Linkin Park: Brad/Chester, #057 lunch
Title: Take a drink
Fandom: Linkin Park
Characters: Brad/Chester
Prompt: #057 Lunch
Word Count: 573
Rating: PG13
Summary: His therapist says he should be mad.
Brad calls him, says, “We have a few things to sort out.”
Chester jams the phone under his ear and clutches the vodka bottle in one hand, unscrewing the cap with the other. “Mmhmm?”
“What are you doing?”
He doesn’t reply, grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with the cheap vodka. Divorce means he can’t afford the imported stuff they used to hoard. He laughs bitterly. There’s no ‘they’ anymore. Now it’s just Chester drinking before noon. Dime store vodka that burns all the way down.
Brad, impatient and annoyed, he’s asking “What are you - are you drinking? As in alcohol?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chester says, “I’ll be lucid enough to sign whatever you want me to sign.”
A weary sigh. This could be the way things used to be - Brad pestering Chester for sex and Chester slurring, I can’t, can’t get it up ha ha ha. “We’re meeting with our attorney’s for lunch at Antonio’s.”
The restaurant Chester proposed at.
With drinking it seems less like alcoholism if you play a game. You know, if you’ve ever walked out on your wife for a guy take a drink. If you left everything behind for him, take another drink. If you gave him everything but he’s still filing for divorce take a swig.
If he’s kicking you in the teeth, re-fill your glass. We could be here all night.
“Chester? Antonio’s at one. Got it?”
“Got it,” Chester whispers and hangs up.
If your dream man only ever wanted sex from you, if all of your conversations were pillow talk drop the glass; let it shatter at your feet and swallow down the guilt that rises with the realisation that the glass belonged to his mother. If he’d come home late smelling like perfume, flowers in bloom, if he sneered at you and called you a drunk because vodka was the only thing to numb your pain, take a long swig from the bottle.
He leaves his vodka on the table and heads upstairs to get dressed. Dresses smartly despite the temptation not to and get up Brad’s nose.
Antonio’s is a nice restaurant. And as he does his hair and straightens his shirt in the bathroom mirror he kids himself that this is their first date.
*
He’s too far gone to drive; even though he doesn’t care much about his own he’d never risk someone else’s life. Walks into town with his hands dug into his pockets and his head down, staring at the pavement and his feet.
He can see Brad’s car parked outside of the restaurant as he approaches and freezes. For his birthday Chester had bought him a ‘Princess On Board’ bumper sticker and Brad had grinned, slapped it on and they drove around town. But now it was gone.
Brad’s moving on. Chester supposes he should too.
His therapist tells him he should feel angry. Yell at him, he says, it might make you feel better. He should feel angry and betrayed and desperate to get even. But the vodka hums through his blood system, and the sky above is so empty and quiet and beautiful.
He puts a quarter in Brad’s parking meter.
Walks straight past the restaurant.
If all you’ve ever wanted is to be free and happy, keep on walking.
Fuck lunch, fuck sign-here-and-initial-here assholes in smart suits.
Just keep walking. And don’t stop until you find a liquor store.
Fandom: Linkin Park
Characters: Brad/Chester
Prompt: #057 Lunch
Word Count: 573
Rating: PG13
Summary: His therapist says he should be mad.
Brad calls him, says, “We have a few things to sort out.”
Chester jams the phone under his ear and clutches the vodka bottle in one hand, unscrewing the cap with the other. “Mmhmm?”
“What are you doing?”
He doesn’t reply, grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with the cheap vodka. Divorce means he can’t afford the imported stuff they used to hoard. He laughs bitterly. There’s no ‘they’ anymore. Now it’s just Chester drinking before noon. Dime store vodka that burns all the way down.
Brad, impatient and annoyed, he’s asking “What are you - are you drinking? As in alcohol?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Chester says, “I’ll be lucid enough to sign whatever you want me to sign.”
A weary sigh. This could be the way things used to be - Brad pestering Chester for sex and Chester slurring, I can’t, can’t get it up ha ha ha. “We’re meeting with our attorney’s for lunch at Antonio’s.”
The restaurant Chester proposed at.
With drinking it seems less like alcoholism if you play a game. You know, if you’ve ever walked out on your wife for a guy take a drink. If you left everything behind for him, take another drink. If you gave him everything but he’s still filing for divorce take a swig.
If he’s kicking you in the teeth, re-fill your glass. We could be here all night.
“Chester? Antonio’s at one. Got it?”
“Got it,” Chester whispers and hangs up.
If your dream man only ever wanted sex from you, if all of your conversations were pillow talk drop the glass; let it shatter at your feet and swallow down the guilt that rises with the realisation that the glass belonged to his mother. If he’d come home late smelling like perfume, flowers in bloom, if he sneered at you and called you a drunk because vodka was the only thing to numb your pain, take a long swig from the bottle.
He leaves his vodka on the table and heads upstairs to get dressed. Dresses smartly despite the temptation not to and get up Brad’s nose.
Antonio’s is a nice restaurant. And as he does his hair and straightens his shirt in the bathroom mirror he kids himself that this is their first date.
*
He’s too far gone to drive; even though he doesn’t care much about his own he’d never risk someone else’s life. Walks into town with his hands dug into his pockets and his head down, staring at the pavement and his feet.
He can see Brad’s car parked outside of the restaurant as he approaches and freezes. For his birthday Chester had bought him a ‘Princess On Board’ bumper sticker and Brad had grinned, slapped it on and they drove around town. But now it was gone.
Brad’s moving on. Chester supposes he should too.
His therapist tells him he should feel angry. Yell at him, he says, it might make you feel better. He should feel angry and betrayed and desperate to get even. But the vodka hums through his blood system, and the sky above is so empty and quiet and beautiful.
He puts a quarter in Brad’s parking meter.
Walks straight past the restaurant.
If all you’ve ever wanted is to be free and happy, keep on walking.
Fuck lunch, fuck sign-here-and-initial-here assholes in smart suits.
Just keep walking. And don’t stop until you find a liquor store.