Peppermint 26, Rainbow Sherbet 10: Fracture
Title: Fracture
Main Story: In The Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Peppermint 26 (bottle), My Treat (from sarcasticsra: Lars is apparently a mean drunk), rainbow sherbet 10 (grey), malt (PFAH: Lars: invasive procedure)
Word Count: 1735
Rating: PG-13 for quite a bit of swearing.
Summary: Lars loses too much.
Notes: Swapping to a considerably less happy storyline now...
Madison broke up with him on Tuesday morning.
He thought, that night, that she might have chosen Tuesday because she thought he wouldn’t get drunk to get over it. She was wrong, if she'd actually thought it through that much, because it was absolutely out of the damned blue and how the hell else was he supposed to even begin to recover?
He sure as fuck couldn’t do it any other way. Aaron was out of town, working at some stupid camp or other, he didn’t even know. He didn’t feel comfortable taking it to any of the other members of their little group. Esther would shrug and tell him that's what he got for being sexual. Talking to the band would be worse than useless, because Jay would tune out, Penny would wail and Russell just wouldn’t get it. He could call his father, he guessed, but Henrik Warmind had never liked Madison; he’d probably only say “I told you so,” and Lars had absolutely no tolerance for that right now, especially since he’d been right.
Lars could, he supposed, call Chrissy. But she was having a baby-- probably right that second, the way his luck was running-- and she wouldn’t want to talk. He’d never been close enough to his other sisters, and his brothers would just mock him.
And Summer... he flinched away from even the thought.
She's so weird, God, and creepy too! I don't even understand how you can stand to be around her! God knows I can't.
Not Summer. He couldn’t deal with Summer right now, not after this.
So that left lying in his apartment, getting shitfaced, and trying his damndest not to think about Madison, or how much it hurt, or how tomorrow was going to hurt even more when he woke up and she wasn’t there.
Aaron would be back on Saturday. He could keep himself safely anesthetized with alcohol until then.
--
Summer came by on Wednesday evening. He was still drunk.
He wasn't expecting her. Summer didn't usually make trips across the city by herself, and certainly not near dark. Too busy, she said, and pressed her hands against her ears, a sure sign that she was overwhelmed. Her family didn't like her going alone either; too dangerous.
Lars didn't like her going unescorted, come to think of it. She was so young-- okay, thirteen, but young was relative and Summer just didn't get so many things. Hell, Ivy still walked her home from school sometimes, and even though that was partly about tradition, it was also about, well, her, and he worried.
So maybe that was why things went the way they did. Although he was also willing to blame the being drunk.
Not Madison, though. He couldn't blame Madison, because that would mean he'd have to admit that what she said meant something to him, and he didn't think he could face that.
At any rate, he opened the door, saw her looking small and nervous and like everything he didn't want to think about, and snapped, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Summer took a step back, eyes wide. "I, um, you said we'd play minigolf today but you didn't come. I thought you were sick." Her voice rose in a question.
Ha. He could only wish to be sick. "I'm fine," he said, and started to close the door.
But she knew him too well. Her, the girl on the fucking autism spectrum, knew him too well for that.
"You aren't fine," she said. "You don't yell when you're fine. What's the matter?"
Lars opened the door again. "I'm fine, Summer," he said, and it might have been a little bit snappier than he expected; her eyes went a little wider. "Go home."
She stared up at him, chewing her lower lip a little. "I don't think so," she decided, at last. "Can I come in?"
"No." Oh, God, he had to get her out of here, because seeing her was stirring up a churning mass of something dark and ugly in his head. "Summer, go home. Before it gets dark."
"But you're not okay," Summer said, her voice going plaintive. "I want you to be okay first. Lars, what's wrong?"
His control slipped a bit. "What's wrong?" he yelled. Summer jumped, but held her ground. "What's fucking wrong is that Madison dumped me."
"Oh," Summer said, and frowned. "I'm sorry." She paused for a moment, looking rather puzzled, then asked, "Do you need to cry?"
It was such an innocuous question, but it broke his control entirely.
"Do I need to cry," he repeated, and laughed a quick, bitter laugh. "No, I don't fucking need to cry. God, you're oblivious."
Summer frowned again, harder. "I don't..."
"Do you know why she dumped me?" Lars asked. His voice had gone silky sweet, and he hated himself a little bit even as he said it.
"Of course not," Summer said. "Lars..."
"Madison dumped me," he said, overriding her again, "because of you."
She stopped, mouth half open, and looked up at him with a horrified expression. "She what?"
"She dumped me," Lars continued, leaning against the doorframe for support, "because she didn't want to be around you anymore. Because you don't get it, Summer. She dumped me because of you."
"I don't understand," Summer said, her voice very small.
"No, you don't. You can't. God!" He slammed his hand against the doorframe, and saw her jump again with a tiny bit of mean pleasure. It was her fault Madison was gone. It was her fault he'd never see her again. Her goddamn fault.
Her eyes were huge and shining with tears. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever. I really can't stand to see you right now. Go home," he said, and shut the door before he could say anything worse.
--
Ivy damn near kicked his door down on Thursday afternoon.
Lars, who’d been lying in bed with his arm over his eyes, trying to shut out the light stabbing into his brain, started and fell out at the first flurry of knocks. “Bangs” might have been a better word. “Miniature explosions” would also do.
It sounded like someone using his door as a punching bag. He scrambled to his feet, throbbing headache forgotten. The pounding switched to dull thuds as he rushed through his bedroom, hopping over dirty clothes and a couple of empty bottles. Was someone kicking it? What the hell?
He hurdled the takeout he’d ordered and forgotten the night before and hauled the door open. “What the hell-“
“Shut the fuck up right now!” Ivy snarled, right in his face. “Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down, because you and I are going to have words.”
Lars stared blearily at her. “Were you kicking my door? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she exploded. The force of her words set him stumbling back several steps. Ivy shoved her way into the apartment and slammed the door behind her, making the frame rattle. “Seriously, explain this to me, because I want to know what could possibly make telling a thirteen-year-old who worships you that something she had nothing to do with is all her fault in any way okay!” She advanced a step with every phrase, and by the end had backed him into the opposite wall of his apartment.
It took Lars a minute to untangle that sentence, and by the time he did, a sinking feeling had set in. He didn’t have a very clear memory of the previous day, but what he did remember... “Oh, God.”
"Yes," Ivy said, low and dangerous, but thank God, she backed off a step or two. "You said that. Exactly how much did you have to drink again?"
Now that she'd stopped menacing him, Lars sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. "I don't know. I feel like shit."
"Too much," Ivy said. "Right. Okay. Well, I'm glad you feel like shit, because my little sister cried herself to sleep last night because you decided it was her fault that your vapid little girlfriend broke up with you."
He straightened, almost automatically. "Madison is not..."
"She's a bitch," Ivy cut him off. "She's a class-A bitch who thinks that nothing's more important than her. I used to date that kind of girl, Lars, I know what I'm talking about. And you need to do some serious rethinking of your priorities if you think that whatever the hell she was giving you is worth making my sister cry." She turned on her heel and marched towards the door.
Lars watched her go, incredulous. "Where the hell are you going?"
Ivy turned again and shot him her deadliest glare. "You're drunk, and you're not worth my time. I've got to go comfort Summer."
She'd cried herself to sleep? "I didn't... I didn't mean..."
Ivy cut him off with a slashing hand motion. "You didn't mean it. Well, super for you! You know she takes things hard, you know she doesn’t understand that it's not her. So congratulations, you made a thirteen-year-old cry. Fuck you."
"I..." What the hell could he say to that? God. Summer. "Christ, I'm sorry."
"I'm not the one you've got to apologize to. And you can bet your ass it's gonna be a long time before we let you near Summer." She smiled a thin, sharklike smile. "Oh, did I tell you that Aaron's pretty pissed too? Yeah, you can deal with him when he gets home."
He almost thought he'd prefer Aaron to this. He'd definitely prefer a punch to the slow, sick feeling welling up in his stomach. "Summer cried herself to sleep?"
"Yup, she did," Ivy said. "So chew on that for a while. And don't bother calling. Just fuck off to whatever den of misery you've been wallowing in and stay there, because God knows I can't stand to see you right now." She went out and slammed the door, just for emphasis.
Not that he'd needed it.
--
By Friday morning, he was all alone in the apartment, and looked likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future.
Fuck. He’d thought losing Madison had hurt. The memory of Summer’s face hurt more.
She'd cried herself to sleep. Fuck.
What the fuck was he going to do now?
Main Story: In The Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Peppermint 26 (bottle), My Treat (from sarcasticsra: Lars is apparently a mean drunk), rainbow sherbet 10 (grey), malt (PFAH: Lars: invasive procedure)
Word Count: 1735
Rating: PG-13 for quite a bit of swearing.
Summary: Lars loses too much.
Notes: Swapping to a considerably less happy storyline now...
Madison broke up with him on Tuesday morning.
He thought, that night, that she might have chosen Tuesday because she thought he wouldn’t get drunk to get over it. She was wrong, if she'd actually thought it through that much, because it was absolutely out of the damned blue and how the hell else was he supposed to even begin to recover?
He sure as fuck couldn’t do it any other way. Aaron was out of town, working at some stupid camp or other, he didn’t even know. He didn’t feel comfortable taking it to any of the other members of their little group. Esther would shrug and tell him that's what he got for being sexual. Talking to the band would be worse than useless, because Jay would tune out, Penny would wail and Russell just wouldn’t get it. He could call his father, he guessed, but Henrik Warmind had never liked Madison; he’d probably only say “I told you so,” and Lars had absolutely no tolerance for that right now, especially since he’d been right.
Lars could, he supposed, call Chrissy. But she was having a baby-- probably right that second, the way his luck was running-- and she wouldn’t want to talk. He’d never been close enough to his other sisters, and his brothers would just mock him.
And Summer... he flinched away from even the thought.
She's so weird, God, and creepy too! I don't even understand how you can stand to be around her! God knows I can't.
Not Summer. He couldn’t deal with Summer right now, not after this.
So that left lying in his apartment, getting shitfaced, and trying his damndest not to think about Madison, or how much it hurt, or how tomorrow was going to hurt even more when he woke up and she wasn’t there.
Aaron would be back on Saturday. He could keep himself safely anesthetized with alcohol until then.
--
Summer came by on Wednesday evening. He was still drunk.
He wasn't expecting her. Summer didn't usually make trips across the city by herself, and certainly not near dark. Too busy, she said, and pressed her hands against her ears, a sure sign that she was overwhelmed. Her family didn't like her going alone either; too dangerous.
Lars didn't like her going unescorted, come to think of it. She was so young-- okay, thirteen, but young was relative and Summer just didn't get so many things. Hell, Ivy still walked her home from school sometimes, and even though that was partly about tradition, it was also about, well, her, and he worried.
So maybe that was why things went the way they did. Although he was also willing to blame the being drunk.
Not Madison, though. He couldn't blame Madison, because that would mean he'd have to admit that what she said meant something to him, and he didn't think he could face that.
At any rate, he opened the door, saw her looking small and nervous and like everything he didn't want to think about, and snapped, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Summer took a step back, eyes wide. "I, um, you said we'd play minigolf today but you didn't come. I thought you were sick." Her voice rose in a question.
Ha. He could only wish to be sick. "I'm fine," he said, and started to close the door.
But she knew him too well. Her, the girl on the fucking autism spectrum, knew him too well for that.
"You aren't fine," she said. "You don't yell when you're fine. What's the matter?"
Lars opened the door again. "I'm fine, Summer," he said, and it might have been a little bit snappier than he expected; her eyes went a little wider. "Go home."
She stared up at him, chewing her lower lip a little. "I don't think so," she decided, at last. "Can I come in?"
"No." Oh, God, he had to get her out of here, because seeing her was stirring up a churning mass of something dark and ugly in his head. "Summer, go home. Before it gets dark."
"But you're not okay," Summer said, her voice going plaintive. "I want you to be okay first. Lars, what's wrong?"
His control slipped a bit. "What's wrong?" he yelled. Summer jumped, but held her ground. "What's fucking wrong is that Madison dumped me."
"Oh," Summer said, and frowned. "I'm sorry." She paused for a moment, looking rather puzzled, then asked, "Do you need to cry?"
It was such an innocuous question, but it broke his control entirely.
"Do I need to cry," he repeated, and laughed a quick, bitter laugh. "No, I don't fucking need to cry. God, you're oblivious."
Summer frowned again, harder. "I don't..."
"Do you know why she dumped me?" Lars asked. His voice had gone silky sweet, and he hated himself a little bit even as he said it.
"Of course not," Summer said. "Lars..."
"Madison dumped me," he said, overriding her again, "because of you."
She stopped, mouth half open, and looked up at him with a horrified expression. "She what?"
"She dumped me," Lars continued, leaning against the doorframe for support, "because she didn't want to be around you anymore. Because you don't get it, Summer. She dumped me because of you."
"I don't understand," Summer said, her voice very small.
"No, you don't. You can't. God!" He slammed his hand against the doorframe, and saw her jump again with a tiny bit of mean pleasure. It was her fault Madison was gone. It was her fault he'd never see her again. Her goddamn fault.
Her eyes were huge and shining with tears. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever. I really can't stand to see you right now. Go home," he said, and shut the door before he could say anything worse.
--
Ivy damn near kicked his door down on Thursday afternoon.
Lars, who’d been lying in bed with his arm over his eyes, trying to shut out the light stabbing into his brain, started and fell out at the first flurry of knocks. “Bangs” might have been a better word. “Miniature explosions” would also do.
It sounded like someone using his door as a punching bag. He scrambled to his feet, throbbing headache forgotten. The pounding switched to dull thuds as he rushed through his bedroom, hopping over dirty clothes and a couple of empty bottles. Was someone kicking it? What the hell?
He hurdled the takeout he’d ordered and forgotten the night before and hauled the door open. “What the hell-“
“Shut the fuck up right now!” Ivy snarled, right in his face. “Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down, because you and I are going to have words.”
Lars stared blearily at her. “Were you kicking my door? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she exploded. The force of her words set him stumbling back several steps. Ivy shoved her way into the apartment and slammed the door behind her, making the frame rattle. “Seriously, explain this to me, because I want to know what could possibly make telling a thirteen-year-old who worships you that something she had nothing to do with is all her fault in any way okay!” She advanced a step with every phrase, and by the end had backed him into the opposite wall of his apartment.
It took Lars a minute to untangle that sentence, and by the time he did, a sinking feeling had set in. He didn’t have a very clear memory of the previous day, but what he did remember... “Oh, God.”
"Yes," Ivy said, low and dangerous, but thank God, she backed off a step or two. "You said that. Exactly how much did you have to drink again?"
Now that she'd stopped menacing him, Lars sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. "I don't know. I feel like shit."
"Too much," Ivy said. "Right. Okay. Well, I'm glad you feel like shit, because my little sister cried herself to sleep last night because you decided it was her fault that your vapid little girlfriend broke up with you."
He straightened, almost automatically. "Madison is not..."
"She's a bitch," Ivy cut him off. "She's a class-A bitch who thinks that nothing's more important than her. I used to date that kind of girl, Lars, I know what I'm talking about. And you need to do some serious rethinking of your priorities if you think that whatever the hell she was giving you is worth making my sister cry." She turned on her heel and marched towards the door.
Lars watched her go, incredulous. "Where the hell are you going?"
Ivy turned again and shot him her deadliest glare. "You're drunk, and you're not worth my time. I've got to go comfort Summer."
She'd cried herself to sleep? "I didn't... I didn't mean..."
Ivy cut him off with a slashing hand motion. "You didn't mean it. Well, super for you! You know she takes things hard, you know she doesn’t understand that it's not her. So congratulations, you made a thirteen-year-old cry. Fuck you."
"I..." What the hell could he say to that? God. Summer. "Christ, I'm sorry."
"I'm not the one you've got to apologize to. And you can bet your ass it's gonna be a long time before we let you near Summer." She smiled a thin, sharklike smile. "Oh, did I tell you that Aaron's pretty pissed too? Yeah, you can deal with him when he gets home."
He almost thought he'd prefer Aaron to this. He'd definitely prefer a punch to the slow, sick feeling welling up in his stomach. "Summer cried herself to sleep?"
"Yup, she did," Ivy said. "So chew on that for a while. And don't bother calling. Just fuck off to whatever den of misery you've been wallowing in and stay there, because God knows I can't stand to see you right now." She went out and slammed the door, just for emphasis.
Not that he'd needed it.
--
By Friday morning, he was all alone in the apartment, and looked likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future.
Fuck. He’d thought losing Madison had hurt. The memory of Summer’s face hurt more.
She'd cried herself to sleep. Fuck.
What the fuck was he going to do now?