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(no subject)

He's back.

Junior's pleased to see him as always, even if there ain't been no time gone for her. She hugs him and pretends not to notice the extra wrinkles, the extra cough, the extra time. She doesn't ask him how long.

It's a few weeks, but Jack's right, and Junior nags as bad as he does, if not more. He drags his feet on calling the doctor, 'til she up and does it for him, telling him one morning over his coffee what he'll be doin' at 11am.

"Don't you even give me any buts, Daddy, if I find out you didn't go. . ."

The threat is hollow, Junior wouldn't do nothin', but she's upset, and he goes anyway.

There's blood drawn, and she'd've known he went from the fuckin' bruises on his arm anyway and the doctor uses some sorts of words he don't know or understand and tells him they'll call him, tells him they'll need him to come back in in a week or so.

The call comes and Junior takes it. She don't say nothin' to him but makes the new appointment which ain't so much a doctors appointment as a counselin' session with people talking at him from every which way about things he don't wanna understand and things he ain't gonna do until he yells and storms out of that place. Junior finds him out by the truck, cigarette in his mouth and she don't even tell him to put it out when she gets on in, it's past that now.

He's sullen and silent the whole drive home, and when she asks him to come for the dinner for supper, he doesn't.

He's gone.

(no subject)

There's somethin' about the air, or the noise, or something, and Ennis can't sleep. Or maybe it's all that coughing that's keeping him up. Damn shoulder's been acting up, shouldn't've pushed so hard on the damn stables. Jack may be young and nimble, but Ennis' as old as he ever was. Older, maybe, given his time spent here. Fucking Milliways. The bed creaks as he turns and picks up a cigarette from the bedside table and lights it.

Things about Ennis

1. Ennis tells himself he doesn't believe in God or Heaven or Hell; it's easier that way.

2. He's an expert, really, at lying to himself. He's not quite as good at lying to other people.

3. He hates Jack with every fiber of his being. All those fibers? they love Jack, too.

4. Jack's the only thing he's ever truly believed in.

5. If Ennis is actually talking to you (as opposed to "talking and saying nothing" or "imparting deep words of wisdom through the use of mime"), chances are you're going to get fucked or punched.

6. He calls places home easily, but that's only because none of them really are.

7. Only place that really was was a canvas tent on the side of a mountain.

8. His father dying was simultaneously the best and worst thing that could've happened to him.

9. Ennis can't stand Desire because he knows that Desire is giving Jack something he never could.

10. He hasn't realized yet that he can.

11. Intentionally or not, Ennis works to put himself in difficult situations.

12. He truly thought he loved Alma.

13. Even if he did, sometimes love isn't enough.

14. Ennis can fall asleep anywhere. Or could, before the dreams came.

15. He doesn't have the dreams at Milliways. Not those, anyway.

(no subject)

Ain't like the air's so different here.

There's a bit more grass. Bit fewer mountains. But there's air and water and land just the same's Wyoming.

Why it don't feel none like Wyoming, then, Ennis couldn't rightly say, but it feels comfortable enough, standing out here with one of the horses, looking off to what, he don't rightly know.

(no subject)

There's a tearing sound as Ennis rips through one o' them pretty flowered sheets Junior put on his bed. His heart pounds and he shouts out as he wakes up and hits the floor. There are curses, not quite as loud, and he sits on the floor of the room, leaning against the bed.

Ain't hot here, nothing but cold, and he yanks on the blanket to wrap around himself. His teeth chatter around the taste of fresh blood as he lays down on the floor and the sound of silence wraps around him like dirt.

Sometimes there ain't nothin' to do but sleep.

(no subject)

He's used to the howling winds and the star strewn skies that greet him come time to sleep. He's used to the memories of rough ground and cold nights and scratchy canvas; of horse blankets and linens that never quite lost the smells of their wives.

So when he turns over and his rough small bed turns into a larger, softer one, he's resigned himself a night (one more night, one less night) without Jack.

(no subject)

It's cold, and the wind's howling out there like a sumbitch, and Ennis Del Mar finds himself caught up in the thin sheet, tossing and turning until he's wrapped like a mummy and panicking, a thin sheen of sweat on his face. He cries out and manages to free an arm, punching into the air-

not the air. A person.

(no subject)

It's nice on Shadow, quiet. Work's good, even if he ain't sleeping much.

But not sleeping's better'n what happens when he sleeps.

He don't need anything more'n what he's got there, but sometimes when he stares at the ceiling - or the night sky - he can't help but think about a thing or two left behind that maybe he don't want got rid of.

So it could be that it's late one night (on Shadow, anyway, who ever knows how times match up) Ennis sneaks into the bar, headed back towards his (their) room.

He's quick, and he's quiet, but could be you could catch him.

(no subject)

Ennis tosses and turns, doesn't seem he's got a good night sleep in-

well, fuck, what's it matter?

He ain't been sleeping much, and when he sleeps, doesn't seem to stick.

Doesn't figure that tonight would be different, but somehow it is, 'cause the dripping ceiling's replaced by a star-lit sky, and he rolls to his side to find warmth.

Lyrics: "Hate Me" by Blue October

I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
An ounce of peace is all I want for you. will you never call again?
And will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?
And will you never try to reach me? it is I that wanted space

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you
Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see whats good for you

I'm sober now for 3 whole months it's one accomplishment that you helped me with
The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won't touch again
In my sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight
You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate
You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take
So I'll drive so fucking far away that I never cross your mind
And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made
And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling “make it go away!”
Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be
And then she whispered “how can you do this to me?”

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you

(no subject)

Could be time was moving faster than he remembered. Could be he just didn't care to notice anymore. Maybe it's just that out here, with his job and his family and the land (and no Jack) there's not time to think about that other place where time was slow and people were kind.

Kinder, anyways.

Work goes on and family goes on and time goes on and don't none of them wait for nobody. Ka, River said, and he can't help but think she's right.

Even if he does keep looking for that door.

(no subject)

Ain't nobody to ask Ennis why that nice girl from town ain't around no more.

Ain't nobody to ask why Ennis don't go out to drink anymore. Ain't nobody to watch him go home to his one-room trailer, take a piss in the sink and settle in with nothing but his beer and his memories.

Ain't nobody to ask him where that bruise came from, or what happened that he lost this job and has to find another man needs helping around the farm.

Ain't nobody around no more, nobody but them postcards.

(no subject)

Something feels off lately, though Ennis can't place what. Feels better outside, away from the bar, though that ain't nothing different, really.

There's something, though, and Ennis sits near the lake, up on a big rock, smoking and trying to think of anything but.

(no subject)

Ennis ain't quite sure what hurts more, his inside or his outside, and he slumps down, sitting on a rock, his head resting on his hands.

(no subject)

Red.

Red.

Ennis blinks his eyes, but it's still there. Red text bleeding on white paper red on the paper on his hands red ink red blood on his hands and he can't breathe can't breathe everything's-

gone

breathe. in and out and in and there's a red phone booth and he leans and dials and her voice is red for a minute he thinks his fingers'll go so tight into the phone that it'll start bleeding.

There are words, so many words, and he can't understand most of them but

gone

the sun's too bright and he staggers out of the phone booth and into the nearest bar looking for something or someone, but it's

gone

too early for that so he sits himself at the bar and drinks until he's

gone.

(no subject)

Ennis ain't never been one for crowds. And even with such a small town small school small town everything, there're more'n enough people gathered for the graduation at the county high school to make him nervous. He can see over most of the heads; see over enough of 'em to make out that hair and that lanky body, so much like his, even covered by the cap and gown cost forty dollars and she'll never use again. See over the crowd to watch her get that slip of paper and over the crowd to see her run to hug her momma and her sister and Monroe. And the crowd's still mulling around giving hugs and roses and congratulations and if he leaves now, maybe John or Bob or whoever won't get pissed and dock his pay for coming back late. But he doesn't move, not yet, and when he looks across the crowd, all he sees is the smile.

AU: More fun than sleep

Ennis whistles quietly through his teeth as he slows the horse, and he leans forward, running a hand along her mane. Dismounting as he brings her into the paddock, he reaches into his pocket to see if there are any apples left and sure enough, there's one. The horse is busy with the apple, and Ennis is busy with the tack, and almost doesn't see Alain over by the entrance. But he does then, and he nods, and he tips his hat.

Current Mood: drunk

(no subject)

What do you do when ~~your b-~~ ~~the guy you l-~~ ~~the guy you're fucking~~ your friend and you get into a fight? You get yourself good and fucking trashed. It's a long held tradition, and Ennis don't see no reason to change it now. That would be going against the natural fucking order of things, wouldn't it? So shit if Ennis don't just get himself a few bottles of whiskey and slowly - or not so slowly - and surely works his way through them. He almost made it all the way through, too, but that sixth time he got up to piss he couldn't stand too good and figured he ought to go back to the room before he passed out in the middle of the fucking bar. Room. Room bed. Bed soft room soft room good.

There's some loud cursing as Ennis fiddles with the lock, and a few bangs on the door before he manages to swing it open, a loud crash as it hits the wall on the other side, and another loud crash as Ennis trips over something - possibly the floor - and goes sprawling onto his knees. That ain't so bad, though, because that way he can move around without falling. The room's dark, and he can't find his own nose in this fucking place and if he could only find the bed, all would be well with the world.

Current Mood: angry

(no subject)

[OOM: After this.]

He'd go to the stables, but he'd have to go through all the people to get there. He'd go-

well, shit, he'd go just about anywhere, really, but he can't. So he's in his fucking shithole of a room at the fucking shithole of the end of the universe, where a fucking shithole tried to kiss him-

they know, they know, they all know

and SHIT if he doesn't just punch the fucking wall.

(no subject)

The light was only just peeking over the horizon when Ennis came outside, a thermos of hot coffee in hand. He set it down and lit a cigarette with his hands, taking the time after to rub them together. Don't matter the time of year, it's damn cold outside at this hour of the morning. The cigarette's only half gone when he reaches the stables, but that don't bother him none, and he puts it out, pocketing it for later. It may be cold out, but it's warm in the stables, and he smiles a bit as he breathes in, warm air and hay and horses all around him. Half an hour gone by and he's sweating, his jacket and such left over by the door with the forgotten thermos of coffee.