Tea
Original Draft1.5.09
Damn me and my urges to drink tea at late hours. If I had only gone to bed, fallen asleep, and -in essence- avoided this entire confrontation. But no. I just had to drink my tea.
"Well. This is awkward." He broke the silence, and I couldn't help but agree. He laughed, awkwardly, as if to prove his own point. The silence then resumed, the epitome of uncomfortable. I knew it was my duty to say something, anything, but at the same time, I was lost for words. What to say? The truth? Somehow, "Hey, I happen to be madly in love with your brother, sorry if I led you on." didn't quite seem as if it would fit the situation well. The truth needn't always be told. And what could I say? I just couldn't love Tristan like I loved Vaughn. As much as it hurt Tristan, there was no way around that.
I wrapped my hands around the warm mug and twiddled my thumbs. I hadn't said a word to him, it seemed, in months. I had to say something, anything, but he opened his mouth before I could utter a sound.
"He likes you." His voice was nostalgic, monotone even. "Maybe even love." He shrugged, eyes down cast. "But he won't admit it." He glanced up at me, eyes apologetic. "Cause of, you know..." It was suddenly really quiet, too quiet, and I gulped. "Well, me." He laughed, but it was an empty sound. "But hey. I'll change his mind." He smiled wryly, and though I saw no happiness in his eyes, I didn't see spite, either. I would almost prefer spite to this...this indifference. My guilt was crushing my elation, smothering it beneath the waves of shame.
His eyes were at the ground, and I knew I had seconds before he would leave. This encounter was too dangerous, too personal. He would walk away, just as he always did. My mouth failing me, I reached forward as if to comfort him. He pulled away, his mouth set in a steely grimace.
"Sorry. I can't." He gave me one last look, full of sorrow and angst, before turning on his heel. He walked away, hands in pockets, face forward. I watched him leave, and realized I hadn't spoken once. Maybe it was better, though. If he didn't hear me.
I picked up my mug and made my way to a nearby loveseat. Plopping ungracefully onto the velveteen cushion, I clutched at my tea as if it were my crucifix. As sorry and as horrible as I felt for Tristan, the pity and remorse was being eaten. He likes me, I was thinking. He really does like me. But since Tristan liked me...Ugh. It all led back to Tristan. I sipped at my tea thoughtfully before heading up to bed. Tomorrow was another day, tonight I sleep.
A/N: Obviously, in case you didn't notice, I am a Tristan sympathist. I also like Vaughn. I hate the narrator, who has yet to be named. This is a one shot, but I plan on using these characters again. In fact, most of my characters are reused. Heh. Oh, but like I said, this is for Tristan. Poor chap. :)
Comment and tell me what you think: who do you like more? The girl or Tristan? Or, answer C, Vaughn? And should Vaughn go after her, if he really does like her? ;D
Peace, love, and happiness.