Post by Aidan Carlisle on Oct 7, 2016 7:23:30 GMT
[Story portion from my latest BW RP, again with implications for the on-going story that no one is probably reading. xD]
“Jesus Christ I'm so glad to hear your voice. Why haven't you called me?!”
Aidan sagged onto the couch as the relief hit her so hard that it made her knees weak. Her eyes instantly burned and she wiped hastily at her face.
“The less ye know, the better. I'm trying to keep you out of it, you know that.”
“What's going on? Are they going to let you go? Do you need me to do anything?”
“They're running out of reasons to hold me. The evidence is all falling apart on them because there was nothing to begin with. There's nothing you can do that's going to help over here. I just need you to take care of yourself. Did you call Connor and Elsie?”
“...No, why would I?”
She heard him sigh on the other end of the line.
“I told ye to call them and have them come stay with you when I called ye the first time.”
How did she even explain this?
“I'm sorry I just... After you called me that night I drank too much and I don't really remember it.”
Another sigh.
“Goddammit Aidan. Go to the kitchen right now and pour out whatever is left.”
“...Excuse me?”
“If ye don't have a problem, then it won't be a problem, will it?”
Stubbornly, Aidan pushed up from the couch and made her way into the kitchen. She pulled the bottles down out of the liquor cabinet, most of which were on their last legs anway. And they had been since before he left. She made sure to set them down on the counter loud enough for him to hear before twisting off the caps and turning them all upside down in the sink.
“Happy now?”
“Now make yourself something to eat. Get out of the house. Go for a run or work out. Stop wearing yourself down worrying about what ye can't change like I know ye are. ...It's going to be okay, I promise.”
That last bit. That thing she had been waiting to hear forever. She slid down the cabinet to the floor and wrapped her arm around her knees. If he promised, then maybe it would be okay. He didn't do that sort of thing lightly.
“Liam, I... uh... I told someone about us. About how things really are. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have without talking to you about it. It just came out...”
“I already know who ye told.”
“...Yeah. He won't say anything.”
“It's alright. It wasn't going to stay a secret forever. Just be careful. You've hurt yourself enough over that mess. If it's what ye want... fine, but just try to think with your head.”
“There's so much going on, I wish I could tell you.”
She wanted to ask if he knew any of the details, if he knew that only Mason had been found. But she couldn't because neither of them were supposed to know any of that. He didn't know anything about EOW, didn't know the accounts were frozen or that she had two Championships now.
“I know, but I've got to go. My time is up.”
Aidan tried to think of something to say, but what did you even say in a situation like this?
“It's going to be alright. Just hold on. Do what ye have to do. We'll figure things out when I get back.”
It felt like it took forever to get any sound at all out.
“Okay.”
As soon as she did, the line went dead.
Hours later, after her Sister From Another Mister, Kat Jones, had departed to head to her next show, Aidan lay on the couch in the little sitting room that doubled as a trophy room staring up at the ceiling. She was still trying to piece together what had happened that night weeks ago. What few memories she had in her head were jumbled and unintelligible. It was mostly blank.
Then there was the explanation. The one she thought she had, but... she couldn't find. She had gone through every last piece of paper in the recycling bin and the note that should have been there somewhere was gone. So had it ever been there at all? Had a taxed mind and overactive imagination made that all up?
She couldn't deny that she'd been very friendly with the Teeling Irish Whiskey in that first week. There were a lot of holes. The clearest moments she had were all in the ring. But she did know that “Richard Davies” was in fact in Boardwalk. That was an indisputable, solid fact. That meant that the things in her head were possible.
There were two possible realities:
She had gotten the call from Liam about getting arrested in England, and then proceeded to finish off a bottle of Teeling. In that drunken state she'd decided to get in a late night workout and ended up bruising herself in the process because she had shit for judgment and balance. Then, because she hadn't eaten much or slept much, had exerted herself, and her head was already a mess, the liquor had been hard on her and she blacked out.
Or...
She had gotten the call from Liam, got ready and tried to leave even though he had told her to stay put, and she had run into Blake Ross at the door. He'd goaded her, tried to make her fight him, left the bruises on her, drugged her so she wouldn't remember, and left.
Then he'd shown up later, made her breakfast, and tried to explain himself. She'd found some of the truth behind who he was and they had... talked for a day before he left again, but not before he left a note explaining all that he had done.
Except there was no note. But the article was real and she had found it in her search history. There wasn't a trace of him in the house, but it felt so real. And he was real, because punching him had gotten her suspended, and he had been there when Anita had showed up on live TV to try and embarrass her with that goddamn breathalyzer.
So which was it?
Aidan sighed and stood up from the couch. In spite of the fact that Kat coming over had certainly made the night better than sitting at home crying into a Lean Cuisine had, the amount of sleep she had actually gotten was minimal. Fuck it. She was going to take a nap.
Her footsteps echoed through the empty house. She felt like the house right now; hollow and a little unfeeling. She didn't even bother to take off her clothes as she made it to the bedroom. She just wanted a nap.
As she stepped up to the edge of the bed, she felt herself kick something under the edge. Her brow furrowed as she leaned down, blindly feeling under the bed until her hand landed on the object and dragged it out. A... journal?
The crease in her forehead deepened as she pulled back the cover. Her breath caught in her chest as she looked down at the handwriting. The very familiar handwriting that should have been on the note she couldn't find. Blake Ross's handwriting.
Suddenly there were three possible realities.
“Are you okay, love?”
Aidan glared at Blake, or Richard, or whoever he was, where he stood beside her. The expression softened quickly enough, though, and she turned on her heel and headed out of the bar with her head spinning. She heard him offer a thank you to the bartender before he followed behind her. But he didn't say anything, he just gave her time to think.
She didn't want to believe it was true, but she had just seen the video...
A Wilmington bar she didn't remember going to. Some sleezebag she didn't remember talking to that wouldn't leave her alone despite that her body language made it clear she had no desire to speak to him. She had turned her head for just a moment, the barest moment, when someone bumped into her, and he'd slipped something into her drink. She hadn't noticed it.
But he had.
Not before she tossed it all back to go somewhere else in the bar so he'd leave her alone. He'd tried to stop her, apparently, but when she'd seen him she had just went for the throat. Like she was inclined to do. Then when he'd managed to show her the residue in the bottom of the glass, she'd turned on the sleezebag.
The fight did explain the bruises, the ones on her knuckles and face. The ones on her ribs could be attributed to Blake hauling her back several times because she didn't want to stop swinging.
That much had all happened. It was right there in the security footage. It was true. But there were still other possibilities for what had occurred once she was home. She might have tried to work out, she would have still wanted to fight...
“Still blaming me?”
“You might still be to blame.”
“Would you have called me if you really thought that?”
“I haven't forgotten what happened in England.”
“...You didn't even read it, did you?”
“No. I just saw the number on the back and called. I needed answers.”
“There are plenty of answers in there.”
“Everything in there is suspect. It could all be a lie.”
“It could be.”
The way he shrugged was infuriating.
“But it isn't.”
“I don't know that.”
He stopped suddenly, and curse her, she stopped too, turning to face him. Worse yet, when he reached out to touch her arm, she didn't pull back. She let him move her away from the edge of the sidewalk so they weren't right in the middle of the way.
“No, you don't know, and you'll never be sure about it no matter how much evidence you see. What happened in England eight years ago is reality to you. It was what you lived, and no matter what I tell you or show you, you're always going to think of that first. I did what I did and the intent was to make you believe it.
“You can't remember what happened that night in August, and you probably never will. All you can know for sure is what you just saw. I can tell you that I took you home and made sure you went inside before I left, but you have to decide whether or not you believe me. It looks like you did some reading before you dropped my journal under the bed. Your head mixed everything up and you've created these events for yourself.
“Or you haven't and I'm lying. One of the two is true, and you will never know.”
“You don't make your case very well.”
“Would it be more believable if I sat here and swore to you that I wasn't lying and you should believe me? I could get on my knees, but they're a little stiff these days.”
“No, because I'd be even less inclined to believe you that way.”
“Exactly.”
“But you know that's how I think, so you could just be using it.”
“I could be, but I'm not.”
Again, infuriating.
“I can't force you to believe me, and I can't blame you if you don't.”
“Why are you here?”
“The same reason I've always been there.”
“Me.”
“You.”
“If you supposedly care so much, why do you keep forcing yourself into my life? Why do you keep showing up just when I've tried to put everything behind me? Every time I start to get just a little bit of stability and happiness, there you are again.”
“Aidan, love, don't lie to either of us about the stability and happiness. We both know what you've been hiding. As for the rest...”
He sighed. When he looked down at her she couldn't help looking back up, looking in his eyes. He had nice eyes. And the worst part was that he looked sincere.
“Go home. Read. Draw your own conclusions and think about them. When you've done that, we'll talk again. I'll leave you be until you do.”
He didn't give her time to respond before he leaned down, kissing her on the forehead. It gave her a feeling in her chest that she didn't like, not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was the opposite. He squeezed her arm, and when he turned to go she could only stand there and watch him walk away.
“Jesus Christ I'm so glad to hear your voice. Why haven't you called me?!”
Aidan sagged onto the couch as the relief hit her so hard that it made her knees weak. Her eyes instantly burned and she wiped hastily at her face.
“The less ye know, the better. I'm trying to keep you out of it, you know that.”
“What's going on? Are they going to let you go? Do you need me to do anything?”
“They're running out of reasons to hold me. The evidence is all falling apart on them because there was nothing to begin with. There's nothing you can do that's going to help over here. I just need you to take care of yourself. Did you call Connor and Elsie?”
“...No, why would I?”
She heard him sigh on the other end of the line.
“I told ye to call them and have them come stay with you when I called ye the first time.”
How did she even explain this?
“I'm sorry I just... After you called me that night I drank too much and I don't really remember it.”
Another sigh.
“Goddammit Aidan. Go to the kitchen right now and pour out whatever is left.”
“...Excuse me?”
“If ye don't have a problem, then it won't be a problem, will it?”
Stubbornly, Aidan pushed up from the couch and made her way into the kitchen. She pulled the bottles down out of the liquor cabinet, most of which were on their last legs anway. And they had been since before he left. She made sure to set them down on the counter loud enough for him to hear before twisting off the caps and turning them all upside down in the sink.
“Happy now?”
“Now make yourself something to eat. Get out of the house. Go for a run or work out. Stop wearing yourself down worrying about what ye can't change like I know ye are. ...It's going to be okay, I promise.”
That last bit. That thing she had been waiting to hear forever. She slid down the cabinet to the floor and wrapped her arm around her knees. If he promised, then maybe it would be okay. He didn't do that sort of thing lightly.
“Liam, I... uh... I told someone about us. About how things really are. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have without talking to you about it. It just came out...”
“I already know who ye told.”
“...Yeah. He won't say anything.”
“It's alright. It wasn't going to stay a secret forever. Just be careful. You've hurt yourself enough over that mess. If it's what ye want... fine, but just try to think with your head.”
“There's so much going on, I wish I could tell you.”
She wanted to ask if he knew any of the details, if he knew that only Mason had been found. But she couldn't because neither of them were supposed to know any of that. He didn't know anything about EOW, didn't know the accounts were frozen or that she had two Championships now.
“I know, but I've got to go. My time is up.”
Aidan tried to think of something to say, but what did you even say in a situation like this?
“It's going to be alright. Just hold on. Do what ye have to do. We'll figure things out when I get back.”
It felt like it took forever to get any sound at all out.
“Okay.”
As soon as she did, the line went dead.
† — ⁞ — †
Hours later, after her Sister From Another Mister, Kat Jones, had departed to head to her next show, Aidan lay on the couch in the little sitting room that doubled as a trophy room staring up at the ceiling. She was still trying to piece together what had happened that night weeks ago. What few memories she had in her head were jumbled and unintelligible. It was mostly blank.
Then there was the explanation. The one she thought she had, but... she couldn't find. She had gone through every last piece of paper in the recycling bin and the note that should have been there somewhere was gone. So had it ever been there at all? Had a taxed mind and overactive imagination made that all up?
She couldn't deny that she'd been very friendly with the Teeling Irish Whiskey in that first week. There were a lot of holes. The clearest moments she had were all in the ring. But she did know that “Richard Davies” was in fact in Boardwalk. That was an indisputable, solid fact. That meant that the things in her head were possible.
There were two possible realities:
She had gotten the call from Liam about getting arrested in England, and then proceeded to finish off a bottle of Teeling. In that drunken state she'd decided to get in a late night workout and ended up bruising herself in the process because she had shit for judgment and balance. Then, because she hadn't eaten much or slept much, had exerted herself, and her head was already a mess, the liquor had been hard on her and she blacked out.
Or...
She had gotten the call from Liam, got ready and tried to leave even though he had told her to stay put, and she had run into Blake Ross at the door. He'd goaded her, tried to make her fight him, left the bruises on her, drugged her so she wouldn't remember, and left.
Then he'd shown up later, made her breakfast, and tried to explain himself. She'd found some of the truth behind who he was and they had... talked for a day before he left again, but not before he left a note explaining all that he had done.
Except there was no note. But the article was real and she had found it in her search history. There wasn't a trace of him in the house, but it felt so real. And he was real, because punching him had gotten her suspended, and he had been there when Anita had showed up on live TV to try and embarrass her with that goddamn breathalyzer.
So which was it?
Aidan sighed and stood up from the couch. In spite of the fact that Kat coming over had certainly made the night better than sitting at home crying into a Lean Cuisine had, the amount of sleep she had actually gotten was minimal. Fuck it. She was going to take a nap.
Her footsteps echoed through the empty house. She felt like the house right now; hollow and a little unfeeling. She didn't even bother to take off her clothes as she made it to the bedroom. She just wanted a nap.
As she stepped up to the edge of the bed, she felt herself kick something under the edge. Her brow furrowed as she leaned down, blindly feeling under the bed until her hand landed on the object and dragged it out. A... journal?
The crease in her forehead deepened as she pulled back the cover. Her breath caught in her chest as she looked down at the handwriting. The very familiar handwriting that should have been on the note she couldn't find. Blake Ross's handwriting.
Suddenly there were three possible realities.
Aidan glared at Blake, or Richard, or whoever he was, where he stood beside her. The expression softened quickly enough, though, and she turned on her heel and headed out of the bar with her head spinning. She heard him offer a thank you to the bartender before he followed behind her. But he didn't say anything, he just gave her time to think.
She didn't want to believe it was true, but she had just seen the video...
A Wilmington bar she didn't remember going to. Some sleezebag she didn't remember talking to that wouldn't leave her alone despite that her body language made it clear she had no desire to speak to him. She had turned her head for just a moment, the barest moment, when someone bumped into her, and he'd slipped something into her drink. She hadn't noticed it.
But he had.
Not before she tossed it all back to go somewhere else in the bar so he'd leave her alone. He'd tried to stop her, apparently, but when she'd seen him she had just went for the throat. Like she was inclined to do. Then when he'd managed to show her the residue in the bottom of the glass, she'd turned on the sleezebag.
The fight did explain the bruises, the ones on her knuckles and face. The ones on her ribs could be attributed to Blake hauling her back several times because she didn't want to stop swinging.
That much had all happened. It was right there in the security footage. It was true. But there were still other possibilities for what had occurred once she was home. She might have tried to work out, she would have still wanted to fight...
“Still blaming me?”
“You might still be to blame.”
“Would you have called me if you really thought that?”
“I haven't forgotten what happened in England.”
“...You didn't even read it, did you?”
“No. I just saw the number on the back and called. I needed answers.”
“There are plenty of answers in there.”
“Everything in there is suspect. It could all be a lie.”
“It could be.”
The way he shrugged was infuriating.
“But it isn't.”
“I don't know that.”
He stopped suddenly, and curse her, she stopped too, turning to face him. Worse yet, when he reached out to touch her arm, she didn't pull back. She let him move her away from the edge of the sidewalk so they weren't right in the middle of the way.
“No, you don't know, and you'll never be sure about it no matter how much evidence you see. What happened in England eight years ago is reality to you. It was what you lived, and no matter what I tell you or show you, you're always going to think of that first. I did what I did and the intent was to make you believe it.
“You can't remember what happened that night in August, and you probably never will. All you can know for sure is what you just saw. I can tell you that I took you home and made sure you went inside before I left, but you have to decide whether or not you believe me. It looks like you did some reading before you dropped my journal under the bed. Your head mixed everything up and you've created these events for yourself.
“Or you haven't and I'm lying. One of the two is true, and you will never know.”
“You don't make your case very well.”
“Would it be more believable if I sat here and swore to you that I wasn't lying and you should believe me? I could get on my knees, but they're a little stiff these days.”
“No, because I'd be even less inclined to believe you that way.”
“Exactly.”
“But you know that's how I think, so you could just be using it.”
“I could be, but I'm not.”
Again, infuriating.
“I can't force you to believe me, and I can't blame you if you don't.”
“Why are you here?”
“The same reason I've always been there.”
“Me.”
“You.”
“If you supposedly care so much, why do you keep forcing yourself into my life? Why do you keep showing up just when I've tried to put everything behind me? Every time I start to get just a little bit of stability and happiness, there you are again.”
“Aidan, love, don't lie to either of us about the stability and happiness. We both know what you've been hiding. As for the rest...”
He sighed. When he looked down at her she couldn't help looking back up, looking in his eyes. He had nice eyes. And the worst part was that he looked sincere.
“Go home. Read. Draw your own conclusions and think about them. When you've done that, we'll talk again. I'll leave you be until you do.”
He didn't give her time to respond before he leaned down, kissing her on the forehead. It gave her a feeling in her chest that she didn't like, not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was the opposite. He squeezed her arm, and when he turned to go she could only stand there and watch him walk away.
