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Never thought.
Jun. 15th, 2007 12:44 amooc: In response to this
Ray called in sick today. It wasn't a conscious decision, it wasn't even really a decision. He just woke up and knew he wouldn't be going to work. He's not ill, he's not tired, he's perfectly fit and healthy.
He spent last night trying to figure out the world. Why things happen, who they happen to, who gets to decide. He sat out on the porch with a hot chocolate that Maria had made and watched the houses opposite. He counted eleven lights going on and off, two cars that came home and heard too many bouts of yelling. Kids screaming, couples swearing blue murder, dog growling at the flickering trick of the moonlight that played across the trash cans. He would've watched the stars if it wasn't such a cliche.
He'd left a message for her in the vain hope that she might read it and at least remember he was still alive. The irony of that isn't lost on him. When she'd replied, he hadn't known what to think, knew only that he had to keep her talking, didn't know how long that would last before everything turned back to normal. Back to silence.
He's a cop. He prides himself on being able to figure people out, even if it takes longer than it should. But she confused him, completely and utterly until he felt himself shutting off, felt himself closing up because some part of his brain was telling him this, this, was worse than the silence. Not understanding was worse than knowing where he stood, even if he'd hated where he was standing.
He thought it was a joke. Didn't know which was the funny part to laugh at. He thought she was lying, that it was easier for her to say she didn't remember him so that he meant nothing to her. But she's not like that, he didn't think, she's not capable of something like that and the way she spoke to him...that wasn't meant to hurt, there was no malice or hatred, just mirrored confusion.
It only hurt when he realised he didn't mean anything to her, when he finally got that it was the truth. She didn't remember him, she doesn't remember a thing. He'd wished a thousand times over that he could start them again, that he could wipe out the last months and just...do it right. He never thought that would happen. He knew it was impossible and he thought, if he got the chance, he'd have to work his way back, through it all and put it right that way. Something he was scared to do but willing, nonetheless. Even if she didn't forgive him, he'd try, he had enough respect for her, them, to do everything he could.
Now there is nothing to forgive.
Arguments, dancing, the hurt, making love, the fit, the fit. It'd been easy and tough at the same time. Rough and smooth, good then bad, up then down, then up and up until there's only one way to go. Ray remembers it all. Every single day of it. He remembers the flights to New York, first conversation, Thanksgiving, New Year, January 7th. He remembers the phone calls, Barry White, waffles and calamari, the aggressive flirting that he meant, every grin, every kiss. He remembers the shock, the first time he'd said he wanted her, the second time, the third.
All of it.
Wiped out.
But he can remember it. He wrote it down today, just in case. He'd wanted so much to get rid of the bad. Hadn't planned on the good going with it.
Ray called in sick today. It wasn't a conscious decision, it wasn't even really a decision. He just woke up and knew he wouldn't be going to work. He's not ill, he's not tired, he's perfectly fit and healthy.
He spent last night trying to figure out the world. Why things happen, who they happen to, who gets to decide. He sat out on the porch with a hot chocolate that Maria had made and watched the houses opposite. He counted eleven lights going on and off, two cars that came home and heard too many bouts of yelling. Kids screaming, couples swearing blue murder, dog growling at the flickering trick of the moonlight that played across the trash cans. He would've watched the stars if it wasn't such a cliche.
He'd left a message for her in the vain hope that she might read it and at least remember he was still alive. The irony of that isn't lost on him. When she'd replied, he hadn't known what to think, knew only that he had to keep her talking, didn't know how long that would last before everything turned back to normal. Back to silence.
He's a cop. He prides himself on being able to figure people out, even if it takes longer than it should. But she confused him, completely and utterly until he felt himself shutting off, felt himself closing up because some part of his brain was telling him this, this, was worse than the silence. Not understanding was worse than knowing where he stood, even if he'd hated where he was standing.
He thought it was a joke. Didn't know which was the funny part to laugh at. He thought she was lying, that it was easier for her to say she didn't remember him so that he meant nothing to her. But she's not like that, he didn't think, she's not capable of something like that and the way she spoke to him...that wasn't meant to hurt, there was no malice or hatred, just mirrored confusion.
It only hurt when he realised he didn't mean anything to her, when he finally got that it was the truth. She didn't remember him, she doesn't remember a thing. He'd wished a thousand times over that he could start them again, that he could wipe out the last months and just...do it right. He never thought that would happen. He knew it was impossible and he thought, if he got the chance, he'd have to work his way back, through it all and put it right that way. Something he was scared to do but willing, nonetheless. Even if she didn't forgive him, he'd try, he had enough respect for her, them, to do everything he could.
Now there is nothing to forgive.
Arguments, dancing, the hurt, making love, the fit, the fit. It'd been easy and tough at the same time. Rough and smooth, good then bad, up then down, then up and up until there's only one way to go. Ray remembers it all. Every single day of it. He remembers the flights to New York, first conversation, Thanksgiving, New Year, January 7th. He remembers the phone calls, Barry White, waffles and calamari, the aggressive flirting that he meant, every grin, every kiss. He remembers the shock, the first time he'd said he wanted her, the second time, the third.
All of it.
Wiped out.
But he can remember it. He wrote it down today, just in case. He'd wanted so much to get rid of the bad. Hadn't planned on the good going with it.
