The BLTS Archive- The Frog King #2: Lies by T'Reija (Theganan@gmx.de) --- Post/Archive: ASC, ASCEM(L), BLTS, R'Rain's, all others please ask first. Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, including Paris and Kim, and if they wanna sue me, nothing to fetch here, sorry . The song is by a German Punkrock band called the "Toten Hosen". Note: This story was inspired by the song "Lügen", it's German, but I included it at the end anyway, for those who understand it. The lines are pretty much worked into the text anyway. Warning, if you don't like stories were men are, shall we say, vulnerable (evil tongues say "wimpy"), you won't enjoy this one. It's about as soapy as they get. Maybe there will be a third part to make it a little more happy, I'm still thinking. Btw, have I mentioned that feedback makes me smile? April 1999 --- Numb. That's how I feel, numb. My tear-stained face presses against the cold tiles in my bathroom as I slide down on my knees, crouching, a helpless small figure in a world, a universe too large, too confusing. As if it had grown around me, over night. Or perhaps over the last three years. Oh gods. Has it been that long? Three years, three useless, rotten, run-down years in this solitude? How many times have I wished to be here, back then on Voyager. What the hell happened? I wanted to come back home, true, but I had always imagined Tom would be somewhere around. And now... A low sob escapes me, repeats itself, until I can hold back no longer. Clutching my knees with both arms, I weep like a small child, only I have no mother to comfort me - not that I'd want *her* to see me like this. Damn, haven't I been weak long enough? I should be out there. I should overcome this deafness, this drowning, a slow death only that I don't die, not really. Am I making sense? And who cares anyway? No one, no longer, not now. Not even Tom. Or does he? Does it tear him up as it does me? Does he escape to alcohol, as he once did, before we were friends? Does he stay up all night, wishing for me as I crave for him? Does he... Shocked, I realize the knocking on the door. Wait. There it is, again. "Harry, you alright?" His voice... a voice I could lose myself in, have done so over and over again. "Tom," I whisper, more to myself than to him. Repeat it, louder. Why did he come here, right now? Why can't he just... leave me alone? Doesn't he know how he makes me feel, how much it hurts me to treat him as a friend, no more? So I excused myself, unable to hold back the tears, unable to look him into the eyes. Such wonderful blue eyes. "I'll be right there. Just... just give me five minutes or so. I'm okay, really." Five minutes. Are they enough to forget our past, to forget what was between us and what will never be again? Enough to not only stop this useless crying but to get rid of it's marks? How can five minutes be enough when three years weren't? The irony about it all is, I've wanted him to come here for so long, and he never did. I should be happy. I should... I don't know, maybe I should just take what I got, what I can still have, this gorgeous man's friendship. He's probably found someone by now anyway. How could I expect him to be available still, anyway? After all, he's handsome, he's charming, he's... it makes me sick, to think of him with another man, or even woman. To think that's what I could have. To know I fucked up. Why, oh why did it all have to come out this way? Picking myself up from the floor, I stare into the large mirror above the sinks. Gaze at the face that is Harry Kim's, but not mine. The eyes that seem dull and lifeless, the high cheek-bones stained with tears. The hair, slightly longer than it's supposed to be. The lips, trembling with more suppressed sobs. I splash my face with ice-cold water, again and again, until it feels tight and clear. And now, Harry, for once be something else than a coward and *face* him. Slowly I go towards the door, hesitantly I turn the key. And open it, gripping the handle as if it could give me the power to live this through. For a moment, I feel strong, secure, safe. Until he stands there before me, examining me concerned. How often have I looked at him like this, keeping up a false facade, pretending I was alright? But it was a comm then, we haven't met much since our... break-up. Only on public occasions. It was easier then, to act cool, distanced, to say I was alright and that I wasn't suffering from our parting. Lies over lies. I told him I enjoyed my freedom, I didn't care, that I had once been broken-hearted about it but eventually got over everything. That I rarely thought about what was, and that I managed alone. Or rather, that I wasn't alone. Tales about friends and family who backed me up, who kept me company. About parties and going out and meeting people. As if it were true. But it's not. In reality, I spend my evenings in some holodeck, watch vids or try to concentrate enough to read a book. Most of the time, it fails. Most of the time I listen to music, lie on my bed and try to ban all thought from me. It's pathetic, really, especially after such a long time. But I feel as if my life was over, as if the only part of it that was worth living for had already died. Sometimes I wish I was strong, so strong that I could turn back time, and everything would be as it once was, so wonderful, so uncomplicated, so... magic. Not like this. Opposing each other, each of us waiting for the other to make the first move, to wipe away the old feelings that seem to stand between us like a wall of glass. We can see each other through it, can almost think it doesn't exist, but if we reach out, there it is, hindering the move. Our eyes lock, and although desperately want to look some other way, I can't. Like paralyzed I match his gaze. Seconds pass, slowly, as if in a dream-state. The closeness of our bodies is almost unbearable, we're so close I can even scent him, and he smells so *good*. All of a sudden his hand touches the side of my face, in a slow, stroking motion it moves behind my neck. In shock, and longing, I close my eyes, take in a sharp gasp of breath that is cut off when his lips touch mine, in a kiss so passionate, so claiming as I remember. Our tongues moving around each other, parallel to our bodies, continuing until we run out of air. Gasping, he parts from me, and from the look in his eyes I know what will happen, and I also know I can't stop it. "Harry..." I wait. Wait for him to finish, to leave. Because I know he won't stay. "I'm sorry," he finally whispers, then turns his back on me, walks out of the door of my flat without another word... --- The End --- "Lügen" von den Toten Hosen Gib mir nur fünf Minuten gleich bin ich okay es ist nur eine Phase die mal kommt und wieder geht mach dir keine Sorgen ich bin sofort wieder klar gib mir nur fünf Minuten und ich vergesse, wer du warst Mir geht es wirklich gut ich weiß grad gar nicht was das ist daß mir außgerechnet Tränen kommen wenn du mal bei mir bist ich genieße meine Freiheit es macht mir Spaß, allein zu sein ich kann tun und lassen, was ich will und keiner mischt sich da mehr ein Hundertmal hab ich dir gesagt daß ich kaum noch an uns denk daß es anfangs gar nicht einfach war doch jetzt bin ich drüber weg ich vergesse nie, dir zu erzählen daß ich dich nicht vermiß und daß es mir auch ohne dich immer noch bestens geht Das sind nur Lügen und ich weiß genau daß du die Wahrheit kennst es sind nur Lügen und es stimmt nicht daß ich nicht einsam bin das sind nur Lügen, nichts als Lügen und ich wünschte, ich wär stark ich würd die Zeit einfach zurückdrehen und alles wär, wie es mal war Hundertmal hab ich dir gesagt daß ich glücklich bin daß ich jede Menge Freunde treff und du mir fast nie fehlst ich vergesse nie, dir zu erzählen daß es nichts Schöneres für mich gibt als nächtelang nur fernzusehn allein in meinem Bett Das sind nur Lügen und ich weiß genau daß du die Wahrheit kennst es sind nur Lügen und es stimmt nicht daß ich nicht einsam bin das sind nur Lügen, nichts als Lügen und ich wünschte, ich wär stark ich würd die Zeit einfach zurückdrehen und alles wär, wie es mal war --- The End