he said, listing over onto her, "but it isn't any fun without you. Everything sucks without you, Bel."
Lauren smiled, her eyes soft and a little sad. "Oh, Neb. It sucks without you too." She put an arm around his shoulders, let him lean in on her breasts.
"I miss you," he said into her skin, and rubbed his nose against her chest. "I don't want you to go."
"I don't want to go," Lauren said, simply. "But you're really drunk right now, so we're going to have this conversation in the morning, okay, Neb? Come on, let's get you to bed."
Lewis put both arms around her waist, pressed his face into her neck. "You're not going anywhere?"
"No," she said, and patted his shoulder. "No, I'm not going anywhere."
6. "Marry a mountain girl and you marry the whole mountain."
"You're dating who?"
That was Jake; Lewis recognized the tones and the shriek he could hear halfway across the bar.
Lauren said something that sounded amused, then the older sister—Amanda, he was going to have to remember her name now that he was going to have to deal with her—Amanda said something that sounded distinctly unamused. A few more exchanges and they came up to him, Amanda with a measuring expression, Jake furious.
Jake, surprisingly, got in his face right away. "You don't fuck this up," he snapped. "You don't. You hurt my sister and I will fuck your shit up, okay?"
"You can't fuck it up any more than it's been fucked up," Lewis said, he thought reasonably. Lauren smothered a laugh, but Jake made a strange growling noise, then turned around and marched off to a table nearby and the curly-headed girl sitting at it.
"Good," Amanda said, watching him go. "Olivia will calm him down. And you..." She turned, gave him an assessing look. "Seriously, if you break my sister's heart or get her pregnant and leave her—"
"Ew," Lauren said. "No babies."
Lewis nodded, emphatically. "You said it. No kids."
Amanda rolled her eyes. "Do anything to hurt my sister," she said, "and I will introduce you to new levels of pain."
Lewis shrugged. "Okay."
She gave him that measuring look again, then shrugged herself. "Fair enough. See you around." She followed her brother.
"Well," Lauren said, easing up beside him. "That went well."
2. "You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was."
"So," she said, later that night, skin to skin in bed. "This is for good, then?"
"Until you get sick of me," he said, attempting a joke, but it fell flat, and she frowned, shook her head.
"Don't say that," she said. "You're not... look, whatever I said, you're a good person, okay? You're a good man. You're fucked up, we both are, but... I don't know, maybe we can be fucked up together."
He tucked her against his shoulder, ran a hand over her back. "I'm not... I don't think I can be fixed. I don't think I can be better."
Lauren pressed a kiss to his neck. "I don't need you to be better, Neb," she said, softly. "I just need you to be you."
He was quiet for a moment. "Okay," he said. "I'll make you a bargain. You be you, and I'll be me. You get me going, and I'll keep you from running away. Sound good, Bel?"
"Sounds great," she said, and kissed him again.
26. "Ireland, sir, for good or evil, is like no other place under heaven, and no man can touch its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse."
"So this is Ireland," Lauren said, looking around at the green, green land. "Never been here before."
"Me either," Lewis said. "Feels right, though." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "Smells right."
"What exactly smells right?" she asked, dryly, but she took his hand anyway, her skin warm against his, her wedding ring in cool contrast.
"Just does," he said, leaned over and kissed her. "We ready for this?"
"Always," she said, and tugged him forward.
Title: Revolution in the Head
Story: In the Heart - Sisters AU
Colors: Kelly green saturation, paprika 16 (Never give up on the good times. )
Supplies and Materials: Eraser (Sisters AU), portrait, glue (Consider the possibility of backing down from your original position), glitter (argue), novelty beads (this picture), seed beads, graffiti (St. Patrick's Day challenge).
Word Count: 6604
Rating: R.
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth, or, how an alcoholic, lazy son of a bitch wound up dating a flaky, commitment-phobic wannabe actress and made it work.
Warnings: sexual content, implied sexual abuse of a child, very argumentative relationship, some sexist and ableist insults, death of a child.
Notes: Title from a Girls Aloud song.
1. "If you're lucky enough to be Irish, then you're lucky enough."
Grandda and Mam were from Ireland, and did Grandda ever make certain that Lewis and his brother Allen knew it.
"It's not your pappy," he'd tell Lewis, when Lewis was a little boy. "Your pappy was English, God rot his faithless soul. But you, you and your brother, you're Irish like me and your mammy. You be sure you do us proud."
Lewis would ask then how, exactly, he was meant to do Grandda proud. Grandda would just snort, and wave his hand. "You do what you think's best, boy. You listen to your blood. It's the blood of kings. It'll steer you right."
Lewis always felt lucky when Grandda said that. Like a little prince in waiting.
15. "The Irish - Be they kings, or poets, or farmers, They're a people of great worth, They keep company with the angels, And bring a bit of heaven here to earth."
Every year around Christmas Lewis's house was flooded with men and women, stomping cheerfully around the house, yelling back and forth to each other in Irish. Family, Grandda told him, before he put his cap on and went out to go drinking with the men. This was Lewis's family and he was to get along with them. Family, Mam told him, before she put on her shoes and went out to go dancing with the women. This was his family and he and his brother were to play.
So Lewis dragged his brother out of his room (they were made to share, over Christmas, even though Lewis was four years older) and made him play with the cousins. If Lewis had to talk and share his things, then so did Allen. Allen always put up a fight, but if Lewis could just get him out of the room he'd go quiet and stiff and do what he was told.
Allen would go and sit in the corner and not play, of course, but that wasn't Lewis's problem.
19. "The Irish do not want anyone to wish them well; they want everyone to wish their enemies ill."
When Lewis was eleven, Allen got sick.
He didn't know why, or what happened. He didn't know why Mam cried at night, or why Grandda went around looking old and ill. He didn't even know what was wrong with Allen. But he wasn't allowed to go into Allen's room or visit Allen in the hospital when he had to go, and Allen never wanted to talk about it. Not even Grandda, that usually reliable source of information, would tell him what was going on.
"It's better you don't know," was all he'd say to Lewis. "Just pray they get what's coming."
Lewis didn't even know who they were, but he prayed with all his might, prayed every day in church and didn't even confess to the sin of wishing someone else ill.
Whoever he was praying for, they obviously didn't get what was coming to them, because Grandda just looked older and sicker, and Mam started crying in the day sometimes, just breaking down into sobs over the dishes, and even Allen looked unhappy, all the time, forever. Whatever happened, it was pretty obvious to Lewis, even at eleven, that God didn't care. Otherwise He would have granted their prayers, wouldn't He?
It was, Lewis felt, extremely unfair of God. Especially given what happened next.
17. "Both your friend and your enemy think you will never die."
A few months before Lewis turned twelve, he woke up in the middle of the night because Mam was screaming.
She didn't stop, either. She went on and on, screaming like breaking glass and nails on a chalkboard. She hadn't screamed like this when Da left, way back when Lewis was a little boy. She hadn't screamed like this when Grandmam died, before Grandda came to live with them. The sound dug into Lewis's gut and clutched his throat in a fist of iron.
He pulled the covers over his head, put a pillow around his ears to try and block out the horrible scream, but it clawed its way through those feeble barriers, shredded at his mind and his spine.
The scream finally stopped, God only knew how much later. Somehow, the echoing silence was worse.
Lewis was not surprised when Grandda came up and told him, in a voice hollow as a tomb, that Allen was dead.
30. "Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat."
Grandda died and family came to his funeral, much more family than had come to Allen's. Lewis, newly sixteen, was conscious of some distance between the family and Mam, who stood stiff-faced at the edge of the crowd and refused to let any of them stay in their house (except Aunt Noreen, who had been the only one to come to Allen's funeral).
Mam didn't go to the wake either, but Cousin Rory said Lewis could come with his family, so he got to go along. Uncle Kevin laughed when he noticed Lewis there among his cousins, and told him it was a proper Irish wake and he should have a proper Irish brew, to celebrate his grandda's life.
The brew tasted so good Lewis asked for another, and because Uncle Kevin was in an expansive mood, he got one, and then another, and another after that. They laughed when they saw the weave in his walk, and gave him more brew, and more.
He came home drunk and hiccupping, and Mam never let him go with the family again.
9. "Questioning is the door of knowledge."
Mam didn't really tell him anything. She never had; wasn't in Mam's character, to be talking about family business. Even Lewis, who was all the family she had left that she'd talk to, even he didn't get to know family business.
It didn't stop him from asking. When he was a boy Mam had just smiled and ruffled his hair and said that it wasn't for little ears, and now that he was grown (or nearly so) she just wouldn't answer at all, sometimes wouldn't even acknowledge that she'd heard his question.
Sometimes it was just annoying. "Mam," he'd say, "why don't we ever talk about Da?" She'd shrug, and change the subject, and he'd be left frustrated.
Sometimes it was infuriating. "Mam," he'd ask, "why doesn't the family come for Christmas anymore?" Mam's mouth would tighten and she'd slap back, "It's nothing that concerns you," and he'd have to fume in silence, because if he raised his voice to Mam he really would get slapped.
Sometimes it was terrifying.
"Mam," he asked once, when he was seventeen or so, "what happened to Allen? How did he die?"
Mam's face went white and she swayed on her feet, and by the time Lewis had got her sitting down with a cup of tea in her hand, he'd forgotten all about his question.
He never asked about Allen again.
16. "The best horse doesn't always win the race."
The first year of college was amazing. The rest... not so much.
Lewis had thought—he'd really thought that there might be something to believe in. God had let him down, making Allen sick and then letting him die, and family, Da and his uncles and aunts and his cousins, they'd just disappeared after Allen got sick, only showed up after Grandda died and then only to make fun of them. Mam tried, she really did, but she was sick and sad and scared herself; she did the best she could, Lewis knew that, but he couldn't help being disappointed in her.
But in college, there was something. There was a cause.
They were going to build a nuclear power plant close to the town where he went to school. Everyone knew the dangers, and everyone wanted it gone; all the people Lewis talked to, his classmates, his teachers, the townspeople who showed up at the protests. And they were big protests too. Hundreds of people, every one with a sign, catchy chants, everything they needed. Some of his classmates even chained themselves to equipment and the chain-link fence, refusing to move until the plant was cancelled.
For a while it even looked like it was working. A nuclear power plant in the next state over was cancelled, its blueprints turned into scrap. Construction on the one in their town was slowed, nearly to a halt. He went back to class, smug and pleased, did his homework on the picket lines, raised his voice and felt, for the first time, like he was making a difference.
Then one morning they came to the picket lines, and the police were waiting.
The power plant was built, and Lewis stopped believing.
23. "I spent 90% of my money on women and drink. The rest I wasted."
The rest of college was a blur. Alcohol, some drugs, a different girl every night; he went out to clubs, woke up with a hangover, bought rounds for the bar and generally made himself very popular. It was fun, kind of, and while he was drunk at least he didn't feel disappointed—and somehow he managed a 3.5 GPA so it wasn't as if it was doing him any harm, really.
It did dent his faith in his professors a bit. If they couldn't tell that he was drunk or stoned out of his mind in class, they probably couldn't find their asses with both hands and a map. Whatever. He just needed the degree.
He got the letter a month before he graduated.
Dear son, it began, and he jerked at the signature; Dylan deForrest. His father, holy Christ, he hadn't heard from his father since he was five years old, and now this.
It wasn't much; an apology for not being in contact, expressions of grief at Allen's death which Lewis skipped over, congratulations on his graduation, and a request. I would like to come see you, Dylan deForrest wrote, to reconnect, and be at your graduation, if you'll let me. I understand fully if you don't want me there, but I would love to see you again.
There was still a tiny flicker of hope. Lewis thought he'd killed all of it, but there was still the barest possibility that his father was sincere, and maybe—maybe something could go right in his life.
He wrote back.
They sent letters back and forth for a bit, and every time one appeared Lewis felt just a little better. He didn't tell Mam... not yet. She wouldn't believe it, and anyway he wanted this just to himself for a while. Just for a little while, he wanted his da.
The week before graduation, Dylan deForrest asked for five hundred dollars. Just to get there, he said. It was a long trip. Lewis sent the money.
He never heard from his da again.
13. "You'll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind."
After that nothing really worked out.
He graduated college, sure, and he got a job, fine. But he got fired after two years—well, they said he was "let go," but he was fired. Lewis was never really sure why they got rid of him. Sure, he came in hungover more often than not, but he came in, didn't he? He did his job. They couldn't fault him for that.
It kept happening though, job after job. One year, three years, eight months, one year again. He kept moving, on the off chance that it was a conspiracy of bosses, but no, it happened everywhere.
Which meant it was him. But that was all right—he was used to disappointment.
It happened in his romantic life, too. Girlfriend after girlfriend dumped him with uncomfortable speeches, over wine or left on his answering machine. Lewis grew numb to it after a while, the romantic rejections, the ones at work. One could only be hurt so many times before one stopped feeling it.
The alcohol helped, of course. Nothing hurt when he was drunk. He felt good, when he was drunk. He didn't feel good any other time.
Not that it mattered. No one cared about him. No girlfriends would stick, no coworkers gave a fuck, his da had never cared, and even Mam had better things to do, wailing at the grave of her younger son. She didn't need her older son's problems too.
Lewis plowed on. It was about all he could do.
28. "This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever."
He tried going to therapy once.
It was pretty much a bust. The woman kept asking questions, annoying, invasive questions. "Why do you think you can't be happy," or "why do you think you can't win?" He felt the answers to those were obvious—he couldn't be happy because he was a complete fuckup, and he couldn't win because he was a loser—but she wasn't satisfied, and he had to go on explaining himself over and over, all through the hour-long appointment.
At the end, she told him that he needed to come back, once a week, for at least three months. "There's no telling how long this sort of thing can take," she told him, earnestly. And she told him that he should probably start attending Alcoholics Anonymous.
Bullshit. Lewis wasn't an alcoholic. It wasn't as if he was addicted; it just took the edge off. He wouldn't drink if his life didn't suck. The rest of it was just a blatant plea for money. He wasn't about to give her his hard-earned money for something that she'd just proved was essentially bullshit, especially when he had so much trouble holding down a job.
He never went back. No point.
25. "I only drink on two occasions - When I am thirsty and when I'm not thirsty."
It took until his forty-second birthday to admit that maybe, okay, he really was an alcoholic.
At that point at least two of his bosses had admitted that they fired him—ahem, "let him go" because he came in hungover and had a bad attitude, whatever they meant by that. It didn't interfere with his work, since Lewis had had plenty of practice dealing with hangovers, but whatever, they didn't care and he'd stopped caring a long time ago. He'd deal with it.
The last boss had at least been considerate enough to point him towards a new job. "You're really good," he'd said, leaning earnestly across the desk. "You just need a place where your attitude won't matter." And so he'd been appointed to a minor position in the New York City department of education.
Total crock, if you asked Lewis. Education did squat for kids and the government did less than that. At least it was a job. At least it paid.
And at least he could come in hungover.
4. "Continual cheerfulness is a sign of wisdom."
Jake Foster was a good enough assistant, got his work done and didn't talk much. He'd be better if he wasn't obviously looking for another job, but Lewis wouldn't want to work for himself either, so he didn't really blame the kid. He'd give him a good reference when it came time for Jake to move on, and he'd find another assistant somewhere.
Probably not one who'd do most of his job for him, but those were the breaks and anyway, if he wanted an assistant who wouldn't abandon him, he probably shouldn't be giving him so much experience.
Whatever. Lewis was only in this job until he got fired anyway, so what did it matter?
At any rate, the kid was good enough and he'd worry about later when later came. The problem wasn't with Jake, it was with his sisters.
Because, oh yeah, the kid came with sisters. The older one was okay, Lewis guessed; she gave him death glares every time she dropped by to see her brother, but Lewis was used to that and could ignore her. The little one, though, she was obnoxious as hell. Always cheerful, always noisy, popping by to take her big brother out to lunch or brag about the great audition she'd just had—because, of course, she was an aspiring actress. Like the family always said, aspiring was just another word for failing, but she didn't even seem to care.
Lewis had no patience for her at all.
29. "When I realized what I had turned out to be was a lousy, two-bit pool hustler and a drunk, I wasn't depressed at all. I was glad to have a profession."
He cornered her one day on her way out of the office, and said, point blank, "Isn't there some kind of medication you should be on?"
She raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. He resisted the urge to demand that she stop, and instead folded his arms and glared at her.
"Uh, no," she said, after a while. "Why, do you need some?"
"I'm the sane one in this conversation," he said. "You're the one who's insanely cheerful. Just... what the hell?"
Lauren Foster rolled her eyes. "Okay, first of all, you're an ass. Second, you're my brother's boss, not mine. Where the hell do you get off interrogating me? Third, I like my life. I like enjoying things. I'm sorry you're a bitter and sad old man, but that's hardly my problem."
"I'm not bitter and sad," he said, stung. "And I'm certainly not old." He was only forty-three, that wasn't old, Jesus.
"You're old," she said. "And you're so bitter. I'm willing to retract the sad, though, if you're willing to accept pathetic."
Lewis stepped back, disgusted. "And you're a floozy."
Lauren cracked up, laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall for support. There was something about her laughter—he wanted to stay irritated, but it was all he could do to keep scowling.
"Wow," she said, when she'd recovered. "Floozy. Didn't think anyone said that anymore. Thanks, Lew, I'll take that as a compliment." She chucked his chin, and sauntered down the hallway, whistling.
"It's Lewis," he said, after her, but he couldn't quite sound as annoyed as he wanted.
10. "It's for her own good that the cat purrs."
He understood her a little better after that, anyway. The older sister was still a pain in his ass but Lauren was a little more fun now that he understood. She'd drop in his office sometimes after she went to see her brother, to laugh at him and trade insults. For some unknown reason she found that entertaining.
"It's because you don't pull your punches," she said cheerfully, when he asked. "I can't get a good honest fight from anyone else."
"You have siblings, don't you?" He remembered very little of his relationship with Allen, but fighting featured prominently.
Lauren shrugged, and put her feet up on the edge of his desk. Lewis poked them back off with his pen. "Yeah, but Jake doesn't fight—you employ him, you know that—and Amanda fights mean."
He felt obscurely offended by that. "I fight mean."
"No, you don't," she said, and laughed. "You just fight. You're fun, I like it. Learn to take a compliment, Lew."
"It's Lewis," he said. "How would you like it if I started calling you Laure?"
She shrugged again. "My brother and sister call me that, so... weirded out? You're like my dad's age."
Which was weird on a whole different level. Lewis pushed that aside for the moment. "Then don't call me Lew."
"Fine," she said. "I'll just have to think of something suitable." She paused on her way out, blew him a kiss. "See you next week, Lew!"
Women.
8. "All sins cast long shadows."
Jake transferred to Gail Hirschfeld's department not long after that conversation, which Lewis would say was about time. The kid had promise, and while that promise was probably going to get crushed in a few years, for the time being he deserved to be in a place where he could get something done. And Lewis—Lewis would find a new assistant, and ask out Jake's sister.
Well, why not.
Lauren was probably too young for him, but she was also really gorgeous, and surprisingly fun to be around. The relationship would crash and burn sooner or later—probably sooner, given his track record—so Jake would be able to breathe again. In the meantime, they could have some fun.
Or they would've been able to had she not laughed in his face when he proposed a date.
"Oh, wait," she said, when he didn't laugh with her. "You were serious?"
"Yes, I was serious." He gave her a wounded look that only made her laugh again. "Come on, it could be fun."
She raised her eyebrows. "Fun? You're an alcoholic dickbag who's forty years older than me."
"Twenty."
Lauren waved a hand. "Forty, twenty, same deal."
"And you," Lewis said, "are a flaky wannabe Jezebel twenty years younger than me. What's your point?"
Typically, she ignored him. "I just dumped my last boyfriend because he's hung up on someone else, and you want me to date you?"
"Why not?" he asked. "You know I'm not going to demand anything of you. Let me take you out a few times, then stomp on my heart in high-heeled shoes. It'll make you feel better."
She pursed her lips. "You make a compelling case, Nebuchadnezzar."
7. "Don't give cherries to pigs or advice to fools."
Well, that was slightly unexpected. Still. Lewis pursued the advantage. "I'm not asking for commitment, just a few dates. You never know. It could be fun."
Lauren frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."
He prevented himself from doing a victory dance only by sheer willpower. "Great. You like dancing?"
"Love it," she said, "but I have some conditions first."
To get in those pants, he'd take a few conditions. "Which are?"
She began ticking things off on her fingers. "Well, first, you can't tell Jake, he'll have a stroke and I like him healthy."
"I don't make a habit of discussing my sex life with former employees," Lewis said, as dryly as he could.
Lauren ignored him. "Second, you don't talk to me and I don't talk to you unless we're actually out together. And that won't be a lot."
He'd figured as much—he wasn't exactly a catch—but he let her go on. It was kinda cute, the way she went on.
"Finally—" she turned unusually serious—"you have to understand that this is just sex. I am not in the market for a relationship, and definitely not with you."
Lewis shrugged. "I'm not good at relationships anyway," he said, and he wasn't, he was terrible at them. She ought to know what that was like. She didn't even want to talk to him in public, for Christ's sake.
"Great, then we're on the same page." She eyed him up and down, appreciatively. "This should be fun."
He couldn't help but agree.
20. "There is a courageous wisdom; there is also a false reptile prudence, the result, not of caution, but of fear."
First date was out in a dance club, Lauren in a painted-on black dress with lace panels in the front and sides. Lewis wasn't nearly as presentable as her and he couldn't dance nearly as well, but he could make her look good, which seemed to be all she wanted.
Bump bump bump and his heart was pounding to the music, to Lauren's hips rolling against his, and it wasn't long after that they bolted for the car and wound up in the back seat. Lewis generally tried to be a little more gentlemanly about things, but it was Lauren who pulled him back there, Lauren who unzipped his trousers and pulled her skirt up and rode him right there, her head thrown back, her skin sheened with sweat. He took her home and fucked her again, this time in a bed, slow and easy until she made a furious noise of frustration, flipped them over and nearly fucked him through the headboard.
She was gone when he woke up, and he spent a while wondering if he should worry. Not, he decided eventually. Lauren seemed like the type to dump him in person. Anyway, it wasn't like this was anything. It wasn't like it mattered.
He rolled back over and pulled the pillow over his head.
3. "Beware of people who dislike cats."
Lauren had a cat, which surprised him.
"Why?" she asked, picking up the white purring thing and cuddling it under her chin. "I like cats. I love cats. Do you not like cats?"
The dangerous tone of voice told him that would be the dealbreaker from hell. "No," he said, quickly. "No, I love cats. I just thought you weren't real into commitment."
Lauren shrugged, and put the cat down. "I'm not, but cats don't need a whole lot of commitment. They just need food, water, a litter box and a warm place to sleep. I can handle that."
Sounded about right. Lewis bent down and ran a hand over the cat's back. "You have pets growing up, then?"
The stretched silence that ensued was not what he expected. He sat up and caught a frozen look on Lauren's face that changed quickly to a sudden nonchalance. "Yeah, a dog. Don't know what happened to him. Probably sent him to the pound after my parents died." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, bent over to give him a great look at her ass. "But what are we talking about pets for? I got a pussy here needs your attention."
Sounded good to him.
5. "A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures."
They fought a lot. A lot. Lauren picked at his drinking; he picked at her life choices. It was kind of fun, like she said—they didn't pull punches but they didn't really aim to hurt either, and they always made it up afterwards. Either he'd call her Jezebel or she'd call him Nebuchadnezzar and they'd laugh, and then they'd have sex.
Lewis was quickly learning the benefits of makeup sex.
He felt like it should bother him, that they fought all the time. It bothered Mam when he talked to her, which wasn't very often about Lauren because she didn't get it. Mam wanted him to get married and settle down and name his firstborn son Allen. Mam was deluding herself, but Lewis let her do it.
He just kept his mouth shut about Lauren most of the time.
Anyway, the fighting was fun, and the makeup sex more fun. So Lewis didn't worry.
It was all going to crash and burn anyway, so what did it matter?
24. "Though I soon became typecast in Hollywood as a gangster and hoodlum, I was originally a dancer, an Irish hoofer, trained in vaudeville tap dance. I always leapt at the opportunity to dance in films later on."
"So you're Irish?" Lauren asked. They were hanging out on the edge of a club, both of them nursing drinks, Lewis a little more so than Lauren. She wasn't saying anything, though she did keep shooting his glass nasty little looks. "Explains the Guinness."
"All civilized people drink Guinness," Lewis said, loftily.
"Whatever, Neb," Lauren said, and giggled. "I just didn't know you were Irish, that's all."
"Half," he said, and didn’t bother explaining it.
"Huh." She took a sip of her whiskey, then set it down on the table. "I hear Irishmen dance well."
Lewis snorted, and drained his glass. "This one doesn't. You know that, you've seen me try."
She giggled again. "Yeah, but you can sure grind good." The lift of her eyebrow sent a little rush of heat snaking down his spine. She knew it, too; she went up on her tiptoes and let a breath of air ghost across his lips. "Tell you what, you come dance with me, and I'll let you fuck me in the bathroom."
Lewis put his glass down next to hers and spread his hands. "Lead on, Bel."
Lauren smiled sexily, grabbed both his hands, and tugged him onto the floor.
11. "The full person does not understand the needs of the hungry."
It wasn't all perfect. There were things that Lauren just didn't get, things she accused him of not understanding. Sure, she'd lost her parents, but she couldn't possibly understand what it felt like to watch a father walk out, to watch him come back into his child's life just to scam him for money. And sure, she'd spent some time in foster care, but she couldn't possibly know what it felt like to watch your entire family pull away and not know why.
She couldn't know what it was like to watch your brother die from something you didn't even understand.
They fought about that more and more lately. Probably about time for this thing to fall apart, Lewis thought, not without regret, as they fought yet again about not understanding.
It was a shame. He'd miss her.
27. "Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither."
"You're such a... you just don't even get it!" Lauren screamed at him, and raked her hands through her hair. "You don't even try. Why the hell should I put anything into this when I'm not getting anything out of it?"
"Excuse me," Lewis said, stamping hard on genuine hurt. "You're the one who just wanted sex."
"Oh, fuck you," she snarled, and turned on her heel. "Look, you just... you just don't try. You don't care. Then you bitch about everything going wrong for you. I'll tell you why it goes wrong, it's because you don't give a fuck! Maybe if you cared for ten seconds about something that isn't you, your life might actually take a turn for the better." She looked him up and down for a moment, then sneered. "I doubt it."
12. "Praise the ripe field not the green corn."
"Like you even know," Lewis snapped. "You're the one who tries and tries and never gets anywhere. You're a wannabe, Lauren, that's all you are."
She rolled her eyes. "You're such a fucking cynic. Can't even look on the bright side."
"Looking on the bright side never got you anywhere." He hated the words, couldn't stop them pouring out. "You never get anywhere, do you? You fucking child. The world isn't any good. You just have to learn to fucking live with it."
Lauren looked up at him for a moment, with a set face that he couldn't read. Then she threw her hands up. "What the fuck ever. Can't believe I wasted my time on you."
21. "I think the Irish woman was freed from slavery by bingo. They can go out now, dressed up, with their handbags and have a drink and play bingo. And they deserve it."
Because that's what he was, a waste of time. Lewis knew that, had always known that, but somehow it hurt more hearing it from Lauren. "Yeah, well, you knew what you were getting."
"An alcoholic, lazy son of a bitch," Lauren said, practically spitting the words.
"And I got a flaky, commitment-phobic wannabe actress," he snapped. If he was going to hurt, so was she. "Go on, run away, that's all you ever do, isn't it, Lauren? Just... fuck off and go try again somewhere else. Christ knows you'll never get anywhere."
She went white, and stared at him for a frozen moment. "Fuck you," she whispered, then turned around and walked out.
Lewis sat down, hard.
14. "Where the tongue slips, it speaks the truth."
"I don't miss her," he told the bartender, five shots of whiskey in. "I don't. She's a bitch and I don't need her around."
The bartender mumbled something unintelligible, but he poured Lewis another shot, thereby upping the amount of his tip considerably.
"Fuck her," Lewis said, and tossed it back. "Fucking bitch. Saying I'm a drunk."
"You kinda are, dude," the bartender said, and Lewis mentally subtracted several dollars from his tip.
"Whatever," he said, intelligently, and tapped the glass.
The bartender poured it, but not silently. "You trying to get hosed or something? What happened, you get dumped?"
"By a fucking bitch," Lewis slurred, and threw the shot back. Seven, that would be good, but maybe he should get one more.
The bartender shook his head. "You're telling me, man. They're all bitches when they leave you."
Lewis put his head down on the bar, folded his arms around it. "Bitch. Fucking bitch. Fucking love of my life." He froze, appalled. What the hell was that?
The bartender paused, then said, gently, "I'm gonna call you a cab, man."
That was probably a good idea.
22. "Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity."
The cab took him home, but his hand was shaking too much to open the door, so he sat on the front steps instead.
It didn’t make sense. It just plain did not make sense. Lauren was not the love of his life, for damn sure—she was twenty years younger than him, flaky, commitment-phobic, way too optimistic and energetic for him. And, if Lewis was strictly honest with himself, there was no way in hell he was anywhere near the love of her life. Probably not even the love of a minute. He was cynical, way too old for her, a lazy bastard and an alcoholic. Why the hell should she hang around?
And then again.
He could call her. It wouldn't take much to call her. He had her number. He could—he could call her.
She ran away. It was what she did. He didn't understand why but he understood that she did, and people who ran away—sometimes they ran back.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
18. "What is nearest the heart is nearest the mouth."
"I miss you," he said, the moment her voicemail clicked on. "I know you probably hate me right now, and that's okay, I pretty much hate me too, but I miss you. And I know this wasn't supposed to be anything but it sort of is for me, and I miss you. You should come back. You should come back and hang around with me." He paused, coughed, reached for words. "So... I don't know, I don't know if this is love, it's probably really fucked up, but whatever, you work for me. Things don't work for me usually. But you do, and I miss that. I miss you. Please come back. I miss..."
"You said that already," she said gently, and he looked up, startled, saw her standing above him on the steps.
Lauren reached down, closed his phone gently, and sat down beside him. "So you miss me."
"Yeah," he said, and she winced, fanned her face.
"Christ, how drunk are you?"
Lewis leaned over and deliberately exhaled in her face. "Very."
She shook her head. "You need to stop that, hon. Not the drinking, just the getting trashed bit. Life's more fun when you're sober."
"You say that," he said, listing over onto her, "but it isn't any fun without you. Everything sucks without you, Bel."
Lauren smiled, her eyes soft and a little sad. "Oh, Neb. It sucks without you too." She put an arm around his shoulders, let him lean in on her breasts.
"I miss you," he said into her skin, and rubbed his nose against her chest. "I don't want you to go."
"I don't want to go," Lauren said, simply. "But you're really drunk right now, so we're going to have this conversation in the morning, okay, Neb? Come on, let's get you to bed."
Lewis put both arms around her waist, pressed his face into her neck. "You're not going anywhere?"
"No," she said, and patted his shoulder. "No, I'm not going anywhere."
6. "Marry a mountain girl and you marry the whole mountain."
"You're dating who?"
That was Jake; Lewis recognized the tones and the shriek he could hear halfway across the bar.
Lauren said something that sounded amused, then the older sister—Amanda, he was going to have to remember her name now that he was going to have to deal with her—Amanda said something that sounded distinctly unamused. A few more exchanges and they came up to him, Amanda with a measuring expression, Jake furious.
Jake, surprisingly, got in his face right away. "You don't fuck this up," he snapped. "You don't. You hurt my sister and I will fuck your shit up, okay?"
"You can't fuck it up any more than it's been fucked up," Lewis said, he thought reasonably. Lauren smothered a laugh, but Jake made a strange growling noise, then turned around and marched off to a table nearby and the curly-headed girl sitting at it.
"Good," Amanda said, watching him go. "Olivia will calm him down. And you..." She turned, gave him an assessing look. "Seriously, if you break my sister's heart or get her pregnant and leave her—"
"Ew," Lauren said. "No babies."
Lewis nodded, emphatically. "You said it. No kids."
Amanda rolled her eyes. "Do anything to hurt my sister," she said, "and I will introduce you to new levels of pain."
Lewis shrugged. "Okay."
She gave him that measuring look again, then shrugged herself. "Fair enough. See you around." She followed her brother.
"Well," Lauren said, easing up beside him. "That went well."
2. "You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was."
"So," she said, later that night, skin to skin in bed. "This is for good, then?"
"Until you get sick of me," he said, attempting a joke, but it fell flat, and she frowned, shook her head.
"Don't say that," she said. "You're not... look, whatever I said, you're a good person, okay? You're a good man. You're fucked up, we both are, but... I don't know, maybe we can be fucked up together."
He tucked her against his shoulder, ran a hand over her back. "I'm not... I don't think I can be fixed. I don't think I can be better."
Lauren pressed a kiss to his neck. "I don't need you to be better, Neb," she said, softly. "I just need you to be you."
He was quiet for a moment. "Okay," he said. "I'll make you a bargain. You be you, and I'll be me. You get me going, and I'll keep you from running away. Sound good, Bel?"
"Sounds great," she said, and kissed him again.
26. "Ireland, sir, for good or evil, is like no other place under heaven, and no man can touch its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse."
"So this is Ireland," Lauren said, looking around at the green, green land. "Never been here before."
"Me either," Lewis said. "Feels right, though." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "Smells right."
"What exactly smells right?" she asked, dryly, but she took his hand anyway, her skin warm against his, her wedding ring in cool contrast.
"Just does," he said, leaned over and kissed her. "We ready for this?"
"Always," she said, and tugged him forward.
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Thank you very much!
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Thank you!
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Hey, you know those comments that are just FEELS everywhere?
I just.
That.
Ending on that and the hills after all of the crap.
You brought the ows, but under the ows were a million feels, each one feelier than the last.
This made me smile.
Thank you!
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