nomorekaraoke | Entries tagged with dream plot

That morning, waking up was the most confusingly lovely thing he'd ever done. It was wonderful, and scary and thrilling at the same time, and it made him feel like something had sucked his heartbeat right up to his chest. It was so wonderful it left him feeling slightly giddy, ever so slightly nauseous with overwhelming excitement.

~*~

He's been smoking all day, walking around the place like he's a very antsy alarm clock just waiting to go off. He'll start screaming soon. If he stops moving, he'll start throwing things around and upset his neighbors, and he'll scream and then he won't know how to stop.

Maybe if he just keeps breathing, he'll be fine. Maybe the smoke will keep him warm enough that he doesn't notice just how empty his too big apartment is. But why stop there? Why not include his whole life into the equation?

Lighting up the last cigarette in his last pack of them, Lorne takes a long, unsteady drag and exhales. Even his breath sounds like death warmed over, and suddenly he's struck by another string of thoughts. His record's stuck on repeat: I don't want to be alone

I don't want to be alone!

I don't want to

He picks up his cell phone off the coffee table, going through his call log and picking out the only number he can trust. And what does he get for it? He gets the answering machine. 'Hi, this is Beth. You know what to do after the beep.'

"Beth, are you there? I didn't know who else to call...but I'm having a really bad day, and I'm not dealing very well, and I just think I need someone to talk to. I didn't know who else to call, I'm sorry if this is totally inappropriate, I just... Call me when you can, all right?"

Walking down a dimly lit street along which he's never walked before, Lorne gets the weirdest sense of déjà vu. He's been in these shoes, walked in them for more miles than he'd care to count, but he's seldom felt as embarrassed as he does now.

Him, ask anyone for a charm to make him seem human? Him. The guy who'll gladly make a pun at his own greenness, but would never give it up for all the money in the world? The demon who flaunts everything he's got, who makes excuses to no one... To think he'd come this far, sink this low, grow so desperate.

But it's a straw he's more than willing to grasp for.

If that Mister Someone is out there in the big, big world, he can't limit his searching to the gloom and doom of nighttime nookie. He can't spend his days locked up somewhere far above the city streets where that dream man could pass on by unnoticed.

He needs added oomph. He needs to be able to go out in the sun. Meet new people, and have a little faith.

You gotta have faith. He walks up to the house, all the way up to the door, lifts his hand to the doorbell-- And presses it.

This is it.

Sometimes he lies awake. Sometimes he lies awake because the sunshine sneaks through the blinds and the curtains and through the little gap between his eyelids. Other times he lies awake because he's daydreaming, and his daydreams by far outshine his nightdreams, nightmares, maras who ride him in the night like he's their favorite beast of burden...

But sometimes, he curls up on top of the sheets of his entirely too big bed and looks out through the big, big windows to the outside world. He counts his losses one after the other, hoping against hope that there's still some left for him. Hope...that even after all the things he's done, all the questionable things, there's someone out there waiting for him to come along. Hoping that, that they'll never cross paths, that he'll never get to know whoever it is that haunts his dream-in-a-bottle. Hoping that he'll never find out who it is, this someone with a capital s that holds him so tight as to never let go, never want to. Hoping that he'll never again go through the pain of losing someone that matters that much, because he knows how he latches onto people, how he has trouble letting go once he's gotten attached and he simply can't let himself get attached. Not to anyone. Because, because the people he ends up caring about don't ever reach a ripe old age. They don't get to have peaceful, happy lives, so it's really for the best that he ripped this growing dream out by the roots. It's saved him a lot of heartache.

Times like this time, like this very moment, Lorne lies curled up on the bed with his back turned to the sunshine, wondering if having his dream, his dream of dreams removed wasn't the worst mistake of his life.

Current Mood: morose

It ain't easy being green... Kermit got it right in one fell swoop of a song, and Lorne couldn't agree more. Pouring himself another drink by the liquor cabinet, he tries so hard not to think about the past few days. The past week or so, since Valentine's.

Chatting with Justin just opened up an entire bunch of floodgates inside, and the only way he knows how to close them back up tight is to drown himself in gin. Some things are just too personal, too raw for you to ever want to acknowledge them, and he came way, way too close yesterday.

If at first he was afraid, petrified, at the thought of letting someone close, anyone at all... When you have a dream in a bottle telling you exactly how wonderful it could be if you just had a little faith and stopped keeping everyone at arm's length--

He swallows his drink, fixes himself a new one. Just G, no T tonight.

It could be wonderful. It could be grand. It could be everything he's ever needed or wanted, everything he'd decided wasn't for him. He could find someone - not just anyone - who got that same look in their eye when thinking of him, like Justin did, describing the man he loves.

He's just too bitter. He's too self conscious and sullied by his past choices, damaged goods that no one would want. But if someone did want him...

He shakes his head, arguing the silent monologue raging through his mind to keep his heart out of this, to leave well enough alone. He doesn't want anyone. He doesn't need anyone. People who care about him only ever get hurt in the end, and he can't take that anymore. He's fresh out of band aids.

He's fresh out of everything you'd ever want in a guy. All that's left is his wit, and that bores everyone out of their skull sooner or later. Eventually. It's just a matter of time before they see through the charm and the jokes to the green and red shell full of nothing at all.

He's nothing. So why should he want something so bad it hurts, just anything to fill him up and make him substantial again. Something good. Someone good.

Someone good is out there, just waiting for him to come along, just waiting for him to have his third time's a charm, dream come true moment, and it's all in vain.

There will never be a third time.

He made sure of that months ago.

Current Mood: cold
Current Location: Private apartment, Manhattan

When it comes down to the bare essentials, as it were, we're all creatures of habit. So, after some diligent perusal of the names on the list Alcina gave him, Lorne picked out familiar ground. China Town; the address just a few twists and turns from his favorite place to find a nice chai latte on a Sunday evening. Not like he goes out much, but he tries not to lose touch with the world outside his vagrant club.

So, here he is, standing outside an unremarkable door in a similarly unremarkable alley, lit only by the colorful neon signs of the busy street around the corner. Not very illuminating, those things.

He isn't sure what's worse, the bamboo rug in front of the door, saying "WELCOME" in entirely too elaborately 'Oriental' letters (because there's kitsch, and then there's kitsch), or the fact he's come to China Town to have his procedure done.

Well. Here goes. He presses his thumb pad to the bright red button, and somewhere deep within the confines of this little unremarkable building, a bell chimes.

He just hopes it isn't Lo Pan answering the door. Because yikes, wouldn't that be awkward.

...He's spent too much time at Milliways.

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If I should suddenly start to sing, or stand on my head or anything

don't think that I've lost my senses

Entries tagged with dream plot

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