there's no fire

[mute_clay]

Clay comes back to find the house empty. There’s a letter for him in the mailbox and a note for him on the kitchen table.

He makes a cup of tea and sits down at the kitchen table. He reads the letter first. It’s from Callie, he could tell right away.

After having read it he carefully folds the letter and places it back in the envelope. Then he reads the note from Orlando.

He sits for a while at the kitchen table, letting the tea get cold, smoothing Orlando’s note, taking the letter from Callie out of the envelope, reading it, and putting it back a couple of times.

I’m leaving to be with somebody else. Please don’t be angry.

He wonders if they’ve spoken with each other. It sounds that way.

He takes the cup to the sink and empties it, watching the liquid run down the drain. Then he walks outside to do some weeding. He ends up on his knees, fists pushed as deep into the soil as they can get, sobbing. The few tears leave him raw inside. Aching.

He scrubs at his face with dirty hands and goes back inside to curl up on the couch.

There’s a scream inside his mind and it can’t get out. And he can’t run away from it. He promised David not to run away. And Ranuccio. He wishes one of them were here. But he is all alone.

I love you. That’s why I have to leave.

And it isn’t fire he can feel inside. No. The house burned. Darkly burned. He didn’t burn. There is no fire.

Please.

No fire at all.

Please don’t.

And no blood on his hands.

Please don’t be angry.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of light. He misses David.

Comments

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay look down at his hands. The knuckles are white. He tries to relax their grip on each other before looking up at Ranuccio.

I don't want to be like them.

But if he was, maybe Callie would still love him. If he got lost, maybe she'd come back to find him. Call him.

Maybe she wouldn't.

Then he'd go into the dark. There is no halfway in the dark. It is like the forest. It goes on and on and on.

His hands are shaking a little. He lets them. Maybe it'll shake the flesh loose from the bones, turning the bones to dust, flying away on the wind.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

Ranuccio wraps his arm, the right one with the damaged hand, firmly around Clay's waist.

"Stay here. Clay, you're not like them. You aren't. And that's why it calls you so much..don't you know? It wants...lost souls, all of them. Good and bad. It.." The phone rings and Ranuccio has to answer it once he sees the phone call (http://www.livejournal.com/users/jasonlocke/23338.html?thread=422442#t422442) comes from Jason.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay leans his head on Ranuccio's shoulder, ignoring the conversation. One hand grabs hold of the fabric of Ranuccio's shirt in front, the other snakes around his waist.

He breathes deeply.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

As he talks to Jason, Ran shifts his legs so that Clay can lie between them and manages to kiss his hair gently.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay lets himself drift while Ranuccio talks. It's safe, warm hands and a warm body keeping him here, and sleep is blessedly free of pain and fear. And anger.

He twists and turns and ends up almost on his stomach, face pressed against Ranuccio's belly. It is not the most relaxing position but that doesn't matter.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

The conversation with Jason is a short one, naturally. He sounded..uh...busy. And called him Sir, which has him in fits and tears from laughing and trying not to shake Clay too much.

Clay, sleeping. Seeking warmth and company. Ran shifts slowly lower, trying to obtain a more comfortable position for both. Then he just closes his eyes, not really sleepy, petting Clay's hair, waiting for a new daa. For light.

Nights were always more difficult, especially when you are alone. The voices were stronger, the dark darker.

Clay shouldn't be sleeping alone. At least not for a while.