Warnings: M/M, slash
Raiting: All over NC-17
Summary: Given the chance, would you erase someone from your mind?
Feedback: Please do. Keeps the Muse working.
”My name is Viggo Mortensen, and I’m here to erase Orlando Bloom from my memory.”
“He is a child. A self-centered, self-righteous child who hides his true emotions and his disabilities behind this wild, uncontrollable sex-maniac. Orlando doesn’t live in this world, he lives in a ‘Orlando-world’, he has no sense of reality. He thinks that he can make people like him if makes them want him; he flirts with people shamelessly, doesn’t care if someone gets hurt as long as he has his way. It’s all about Orlando, nothing else matters. He is a true attention whore, always cutting or growing his hair, his beard, changing looks.”
“He hides behind the fact that he always says to people he is a fuck-up, that he can’t save anyone. He takes that as permission to fuck up those he gets involved with, destroy all sanity they have and then leave them and bloody well erase them so he can move on and do the same to someone else. What irresponsibility. Then again, Orlando never was one to take responsibility; he always pushes the blame on others, but takes credit for everything. He sucks you dry like a mental vampire, takes all you’ve got and tosses you away like a used rug.”
“I want to erase him so that I never have to remember his miserable essence infecting my life.”
I listen to the cold, stretched voice of mine on tape. I cannot believe I have ever let words like that escape through my lips. I heard the hidden anger behind those carefully mastered words, the bitterness and hatred I hid behind sarcasm. It almost hurt to hear my own words. I was unable to recall that emotion, or the events that lead to that emotion, but something indescribable must have happened to make me say such words.
I’m more used to keeping my emotions to myself, build them up and then take them out on my canvasses, spill the anger and frustration with paint and get it over and done with. Hearing myself so angry, and quite frankly, hurt, was a shock. I never let emotion get the best of me. What had this young man done to me?
More frighteningly, what had I done to him to make him erase me from his memory?
“I met him on a holiday at Bournemouth. He goes there frequently, on business or to meet his friends. He works in a bookshop, and sometimes he goes there to collect an order, or so he says. Like I even know if it’s true or not, seems to me everything he’s told me is a lie. He’s a compulsive liar, you know, if something doesn’t go as he wants it to go, he makes up stories that suit him and make himself look better. I can’t believe I actually fell for his lies and deceit.
He was the one who talked to me first. My friends were having this party on a beach, you know; people getting wasted and eating and pretending they actually have something to say to one another, that sort of thing. I had lost my current partner to alcohol, Sean liked to drink you see, he had fun that way, but as I was not drunk nor willing to get drunk, I strolled away from the whole thing. Grown up people getting absolutely hammered, not my thing, you know. I was just watching the madness from a bit further, enjoying the chicken salad I had managed to save before someone dipped it over, when I saw him.”
“For Orlando’s defense, I must say that he is… beautiful. He was walking on the beach, right on the edge of where the waves touch the sand. I still remember…”
My voice trailed off, like to remember the first moment the gorgeous creature stepped in front of my eyes. I still remembered how struck I was in the train, seeing the young one for the first time. Those brown eyes, that curly hair, that soft, yet as perfectly drawn face. It was no wonder I fell for him for what seemed to be the second time.
”I still remember what he looked like while walking down the beach. A white t-shirt clung to his chest, loose shorts he obviously had made out of baggy jeans, his hair cut short and wavy… Yeah. I still remember why I stayed put when he walked my way.”
“I think he was planning to walk past me, but he stopped, asked if he could get some of my salad. Then he just took it, without even waiting for me to answer. He’s like that. Impulsive. Arrogant. We started talking. About the weather, how very English. He asked if I was married. I told him no. I wasn’t, really, but we did live with each other, Sean and me. That relationship was dying, I must admit, but we still tried. Orlando, being too perceptive of a character, picked this up from our conversation, even if I said little and he said a lot. He asked, if I was always so quiet. I told him I was.”
“Do I really need to get into this much detail?”
My voice was braking, but the silent, other voice on the tape assured that it would help the engineers to find all routes to my memory and to delete them properly, so that nothing would be missed. I continued with a more steady voice.
” I had to drive the others back to the hotel. I was the only one who was able. Even my manager, Karl, was drunk enough to try and grope me. Sean wasn’t too impressed, neither was I. All I could think about was the gorgeous boy I met on the beach. Sean wanted to go to bed, thank heavens he was aware of the fact he was too drunk for his own good. I helped him to bed, still wondering why the hell did we still hang out with these thirty something- olds, we weren’t that young anymore. Sean always said that it made him feel young again. I though it was humiliating to see an old man get drunk with the young party animals.”
“I, on the other hand, went back to the beach. God knows why, it had gotten dark already, and the air wasn’t as warm as it was during the day. I still drove back to the beach, walked down and took my shoes of, walked on the edge of the waves. The water had turned colder, but it still was ok. I thought I was alone, and I was rather enjoying myself in the peace and quiet.”
“I didn’t get too much of the peace and quiet, though. As it turned out the beach was occupied with young people, pairing up, having drinks. I was just about to turn back to my car, when I heard a voice calling for me.”
“Orlando walked towards me, his hand on another mans shoulder, laughing. He asked if it was my bedtime already. He called me ‘old man’. I remember finding that adorable. We ended up talking a lot that night, I remember he… um. He kissed me there, yeah. Well, to be honest, that wasn’t the only thing he did. He, um… Do I really need to get into this much detail? You sure it helps? Well, let’s just say he performed quite well orally, yeah. He also told me I should not expect him to save him. He said, that people expect him to save them, to make them alive, and he was just a fuck-up, who tried to search for his own peace of mind. I still remember that speech so well. And he told me, that if I were to be with him, I would be with him, not with anyone else.”
My voice had changed from angry and bitter into sad, as in longing for those memories. It wasn’t hard to understand that, I would have given anything to get those memories back. To remember how it felt when he looked at me for the first time, to remember how I made love to him for the first time. To remember anything.
”That, obviously, was a joke, as he didn’t care if he was with me, it didn’t stop him from doing all that shit he did to me, snogging his best friend, what’s-his-name, Elijah. God only knows what else, or should I say, who else he did. The little slut. I gave him everything I had, you know, I tried to be less of an old fart than I was, I even went sky-diving with him, I was about to make a whole exhibition of the fucking tramp, I painted almost twenty paintings of the guy! And he… he erases me! Like I never existed! Just because of one fight. Because I knew he was up to no good. Like it was my fault that he… he sleeps with other people and doesn’t care about my emotions!”
A knock on the door made me pause the tape. It was late, and I really wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Trying to ignore the knocking proved to be of no use, though, as the person chose to ignore my ignorance.
Frustrated, I walked to the door, swinging it open, with an angry ‘what’ on my lips, only to be encountered by a pair of dark brown eyes.
“I think we need to talk.”