Author: rilee16 (call me rilee or ri, I'm flexible)
Pairing: mentions of Lars/Tim and Tim/Brody
Rating: PG for now, overall probably NC17
Disclaimer: All characters and situations are fictitious extrapolations of nuggets of truth. Simply put: I don’t know the people, they own themselves, and I am in no way presenting this as truth or profiting off of it in any way. I take what I do know and tweak it and warp it to amuse myself. I do however, own the cats (more like they own me, but you know what I mean).
I can still remember the day she confronted me.
“You love him don’t you?”
“My fucking husband, you love him don’t you? You’ve been with him before, before I was around, haven’t you?”
I was stunned by her questions. He had told me that he wasn’t going to tell her, and no one else that knew was dumb enough to say anything to anyone about our previous relationship without our permission. Just as I decided to play dumb with her, she said:
“Don’t you fucking lie to me Lars, you suck at it. Yes or no, are you in love with my husband? Have you been with him?”
“Yes, I am in love with him. Yes, at one point, before you came along, we were together. But he’s with you now, he loves you, so I’m not going to try to poach. Any more questions, or are you ready to leave now?”
“No you fucker, I am not ready to leave now. And who the hell said he was in love with me anyway?”
“He married you didn’t he?”
“Infatuation, nothing more. Whether he wants them or not he likes the idea that with me he’s got the choice whether or not to be normal and have a legal marriage, kids, and a minivan. He *loves* you, he cries, fucking *cries* for you in his sleep, begging for you not to leave him! Hell, he’s even called your name when I’ve fucked him before! You’re the person he goes to with his problems, and you’re the person he can’t wait to share things with. I’m his mistress in all but name; you’re his partner.”
I stood there with my jaw dropped; probably looking like a fish, I was so confused and astonished. I could not believe it; her words could not be true. *He* had broken up with *me*! He had left me for what he claimed was love, for what I saw as a young pair of breasts and a wet pussy. He had said he was sick of pretending he felt more than friendship for me, that he wanted us both to be able to find a *real* relationship and be happy.
“Look Lars, I can’t stay in a relationship where I’m second best and that’s where I am right now. I will never be able to please him, to love him enough or be good enough for him to erase what he felt when he was with you. So you are going to do something for me. *I* am going to talk to him later and tell him it’s over between us, and *you* are going to be there for him because even though he isn’t in love with me it will still hurt him. You will make sure he eats, make sure he bathes, and make sure he doesn’t go on a bender that will end up with him dead. I’ll think up something to keep the focus off of him and on what a horrible person I am and you are going to do whatever it takes to make him happy again. *Whatever it takes*, are we clear Lars?”
I tried to swallow, my mouth dry, trying to comprehend what this woman I had been so jealous of was telling me. What she was going to do, and what I would have to do.
“We’re clear, Brody. I’ll look after him.”
“No, you won’t look after him. You’ll fucking love him you bastard.”
Brody apparently couldn’t “handle” letting Tim know she was filing for divorce in person, so she decided to do it over the phone while she was on tour with her band. I decided I should wait to go see Tim until he called me, or I got sick of waiting for him to call me. I ended up caving three days after I got the call from Brody telling me she had done her part.
When I got to Tim’s and went to knock on the door I hesitated. Did I really want to do this? *Could* I do this? I could just call Matt up and let him know I was worried about Tim, sort of plant a seed in his head. But that might seem suspicious, that I wouldn’t have the time to go check up on my best friend, who I was supposedly worried about, myself. I couldn’t just let Matt or Brett in on the whole thing because Brody made me swear to keep quiet. She said it would make the guys doubt any possible relationship I could have with Tim after he started to heal emotionally from this. They would probably think I was rebound-guy, or using my friendship to insinuate myself into a romantic role in Tim’s life.
Ah, fuck it!
I didn’t get an answer when I knocked, so I opened the door with the keys Tim had given me in case of an emergency. Brody must have sent someone over to get her stuff, because everything she had brought into the relationship with her was gone. I started to walk through the house, calling Tim’s name. I searched each room, even though I already knew where he’d be. I finally reached his bedroom door, sounds of music reaching the outside through the walls. I walked right in.
I knew Tim wouldn’t be looking his best. When you’ve just been dumped by someone you either lay there and wallow in your own filth for a while, or make yourself look your hottest, go out and pretend to live it up in the hopes of word reaching your ex that they are the one who lost out. Knowing Tim, he would have decided upon the former.
He was lying on Brody’s side of the bed, in the fetal position, curled around what I assume was her pillow. The Sing Sing Death House cd was playing, blaring more like it. The cats were curled up around Tim, I guess in an attempt at comforting him. From the looks of things Tim hadn’t moved from that spot since he got the call except to take a piss and feed those damn cats; if he had neglected them they’d be yowling and pacing their asses off. They could get out of the room to use the litter box through their cat door, but they sure as hell couldn’t use a can opener and feed themselves. Looking at him I could tell he sure hadn’t taken care of *himself*. It was obvious he hadn’t showered or shaved in days. I walked over to the stereo and shut it off.
“You look like shit, Tim.”
Uh oh, that was the wrong thing to say. Way to go, Lars!
Bloodshot eyes in a tearstained face rolled up to look at me.
“Is that why she left me? Cause I’m ugly and disgusting?”
Well that was unexpected. Tim rarely thinks about how other people look at him; if he likes how he looks, all is good.
“You aren’t ugly or disgusting, Tim. At the moment you kind of smell and need a shower and a shave, but you aren’t ugly. Do you know how many men and women would kill to have sex with you once? Face it, you’re a hottie.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. At least there was some kind of response.
“’Hottie’? What, are you suddenly one of those fifteen year old girls who watch Buffy every Tuesday night?”
“No *suddenly* about it; I’ve watched the show for seven years. I’m kind of disgusted at what they’re doing to the characters at the moment, but what can you do?”
“Wait a minute, how the hell do you know I got that word from Buffy?”
Tim started to look sheepish. God but he looks… well, the only way to describe it is cute, when he does that.
“I’ve watched a few episodes… It was just to see what all of the fuss was about.”
I just gave him the eyeball. *You* know the one. The “I don’t believe a fucking word, so there!” one. He turned beet red.
“Okay, so I watched the last few seasons. Spike is really hot. You understand, right?”
Of course I understood. Hell, who *wouldn’t* understand? Am I hurt that he can admit attraction to another man, yet thinks he can’t have a “real” relationship with one?
“Yeah Timmy, I understand your lust for the hotness that is James Marsters in Spike-wear.”
I had to get him on topic. I sat down on the bed next to my friend and reached out to pet one of the cats. Albie yawned at me, but permitted the attention.
“So… What happened Tim? You said she left?”
He looked down at her pillow, which he still had in a death grip, and started when he realized Magoo had somehow wormed her chubby little body in between his arm and the pillow and had proceeded to drool on it; there already was a big puddle bigger than her head gracing the fabric.
“When she called, I had been happy, ya know? I had been looking forward to hearing her voice. I was going to sing her a song I had written about her. She asked how I was, and I knew *something* was wrong, but I don’t know how I knew.”
He trailed off, looking blankly at his cat, still drooling on that damn pillow. Buttons, his third “child,” sat up from her nest at the small of his back, stretched, and made her way up the bed. She curled her black and white body around Tim’s head, her face next to his, her feet and tail at the nape of his neck. Tim’s nose wrinkled, probably from a big old whiff of cat breath; Buttons’ breath should be bottled and used as an offensive device in a goddamn war. It’s *that* nasty.
“She said that she didn’t love me anymore, that our whole relationship was a mistake…”
“…She said she had met someone else.”
Now this was news to me. Brody had said she would concentrate on making everyone think about what a horrible person she was. I think she thought it would draw the questions away from Tim. I just never thought she would go about demonizing herself this way.
“Do you know who it is?”
“It’s that guy from Queens of the Stone Age, Josh something.”
“Do you think you’re going to be okay?” Oh, god, what a dumb question! The woman he pledged his life to has just dumped him, how the hell do you think he’s going to be?
“I don’t know. She’s made it clear that she isn’t coming back. What did I do wrong Lars? What did I do to deserve this?”
Apparently you loved me, but that is debatable.
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong, Tim. She’s young and fickle and doesn’t know something good when she has it.”
He looked like he was about to start crying again. I wouldn’t be able to just leave him here when I left, and I couldn’t just stay here with him; I have pets of my own to feed.
“Pack up the cats,” I said as I stood up. I started to grab clothes out of a pile on the floor; we could always wash them at my house if they stunk too bad.
Tim looked at me dumbfounded.
“What are you talking about?”
“I said, pack up the cats. Grab their food, any supplies you need for them that I won’t have, and get them in their carrier. You’re coming to stay with me for awhile.”
“Because I don’t want you to be alone right now, and I think you shouldn’t be here for a while. Now get those cats ready to go while I get your stuff from the bathroom, okay?”
“Fine,” he said with a pout. I love it when he pouts; he always looks like a little kid. He doesn’t do it often enough. I just had to tease him about it.
“Poke that lip out any farther and people will think you’re Joel Madden,” I said as I picked my way through mountains of crap to reach the bathroom.
“No one will ever think I’m Joel, I’m too much of a hottie to ever be mistaken for him. I dress better, too.”
Hah! Got him to smile! If he can field a joke made at his expense, he can’t be *that* bad off.