This is what happens when I watch Titanic and then write...
Title: Please Tell Me I'm Dreaming
Author:
slasher48/
bad_bad_books
Rating: R for swearage and a little bit of death.
Pairing: Vam.
Disclaimer: If this happened, I'd be in my bed bawling right now. So yeah, not real.
AN: Warning: This is why you should never watch an angsty romance flick and then attempt to write. Severe tear-jerker. I recommend tissues.
Dedicated to
emotionallysick and
sadeinightshade, because lately they have been my inspiration and because it's dedicated to her, Amber has to read it, despite the sad. Also, they're both extremely talented writers and I love them very dearly. :)
I'm standing on the edge of the balcony where we should be having our honeymoon, waiting for you to appear in the doorway to tell me everything Ryan said is a lie.
The plane never made it to the Paris terminal, he said. It had only made it far enough to touch the midway point of the Atlantic and then it had gone down, he said.
You were...gone, he said. I can't think of the other word because it's not true. It can't be.
I turn my eyes to the still-empty doorway and sigh. I figure you should be here by now. Or are you going to stand me up?
You'd only had a few little business things to take care of, you'd told me, before kissing me so breathless that I couldn't argue and boarding that flight back to the States. I wanted us to be together with no interruptions, so I let you.
I had waved at the aircraft as it shot into the sky and disappeared, tears in my eyes but a smile on my face. A smile, because when you returned, we'd have nothing to stop us enjoying our honeymoon the way it should be enjoyed.
But now. Now my smiles have vanished and my tears pour like so many waterfalls. You're either not coming or you're...
I can't think of which I'd like less. To lose you would kill me, but for you to be gone forever from the world would do worse.
I'll be here and waiting until you appear to kiss me the way you always do and nuzzle my nose in that adorable way you have, then cuddle me on the expensive satin sheets of the hotel bed and whisper words you only say for me, show me a depth only I see.
I decide moving is a good idea, and lay on the bed to watch the sunset flicker through the open glass doors.
I'll be waiting, Bam.
*
I'm waking slowly to realize there's someone in my room. No, not someone, it's only the television.
I left it on last night. I'd been watching old antique book shows. They show them late at night in Paris, I have no idea why.
I have to occupy my time with something, darling. It's been a week and still you haven't shown.
I refuse to believe Ryan. I disconnected my mobile so he couldn't reach me to try to repeat his delusion.
My fingers press buttons I didn't tell them to and MTV is on the screen.
I'm sitting up now in bed, moving as close to the television as I can get.
They're showing pictures of you, my love. I can't imagine why, it's not your birthday or anything.
The pictures are fading into a street filled with people, and I cry out. I miss your face so much already. Why would they take it away?
But I'm distracted by the sounds of the blur of people, the mass of what look like your fans by the heartagram tattoos and Element logos on their clothes. The sounds, they sound like crying. An entire street of people is crying, and again I don't know why.
The host is appearing on the screen, darling, and he doesn't look happy. Are those your friends standing next to him?
Yes, I see the telltale wild red-blonde hair of your best mate, and I recognize the dazed look in Brandon Novak's eyes.
They're crying as well. They're not as obvious about it, but I can see it. I think I feel tears on my own face now, but I'm really too focused on the screen to know for sure.
Carson, his name is. But hm, I must quiet my thoughts. He's beginning to speak, and I recognize the motions of someone about to form your name.
"Bam Margera is a universally recognized icon of mischief and troublemaking, but his friends and family know him as a figure of compassion and love."
His face is strange. There's something sad in him that I cannot put my finger on.
He's right, in any case. You're the most compassionate, loving, caring person I've ever known. And the mischief part of you that isn't for the cameras is rather fun.
He's ready to speak again, but before he does so, he glances at your friends. They're holding each other like the brothers they are, holding each other and crying.
"Well, I should say knew. I should say knew because..."
An irrational part of me is wanting to turn off the television because if he says what I know he's about to say, my heart will break into pieces too small to be put back together.
I stay still, ignoring the remote.
And he finishes. "...Bam Margera's plane crashed last week and he was instantly killed."
A roar of your sobbing fans hits my ears and I realize in that moment, as the thousands, no, millions who love you cry out the pain, that Ryan didn't lie to me.
You're not coming. You never will be.
You haven't stood me up on our honeymoon. I feel stupid for even thinking such a thing of you.
You're...you're dead. You're dead, Bam.
Ryan looks up as the camera pans back to the studio and his eyes pierce the glass. Somehow, I know, even as my eyes start to blur with the tears, that he's looking at me, for me, to apologize for me having to find out the truth.
The color fades to black as I grasp for the remote. A commercial, when they're mourning your death? How typical of the music industry.
I fall to lay on the bed on my side, curling in on myself as though someone's shot me in the stomach. That's how it feels, a little.
It more feels like every part of me is aching with the need for you to be beside me.
My hand drops to the other side of the bed. A loud sob tears out of my throat as I remember that if you were here, it'd be laying on your soft, tan skin, probably making you giggle because your belly button is rather ticklish.
I can almost hear the giggle. I can almost hear it, Bam. Do you know how much that tortures me?
I burrow under the soft comforter and wrap it around me. It feels like your arms are wrapped around me, Bam, around my bare chest and arms, like you're cradling me. It hurts that they don't smell like you, not even close. You smell like Jack and sawdust and a mixture of grass and dirt, added to something musky that you call cologne but you and I both know is only your skin. Only you can smell like you. At the moment, I desperately want a shirt you've worn so I can get a least a little bit close to how you smell.
There's a puddle forming under my cheek. Satin doesn't absorb that well, and I'm certainly crying out enough moisture to drown in. I know my eyeliner is running. I won't renew it tomorrow, like I have every day for the past week during the wait for your return.
You won't return. What's the need of looking pretty for you if you're not there? It's all for you, Bam. It's always been, and now I've no one to look pretty for.
I'm not going to turn my phone back on. I want to just lie in this bed where we should be celebrating our eternal pledge of love and cry, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.
I don't care if I can picture you with your hands on your hips, standing on the balcony and glaring at me. I don't care, Bam. I don't fucking care.
I've lost you. What the hell do I have anymore?
I just beg something of you, Bam. Just one thing, one little thing.
Please wake me up and tell me I'm dreaming.
Please.
***
Oh, the exquisite tragedy of it all. Let me know what you thought! Even if it's only one word, I appreciate it. I love the longer, of course, but all of the reviews mean something to me. :)
Author:
slasher48/
bad_bad_books
Rating: R for swearage and a little bit of death.
Pairing: Vam.
Disclaimer: If this happened, I'd be in my bed bawling right now. So yeah, not real.
AN: Warning: This is why you should never watch an angsty romance flick and then attempt to write. Severe tear-jerker. I recommend tissues.
Dedicated to
emotionallysick and
sadeinightshade, because lately they have been my inspiration and because it's dedicated to her, Amber has to read it, despite the sad. Also, they're both extremely talented writers and I love them very dearly. :)
I'm standing on the edge of the balcony where we should be having our honeymoon, waiting for you to appear in the doorway to tell me everything Ryan said is a lie.
The plane never made it to the Paris terminal, he said. It had only made it far enough to touch the midway point of the Atlantic and then it had gone down, he said.
You were...gone, he said. I can't think of the other word because it's not true. It can't be.
I turn my eyes to the still-empty doorway and sigh. I figure you should be here by now. Or are you going to stand me up?
You'd only had a few little business things to take care of, you'd told me, before kissing me so breathless that I couldn't argue and boarding that flight back to the States. I wanted us to be together with no interruptions, so I let you.
I had waved at the aircraft as it shot into the sky and disappeared, tears in my eyes but a smile on my face. A smile, because when you returned, we'd have nothing to stop us enjoying our honeymoon the way it should be enjoyed.
But now. Now my smiles have vanished and my tears pour like so many waterfalls. You're either not coming or you're...
I can't think of which I'd like less. To lose you would kill me, but for you to be gone forever from the world would do worse.
I'll be here and waiting until you appear to kiss me the way you always do and nuzzle my nose in that adorable way you have, then cuddle me on the expensive satin sheets of the hotel bed and whisper words you only say for me, show me a depth only I see.
I decide moving is a good idea, and lay on the bed to watch the sunset flicker through the open glass doors.
I'll be waiting, Bam.
*
I'm waking slowly to realize there's someone in my room. No, not someone, it's only the television.
I left it on last night. I'd been watching old antique book shows. They show them late at night in Paris, I have no idea why.
I have to occupy my time with something, darling. It's been a week and still you haven't shown.
I refuse to believe Ryan. I disconnected my mobile so he couldn't reach me to try to repeat his delusion.
My fingers press buttons I didn't tell them to and MTV is on the screen.
I'm sitting up now in bed, moving as close to the television as I can get.
They're showing pictures of you, my love. I can't imagine why, it's not your birthday or anything.
The pictures are fading into a street filled with people, and I cry out. I miss your face so much already. Why would they take it away?
But I'm distracted by the sounds of the blur of people, the mass of what look like your fans by the heartagram tattoos and Element logos on their clothes. The sounds, they sound like crying. An entire street of people is crying, and again I don't know why.
The host is appearing on the screen, darling, and he doesn't look happy. Are those your friends standing next to him?
Yes, I see the telltale wild red-blonde hair of your best mate, and I recognize the dazed look in Brandon Novak's eyes.
They're crying as well. They're not as obvious about it, but I can see it. I think I feel tears on my own face now, but I'm really too focused on the screen to know for sure.
Carson, his name is. But hm, I must quiet my thoughts. He's beginning to speak, and I recognize the motions of someone about to form your name.
"Bam Margera is a universally recognized icon of mischief and troublemaking, but his friends and family know him as a figure of compassion and love."
His face is strange. There's something sad in him that I cannot put my finger on.
He's right, in any case. You're the most compassionate, loving, caring person I've ever known. And the mischief part of you that isn't for the cameras is rather fun.
He's ready to speak again, but before he does so, he glances at your friends. They're holding each other like the brothers they are, holding each other and crying.
"Well, I should say knew. I should say knew because..."
An irrational part of me is wanting to turn off the television because if he says what I know he's about to say, my heart will break into pieces too small to be put back together.
I stay still, ignoring the remote.
And he finishes. "...Bam Margera's plane crashed last week and he was instantly killed."
A roar of your sobbing fans hits my ears and I realize in that moment, as the thousands, no, millions who love you cry out the pain, that Ryan didn't lie to me.
You're not coming. You never will be.
You haven't stood me up on our honeymoon. I feel stupid for even thinking such a thing of you.
You're...you're dead. You're dead, Bam.
Ryan looks up as the camera pans back to the studio and his eyes pierce the glass. Somehow, I know, even as my eyes start to blur with the tears, that he's looking at me, for me, to apologize for me having to find out the truth.
The color fades to black as I grasp for the remote. A commercial, when they're mourning your death? How typical of the music industry.
I fall to lay on the bed on my side, curling in on myself as though someone's shot me in the stomach. That's how it feels, a little.
It more feels like every part of me is aching with the need for you to be beside me.
My hand drops to the other side of the bed. A loud sob tears out of my throat as I remember that if you were here, it'd be laying on your soft, tan skin, probably making you giggle because your belly button is rather ticklish.
I can almost hear the giggle. I can almost hear it, Bam. Do you know how much that tortures me?
I burrow under the soft comforter and wrap it around me. It feels like your arms are wrapped around me, Bam, around my bare chest and arms, like you're cradling me. It hurts that they don't smell like you, not even close. You smell like Jack and sawdust and a mixture of grass and dirt, added to something musky that you call cologne but you and I both know is only your skin. Only you can smell like you. At the moment, I desperately want a shirt you've worn so I can get a least a little bit close to how you smell.
There's a puddle forming under my cheek. Satin doesn't absorb that well, and I'm certainly crying out enough moisture to drown in. I know my eyeliner is running. I won't renew it tomorrow, like I have every day for the past week during the wait for your return.
You won't return. What's the need of looking pretty for you if you're not there? It's all for you, Bam. It's always been, and now I've no one to look pretty for.
I'm not going to turn my phone back on. I want to just lie in this bed where we should be celebrating our eternal pledge of love and cry, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.
I don't care if I can picture you with your hands on your hips, standing on the balcony and glaring at me. I don't care, Bam. I don't fucking care.
I've lost you. What the hell do I have anymore?
I just beg something of you, Bam. Just one thing, one little thing.
Please wake me up and tell me I'm dreaming.
Please.
***
Oh, the exquisite tragedy of it all. Let me know what you thought! Even if it's only one word, I appreciate it. I love the longer, of course, but all of the reviews mean something to me. :)