Gael did not know just how long it had been since Patrick had died, since his world had started to spin wildly out of control. He did know that Ollie had wrangled him into helping with the Orchestra, mostly having him handle the more mundane dramas that seemed to pop up every day. And at first things had been fine, he'd been fine to deal with it. Only it didn't last, and one day he'd just not bothered to show up for work. Followed by skipping the next day, then the whole week. He'd even gone so far as to avoid Oliver altogether, and Lawrence. He knew they'd both seem something broken and damaged, and that hurt his pride as much as anything.
He painted on a smile for Sarah, mostly because after they'd found a place to live that was close to the Player's Quarter, but still relatively new and clean (and safe, being Sarah's objective word of choice). Still, she was there every day- checking in on him, asking him to come out with her. Asking how his day at work had gone, without perhaps knowing when he'd stopped trying to pretend he was working. He made some money on the side, doing the same sort of things he'd always done though it lacked the vigor and the coy playfulness. Instead, his parents noted, Gael was as hard as stone and quick to grow tired of games when a darker mood struck him. He'd taken to using drugs to ease his moods, alcohol to keep himself in check as best he could. Still, it wasn't always enough. And his body bore the scars of his irritability.
Carlos still came around, though Gael had started to note more caution in the other man. His eyes searching out something in Gael's face every time the Heart painted a brilliant, if false, smile across his face. Their meetings, Gael noted, had started to be less about the sex and more of something else- and a war waged inside of him that had his heart begging to break open the cold, hardened shell he'd hidden it behind. But his mind was a steel trap that refused to entertain notions of affection or love long enough for it to take root.
Indeed, if anything had started to take root, it was the nefarious desire to feel nothing. He was at his happiest when he was empty. All the pain, all the nightmares could melt away. Fear meant nothing, and he could live with joy being hollow if it meant that fear was not an inescapable monster lurking behind every door in the dark.
Sarah was at work, doing what she could to earn enough money to make herself happy as Gael sat at home alone with his bottle of whiskey and a few lines of blow. Glancing over, he could see his phone light up with another text from Oliver begging him to just answer him, pleading. Wanting to know where he was, what he was doing. Why...he wouldn't talk to him. But for all his anger, his disgust at himself for being weak of mind and body, of being a disappointment and a failure- he did not want to taint Oliver's joy. Staying away was for the best, really. Because when he saw the way Oliver lit up at the mere mention of Tyler Kagan, a darkness welled up inside of him.
He hated Tyler Kagan. He hated him, and every thing he represented- he'd stolen Gael's closest of companions, and he made Oliver happy in a way Gael never would have, and he hated him for it. Why did he hate him for it? Why did he hate Oliver for being happy? These were questions he couldn't answer, he knew. Not now, not in his current state...
Maybe not ever.
Mostly, he supposed, he hated them for being what he couldn't be- truly happy with themselves. Where they were, what they were doing with their lives. And what was he? Nothing, really. He was a shell, absent in all forms of the word. A fake that people lavished fake affection upon, and then left to find their true happiness else where. How was he supposed to be their equals? They all put him on a pedestal and waited, it seemed, for him to fall. And now that he had, no way looked his way twice. He would have nothing left to give this world, when he left. No memory of him would exist.
So then, he found himself wondering more and more- what was the point of wasting everyone's time?
Pushing the phone away, Gael sniffed to clear his sinuses before bending over his side table and snorting the last line of blow before fall back against his mattress. Staring at the ceiling of his room, he listened to the silence around him and wished it would just engulf him already. He was tired of this....emptiness.
Gael Shaw -|- Deck -|- 8 & 16
He painted on a smile for Sarah, mostly because after they'd found a place to live that was close to the Player's Quarter, but still relatively new and clean (and safe, being Sarah's objective word of choice). Still, she was there every day- checking in on him, asking him to come out with her. Asking how his day at work had gone, without perhaps knowing when he'd stopped trying to pretend he was working. He made some money on the side, doing the same sort of things he'd always done though it lacked the vigor and the coy playfulness. Instead, his parents noted, Gael was as hard as stone and quick to grow tired of games when a darker mood struck him. He'd taken to using drugs to ease his moods, alcohol to keep himself in check as best he could. Still, it wasn't always enough. And his body bore the scars of his irritability.
Carlos still came around, though Gael had started to note more caution in the other man. His eyes searching out something in Gael's face every time the Heart painted a brilliant, if false, smile across his face. Their meetings, Gael noted, had started to be less about the sex and more of something else- and a war waged inside of him that had his heart begging to break open the cold, hardened shell he'd hidden it behind. But his mind was a steel trap that refused to entertain notions of affection or love long enough for it to take root.
Indeed, if anything had started to take root, it was the nefarious desire to feel nothing. He was at his happiest when he was empty. All the pain, all the nightmares could melt away. Fear meant nothing, and he could live with joy being hollow if it meant that fear was not an inescapable monster lurking behind every door in the dark.
Sarah was at work, doing what she could to earn enough money to make herself happy as Gael sat at home alone with his bottle of whiskey and a few lines of blow. Glancing over, he could see his phone light up with another text from Oliver begging him to just answer him, pleading. Wanting to know where he was, what he was doing. Why...he wouldn't talk to him. But for all his anger, his disgust at himself for being weak of mind and body, of being a disappointment and a failure- he did not want to taint Oliver's joy. Staying away was for the best, really. Because when he saw the way Oliver lit up at the mere mention of Tyler Kagan, a darkness welled up inside of him.
He hated Tyler Kagan. He hated him, and every thing he represented- he'd stolen Gael's closest of companions, and he made Oliver happy in a way Gael never would have, and he hated him for it. Why did he hate him for it? Why did he hate Oliver for being happy? These were questions he couldn't answer, he knew. Not now, not in his current state...
Maybe not ever.
Mostly, he supposed, he hated them for being what he couldn't be- truly happy with themselves. Where they were, what they were doing with their lives. And what was he? Nothing, really. He was a shell, absent in all forms of the word. A fake that people lavished fake affection upon, and then left to find their true happiness else where. How was he supposed to be their equals? They all put him on a pedestal and waited, it seemed, for him to fall. And now that he had, no way looked his way twice. He would have nothing left to give this world, when he left. No memory of him would exist.
So then, he found himself wondering more and more- what was the point of wasting everyone's time?
Pushing the phone away, Gael sniffed to clear his sinuses before bending over his side table and snorting the last line of blow before fall back against his mattress. Staring at the ceiling of his room, he listened to the silence around him and wished it would just engulf him already. He was tired of this....emptiness.