Fisher Majors (hearitbleed) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2009-05-03 18:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | fisher, lyle |
Friday 11/2/07
Who: Fisher and Lyle
What: Lunch Conversation
Where: Cafeteria
Rating: R for Language
Fisher wove through the crowded lunchroom, the chains on his pants snagging on someone's chair every one in awhile. He'd stopped apologizing because it happened so often, and everyone already knew to expect it. Fisher would give them his 'Sorry about that, yes I'm aware they're ridiculous' smile and go on his way. It felt good to know people, even if he wasn't friends with all of them. Well, correction. Know people who weren't dealers. It was like being in college again, only this time he lived with his boyfriend and didn't have to make excuses as to why he was talkign to himself all the time. Now when someone asked who he was talking to in an empty room, he could casually tell them the dead guy threatening to jump out the window.
Today he was going to sit with Lyle. His brother had told him to, indirectly, so he would. Maybe. If he could scrounge up the balls to walk over there. It shouldn't have been that big a deal, but it was. And her was nervous.
Lyle was sitting alone, for once, mostly just staring at his food. It was starting to lose its flavor. He'd been warned this would happen, that as time passed he wouldn't even want to eat anymore. It was disappointing, though. The apple he'd bitten into tasted like crisp, juicy nothing. His teeth marks were interesting, though. Like a cartoon's. Suddenly there was someone beside him. He didn't look up, because he already knew who it was. From the corner of his eye it looked like a giant shadow was sitting next to him. "Only colored clothing is allowed at the table," he said flatly.
Fisher looked down at his clothing, pursing his lips. "Gray is a color," he said, contemplating the stripes on his thermal shirt.
Lyle raised an eyebrow. "Gray is lame at best," he scoffed. "Anything better?"
"Do accents count?"
He couldn't help but roll his eyes at his older brother. "Accents? What is this, Queer Eye for the Goth Guy?" Fisher smacked his brother as hard as he could in the shoulder. "Don't hit me," Lyle warned seriously.
"Then don't be an asshole." Stabbing at his french fries moodily, Fisher glowered. "Besides, it didn't even hurt."
"True. You're pretty fucking weak." It was actually a little sad to see how much thinner Fisher was. His brother had been vital once, strong looking and almost handsome. Now he was scrawny and his hair was too long and he dressed like he was in mourning. This person was a stranger in so many ways. He didn't know what to talk about, so he didn't say anything. Fisher had been the one to sit down, he should have to think of shit to talk about. After all, the only reason there was awkwardness between them was because Fisher had left. He had to keep reminding himself that Fisher hadn't actually left, he'd been thrown out. But it didn't make the loss any easier.
Fisher didn't know what to say either. Lyle had told him he should sit with him sometimes, so it was his responsibility to talk about shit. But considering how hostile he'd already been, that didn't look likely. So what now? Did they make small talk and ignore their hurt and frustrations? Did they go into the deeper stuff, talking about what they'd been doing and how they'd ended up here? Well, it was as good a time as any. "So... a vampire, huh? How'd that happen?"
Lyle frowned, still rolling the apple in his hands. "Yeah." Did he really want to tell Fisher how it'd happened? It was kind of embarassing. "A girl," he said at last. "We were having sex, and I didn't know she was actually draining me, I just thought she was being really kinky." He shrugged, like it didn't bother him anymore. But it did. And if he ever saw that girl again he would kill her himself.
Okay, whoa, too much information there! Fisher did not want to know about Lyle's sex life. But he didn't say anything, in case Lyle decided to clam up. Still, it didn't make sense. "You let her bite you, though? And drink your blood? I mean... no offense, but how did you not know something weird was going on?"
"It's more common than you think," he replied testily, remembering what Charlie had told him. "We were drunk, and I thought... She always said she was a vampire. I thought she was just being weird." He caught a look from Fisher, one that clearly said 'You dated a girl who said she was a vamire? How stupid is that?' Lyle frowned. "Yeah, okay, don't give me that face. Have you looked in a mirror lately? I can't believe anyone would date you."
Without meaning to, Lyle had hit a nerve. A big one. Fisher couldn't believe anyone would want to be with him, either. His brother wasn't wrong. He knew that he looked strange and didn't fit in, and it was a miracle James could put up with all his insecurities. Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry anymore. "You want my fries?" he asked softly.
One good turn deserves another. Lyle couldn't taste anything, just another reminder of how much of his life he'd lost. Fisher wasn't trying to touch on a sore spot, but he had. "No," he said icily. "I don't want anything that's been anywhere near your mouth. Between being gay and being a junkie, I don't know how many diseases you have swimming through you." It didn't matter that Lyle couldn't catch anything anymore. That wasn't the point. The point is he was hurting, and he needed to hurt someone back. And he still had a lot of resentment toward Fisher, so that was the easiest target.
Lyle's words hit him like a slap in the face. He visibly recoiled, stunned. "I'm not... I don't." His voice was weak, soft. He didn't know what to say. That had been so cold, so completely uncalled for. Worse still, it attacked Fisher in a place that hurt him more than almost anything else could. He wasn't proud of his drug habits, and as for being gay... well, that was something that he knew most people, especially people from where he came from, wouldn't understand. But this was his brother. This was someone who was supposed to love him no matter what, someone he had always trusted. And that trust had been shattered like a carelessly thrown china plate.
Lyle sneered. "I dunno... AIDS can take ten years before showing any symptoms. Have you warned what's-his-name?"
"James," he whispered. Fisher's hands were shaking so badly. It felt like an iron glove had grabbed his heart and was squeezing the life out of it.
"Whatever." He wasn't looking at Fisher anymore. He knew he was winning, that he was hurting his brother more than he was getting hurt. But it didn't feel as victorious as he'd hoped.
Getting up, Fisher turned and started walking as fast as he could out of the cafeteria, tears streaming down his face. His very heart ached. There was mean, and then there was just cruel. Lyle had been the latter. Fisher couldn't get away from the crowds fast enough, out into the seclusion of the empty halls. His breath was hitched inside his chest, and he absolutely refused to let out the angry sob that was threatening to break through. Wiping at his cheeks, he noticed his eyeliner streaked cross his fingers. He laughed, a hollow sound. Lyle's right, he thought to himself bitterly. I am such a faggot. Never before had he felt so blatantly hated by someone who should've been a support. Even when his mother threw him out, he'd understood. She was scared. But there was no reason behind this. It was just cold.
He was practically running by the time he got to his room, his fingers fumbling in his deep pockets for the room key. He just wanted to get out of the hall, get someplace safe and warm and where he was loved. Though God only knew why. Once he got inside, Fisher laid down on his bed, curling up. And then he let out the loud, hurt tears that were almost crushing him.