Thread: Bringing Him Back {Gypsy and Alan23}

There was not much Noel was missing. Certainly not the shyness that obviously plagued the unfortunate Delilah, for even his mention of female undergarments had brought a bush to her face that, though she was desperately attempting to hide it, he found most attractive. As, for that matter, he found the way her spectacles constantly slid down on her nose, requiring constant readjustment, or the way - and he was sure she hadn't realized, and he was desperately trying not to draw her attention to it by looking too obviously - the slightly too tight skirt tended to ride up when she was sitting, and was revealing far more leg than she had probably intended. Well, that's why it's not a disease, in the sense you mean, he replied, answering her question as well as he could. Or, if it is, well, it isn't like influenza, that you can give to people whether you like it or not, just by being around them. I guess I think of myself more of a... well, maybe a kind of vampire. You know in the legends, how vampires make other vampires? A human and a vampire have to drink each other's blood, right? Well, my secret's a bit like that. If I don't tell anyone, it can't hurt them. Once I do, then I can't UN-tell it. And they have the curse for life. As long as I can be sure it never slips out, what I know, then... like, I could have a normal life. I could never sleep with anyone, of course, even in the sense of literally sleeping... like, staying at another guy's place even... for fear I might talk in my sleep. Or get drunk or drugged, because it might come out when I wasn't in control of myself. Or ever write it down, for fear someone might find it or read over my shoulder. It's... it's something I know, and few don't, about the very nature of... of how things are. He looked at the pictures she'd spread out. It was almost redolent of nostalgia to see his life laid out before him. Photographs going right back to his childhood... though even then, there had been a look of fear, though that had been due to his father. Shots of himself in soccer outfits, school uniforms, a young man in a suit. His military service and career as a mercenary where had White Lane got hold of that, he wondered and later publicity shots as his career began to take off. A shot of him dressed as Nash, the character he had based upon himself in his writings. Receiving the best New Writer of the Year award. Happier times, all. And then... ...then how it had ended up. Drugged, on life-support. He'd recovered physically... but otherwise... Delilah, it isn't a blank page, that's the trouble, he said, emphatically. Sure, I know the philosophy. Every day is the first day of the rest of your life, yeah? Well, maybe that's true for some, maybe everyone. But... for me, the only thing that would save me was some magic piece of surgical equipment that might burrow down into my mind and get out the... the thing I learned. In turning his head away from the pictures, he caught sight of Delilah's thighs again. He was sitting at one end of the seat, and thus even though the table was between them he could still see her legs. It gave him an almost painful feeling of nostalgia. Before... before what had happened in Montemarte... he might have tried his luck with her. Though she probably had a boyfriend, anyway... but he'd still have tried. But you're wrong, he continued, forcing himself back on track. Totally and utterly wrong. What I know it like... like a kid learning Santa doesn't exist, or... or like learning you're adopted, or something. Life changing, you understand. If I decided to talk, it would make big changes. All the established religions would be in a flux, and you wouldn't be able to escape into atheism, either. God's not a myth, and yet God doesn't exist, and... he realized he'd said too much already. Look, imagine how you'd feel if you found your boyfriend - you have got a boyfriend, right - was cheating on you. You might SAY you'd want to know, but you wouldn't, not really. Now multiply that a thousand times, so that the whole world feels as bad as you would. There was a look of genuine fear in his deep grey eyes, now. A fear that could not possibly have been faked. The beginnings of tears welled up, and he forced them back with an effort. If only you could help me, Delilah. If only I dared trust you. Or trust anyone.