Chris tried his best to look past it. It was just a singular moment of time. He should at least sleep on it. Decisions shouldn't be made through panic. This was stupid. Overreacting. He was just tired. He should just sleep it off.
However, Chris knew it couldn't get better. What did he expect? There was nothing healthy about what they had. He was just in denial. Did he even like what they had? He wasn't sure, honestly. And that's what upset him more than anything else. He didn't want to be cared for. Not right now. Not while he was trying to get a grip on his own life.
That was all Chris could take.
“Missed me?” Fang asked with a smirk as Chris entered his hotel room. “You’re lucky we haven’t rolled out just yet." Fang sighed, closing the door behind him and yawning. Wasn't like he was really sleeping so he didn't mind the distraction at all when Chris had called. "Big tour, gonna be busy as fuck. Told you things were getting serious.” He grabbed Chris by the waist before he could blow him off.
No. Chris grabbed Fang’s wrist and pulled his arms back. He wasn’t going to pretend to be interested. Not this time.
“What the fuck? You still mad at me? I said sorry,” Fang huffed. He pulled his arms from Chris’s grip.
"I'm moving," Chris stated, getting right to it. Guess this was really happening. Chris could feel it bubbling over. He was too tired to pretend any longer. This all had to stop. It should have stopped ages ago.
Fang hesitated, raising a brow while trying to interpret exactly what that had to do with being a cockblock. "Ooookaaay? Where to?" Who cared? He bounced all over the place anyway; they both did. Why did that matter right now?
"Away.” Chris found himself not wanting to be so merciless. Fang was in way too deep if he actually stood there and hesitated to say exactly what he thought. Or maybe it was empathy having been on the receiving end of this. Or maybe, if Chris would be honest with himself, he hated doing this. Didn't want to be doing this. It acknowledged feelings that hurt.
"And where is...away?" Fang asked, reluctantly taking a seat on the bed if they weren’t going to have sexy times. Kind of felt like information that could have been shared over a call but truthfully, Fang didn’t mind seeing Chris more anyway. Was he worried this was going to affect them? Cute.
"It doesn't matter. Far enough that seriously…" Chris fought himself on what to say. This was a mess. It was- they were toxic for each other. Chris felt dumb for even bothering. He knew from the beginning, told himself so many times, it all ends the same. Especially with people like Fang, so careless, so ungrounded, and impulsive. "We're too busy-"
"What?" Fang grinned, "You mean like the bullshit we gotta fuck around with already?"
"I'm not going to take time off-"
"Bitch, you don't do that already. Why're you acting like anything's gonna change just because you're moving house?" Fang propped himself up on his elbow, raising a brow at Chris. He was trying to weasel his way out of the real answers and Fang was done putting up with it. Excuse after excuse. "When has location ever been a fuckin' problem? We figure it out. You tell me where your dumb shows are, I tell you where my dumb shows are, we meet when we can. You're at home base- wherever that is now- I catch a break, I drop in. We have it down to a science, asshole."
And it irritated Chris. "Things are changing. What I want and what you are won't fit." Christ. Here it went.
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Fang sat up, leaning on his knees, glaring at Chris. Moreso just to push him to get to the point. He was usually a lot more blunt than vaguely describing Fang. There was something more to this. There he goes again, pushing Fang further away from himself. He wasn't really about to break up with him because he pissed off his ex-girlfriend. That wasn't Chris.
"You said yourself, about your trash-ass band," Chris started.
Fang nodded with a grin. That was more like it. "Yea? More gigs and more practice sessions. So? And you're doing more of your pony races."
Chris frowned hard, "It's not racing-"
"Whatever, fucker. Your pony stuff. You got, like, some fancy job, right? So what?"
"Are you this stupid?" Chris snarled. "Neither one of us is willing to sacrifice the time for the other. You're not taking time off your dumb band. I'm not taking time off my job, my career, what I fucking want to do. There is no intersection that has the two of us actually enjoying anything together. No compromise and no fucking point! Do you fucking get it now?" He was pulling punches. It made Chris's eyes sting a little. The fact he was trying to be merciful hurt all the more because it meant he really did care about Fang but… he just couldn’t make this work. Not after all the warning signs. Not after the totally rash behavior that rubbed off on him in a bad way. He really should have slept on this. This wasn't right. Maybe he didn't want to do this.
Fang's expression stayed unfazed like he was waiting for Chris to finish spouting already. "Dude," he chuckled, "Like, it's really fucking adorable how much you like me, like super cute. Saying we enjoy our time together? So cute." He mostly said it to bother Chris which it did even if the poker face was on hardcore. His ears turned a touch red and that's how Fang knew he dunked on him. "We don't have to have some stupid reason to be around each other. There isn't some endgame goal here, dumbass. I don't know what kind of deadline countdown timer bullshit you think exists that fucking binds us but fuck that. We hardly see each other a few times a fucking month as is. We bitch at each other, fuck, get high, what more do you want then, Bitchopher? I don't give a shit. You're trying to get rid of me because you definitely don't give a shit?"
Somewhere, deep in the pits of hell, the heater shut off, an arctic breeze flushed over the lands, and hell froze over. Chris's shoulders sagged. It took him a moment to respond but while he took a breath, his eyes watered, his brows softened, turning upwards. He looked sad. He actually looked sad as he stated, fighting a pathetic quiver in his throat, "Yes, I do."
Fang's jaw loosened, taking it all in. Oh, shit. He didn't think Chris was actually being serious. He had always thrown hissy fits about stupid stuff. He had honestly thought this was another attempt at deflecting his feelings and they were going to have some incredible hate sex. It was the exact opposite. He actually let Fang in. And now he was shutting Fang the fuck out. "Oh...fuck…"
"Yea, oh fuck," Chris growled. "This," he pointed between himself and Fang, "Is over. You," Chris hesitated to say it. It was right there. Why did he think it would be cruel to say? He didn't owe Fang a damn thing. He hardly even knew him as a person other than some chain-smoking emo rocker dude. And that was the problem. "You don't even know me." He pulled the punch again. He couldn't bring himself to say it. What Fang's influence was doing to him. He couldn't bring himself to put that on Fang. How could anyone hear that and not hate themself for it? Chris wasn't this cruel, heartless person people kept saying he was. At least, he didn't want to be that person.
Fang stood up from the bed, his shock hardening over into anger. "Seriously!?" Was Chris playing some sad victim card to pull this shitty kind of excuse!? "You’re the one that keeps shutting me the fuck out! I've been saying that from the start! You won't let anyone get close to you! You just shove me away! You're full of shit if you think that's a valid reason to fucking give up-"
"I don't want you to get to know me!" Chris snapped back. He couldn’t let this spiral out of hand. He just had to take the shot. If Fang wanted to know what his honest feelings were… there was no better time than now.
"And why the fuck not!?" Fang stepped closer. "What's so fucking important about you that you're different from every other shit stain on this planet, huh!?" Fang could feel his temper flare. He had to get a handle on it but he felt he barely had a grip on the situation to begin with. He knew he had blown it. It just took this long for Chris to react to it. Fuck. He shouldn't have said those things. Fuck his impulsive nature. Goddammit!
"Because you-" shit. He threw the punch. "You scare the shit out of me and I don't want to be around you anymore!" He grabbed Fang's arm, jabbing a finger at his scarred up arm, "How could I ever trust you to be there tomorrow when you don't even want to be here today!?" He flung his arm away again, stepping back, "I don't want you near my life because I don't want to end up like you!"
There. That. That was exactly the look Chris didn’t want to see. The hurt behind a stone stiff expression. The practiced hardened expression because, no doubt, Fang had probably heard that line before. It was like there was no life left to flicker away from Fang’s eyes. It was already long gone before Chris even laid the hit. Chris didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do this. He should have slept on it.
“End up like me?” Fang muttered flatly. He didn’t recall saying it, didn’t even really hear himself say it. He could hardly even see Chris standing in the room. That’s what this all came down to? He didn’t want to be a fuck up like Fang? He didn’t want the constant noise in his head telling him to make it all stop, that he was worthless, that he made everything worse? He didn’t want to wake up every day feeling so insignificant and small, meaningless, a constant source of misery trudging through this ugly depression, trying to make any day feel normal? He didn't want to end up like that piece of shit named Fang.
“You know what I mean, Fang.” The pull at his chest felt otherwise. This wasn’t in Chris’s nature. Why did people think he was actually this cruel? A familiar wave of guilt came over Chris. Suddenly, he had the urge to take it all back. He didn't want to hurt people like this. He had done it all too often. He really was cruel. He really was petty. “There’s no point to this anymore.” It was always like this. Just when he was getting used to being near someone… Why did he keep letting it happen? Only this time he was getting the fuck out of there before he was blindsided again. He wasn't going to drag this toxic shitshow on any longer. The damage was done.
“Point?” Fang was spiraling. Chris was somewhere in the same dimension but Fang couldn’t make sense of anything around him. He had felt this before. The floor falling out underneath him. Gravity ripping at his heels to drag him under. He told himself he could survive Chris leaving his ass from the very beginning. No one would say they didn’t see it coming. Of course he would once he came to his senses. Once the adrenaline ran dry, once the shock value dissipated. They weren't ever meant for each other. But this wasn’t right. Was he really that awful?
Yes.
Oh, shit, Fang thought. Not again. Not this again. Fear, dread, guilt, regret. Fuck.
"Don't try to be something you can't be, Fang." Chris lingered for just a moment longer before turning to leave. Fang didn't understand that as they were now, there wasn't going to be real happiness between the two of them. They were just using the sporadic circumstances to hold the other over until the next occasion arose. It was unsustainable. Unstable. Not as long as one of them was unhappy. It wasn't fair. It hurt. It was stupid. But...this is what Chris did. He latched on, let them bleed, then ripped away. He hated who he had become. This was the best he could do to spare the both of them.
When he looked up, Chris was gone.. The room was empty. How long had he been gone? Fang didn't know. Minutes? Hours? He stared at the back of the door for what felt like even longer. For as long as it was silent. "Shit…"
Silence was fleeting. Fang glanced over to his pants on the floor. He yanked them up and searched the pockets. Wallet, keys, condoms, come on, these weren't what he was looking for. Pocket knife, guitar picks, lighter… he tossed the lighter in a separate pile. Ah, finally. Pack of cigarettes. He dumped it out but there was just a half smoked cigarette and a business card that tumbled out. "Fuck…"
He sank to his knees, burying his face into the bed. This wasn't going to do it. This wasn't going to stop the noise in his head or the churning in his stomach.
He's gone. Kill yourself. Your lifeboat. Gone. Drown. Stop relying on others to do this for you, you sick bastard.
Fang groaned into the sheets. He punched at his arm, a few solid whops! When that wasn't enough, he scratched his fingernails down his arm slow and hard. He sighed, letting his arms fold over the top of his head. It was enough of a sting to feel okay again. The throb of his knuckles and burning on his arm, he could focus on that. It made him feel grounded while he tried to slow his breathing. That was the exact behavior that drove Chris away. Chris wasn't the only one either. Fuck, not again. Why was he like this? For fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t he fight it? Why couldn't he be anybody else?
What was he supposed to do?
Let him get the fuck away from you. It's for the best that you rot alone. Kill yourself. Fucking let go already. No one cares. Stop hoping someone will. You don't.
Fang groaned again, even louder. This was a bad one. With no weed to choke it out, no booze to drown it, no Chris to keep him grounded, no music to deafen the noise… Fang flipped the pocket knife open and stabbed it into the bed. He jerked it down, shredding the blanket and stabbed it again. Harder.
"Don't." He muttered.
Do it.
Stab.
"Don't." He pleaded.
Do it.
Stab.
Do it.
Stab.
Do it.
Stab.
Do it.
Fang bit back a pathetic whimper, looking over his shoulder at the door. "Chris," he called out quietly. No one would hear him. He couldn't explain this. It wasn't Chris's responsibility. It wasn't his problem. It wasn't anything he should have to account for. It wasn't something he'd ever want Chris to even see. Fuck no.
It was just Fang's problem. Always relying on someone else to block out his own problems. And when he didn't have that muffler, he just felt like he was deafened by the constant screaming in his own head. Screaming at him to do horrible things to himself, to others around him, all of his failures, exaggerations of what he was capable of doing, it just didn't stop when he got this way.
What was he supposed to do!?
He hurled the knife across the room, knowing if he hadn't it would turn on him next. His hands had gone clammy as he pictured the blade tucking into his flesh. It would have just taken one jerk...a sharp bite then that sensual burning sensation…God, he craved that pain. If he could just have two damn minutes to chill his senses out… it was like a part of him was fucking pissed off he just interfered; a pussy, a quitter, so angry. The other part was just freaking the fuck out, flashing graphic images of what he could do, what could happen, what it would feel like, the panic of self preservation against the urge to shut out his own life. Chaos. Confliction. Cacophony.
And he had thought, even if just for a little while, someone like Chris could matter more than fulfilling these awful thoughts. He might as well have screamed at Chris to run away. Run as far away from him as possible. Why had he stayed with him for as long as he did though? He didn’t need the knife to feel that slash across his heart. Goddammit, he blew it.
He had to find a muffler. Just until he could think again. It took entirely too much effort to convince himself not to even look at the knife. He grabbed the business card that fell out of the cigarette pack. He stared at it, wondering how long it had been since he got this card. Three years? Would it even be the same guy? Would he even give a shit? Who cared? He had to try something.
He wasn’t giving up. Spite kept him alive this long. Spite to prove everyone wrong that put a countdown timer over Fang's head, including himself. Spite towards everyone that never gave him a chance. People like Chris.
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