|Brian Jenkins | Dr. Jekyll (tooth_fairy) wrote in bellumlogs,|
@ 2010-07-30 21:49:00
|Entry tags:||dr. jekyll, scheherazade|
Who: Sherri and Brian
What: A sort-of conversation
Where: Right inside and outside the locked door of 302
When: August 6, early evening
Warnings: Alcohol use and abuse, angst, and Brian being a pill
Once upon a time, Brian knew what day it was. As an important dentist, he was always on top of the calendar. He had a nice one in his kitchen with pictures of plants from around the world. July was the pitcher plant, though it was more specific than that. The picture had been of three little ones right in a row, their swollen bladders tinged a deep red-violet that looked almost too perfect to be natural. He had liked that picture. Though he wanted to know what would be up for August, he restrained himself from peeking ahead so as to not spoil the surprise. It was the little things like that, little surprises that you were expecting, that kept life interesting.
Now, Brian didn't know what day it was. Hell, he wasn't even entirely sure what year it was. One of his bottles of whiskey read "1997," but he knew that was wrong. It couldn't be 1997. His TV was way too slim and nice to be a 1997 TV. It was from the future, he knew, but what point in the future still eluded him. The only thing that really counted his passage of time were the notes and visits by his door. And even they started to blend into one another after a while.
At first, he hoped that his notes would send her away. The only time he left his apartment was to buy more booze - he was a large man and went through it fairly easily - and slip Sherri new notes. He thought they would work. But she was so stubborn. She was like gum on his shoe, and she just needed to let him peel her away so he couldn't crush her later. He didn't see why she couldn't understand this.
After sending his last note, he knew that he would have to do something else. Her little speech almost stirred him from his drunken stupor long enough to process thoughts. The feeling faded on by, but something about it stuck with him. Something about it kept him from lumbering back to bed to plunge into an inky sleep that would summon the monster he knew lurked within him.
The next day found him slumped in the doorway with a half-full bottle of whiskey cradled in his lap and a pad of paper by his side. Sherri would be there, he knew it. He didn't know when - he had lost his watch and all the clocks in his apartment were hiding - but he knew it would happen. And he was going to be ready, damnit.