Log: Bobby and Angelo, Sunday evening.

[x-coldhands.livejournal.com]

Angelo makes Bobby come out of his room, and finds out what's led to the current bout of moping. He decides what Bobby needs is to get drunk. ...It doesn't end well.


Bobby had done his best not to leave his room any more than necessary ever since talking to Terry. He'd still taken care of his responsibilities, of course--training, work, and eating whatever Lorna forced on him--but other than that, it had been just his bedroom, door closed and music playing. That had been Thursday. It was now Sunday, and he showed no sign of emerging.

Four days without coming out of his room was just not acceptable, as far as his roommate was concerned. Which was why Sunday found Angelo banging on the bedroom door. "BOBBY!"

Bobby sighed and paused the music, then got out of bed and went to the door. He opened it a crack and looked out. "Was it too loud?"

"No, the music's just fine. Except that you've been in there for four days." He stuck a foot in the door. "Out. Now."

Bobby groaned, retreating from the door. "Angelo...you don't understand. It's better if I...lie low."

"You can lie low an' still come out of your room once in awhile", Angelo pointed out insistently. "Even if it's only as far as the common room."

"...Fine." Bobby sighed and tugged the door open, pulling it closed behind him. "...There. Happy?"

"It'll do. For now."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest and stared sullenly at the floor. Boy, this was fun. Much better than moping in his room.

Angelo eyed him. "Sit. We have a TV an' a Playstation, an' you're not goin' back in that room until you fall asleep."

Bobby rolled his eyes and moved to the couch, flopping into one corner and pulling his knees to his chest. He hadn't even bothered getting dressed today, so he was still in just a t-shirt and boxers. "I'm a horrible person," he said quietly after a minute of sulking.

"Why are you a horrible person?" was the next calm question. They'd been here before, after all.

"...You know how Scott freaked out and trashed his room?"

"...yeeeees?"

Bobby stared at the far wall, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "That was my fault. I--I slept with Jean, in Boston."

Angelo looked at him carefully, not quite believing he'd heard that right. "...sorry, I thought I heard you say you slept with Jean."

Bobby groaned and nodded. "Please, say it a few more times, it's not quite painful enough."

"...what the fuck, Bobby." It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Bobby shook his head, because there really was no answer. He was tired of saying he didn't know, that it just happened, that he wasn't sure how. It was all true, but it sounded like such utter shit, and the fact remained that he'd done it. "...She taped it, Angelo. She taped it and sent it to him." He looked up at Angelo, disgusted and guilty. "Why would she do that?"

"...I have no idea. But Bobby, that part's all on her. You know that, right?"

Bobby shook his head immediately. "If I hadn't been so stupid...if I hadn't been thinking with my dick...there would be no tape." He pressed his face to his knees, rocking slightly. "I've hurt Scott, I've hurt Terry...and there's nothing I can do to fix any of this."

"There'd be no tape if she hadn't decided to make one, either. An' if she wanted to do that... there'd've been someone, even if it wasn't you."

"But it was me," Bobby replied flatly and without hesitation. "It was me and it shouldn't have been." And now they were back to the beginning. "...I'm a horrible person." There were more thoughts floating around in his head, but he didn't give voice to them.

Angelo sighed, watching him, and got up. "You stay here."

Bobby just nodded without looking up. He wanted to retreat to his room, but that was too much effort. He didn't have the energy to fight his best friend.

And all he really wanted anymore was to just...not exist.

A few minutes' rummaging later, Angelo emerged from his own room, carrying a bottle. "Been savin' this for when it was needed. Guess that'd be now."

Bobby slowly lifted his head, recognizing the bottle for what it was immediately. His first instinct was to shake his head, decline. But he stopped mid-shake and shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered.

"Your need's greater than mine, friend", Angelo told him, putting the bottle down on the table and going in search of glasses.

Bobby looked at the bottle mistrustfully, already having second thoughts. He uncurled from the couch and picked it up, wanting to look at the label and see just what the poison he was about to be ingesting was. Not that it made much of a difference, he'd never had so much as a sip of beer. Okay, there'd been that one teeny glass of champagne at his parents' anniversary party when he was fifteen, but that hardly counted.

It was vodka, for the record. Angelo had been saving it for a few months... and neither he nor Bobby was a student at the school now.

Bobby unscrewed the lid and sniffed, then made a face and set it down again. "You expect me to drink this?"

"Yes", Angelo answered flatly. "It won't kill you. Unless maybe you finish the whole bottle."

"...It smells like rubbing alcohol." Bobby sighed and waved a hand at the glasses Angelo had returned with. "All right, pour me up a dose, or whatever."

"It does not", Angelo objected mildly, then poured a double measure for each of them. "That'll do for a start."

Bobby eyed the liquid for a minute, then squeezed his eyes closed and tipped the contents into his mouth, swallowing quickly so he would taste as little as possible. "...Ohhh GOD." he groaned, setting the cup down with a grimace. "That's just...foul." He shivered and sat back. "And it burns."

"You get used to it. What, is that the first drink you ever had, white boy?" It was teasing, affectionate.

Bobby scrubbed his hand over his mouth and nodded. "I don't drink." Except now, he supposed, he did. "I don't feel anything. Gimme another one."

"...okay." One more would be okay, even on a first-time drinker. He poured.

Bobby stared at the drink for a second, psyching himself up, then snatched the glass and threw it back. It burned less this time, just felt warm, and his mouth was mostly numb from the initial shot. He sat the glass down and sat back, waiting for something to happen.

"You feelin' anythin'?"

Bobby shrugged. "Warm." He frowned as he realized he felt very warm, and exuded a light chill around himself which did little to dispel the warmth. "This is weird."

"...cut that out. Your powers won't do any good against that kind of warm. Trust me."

Bobby grinned. "Sorry, sh'habit." He pressed his hand to his mouth, bemused. He'd just slurred. That was weird, too. "Gimme s'more."

"...you sure? Don't want to overdo it on your first time."

"Pff! I haven't had that much." Bobby rolled his eyes and leaned forward to pour himself another shot--a large one.

"That'll be your third double shot", Angelo pointed out, but let him pour it, keeping an eye on his hand. As long as it was steady enough to pour...

"S'only a couple of ou-ounces," Bobby retorted, then eyed the glass and chilled it before tipping it into his mouth. Now that was kinda good. The chill of the liquid combined with the heat of the alcohol to produce very interesting sensations. "Dude. You should try that."

Angelo, who hadn't had nearly as much, eyed him consideringly. "Bobby, this ain't soda. But sure, chill me some."

Bobby giggled and poured a double for Angelo, spilling a bit onto the table. He set the bottle down and picked up the glass, watching with fascination as it frosted over. "My power is so cool," he said, then giggled again at his pun as he held the glass out to Angelo.

No more for you.. "Thanks, man. You still all good over there?"

Bobby nodded, pressing cold fingers to his hot cheeks. "Man, how did it get so warm in here?" He tried chilling his body again despite Angelo having told him it would do no good, because he wasn't used to being uncomfortably warm. Of course, he had a bit less control than he would have had six shots ago, and the temperature around the couch dropped by about 20 degrees for a few seconds.

"The room's not warm", Angelo told him with the voice of experience. "You are. Would you cut that out?"

"Sorry." Bobby slumped back against the couch, eyes closed. He laughed after a few seconds. "It feels like the room is tilting. That's kinda neat." He wouldn't think so when it started spinning, but for now he was enjoying the ride.

"You just... sit back an' enjoy that", Angelo advised, removing the bottle casually while Bobby wasn't looking.

Okay, he could see the appeal of alcohol a little more, now that he was feeling the effects. "Y'know," he said, eyes still closed, arms folded behind his head, "Sleeping with Jean was monument'ly stupid...but holy shit, the sex was 'mazing."

"I just bet it was. Telekinetic, and all." Not that he'd actually know.

"Mhmm...telekinetic AND telepathic. S'like she knew jus' where t'touch me t'drive me crazy..." Bobby grinned, able to enjoy the memory of the encounter for the first time since it had happened, now that the alcohol had dulled the guilt and shame.

"...like she did?" Angelo asked, amused. "You just said it, man. Telekinetic an' telepathic."

Bobby snorted and grinned. "Ver' good point." He fell quiet for a moment, his face falling. "She used me, din't she? Used me an' played me..." That hurt, that Jean would do that. He'd always respected her, always looked up to her. "She's changed."

"Well, duh. Jean the way she was wouldn't've pulled any of this shit."

"I sh'd've just walked outta th'hotel room when I saw what she w's wearing...or at least after she started m'ssaging my shoulders..." The words were getting harder to form, but Bobby gamely continued, wondering if maybe another shot would numb this pain, too. "...Where'd the vodka go?"

"I took it away. You've had enough for this time."

Bobby sighed and slumped lower on the couch. "Why'm I such a fuckup?"

"You're not. You made a mistake, Bobby. It happens."

Bobby rolled his head back and forth on the back of the couch. "Terry's nev' gonna f'give me...Scott hates me..."

"Bit soon to be makin' either of those statements, my friend."

Bobby's stomach did a slow flip. "How c'd they ever f'give this?" He felt dizzy and sick. Okay, this was starting to be less fun.

"People've done worse. You just... give it time, an' see what you can't work out."

Bobby groaned, opening his eyes as the room started spinning. "I dun' feel good." He was having a hard time concentrating on what Angelo was saying.

Angelo looked at him, then pulled him to his feet. "You, bathroom now. I did warn you..."

Bobby swayed on his feet, then lurched toward the bathroom as his stomach flipped again, pressing his hand to his mouth. "Fuck." He made it just in time, and oh god, did it taste bad coming back up. And it burned.

Angelo dropped next to him, rubbing his back sympathetically. "Takin' your mind off the bad shit even now, isn't it?"

A shiver ran through Bobby and he whimpered, arm wrapped around the seat of the toilet. "I think...I'm dying," he mumbled.

"You're not gonna die. Trust me on that one. You'll feel just fine in an hour or two at most."

Bobby retched again, bringing up more vodka, and little else. Maybe he should have eaten, first. "Oh god...hours?"

"When you're done throwin' up, try to sleep. It'll help."

Bobby wasn't sure he'd ever be done throwing up, the way he felt at the moment. "...I don' think I like alcohol," he said weakly, between upheavals of his stomach.

"You had too much, dude. I tried t'tell you before you got started."

Bobby whimpered again, curling around the nice, cool porcelain toilet. "It didn't look like that much..."

"Not if you don't check the alcohol level. Doofus." He was still rubbing circles on his friend's back, trying to ease the nausea.

"I'm never drinking again," Bobby vowed in a low moan. He wasn't sure if he was going to throw up again, but he wasn't moving from this spot for a while. He flushed the toilet and rested his head against his arm.