I need a thread
Thread Topic: I need a thread
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Goddamn it ben ;-;
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:o /wants to read it
no no really
xD
but phoebe works at the place so he'd probs be the only one driving unless they're meeting somewhere else -
I only have a little bit. It's his POV, from him writing in a journal or something. I'll post in a second.
OH YES, BTW BEN DOESNT DRIVE. HE LIKES CYCLING. (hehe reference) so he'd cycle on over Godspeed. -
I had been bucking with great, gasping sobs, all night long.
And for some time she had been outside the door, shouting and pounding, and eventually she was reduced to harrowing sobs as well. Pleading in disbelief, I drowned out her cries. My lips hover above the glass, and I grip it with uneasy intensity. This amber liquid was my bible, my preacher, my church. It was my empty confession booth, and not so short of a saviour. As a through and through sinner, I deserved a saviour. There's still a lit cigarette in the ashtray and crooked line of cocaine on my desk. She doesn't like it when I use, and at that point, I didn't like it either. Sometimes, when on a binge, I would look in the mirror. I'd look at the clothes hanging off my thin body, the bags under my eyes, and my hair would be a mess as per usual. Sometimes I'd laugh. Most times I would wonder what happened.
I knew what happened. Christopher needed me, of course. I love him, so so much. I know he's killing me, I know he will always be more than I can, and I know he will never love me back. It feels like he does. She screams at me sometimes, when I work on Christopher. She doesn't know how much it hurts me inside as well. She pleads with me, like I care, she pleads with a panicked voice. There's a gun to her head sometimes, her voice jumps up and down like mine does, now.
My stutter is so bad now, too, I don't like talking anymore. I never did, but now I refuse. If I do ask her for things, like cigarettes, or another drink while I'm working, it's on a paper, scribbled in blue ink. Sometimes she writes back, and it feels like we still love each other. She writes in black ink sometimes, and I yell at her. When I do talk, I rarely get excited over much. She'll will shoot me with trivial things like the weather, I do mean to reply, but I get so swept up in my mind that I forget to. I hear her scream, in the middle of the night when she is supposed to be sleeping. Godawful nightmares, they are, I assume. I try to sleep as little as possible, as well. The cocaine helps with that.
Today, as I remain in my office, the door locked and bolted, with Christopher running in the back, with Phoebe laying, desolate in front of the entryway, I wish I was someone else. No I don't. I couldn't imagine being an idiot. Even Phoebe, as clever as she likes to think she is, is completely under my level. Christopher isn't. I love him. He would love me too, if he could. I like to think he can. I like to think a lot of things. Sometimes, I miss the way things were. I like to think a lot of things - I keep a coffee mug chained to my chair in the kitchen, so nobody drinks from it. It's mine, after all. I know that she drinks from it, if she gets up before me. She doesn't do that now. She still pours me a drink in the morning. Today, I screamed at her about it. I think she might stop. I look back on us, when Christopher doesn't need to be worked on. I miss it. I miss me too. I finish my drink, and tear a little bit of my hair out. I think about being twelve, when I did that, and mummy got so mad. She hit me with a pan, that day, and locked me in the closet. I started stuttering that day, too. I like to think she didn't cause it. I like to think a lot of things. Just because I think it, doesn't mean it's true.
FIRST DRAFT AND ITS NOT EVEN DONE DO YOU LIKE IT. -
OH MY GOD CHRISTOPHER NO.
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i want to ride his bicycle
i'm sad now -
Same
OMG IT GETS WORSE THO HOLD ON -
I remember a lot as well. I've forgot much over the years, but many things stay with me. Even the little things. For example, the first time I was called a freak, the first time I built a machine, the first time I met Phoebe. I remember it all.
I bite back breaking into sobs again, and finish the line on my desk. I feel fresh blood trickle down my lips and around my chin. I get out of the wooden chair I like and turn to see my baby. My darling Christopher. He's so young, but he's seen so many things. He's so smart. I drunkly stumble over to him and stroke his case. I squint at him and listen. He's being rebellious today, I know it, and I take the screwdriver from my belt. The faceplate comes off and then the next plate. I smile at his insides, his superior processors and million dollar technology. He's great. But I know what I have to do. When my hands waiver, and my arms fasciculate, I only reach further inside of my machine and I feel for the switch. The master switch. I know once I do this, there's no going back. I withdraw my hand, and take a deep breath. There's a small lockbox to my right, which I open and withdraw a vial of my choice drug. It takes almost and hour with a dollar bill and a few glasses of whiskey, but I know that it's far too late, for me, and it's too early for him. I reach back inside the cavity, and with a debilitating tremor, I flip the switch. I back up to the sound of the whir of fans halting. The dead silence comes too soon - and my eyes brim with tears. The door creaks, like Phoebe is finally leaving. I rush to the door, and open it. She turns around and shuts her eyes. I know what the pain is like, and I grab her in an embrace. Guiding her with my hand on her arm, I show her Christopher. She pauses, and whispers my name. My knees go weak and I convulse with tears.
"I-I-I-I've kil-killed him-m. I-I-I ha-had to, Phoeb-Phoebe." At this point, she starts to bawl. She hasn't heard my voice in so long. She smiles at me in the middle of my office. I look into her eyes, and smile too. "Ple-please-please tell-ll t-t-the uni-unive-ver-versity that I-I killed hi-im."
"I will," she mumbles into my neck, wrapping herself around me.
"I can't-t-t li-live wi-thou-thout him. Chris-Christoph-er-er is my l-life, Phoe-Phoebe." My gaze falls to her eyes when she lets go. I see her happiness radiate and she asks,
"What do you mean? I.. I still love you. I have always loved you." Misery loves company. My shaking hands dropped from her and I escorted her out of the room. "No, no, no, Benjamin, what do you mean?"
I blew her a kiss, and shut the door. The latch was done and seconds, but she pounded at it. She screamed incoherently at me, and with a swift turn I looked at Christopher. The whir of his motors no longer surrounded me, and for the last time I felt empty inside. The shouting abruptly stopped and I heard her calling the police.
It's far too late for me, it was so early for him. I search under papers for my pistol, and I set it next to my shot glass.
I do believe this to be the last time I can reminisce. So, I will say, to Phoebe, that I have loved you more than anyone. And that you have changed me so much. I say you're name slowly under my breath. You resume screaming again, to which I must swallow hard, and bit my last adieu.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I love you.
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WHY DID I DO THIS THIS IS NOT CANON THIS DOESNT HAPPEN EXCEPT HERE MKAY -
f---ing Ben Jesus man
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I love jasper
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I'm still coping from that fic
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If I changed my pic anymore it'd be a crime.
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Meh
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Benedict comeberbatch is British, correct? I know Benedict is indeed a Brit name.
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Benedicts British. Damn well sexy too.
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