Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Better Days ❯ Sake and Fabio ( Chapter 7 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

I'm sitting and staring at Ken.

Ken's sitting and staring back.

Uncomfortable silence. Dèja vu.

"Sooo…" Ken feels obligated to start the conversation, "did you hear the horrible news?"

"Horrible news?" I ask, " er, no. What happened?"

"England traded David Beckham to Madrid!"

"Uh…."

"They ship off their best player ever, just cause the manager didn't like him!"

"Uh Ken---"

"I mean, this is like a total identity crisis for me! Manchester was my favorite foreign team! But without Beckham, I just don't know!" Ken throws his arms up in exasperation, "do I still like Manchester, or should I like Madrid now?! Oh horrors---"

"KEN."

Ken finally pauses in his rant and looks at me.

"Yah?"

"Please…I'd like to just be alone right now."

His lively expression instantly drops away.

"Fine," he says, frowning, "be miserable all by yourself then."

He pauses for a minute and then adds, "I'm going to look for Omi."

I discreetly watch him wander off, and note that he has no intention at all of finding Omi. He's heading straight towards the pinball machine.

I guess Ken has a thing for Yuko Oguro.

Fucking fantastic.



I look down at my glass and conclude that it's too much trouble to keep ordering refills. I give up on the liquor and just get a pitcher of sake instead.

The good stuff; served cold.

I reach for the sake glass provided with my pitcher, but I change my mind and decide that it would be more efficient to reuse my empty scotch glass instead.

Sake cups were not designed for alcoholics.

Nothing in this frigging country was designed for excess of moderation.

Screw moderate.

I've been in excess of moderation for longer than I can remember now. Live life to the fullest I say, cause you're gonna die. Much sooner than you think. People who live long enough to kick the bucket from cancer? They're the lucky ones. Most likely you'll get flattened by a semi. While crossing a road with a 15 km speed limit. Or you'll get gangrene from liposuction malpractice.

Yeah, it's never what you expect.



The alcohol is finally starting to set in.

Some people describe this feeling as going fuzzy. My head doesn't feel fuzzy at all. I'm the exact opposite, actually. Everything gets clearer. Too clear.

It's like suddenly you've put on 3-D glasses.

Except you're already in 3-D. So where does that put you? 4-D? No wait, that's time. 5-D? 3 ½ -D?

I dunno.

It's like everything feels so real, it becomes fake. You become detached. The realness of your surroundings exceed you, and all you can do is sit back and watch.

I'm not making any sense.

That happens. My mind wanders when I'm drunk.

So where was I?

Ah, that's right. Living life to the fullest.

My motto. My hypocrisy.

Obviously, I can't even take my own advice. If I could, I would currently have myself thrown at Ken's feet in an unabashed proclamation of my undying affection. An open novel for all the world---er, bar---to read.

Damnit, I wouldn't even be a good novel.

I'm like one of those trashy books wives buy at the supermarket and read while stuck in traffic. You know, the kind with Fabio on the cover.

Did you know that Fabio has his own line of male beauty products?

He does promotions on tv. I've seen them.

He says, "Real men wax."

Since when is Fabio a real man?

He's a celebrity. A symbol. A figment in the minds of ten thousand lonely women.

Fabio isn't real.

Maybe if a real person told me, I'd listen.

Maybe if Aya said---no, Aya isn't real either.

Ken then?

Oh Fuck, that's right. Ken.

Ken's supposed to be the topic here. Me and my damn tangents.

So I was thinking---what was I thinking---I was thinking I should take a chance and throw myself to the wolves. I should tear my heart out and hand it over. Maybe the wolves would hand me back a shred of happiness. Or maybe they'd just chew on it till they got bored and then drop it in a hole somewhere. Take a leak on it. Kick up some dirt. At this point I shouldn't care, right?

I already gamble with my health, my job, my life. Why not Ken?

It's not like I'm happy now.

What's there to lose?

I guess I'm just weak.

Because I can't do it. I can't lose.

If I lost Ken I'd be completely empty.

Can't do it. Can't lose Ken. Can't lose myself.

Better a friend then nothing.

I keep telling myself this.

It could always be worse.

Better a friend then nothing.

I'm such a lousy liar.



Now I've gone and done it. I drank too much. My stomach can't take it. Serves me right. I knew better than to drink on an empty stomach.

Or maybe I wanted to get sick?

I can't really think straight anymore.

Think straight. Ha. Ah ha ha ha…er…I can't believe I just found that funny. Pretend I didn't say that. Ugh.

I try to stand up, but have to catch onto the chair for support. I feel….sea sick. Have you ever been sea sick? I don't think I have. I'm actually pretty good on boats. I used to get car sick though. When I was a kid I used to try to read during long car rides. The motion made me nauseous when I concentrated on the words. But I kept doing it. I always thought, 'I'll just stop when I start to feel sick.' But the story would always be too interesting and I wouldn't stop. Next thing I knew the driver would have to pull over.

Even as a kid I was self destructive.

But I don't like thinking about those days. They make me depressed.

I'm already depressed, though.

Where was I?

That's right, I was sick. Still am sick.

Need to find a bathroom. Fast.

I can feel the burning sensation creeping up my esophagus. Wait. Maybe I should drink some water first. If I down a lot of water it will make it easier to throw up. It'll dilute the stomach acid. Burn my throat less. No. I deserve the pain. I want to suffer. Skip the water. I'll barely make it there in time as is, anyway.



With my stomach empty, I feel immensely better. So much better that I could start drinking all over again. But I won't do that. I'm not quite that pathetic. Not yet.

I wander over towards the lounge section of the bar. There's some threadbare furniture there. None of the colors match. I pick a lime green armchair. It's overstuffed and looks like a promising place to sleep. If only it weren't so fucking loud in here.

As if in answer to my thoughts, the music changes. Completely. No more techno or disco. It's slow and quasi modern. I hate slow music. I always feel like it's talking to me. Lecturing me, more often.

Stupid sentimental drivel.

I pull my legs up into the chair, and loop my arms around them to keep my feet from sliding off. I'm too tall for this to work well, but I somehow manage to jam myself in place. I wedge my head between my knees and the side of the chair. My neck is going to kill me when I get up. But I feel better this way. Safer.

I try to clear my mind. I concentrate on…being unconscious. I just need a nap. Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe.

But it's still too loud. Even with the change in music. It's actually a change for the worse, I think.

I can zone the loud music out. Just turn it into background noise. But it's hard not to pay attention to the slower stuff. It sneaks up on you. You find yourself listening when you don't mean to. And then it gets stuck in your head; your very own broken record to torment you.

I don't recognize the song that's playing now. But it's getting on my nerves. It's another fucking love song. Why does every band on earth have to write at least a dozen love songs? They've been done to death. Nobody's ever original any more.

It doesn't kill you, It's not a one-way ticket to a lonely life.
It might break your heart, but the physical risk is low.

Ha. The writer obviously wasn't in love with an assassin. An assassin who's life depends on you being in your right mind. Of separating you feelings from 'the mission.'

You might feel so bad that you wanna die
But if you died you would never know
That it didn't kill you
Soon you would've felt better.

Yeah, Like hell.

I haven't felt so bad that I wanted to die
But if I died I would never know
Love doesn't kill you
It's supposed to make you feel better.

Hn. Since when did anything ever go as it was supposed?!

You're never gonna feel any better
Once you're dead, you don't get any deader
And you get no loving and you feel no pain
Never have to lose again.

That's it. This fucking song is hitting too close to home. I lose my temper and jump out of my chair. I'm not thinking clearly at all.

I feel my fist shaking in the air….

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT LOVE?! YOU'RE JUST A FUCKING MUSICIAN! I BET YOU GET ANYONE YOU FUCKING WANT! GO LIVE IN THE REAL WORLD AND STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO FUCKING DO WITH MY LIFE!

Oh shit. Was that me yelling? I'm losing it. Scratch that, already lost it. The noise level has dropped considerably. Everyone has turned and is staring at me. The word 'crazy' is written on everyone's faces. Followed by the word 'drunk.' If they were to add a third word, I'm guessing it would be 'loser.'

Please, I'm praying that Ken wasn't near enough to hear that.

I fall back onto the chair and bury my head between my knees. My fingers knot themselves in my hair and I flatten my arms against the sides of my head. The noise level is slowly returning to normal; my outburst being quickly dismissed.

My stomach is twisting into knots. I feel nauseous and sick again, but this time there's no alcohol to blame it on. I feel dizzy, and it's getting difficult to focus on anything at all.

How long has it been since Ken left? Since we got here? Until we…er…til…ugh.

It's really hot in here. It's hard to breathe.

Fresh air…I'll just step outside for a minute. I'll come right back.

Why won't my knees work? When I try to get up, I find myself on the floor. Too much trouble to move. I'll stay here until the room stops spinning. Hey, I hadn't even noticed it was spinning till now. Weird.

That's right, I was gonna take a nap before that demented song started. Here's as good a place as any. The floor isn't that hard. I've slept in worse places before. I….



…Only stopped watching a minute…

.

…..over there…..

.

….what were we thinking….



.…call Aya….




Voices. They sound…familiar. Can't see anything though….

Someone's lifting me up. So dizzy!

I try to walk, but it's too hard.
…I think….
...….I think….

…I'm blacking out again….


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Song: Love Doesn't Kill You by Fastball.