Phone Calls, Part 15: Movin' On (LAST CHAPTER)
Title: Phone Calls, Part 15a
Author: fizzerbass
Rating: NC-17 for rough, but consensual, sex
Word Count: 7,465 - so it's in three parts
Notes: Yes, you read right, I finally finished Phone Calls. Believe it? Longer note inside...
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Annie Proulx. I only own the angst and the mistakes.
Okay, so where to start with this? I first began Phone Calls in September of 2007 - yes, almost two years ago - and I can honestly say I have thought of this story in some way, shape or form almost daily over the last seven-hundred and twenty-some odd days. Simply put, this story haunts me.
Hunts me because of what I’ve done to Jack. Haunts me because of the subject matter I so blithely wrote about - treating depression , suicide, and the stunning wallop of pain only death can bring as if I knew what I was talking about when, in fact, I was clueless. Absolutely clueless. And I pray I haven’t offended anyone with my ignorant and seeming cavalier attitude towards these very serious emotional issues. I truly meant no harm.
Well, I’m not so clueless anymore. I’ve experienced the death of a loved one - not a child, thank God, but of my Mother, which is excruciating in its own right, and I know now firsthand some of the things Jack’s been dealing with. Things that hurt your heart, take your breath away, and make you wonder if you’ll ever get through a day ever again without crying. Things that made me realize there is no way I can leave Jack where I’ve left him, in the pit of his despair.
So, I give you the end of Phone Calls. I already had parts of the last three chapters written (in italics) and what I’ve done is kind of smush them all together, hopefully with some coherent filler in between, so as to give Jack and me the closure we both needed. Did I cover all the questions/issues I set out to? No. Did I gloss over certain parts and emotions that deserve further consideration? Yes, most definitely. In fact, some parts of this are so glossed-over they shine brighter than a midday sun. But at least it’s done. It’s finished. And we can finally move on…
This is dedicated to all of you who have poked, prodded, and sporked me to continue. To those of you who have cared, emailed me, pm’d me and generally just let me know that I’ve never been alone in any of this. And, most especially, for Em. She makes my world a happy place just by breathing. My words are better because of her - and so am I.
~*~*~*~
Jack closes the lid of his suitcase and snaps it shut, the click of the lock catching loud in the almost empty room. He’s been packing for what feels like forever, box after box, suitcase upon suitcase, and it seems impossible this day is finally here. He’s gone. Out of here. Finally leaving Texas and not looking back.
It’s been two years since Bobby and Lureen were killed and almost as long since Ennis came to Texas. He spent the better part of three months in the hospital, recovering both from pneumonia and the two surgeries on his wrist to repair the nerve and muscle damage caused by putting his fist through the window of his back door. The pneumonia was a distant memory, thank Christ, because that had been hell and a half to live through, coughing up what felt like both his lungs on an almost daily basis. The wrist still gave him trouble, but only if he tried to hold something too heavy or went riding for too long.
He started riding again about a year ago, when Ennis had all but forced him outside and on the back of a horse he’d rented for the afternoon. Jack felt like six different kinds of fool sitting on that mare in the middle of his concrete street, but at least he was feeling something, and damn, he forgot how freeing it was to race with the devil on your tail, letting the wind whip all thoughts from his head and leave behind only empty peace. He’d rode all afternoon, back through the fields behind his house, sliding off the horse’s back and sliding right into bed, sleeping the deepest sleep he’d slept since the funeral. Ennis hadn’t said a word, just kept renting the horse as much as his money would allow and letting Jack ride off by himself to try and outrun his demons.
For demons he had. God, he was mad at the world for a while. Mad at Lureen for taking the truck and mad at Bobby for talking her into letting him drive. Mad at Ennis for still having his girls and being fool enough to leave them behind. Mad at the fucking hospital for keeping him cooped up and mad at Rosie for asking all those fucking questions that made him think harder than he wanted to. Mad at himself for still being the fuck-up he was and for still walking around breathing when Bobby and Lureen would never draw another breath on the face of this earth. Mad at God for putting him up on Brokeback Mountain twenty years ago to set this whole fucking freak show in motion in the first place.
So, yeah, he had a whole lot of mad and no one to throw it at but Ennis, which led to some pretty hellacious fights, meaner and madder and angrier than the one at Pine Creek two-and-a-half years ago. The worst had been in the hospital right before Jack was discharged; Jack being scared about leaving the hospital and Ennis being pissed at Jack for not wanting to come home. Jack had hurled his worst at Ennis, telling him there was no reason for him to go home because he had not one fucking thing to go home to, like Ennis didn’t count for shit and never would against the memories of Bobby and Lureen. Ennis had winced, actually winced as if he’d been punched, before letting a calm mask of anger fall over his features.
“You’d be wanting me to call Malone then? Have him be waitin’ for you at home?”
Jack gasps, his eyes going wide as a flush having nothing to do with his pneumonia fills his face and Ennis knows he hit his target. He never meant to mention that fucking asshole to Jack, never meant to acknowledge what they might have been to each other, but damn, if Jack isn’t driving him to this.
Ennis heads for the door, furious and frustrated and filled with anger he needs to get rid of. He has to get out of this room before he says something to Jack that he won’t ever be able to take back. He reaches for the handle and stops only when he hears Jack whimper softly; the bastard’s got the nerve to cry when he was just the one throwing hate around like it was free candy.
“Ennis?” Jack’s voice is impossibly small, Ennis has a hard time believing it’s coming from the same man who just told him to fuck-off six different ways to Sunday. Still, there’s something contained in that one word, something about the way Jack is saying his name that makes him think of a lost lamb calling for the security of its Momma.
“What.” Snide, sarcastic; dripping with hurt and anger.
“Do you still love me?”
Ennis drops his hand from the doorknob, his shoulders and resolve both crumbling at the uncertainty in Jack’s voice. Goddamn, he feels like such an asshole. He knows Jack is going through all kinds of shit right now, knows it’s the grief and the rage talking for him most times, and yet here he is, Ennis del Mar, acting like a two-year old and hitting Jack with the worst thing he’s got. He doesn’t turn around - he isn’t ready to see Jack’s face and those damn blue eyes full of pain he’s put there - so he just turns his head to talk over his shoulder.
“Am I breathing, Jack?”
Jack’s confused; he’s been through too many emotions in the last ten minutes to figure out what Ennis is getting at.
“What?”
Ennis tries to hide his frustration, tries to not snap at Jack again, but he’s got to get out of here soon before he explodes.
“Am I still standing here, breathing?”
“Course you are.”
Ennis sighs, the truth of what he’s about to say surrounding him, grounding him at the same time it damns him for all eternity.
“Then I’m still loving you, Jack. Always will be, as long as I’m breathing.”
Jack gasps, floored by the intent carried to him on Ennis’s words and turns his face to the wall. “I don’t know why you do, Ennis. I ain’t worth shit. I don’t do nothing but screw things up. My Daddy was right...”
Ennis turns around, fire in his eyes, his hand trembling as he jabs a finger in Jack’s direction.
“Don’t you do that, Jack Twist. Don’t you say that ever again.” He strides over to Jack’s bed in three quick steps, his anger arriving in only two.
“Your father was nothing but a right bastard who was jealous of your looks and your charm. He hated you simply because he hated himself and you were the easiest target to take it out on.” He tries to get a handle on his rage and can’t.
“You were a good father to Bobby, you were a good husband to Lureen, and you’ve always been a good…friend to me. Don’t you ever fucking say you aren’t worth anything ever again, Jack Twist, cause to me you are worth every fucking thing.”
His hand is still hanging in the air, his fingers trembling as much as his voice. He longs to kiss Jack, to give him some of the emotion boiling throughout his body like a pot unwatched on the stove but he’s still so mad about that asshole Malone. Jack is his, Damnit. His. Not some hot-shot ranch foreman looks like he came off the pages of some cattle catalog. His. And ain’t that the reason he’s down here in Texas? To show Jack he’s serious about this, about him, about the two of them together?
“Fuck it.” Ennis leans over Jack, pulling the oxygen mask up over his nose as he covers the startled man’s mouth with his own. He doesn’t know who is breathing life into whom, but he sure as shit knows this is something they both need to live.
“I love you. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. If you can’t believe in yourself, then believe in me,' cause I ain’t lying.” He places the mask back over Jack’s nose and re-tucks his shirt into his jeans.
“I’m goin’. Gonna be gone a while. Don’t mean I’m not coming back so don’t let that thought in your head. I just…I need to not be around you ‘til I can stop wantin’ to hurt you the way I’m hurtin’ right now.”
And with that, he’s gone. Striding out the door and down the hall and into the elevator before Jack can even comprehend what he’s just said.
Part Two: http://fizzerbass.livejournal.com/55833.html
Author: fizzerbass
Rating: NC-17 for rough, but consensual, sex
Word Count: 7,465 - so it's in three parts
Notes: Yes, you read right, I finally finished Phone Calls. Believe it? Longer note inside...
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Annie Proulx. I only own the angst and the mistakes.
Okay, so where to start with this? I first began Phone Calls in September of 2007 - yes, almost two years ago - and I can honestly say I have thought of this story in some way, shape or form almost daily over the last seven-hundred and twenty-some odd days. Simply put, this story haunts me.
Hunts me because of what I’ve done to Jack. Haunts me because of the subject matter I so blithely wrote about - treating depression , suicide, and the stunning wallop of pain only death can bring as if I knew what I was talking about when, in fact, I was clueless. Absolutely clueless. And I pray I haven’t offended anyone with my ignorant and seeming cavalier attitude towards these very serious emotional issues. I truly meant no harm.
Well, I’m not so clueless anymore. I’ve experienced the death of a loved one - not a child, thank God, but of my Mother, which is excruciating in its own right, and I know now firsthand some of the things Jack’s been dealing with. Things that hurt your heart, take your breath away, and make you wonder if you’ll ever get through a day ever again without crying. Things that made me realize there is no way I can leave Jack where I’ve left him, in the pit of his despair.
So, I give you the end of Phone Calls. I already had parts of the last three chapters written (in italics) and what I’ve done is kind of smush them all together, hopefully with some coherent filler in between, so as to give Jack and me the closure we both needed. Did I cover all the questions/issues I set out to? No. Did I gloss over certain parts and emotions that deserve further consideration? Yes, most definitely. In fact, some parts of this are so glossed-over they shine brighter than a midday sun. But at least it’s done. It’s finished. And we can finally move on…
This is dedicated to all of you who have poked, prodded, and sporked me to continue. To those of you who have cared, emailed me, pm’d me and generally just let me know that I’ve never been alone in any of this. And, most especially, for Em. She makes my world a happy place just by breathing. My words are better because of her - and so am I.
~*~*~*~
Jack closes the lid of his suitcase and snaps it shut, the click of the lock catching loud in the almost empty room. He’s been packing for what feels like forever, box after box, suitcase upon suitcase, and it seems impossible this day is finally here. He’s gone. Out of here. Finally leaving Texas and not looking back.
It’s been two years since Bobby and Lureen were killed and almost as long since Ennis came to Texas. He spent the better part of three months in the hospital, recovering both from pneumonia and the two surgeries on his wrist to repair the nerve and muscle damage caused by putting his fist through the window of his back door. The pneumonia was a distant memory, thank Christ, because that had been hell and a half to live through, coughing up what felt like both his lungs on an almost daily basis. The wrist still gave him trouble, but only if he tried to hold something too heavy or went riding for too long.
He started riding again about a year ago, when Ennis had all but forced him outside and on the back of a horse he’d rented for the afternoon. Jack felt like six different kinds of fool sitting on that mare in the middle of his concrete street, but at least he was feeling something, and damn, he forgot how freeing it was to race with the devil on your tail, letting the wind whip all thoughts from his head and leave behind only empty peace. He’d rode all afternoon, back through the fields behind his house, sliding off the horse’s back and sliding right into bed, sleeping the deepest sleep he’d slept since the funeral. Ennis hadn’t said a word, just kept renting the horse as much as his money would allow and letting Jack ride off by himself to try and outrun his demons.
For demons he had. God, he was mad at the world for a while. Mad at Lureen for taking the truck and mad at Bobby for talking her into letting him drive. Mad at Ennis for still having his girls and being fool enough to leave them behind. Mad at the fucking hospital for keeping him cooped up and mad at Rosie for asking all those fucking questions that made him think harder than he wanted to. Mad at himself for still being the fuck-up he was and for still walking around breathing when Bobby and Lureen would never draw another breath on the face of this earth. Mad at God for putting him up on Brokeback Mountain twenty years ago to set this whole fucking freak show in motion in the first place.
So, yeah, he had a whole lot of mad and no one to throw it at but Ennis, which led to some pretty hellacious fights, meaner and madder and angrier than the one at Pine Creek two-and-a-half years ago. The worst had been in the hospital right before Jack was discharged; Jack being scared about leaving the hospital and Ennis being pissed at Jack for not wanting to come home. Jack had hurled his worst at Ennis, telling him there was no reason for him to go home because he had not one fucking thing to go home to, like Ennis didn’t count for shit and never would against the memories of Bobby and Lureen. Ennis had winced, actually winced as if he’d been punched, before letting a calm mask of anger fall over his features.
“You’d be wanting me to call Malone then? Have him be waitin’ for you at home?”
Jack gasps, his eyes going wide as a flush having nothing to do with his pneumonia fills his face and Ennis knows he hit his target. He never meant to mention that fucking asshole to Jack, never meant to acknowledge what they might have been to each other, but damn, if Jack isn’t driving him to this.
Ennis heads for the door, furious and frustrated and filled with anger he needs to get rid of. He has to get out of this room before he says something to Jack that he won’t ever be able to take back. He reaches for the handle and stops only when he hears Jack whimper softly; the bastard’s got the nerve to cry when he was just the one throwing hate around like it was free candy.
“Ennis?” Jack’s voice is impossibly small, Ennis has a hard time believing it’s coming from the same man who just told him to fuck-off six different ways to Sunday. Still, there’s something contained in that one word, something about the way Jack is saying his name that makes him think of a lost lamb calling for the security of its Momma.
“What.” Snide, sarcastic; dripping with hurt and anger.
“Do you still love me?”
Ennis drops his hand from the doorknob, his shoulders and resolve both crumbling at the uncertainty in Jack’s voice. Goddamn, he feels like such an asshole. He knows Jack is going through all kinds of shit right now, knows it’s the grief and the rage talking for him most times, and yet here he is, Ennis del Mar, acting like a two-year old and hitting Jack with the worst thing he’s got. He doesn’t turn around - he isn’t ready to see Jack’s face and those damn blue eyes full of pain he’s put there - so he just turns his head to talk over his shoulder.
“Am I breathing, Jack?”
Jack’s confused; he’s been through too many emotions in the last ten minutes to figure out what Ennis is getting at.
“What?”
Ennis tries to hide his frustration, tries to not snap at Jack again, but he’s got to get out of here soon before he explodes.
“Am I still standing here, breathing?”
“Course you are.”
Ennis sighs, the truth of what he’s about to say surrounding him, grounding him at the same time it damns him for all eternity.
“Then I’m still loving you, Jack. Always will be, as long as I’m breathing.”
Jack gasps, floored by the intent carried to him on Ennis’s words and turns his face to the wall. “I don’t know why you do, Ennis. I ain’t worth shit. I don’t do nothing but screw things up. My Daddy was right...”
Ennis turns around, fire in his eyes, his hand trembling as he jabs a finger in Jack’s direction.
“Don’t you do that, Jack Twist. Don’t you say that ever again.” He strides over to Jack’s bed in three quick steps, his anger arriving in only two.
“Your father was nothing but a right bastard who was jealous of your looks and your charm. He hated you simply because he hated himself and you were the easiest target to take it out on.” He tries to get a handle on his rage and can’t.
“You were a good father to Bobby, you were a good husband to Lureen, and you’ve always been a good…friend to me. Don’t you ever fucking say you aren’t worth anything ever again, Jack Twist, cause to me you are worth every fucking thing.”
His hand is still hanging in the air, his fingers trembling as much as his voice. He longs to kiss Jack, to give him some of the emotion boiling throughout his body like a pot unwatched on the stove but he’s still so mad about that asshole Malone. Jack is his, Damnit. His. Not some hot-shot ranch foreman looks like he came off the pages of some cattle catalog. His. And ain’t that the reason he’s down here in Texas? To show Jack he’s serious about this, about him, about the two of them together?
“Fuck it.” Ennis leans over Jack, pulling the oxygen mask up over his nose as he covers the startled man’s mouth with his own. He doesn’t know who is breathing life into whom, but he sure as shit knows this is something they both need to live.
“I love you. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. If you can’t believe in yourself, then believe in me,' cause I ain’t lying.” He places the mask back over Jack’s nose and re-tucks his shirt into his jeans.
“I’m goin’. Gonna be gone a while. Don’t mean I’m not coming back so don’t let that thought in your head. I just…I need to not be around you ‘til I can stop wantin’ to hurt you the way I’m hurtin’ right now.”
And with that, he’s gone. Striding out the door and down the hall and into the elevator before Jack can even comprehend what he’s just said.
Part Two: http://fizzerbass.livejournal.com/55833.html