Tobias Matthews (Toby) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rockandrollvampire) wrote2020-03-08 11:13 pm
rockandrollvampire) wrote2020-03-08 11:13 pm
"And the memories come unabated."
They always came when he least wanted them.
In the middle of the day when he couldn’t sleep. The downtime between matches in whatever shooter he was playing. That breath between puffs of a cigarette.
They fucking hurt, too.
Stupid, little things that he'd seen a thousand times over. The overly loud snore when his lover rolled over in bed in the hour or so before dawn. His 'are you fucking kidding me' look when Toby suggested something Dorian had said no to at least a dozen times. The feeling of his curls between the vampire's fingers. The scent of gin on his breath, rose oil on his skin, his favorite cigarette smoke on his clothes. His goddamned smile that cut him off at the knees.
Toby took an unnecessary breath before throwing back another shot of whiskey, His eyes roamed the rooftops of downtown London from the tenement roof he’d wandered up to, drifting to and fro as he drank the night away.
It hurt less now, feeling the memories when they came. Something had changed after his run in with the witch Joker had "sold" him to, but the ache remained. Rather than a sharp stab to the heart, he felt a repeated fist to an already broken rib. Loss, true loss, left scars far deeper than anything etched into his skin, and they needed to be processed until it felt okay again.
'Okay' was a long way off on that roof.
The vampire put a cigarette to his lips and exhaled a smoke-filled breath after lighting it. Immediately he remembered the sound of breath being exhaled beside him, of laughter at some stupid thing or joke he'd said, of hearing the three most painful words in existence.
"I love you."
Ash on his jeans pulled his mind back to the present. Toby sighed and took another hit of the cigarette, washing it down with another pour of whiskey. It took the memories away briefly, with the real relief coming as soon as the remainder of the bottle hit him. It would be enough tonight - and tomorrow, when the inevitable hangover followed - that he could make it through without having to face the truth behind the memories. Could put off facing them for one more day.
It would take time to get there, and until he was ready to deal with them, the bottles would be there for him. Drunkenness and hangovers would keep him company, distract him from his empty bed, make the memories feel less real for a time. They would take the hurt and pain, leave him less hollowed.
It was enough, for now. And someday, when he was ready, he would set the bottles aside and face this.
But not tonight. Tonight… is already spoken for.
In the middle of the day when he couldn’t sleep. The downtime between matches in whatever shooter he was playing. That breath between puffs of a cigarette.
They fucking hurt, too.
Stupid, little things that he'd seen a thousand times over. The overly loud snore when his lover rolled over in bed in the hour or so before dawn. His 'are you fucking kidding me' look when Toby suggested something Dorian had said no to at least a dozen times. The feeling of his curls between the vampire's fingers. The scent of gin on his breath, rose oil on his skin, his favorite cigarette smoke on his clothes. His goddamned smile that cut him off at the knees.
Toby took an unnecessary breath before throwing back another shot of whiskey, His eyes roamed the rooftops of downtown London from the tenement roof he’d wandered up to, drifting to and fro as he drank the night away.
It hurt less now, feeling the memories when they came. Something had changed after his run in with the witch Joker had "sold" him to, but the ache remained. Rather than a sharp stab to the heart, he felt a repeated fist to an already broken rib. Loss, true loss, left scars far deeper than anything etched into his skin, and they needed to be processed until it felt okay again.
'Okay' was a long way off on that roof.
The vampire put a cigarette to his lips and exhaled a smoke-filled breath after lighting it. Immediately he remembered the sound of breath being exhaled beside him, of laughter at some stupid thing or joke he'd said, of hearing the three most painful words in existence.
"I love you."
Ash on his jeans pulled his mind back to the present. Toby sighed and took another hit of the cigarette, washing it down with another pour of whiskey. It took the memories away briefly, with the real relief coming as soon as the remainder of the bottle hit him. It would be enough tonight - and tomorrow, when the inevitable hangover followed - that he could make it through without having to face the truth behind the memories. Could put off facing them for one more day.
It would take time to get there, and until he was ready to deal with them, the bottles would be there for him. Drunkenness and hangovers would keep him company, distract him from his empty bed, make the memories feel less real for a time. They would take the hurt and pain, leave him less hollowed.
It was enough, for now. And someday, when he was ready, he would set the bottles aside and face this.
But not tonight. Tonight… is already spoken for.