Post by caesar mccarthy on Oct 23, 2011 10:24:55 GMT -5
[/i][/color].” cutting her off mid-laugh, the twenty something lay back in his darkened room. a heavy study of diné bahaneʼ lay open on his chest, rising and sinking with his steady breathing. not even that riveting read could hold his attention. images of daisy and atticus surrounded by a host of familiar faces, all as happy as could be, hijacked his every thought. letting the book fall to the floor with a deafening crash, caesar leaned over to his bedside table and picked up a small prescription bottle, irked when he picked it up to hear a measly amount of pills clattering around the orange plastic. he must have reached for them more times than he realized today, but then he'd expected that he would. it was, after all, a real contender for the worst day of his life.
-----“dominic mccarthy, i can't believe you've left me here alone! this is mortifying, i've had to spend the whole evening trying to convince darla you're tied up with work – not a convincing story, may i add, when you factor in the fact that you do absolutely nothing with your life. what on earth made you skip the wedding of two of your closest friends? don't even get me started on atticus' guests...”
---CRINGING as his mother continued to berate the family of one of his best friends – could he still call him that? did best friends skip each other's weddings? the finer details of friendship never had made much sense to him after all – caesar yawned audibly. “as much as i'd like to hear you pour out every classist stereotype known to man, ciara, i'd better get going. i've got... reading, lots of reading
---WHAT could only be called melodrama coursed through his psyche, though he felt his reaction was, if anything, a mild one well-handled. washing down the xanax with a gulp of whiskey sour, he heaved his lugubrious form from his bed. lucas had been asleep for a solid two hours now, and privately caesar thanked zeus for the kindness. in his usual temperament his baby son would have delighted in keeping his father coming to-and-fro to comfort him when tears shook him from his slumber, but today even he seemed to empathize with his dad's predicament. though he hadn't had the guts to admit it, even to himself, caesar was slowly coming to accept that this was the shock for him that it wasn't for anyone else. daisy wasn't just marrying atticus - more pointedly, she wasn't marrying him. passing a bookshelf laden with dusty hardbacks and books with lengthy titles on needlessly obscure subjects, some in latin and even some in greek, it didn't strike caesar that perhaps this was in some way his fault. the neglect he'd shown daisy for the past two years now, his phone calls so infrequent and his forays into communication via facebook almost painfully superficial, those, they were somehow her fault. the fact he had been so swept up in the harvard lifestyle, talking down to her and littering their brief conversations with esoteric references, that too was her fault. he hadn't pinpointed exactly how that could be her fault yet, but he was sure that he would manage some mental gymnastics and pin it on her if the time came to do so.
---WHY was he so bitter all of a sudden? when did that become so much a part of him and not just a minor flaw that sometimes reared its head? caesar carried his resentment and his petty envy around with him like armor, keeping people at arms distance whilst trying to pretend he was as gregarious as ever. it was no wonder he'd had a quasi-breakdown. having blocked both daisy's and atticus' feeds from showing up on his facebook, he still held lucid memories of pictures of the so-called happy couple together and it locked him in to his fury and sense of abandonment. though he hated the rancorous implications of his thoughts, he still couldn't help thinking it was all a bit of a charade. no, scratch that, one big fucking farce of a charade, a travesty of false affection and one-sided desire, a flimsy, fleeting, nonsensical joke of a union. he knew she'd have chosen him over atticus any day, but he was angry that she hadn't, truly angry, fueled by spite and jealousy and guilt at not just being happy that finch had gotten what he wanted - even if he thought the man gullible to think so. he finished his drink and poured another.
---THAT was it, enough moping. he'd committed the ultimate snub by not attending, and continuing any resentment beyond that would be overcompensating. what good did it do, anyhow? the only person who suffered under his wrath was of course he himself. it was a truly fruitless enterprise. calming slightly thanks to this realization - or was it the xanax, the near empty bottle of whiskey? - he settled onto the couch to watch some mind numbing tv. who should grace the screen, however, but miss daisy van buren. an episode of her reality show was well under way, the brassy van buren flicking her blonde mane all over his television. "oh for fuck--[/color][/font]" about ready to throw the remote at the screen, the familiar sound of a wailing baby chimed in to drown daisy out. for once lucas' screeching sounded beautiful, almost like a symphony, and caesar got up with renewed affection for his son.
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