Work Text:
Drifting
by JC
Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci
Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say.
Drifting by J.C.
When I think about it, as hard as it was to leave, it was so, so, easy, too, once I made the decision, finally admitting that the time had come. I sold almost everything I owned, threw one full box into the trunk of my car, packed the rest in my trusty duffel bag and backpack, and took to the road, storing nothing but my memories. At first, I was going to sell my car, also, but I figured it was cheaper to just drive until she gave up the ghost. She lasted until I was somewhere near the Great Lakes...that was about four months ago. I've seen nearly all of this country in the past year, mountains, deserts, vast spaces and crowded cities. Seen the sun rise and set from sea to shining sea, as they say. For the past three weeks, I've been on this island off the coast of North Carolina, and I find myself constantly drawn to the ocean, standing on the shore thinking about what I've left behind, and whether this is the end of the line. Mostly, I wonder what Jim would see if he stood here, how different the Atlantic would seem from the water back home.
...
Jim sat down on the couch, the loft dark except for the soft glow from several candles. He had ached a little as he'd struck matches to them, the first time that scent had filled the apartment in almost a year, but he'd pushed the pain away...an act made easy with practice. The open shampoo bottle, the shirt that he had dampened with the citrusy skin splash that Blair had sometimes wore, mostly in the summer...those didn't bother him as much. Many times already, he had used them to guide him, taking baby steps until he could lose himself in as much of Blair as he had left and still get back again. But...but...he wasn't strong enough...had teased himself too often. He could no longer resist the pull of a place where he was nothing, but had everything, where the passing of each miserable day didn't matter, and his every prayer was answered.
...
I haven't seen any television since I've been gone, though I've gone to the movies every now and then. But books, well, that's different. I've been reading insatiably. One of the first places I hit when I find myself in a new town or city is the local library, and I'd probably read every one of the books that I originally had with me at least three times each. I sold those, though. Without the car, I didn't want the burden of carrying them around, keeping only a few choice ones that I could never part with. Of course, one is that damned Burton monograph on Sentinels, because I still get a thrill when I open it, get even more of a rush when I picture Jim in place of the warriors illustrated inside.
More than reading, there's the writing...I can't stop. I've filled notebooks, journals, index cards, and napkins touting every fast food joint from here to California with...stuff...my thoughts, essays, stories both fiction and not, recollections, whatever goes through my head, even some erotica. But that last may only be because I haven't had much sex in the past year. Not that I couldn't have been fucking, that's never been one of my problems. The problem was how to get my head around it. I tried the one night stand thing with a few anonymous strangers at first, once tried a little repeat action with a nice guy I met at a campsite near the Grand Canyon, but it didn't work, so I gave it up altogether. I've been perfectly happy to jerk off to my fantasies...most of which are really memories of things Jim and I did together...one or two of things that I wish we had done.
Of course, the fact that I'm still in love with Jim might have something to do with that. In love with him, yet still left him. I had to go. Had to. I wasn't in a good place... my job, my life, even my lover all seemed too much and not my own. I was...suffocating. Suffocating under the good intentions and well wishes of those around me, their need to provide for me, care for me. Crushed under the weight of my failed attempts to do the same. I simply couldn't breathe...like drowning...sinking and just not rising.
Everyone was pissed, I could tell, though they didn't say so...wondering how I could leave...how I could leave Jim. Jim said he understood, but I'm not sure whether he really did. I didn't even know how to explain it. But I know that he wasn't angry, just sad. We both were, and when I left, I couldn't even kiss him goodbye. I would have cried, I think. Or changed my mind, maybe. But that would only have been temporary, and then we would have had to do it all again. As it was, my heart was heavy as I drove away, but, selfishly, I felt free. The farther from Cascade I got, the more free I felt. Seemed like my first taste of true freedom in years. It tasted beautiful and sweet.
...
Jim closed his eyes, preparing...fighting the pull of the world outside the loft: his duty to his job, his friendship with Simon, his hope that one day Blair would return. Inside...inside there was a place where he could capture what had escaped him, make it real again...at least make it feel real again. Where he could float in pure pleasure, rather than drown in abject pain. A place where darkness was really light, and it was perfectly right to do what his conscious thought was telling him was wrong. All he wanted was to be with Blair, be loved again...be safe...be at peace, and he'd held on so long already, much longer than he'd ever expected.
...
The ocean is relentless, reaching out to the land in unending waves. I watch it trying to lick my bare toes, getting rougher as if it's mad at me for staying one step beyond its touch. I'm afraid to get my feet wet now, I can only stand here night after night and think of my home, thousands of miles away. Not Cascade, but Jim. Yet, like all the nights I've spent here before, I turn away, retracing my steps in the moonlit sand, and go inside, because no matter how bitter freedom tastes in the back of my throat these days...I don't think I could ever go back.
...
With one deep breath, Jim focused full force on the mixture of familiar, beloved scents in the air, riding the spiral as it took him deeper and deeper inwards until he could see his world spinning, forming, rushing up to meet him, and finally he...let go.
the end...