Distractions My calendar tells me that it's Boxing Day, but really it doesn't mean
anything to me, except one more day, where everyone's still in "the spirit of
Christmas".
Everyone but me, of course.
I think it'd have to be one of the biggest shopping days in the American
year; where everyone who happens to be in the least bit dissatisfied with a gift
they recieved, bustles back to the store in order to exchange it for something
they want. I suppose they'd need to avoid the person who gave them the gift. I
wouldn't really know; I've never been able to muster up the energy to exchange a
gift.
I open a beer, and drink a little. A voice inside me is saying how truly
pathetic this is; alone in my apartment the day after Christmas, drinking beer.
Completely exemplifies my life, unfortunately.
I eye the phone, wondering if I should call Scully. There'd be little point—I can see her just having fun with her family, happy and probably forgetting
about D.C. If I rang her, it'd just serve to bring her back.
I really can be a selfish bastard when I want to be.
But I stop myself short of ringing her—I'm not that selfish. If it's
only to hear a familiar voice, then that's totally unfair.
There are other things I can do, but they're all...
Well, things she would probably raise an eyebrow at. I think that's all I
need to say, really.
Why the hell can't I get Krycek off my mind? I try to think petty things, to
distract myself, but I can't stop wondering about him. I think this is what they
call obsession.
I don't know what he meant. (Oh, stop it, you do so.)
I don't care what he meant. (Yeah, right, sure you don't.)
I don't give a damn about Alex Krycek. (Liar.)
I hate him. (Who do you think you're fooling?)
I throw the empty can at the rubbish bin, glaring at it when it lands a foot
and a half from it. There must be a slope on the kitchen floor, or someone has
moved the bin—there has to be some reason for missing. Perhaps the planets are
out of alignment, the aliens have come to earth, they abducted my neighbour and
therefore my apartment is lopsided...
Oh, hell, I go on about the strangest things.
Who does Krycek think he is?
I mean, the man drops his bombshell, then hangs up on me, leaving me with
zero idea of how to contact him. It's a "don't call me/I'll call you" situation.
And he's in control, he has the power.
Over me. I don't know what to do.
He's done so much to me, hurt me so many times, I think I've lost count.
Betrayed me. I don't know why I always return him my trust—usually I'm nothing
like that. What is it that this man has over me that no one else has?
I glare at the thought, and realise that I'm mindlessly pacing around the
apartment, not accomplishing anything, except to wear down the carpet. Which
isn't such a great thing, when you think about it.
Because then I'll just have to buy new stuff, and I don't think I'd be able
to remember what my current carpet looks like, so I'd have to decide what kind I
want...
Distracting myself again. I've got to go through this, analyse this.
Just like he said to.
Okay, so the guy has feelings for me. He likes me. Possible lust factor... I
guess I could have figured it out, considering all those looks he throws my way,
every time we're together...
And that I probably return.
Why the hell...
Why would I return his looks? Surely I don't.
I don't want to think about how many of the classic traits of denial I
currently posess. It scares me. Denial, my ass. There's nothing to deny.
No, I'm not in denial.
Maybe I should write a book. "So. Your Worst Enemy Has Feelings For You."
(Worst enemy? I don't think that'd be Krycek. He'd be up there, but not my
worst.)
Maybe it should be ‘You Have Feelings For Your Worst Enemy'.
Hell, I thought we'd established that I don't have feelings for him.
And I'm not in denial.
Scowling, I walk over to the computer desk and examine his card. So simple.
What the hell was the meaning behind it?
I take the envelope—I can't believe I kept it—and open it, for some
reason that I can't explain.
A slip of paper falls out, and I pick it up.
His address.
God.
I have Alex Krycek's address.
Hurriedly, wondering why this matters, I grab my car keys and walk out the
door.
17/12/98
Moods VI
by Fleur
Twenty-sixth of December.
