Suffocate

by silvina

Author's Website: http://members.nbci.com/dueSou

Disclaimer: Standard Disclaimer.What you think it's easy coming up with a new disclaimer everytime? It's not enough that I write the story? <g> Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@mail.com or visit http://members.nbci.com/dueSou and http://www.learnlink.emory.edu/~sdelcul

Author's Notes: Dedicated to Mary for reminding me that Stella had things to say, and because she did a wonderful job running the anonymous challenge. (Not to mention that I'm scared of what she'll do if I don't. <g>)
By the way, March 4 is Smutty Petiole Day. Don't ask.

Story Notes:


--But it's not that serious--
--I'm a big boy now--
--Richard Marx, "Big boy now"--


I feel like I've been talking to myself a lot lately. And of course, it reminds me of back there: Chicago, Fraser, undercover . . . You get my point. And that bothers me.

I don't know who I am anymore. Am I Raymond Francis Vecchio? Or am I Armande Georgio Langoustini? Maybe I'm Kowalski too. I'm here with his wife, and he's there with my --partner? friend? best friend?

See? I can't go back now. Not with so many questions that I can't even answer. I can't even say why I decided to take the job. There's the nice answers, of course. Prestige. Doing the right thing. Career boost. And they're all perfectly good reasons, really. I'm sure that they had a part to play. I just wish I could figure out the real reason I said yes, and hope it isn't something stupid.

I should focus on the here and now. Here being Florida, and now being Tuesday, May 26. Here and now is not the Hotel California, on Wednesday, March 4. That was definitely there and then. I became Armande on September 15, just two days after I was originally offered the job.

I rushed into the decision. I can see that now, hindsight being twenty/twenty and all. Sure it was a rush anyway, but I said yes without much of a second thought. Why?

But of course if I'm honest with myself, the answer is I haven't got a fucking clue. And that's what bothers me. I have to figure out why. Before . . . something. There's something I'm missing, I just know it. I just wish I knew what it was. There's a piece of the puzzle missing, and I can't see the picture. Who am I, what do I want, and most importantly, why?


End