(no subject)
Title: "Selfishly Sick"
By: Ivy
Coupling: Jesse Lacey (of Brand New) and Conor Oberst (of Bright Eyes) - although, they're not really coupled together in the story.
Rating: PG-13
Description: Part two to "A Wretch Like Me" -- Jesse finally responds to Conor's letters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
I sat staring at the white sheet of paper in front of me for a good hour. I blinked irregularly. My mind was racing with a million thoughts at one time. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to do this or not. I wasn't sure if I wanted to acknowledge him.
I shook my head and stood up from my computer desk, lifting a hand to rub the side of my neck as I walked out of my bedroom and headed down my hall, and into my kitchen. Once in there, I flipped the light on and opened the liquor cabinet above my dish washer, grabbing a half-empty bottle of gin and a cup, sitting the cup down and opening the gin. I poured a good amount into the cup before recapping the bottle and placing it back into the cabinet, picking up my drink as I headed out of my kitchen, flipping the light off on the way. I took a small sip of the strong alcohol as I headed back down the hallway and back into my room, shutting the door behind me.
Mental note: Stop living in black and white and give my house some fucking colour.
A sigh escaped my lips as I made my way back over to my computer desk and sat back down, taking a larger sip of my drink before sitting it down atop of the table, hesitantly reaching for a pen. I uncapped it and placed the cap between my teeth out of habit. Something to nibble on, due to my nervousness.
I gave myself a few moments to think before biting down harder on the pen cap, pressing my pen to the paper, and beginning to write.
Conor,
This should come to a shock to you. Although, I hope when you see my name written out on the envelope, you do not render comatose. That would be no good. That was my lame attempt to make some sort of joke, because I'm sure my handwriting shows you how nervous I am at this exact moment.
Do not ask me why I'm responding to you, because I'm not really sure myself. It's been nearly three months since your last letter. I kept thinking to myself as the days went on, 'Maybe he's finally given up.' But a couple of days ago, I was looking through my drawer for something, and I saw a letter of yours stuffed in there, at the bottom of the drawer. And this incredible feeling of guilt rushed over my entire body. My heart began to ache. I wanted nothing more than to collapse to the floor, and lie there for the rest of the night. I wanted to die. I really, honestly did. At that exact time, I wanted someone to appear and shoot me point blank.
I did not want to respond to you. I did not want to acknowledge you. I just wanted to continue to get your letters, and continue reading about your every day life, and how things have changed for you. Part of me would get excited every time I received a new letter from you. And part of me would falter and die. That is the truth. Understand this, I do not hate you. I do not dislike you. I am simply... God, I don't know. I am hurt. Though, you have more reason to be hurt. I hurt you.
You said you're not sure why we parted. I will never forgive myself for acting so cowardly. Do you remember? I know you do. You were gone. You'd gone to a friends house, I think. I was lying in bed for a good few hours. I was thinking about how you'd made love to me just that previous night. Do you remember what you said to me right after? When we were curled up in one another's arms, and your face was pressed so gently into the crook of my neck? You whispered, "I'm glad I didn't die before I met you." - and at that exact moment, Conor... I knew I had to leave. I just had to. I knew, that in time - eventually - I would end up hurting you somehow. I had this awful gut feeling about it. And you know I always go with my gut feelings. I'm usually right about them. So, I willed myself out of bed, and I began to pack my clothes and belongings. Consistent tears were falling from my eyes, as well, and I picked up a pencil and a piece of paper and scribbled down a few words to you. My apologies. No explanation. And I just left. I caught a cab, and I left.
I was broken, after that. My heart was literally broken. As cliché as this sounds, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I didn't do a damn thing but drink and stare. I stayed with my sister Haley for a good while. She was the first to open her doors to me and let me in. My other siblings, I didn't care to bother with. I wanted Haley. She's always been the one to understand me more than anyone else, and you know that. She tried to talk to me. I explained, in a very monosyllabic way, what had happened. She held me while I cried drunkenly. She pet my hair and rubbed my back so gently and whispered, "Everything is going to be okay, Jesse." - and I thought about you. You've whispered those exact words to me once, or...many times before. When I'd get discouraged. And, hearing them from you, always seemed to make me feel better.
But, I don't think I'm making myself clear on why I left. I just couldn't let myself hurt you. I know that every thing was going great for us. We were best friends, and we were lovers. We'd been through a lot. And I can honestly say, at one time, I could see us spending the rest of our lives together. But I knew, when you whispered those words to me after we'd finished making love, that it was all temporary. I knew I'd end up breaking your heart. So I had to break it sooner than expected.
I sound incredibly cold-hearted right now, and I do not mean to.
But, I will not lie. I do miss you. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about you. You cross my mind every day. Remember that simple silver ring you bought for me? It was too small to fit any of my fingers, except my pinkie? I still wear it. I can't take it off. I won't allow myself to. I feel the need to wear it as to bring some kind of reminder to myself of you. I look at it, and I feel sorrow. Pain. ...regret.
Yeah. I regret what I did. But I still cannot feel bad for the reason I did it. I know you may not understand, but try to. Try to understand it for me...
I'm not sure where to continue, now. I really have not been up to much of anything. I've been drinking a lot, going back and forth between my sister's house and different friends' houses. But I have finally landed my own place. A house. Nothing big. I live in a rather quiet, peaceful, small neighbourhood. Everyone keeps to themselves. I've never seen one act of violence be committed around here. I live in a one-story house. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a nice-sized living room, a lovely, decent kitchen, and a den. I turned the den into a small library for myself. I bought numerous shelves and stacked every book I owned onto them. It's nice. There's even a fireplace in the den. I have a comfortable sofa in there, too, that can be pulled out into a bed. I spend more time in there than I do my own bedroom.
However, I am glad to see that you have been getting out and about and making some attempts to have lovers on certain nights. It's more than what I've been doing. I have brought back one man to my house, and as soon as we kissed and began touching, I pushed him away and asked him to leave. I felt dirty. I felt wrong. I felt...guilty. I can't even bring myself to pleasure myself, let alone sleep with someone new. I haven't had sex since the last time you made love to me. I don't even remember how long ago that was...
Basically, my days are filled by reading, sleeping, drinking and writing. I make occasional calls to friends and family, and I try to go out and have a good time every once and a while. But it always ends up the same way. I come home to my empty house - (I don't even own a pet, yet) - and I undress and collapse in my bed. And I usually lie there for a long time, doing nothing but simply stare at the ceiling, and think.
I don't know...is there something else better I should be doing?
I would like to hear from you again, if you could find it in your heart to still converse with me.
If you could find it in your heart to forgive me...
I do love you, Conor.
I'll never stop.
Always,
J. Lacey.
I blinked slowly a few times before sliding the pen cap out of my mouth, which was horribly chewed by now, and threw it away in the garbage can beside my computer table. I sat my pen down and finished off my glass of gin before sitting that down as well, feeling a small shudder course through my body at the harsh taste. Picking up one of the envelopes that were lying against my computer, I grabbed the pen again and scribbled down my address and Conor's as well, rummaging through one of the drawers on the table for my stamps. I peeled one off and stuck it to the corner of the envelope before licking it closed. I bit down on my lower lip and stood up from my chair, heading out of my bedroom and down the hall, to my front door. Unlocking it, I opened it and slowly dragged myself out to my mailbox and I stood there for a few moments.
I didn't have to do this. I could easily rip the letter up and throw it away. Go on with my life. Spare myself the shame and pain.
I deserved the shame and pain.
I opened the mailbox and sat the letter inside, shutting the small door back and began rubbing the side of my neck as I headed back up my sidewalk and back inside my house, shutting and locking the door behind me.
Second mental note: Buy a pet.
[[ hm. I'm not sure if I liked that or not. and I'm not sure if anyone wants me to continue this, and make it into some...chaptered story, or something. hell. I don't even know if I have the time for another chaptered story. but if you people like it...I'll try. sorry this wasn't longer. ]]
By: Ivy
Coupling: Jesse Lacey (of Brand New) and Conor Oberst (of Bright Eyes) - although, they're not really coupled together in the story.
Rating: PG-13
Description: Part two to "A Wretch Like Me" -- Jesse finally responds to Conor's letters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
I sat staring at the white sheet of paper in front of me for a good hour. I blinked irregularly. My mind was racing with a million thoughts at one time. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to do this or not. I wasn't sure if I wanted to acknowledge him.
I shook my head and stood up from my computer desk, lifting a hand to rub the side of my neck as I walked out of my bedroom and headed down my hall, and into my kitchen. Once in there, I flipped the light on and opened the liquor cabinet above my dish washer, grabbing a half-empty bottle of gin and a cup, sitting the cup down and opening the gin. I poured a good amount into the cup before recapping the bottle and placing it back into the cabinet, picking up my drink as I headed out of my kitchen, flipping the light off on the way. I took a small sip of the strong alcohol as I headed back down the hallway and back into my room, shutting the door behind me.
Mental note: Stop living in black and white and give my house some fucking colour.
A sigh escaped my lips as I made my way back over to my computer desk and sat back down, taking a larger sip of my drink before sitting it down atop of the table, hesitantly reaching for a pen. I uncapped it and placed the cap between my teeth out of habit. Something to nibble on, due to my nervousness.
I gave myself a few moments to think before biting down harder on the pen cap, pressing my pen to the paper, and beginning to write.
Conor,
This should come to a shock to you. Although, I hope when you see my name written out on the envelope, you do not render comatose. That would be no good. That was my lame attempt to make some sort of joke, because I'm sure my handwriting shows you how nervous I am at this exact moment.
Do not ask me why I'm responding to you, because I'm not really sure myself. It's been nearly three months since your last letter. I kept thinking to myself as the days went on, 'Maybe he's finally given up.' But a couple of days ago, I was looking through my drawer for something, and I saw a letter of yours stuffed in there, at the bottom of the drawer. And this incredible feeling of guilt rushed over my entire body. My heart began to ache. I wanted nothing more than to collapse to the floor, and lie there for the rest of the night. I wanted to die. I really, honestly did. At that exact time, I wanted someone to appear and shoot me point blank.
I did not want to respond to you. I did not want to acknowledge you. I just wanted to continue to get your letters, and continue reading about your every day life, and how things have changed for you. Part of me would get excited every time I received a new letter from you. And part of me would falter and die. That is the truth. Understand this, I do not hate you. I do not dislike you. I am simply... God, I don't know. I am hurt. Though, you have more reason to be hurt. I hurt you.
You said you're not sure why we parted. I will never forgive myself for acting so cowardly. Do you remember? I know you do. You were gone. You'd gone to a friends house, I think. I was lying in bed for a good few hours. I was thinking about how you'd made love to me just that previous night. Do you remember what you said to me right after? When we were curled up in one another's arms, and your face was pressed so gently into the crook of my neck? You whispered, "I'm glad I didn't die before I met you." - and at that exact moment, Conor... I knew I had to leave. I just had to. I knew, that in time - eventually - I would end up hurting you somehow. I had this awful gut feeling about it. And you know I always go with my gut feelings. I'm usually right about them. So, I willed myself out of bed, and I began to pack my clothes and belongings. Consistent tears were falling from my eyes, as well, and I picked up a pencil and a piece of paper and scribbled down a few words to you. My apologies. No explanation. And I just left. I caught a cab, and I left.
I was broken, after that. My heart was literally broken. As cliché as this sounds, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I didn't do a damn thing but drink and stare. I stayed with my sister Haley for a good while. She was the first to open her doors to me and let me in. My other siblings, I didn't care to bother with. I wanted Haley. She's always been the one to understand me more than anyone else, and you know that. She tried to talk to me. I explained, in a very monosyllabic way, what had happened. She held me while I cried drunkenly. She pet my hair and rubbed my back so gently and whispered, "Everything is going to be okay, Jesse." - and I thought about you. You've whispered those exact words to me once, or...many times before. When I'd get discouraged. And, hearing them from you, always seemed to make me feel better.
But, I don't think I'm making myself clear on why I left. I just couldn't let myself hurt you. I know that every thing was going great for us. We were best friends, and we were lovers. We'd been through a lot. And I can honestly say, at one time, I could see us spending the rest of our lives together. But I knew, when you whispered those words to me after we'd finished making love, that it was all temporary. I knew I'd end up breaking your heart. So I had to break it sooner than expected.
I sound incredibly cold-hearted right now, and I do not mean to.
But, I will not lie. I do miss you. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about you. You cross my mind every day. Remember that simple silver ring you bought for me? It was too small to fit any of my fingers, except my pinkie? I still wear it. I can't take it off. I won't allow myself to. I feel the need to wear it as to bring some kind of reminder to myself of you. I look at it, and I feel sorrow. Pain. ...regret.
Yeah. I regret what I did. But I still cannot feel bad for the reason I did it. I know you may not understand, but try to. Try to understand it for me...
I'm not sure where to continue, now. I really have not been up to much of anything. I've been drinking a lot, going back and forth between my sister's house and different friends' houses. But I have finally landed my own place. A house. Nothing big. I live in a rather quiet, peaceful, small neighbourhood. Everyone keeps to themselves. I've never seen one act of violence be committed around here. I live in a one-story house. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a nice-sized living room, a lovely, decent kitchen, and a den. I turned the den into a small library for myself. I bought numerous shelves and stacked every book I owned onto them. It's nice. There's even a fireplace in the den. I have a comfortable sofa in there, too, that can be pulled out into a bed. I spend more time in there than I do my own bedroom.
However, I am glad to see that you have been getting out and about and making some attempts to have lovers on certain nights. It's more than what I've been doing. I have brought back one man to my house, and as soon as we kissed and began touching, I pushed him away and asked him to leave. I felt dirty. I felt wrong. I felt...guilty. I can't even bring myself to pleasure myself, let alone sleep with someone new. I haven't had sex since the last time you made love to me. I don't even remember how long ago that was...
Basically, my days are filled by reading, sleeping, drinking and writing. I make occasional calls to friends and family, and I try to go out and have a good time every once and a while. But it always ends up the same way. I come home to my empty house - (I don't even own a pet, yet) - and I undress and collapse in my bed. And I usually lie there for a long time, doing nothing but simply stare at the ceiling, and think.
I don't know...is there something else better I should be doing?
I would like to hear from you again, if you could find it in your heart to still converse with me.
If you could find it in your heart to forgive me...
I do love you, Conor.
I'll never stop.
Always,
J. Lacey.
I blinked slowly a few times before sliding the pen cap out of my mouth, which was horribly chewed by now, and threw it away in the garbage can beside my computer table. I sat my pen down and finished off my glass of gin before sitting that down as well, feeling a small shudder course through my body at the harsh taste. Picking up one of the envelopes that were lying against my computer, I grabbed the pen again and scribbled down my address and Conor's as well, rummaging through one of the drawers on the table for my stamps. I peeled one off and stuck it to the corner of the envelope before licking it closed. I bit down on my lower lip and stood up from my chair, heading out of my bedroom and down the hall, to my front door. Unlocking it, I opened it and slowly dragged myself out to my mailbox and I stood there for a few moments.
I didn't have to do this. I could easily rip the letter up and throw it away. Go on with my life. Spare myself the shame and pain.
I deserved the shame and pain.
I opened the mailbox and sat the letter inside, shutting the small door back and began rubbing the side of my neck as I headed back up my sidewalk and back inside my house, shutting and locking the door behind me.
Second mental note: Buy a pet.
[[ hm. I'm not sure if I liked that or not. and I'm not sure if anyone wants me to continue this, and make it into some...chaptered story, or something. hell. I don't even know if I have the time for another chaptered story. but if you people like it...I'll try. sorry this wasn't longer. ]]