silberfuchs | Appointments/Voicemail

You're an idiot and a liar.

[He hates this, he hates this so much. All the contact does is hurt because he can't have it in earnest, he can't drown himself in Jet and wish it all away. He can't sit here and listen to him prattle about baseball or cars or anything, nothing, and everything all at once and not listen to a word, just the sound of his voice, the way he speaks instead of the what. That cadence, familiar like a favorite song. He can't have it.

He doesn't deserve it.]

Don't contact me anymore.

[Ow.

He doesn't know which hurts worse, being called a liar or being told not to talk to the one person most important to him by said person.

It hurts enough that it's perfectly reasonable to think he took that direction to heart with how long it takes him to reply.

He can't even really tell if this is Albert trying to protect him or if this is honestly how Albert feels--maybe due to Jaden's influence, sure, but still Albert's belief that it's true would be bad enough.

For his own sanity, he convinces himself it's the former.]

You need to know something. You need to know it and then hold on to it, especially whenever he's trying to feed you his crap: No matter how many ways you tell me to fuck off, no matter how many times you try to kill me, I'm not giving up and I'm not going to be driven away. Your window to get rid of me for good passed decades ago, so you can go ahead and tell me where I can stick it all you want, it's not going to change anything. I love you.

Edited 2013-10-29 05:42 (UTC)

[He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, take this entire mess away and make it not his problem, not his life. He wishes he'd died when the Lazarus cyborgs had stormed the Foundation, when he'd been sentenced to die in the arena in Yomi, when he'd fought his double, or even that rainy night in between the spans of the Wall. Anywhere but here, anywhere before here.

He wishes his heart were as stony as he tries to pretend, wishes he could beat sense into the idiot who won't leave him even though he has every reason, wishes he wasn't comforted by that fact at all. He wishes he had to do anything but this.

But he has to lie, has to make him believe it, even if it's the total and complete opposite of what he wants.]

I don't.

[He's glad he can hide behind text. He's glad Albert isn't there to see the pain that simple message causes and how Jet flinches when he reads it.

The phone is set to the side as he takes a moment to bury his face in his hands. It's the 'fuck off' he'd asked for, Albert continuing to push him away at any cost, but it played right into that little seed of doubt whose roots hadn't been torn away since they were first planted a lifetime ago when Albert first agreed to giving Jet a chance. No, maybe it had been there longer, before it even had a purpose, planted by hands that weren't supposed to hurt.

It was the same seed that caused the voice that told Jet he was just a placeholder until some woman came along who fit perfectly with what Albert needed. It was the seed that had made him push everything and everyone away himself for years. Until Albert came along, that is.

He sighs and finally pulls his hands away, typing one small message of his own while he used that inferno of anger in him to keep his heart in one piece.]

I'll see you soon.

[He wants to scream. There's nothing he can do to stop this, nothing he can say that's the one magic phrase that will make Jet stay away, make him leave the German and save himself. The one time he'd wanted it the other way and Jet remains contrary, staying when he should go after all the years of going when he should have stayed. He's impossible, contradictory, and it puts a flutter in Albert's chest even as the failure and the guilt remains an ever expanding stone in his gut.

He should tell Jet to stay away, say again that he's an idiot for trying, an idiot for still believing. Or he should plead, beg, order, or bargain. Find some way, some method to keep him safe. Anywhere that Albert is holds no safety for Jet, let alone here, in this putrid place.

But there's nothing. No magic word, no turn of phrase.

Instead he deletes the messages one by one, pulling them from the memory of the phone as if it could equally discard them from his own mind.]

Appointments/Voicemail

//Private//

//Private//

//Private//

//Private//

//Private//