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30 May 2013 @ 09:46 pm
Title: Wake Me When It's Over
Author: Geekery15
Rating: PG.13
Summary: He hadn't always lived on the island.
Spoilers: Bits of Six Days Seven Nights, but nothing major.
Feedback: Sure, why not? I'm always hungry.
Disclaimer: The characters of Six Days Seven Nights do not belong to me.

Two years prior to his arrival still haunted him like it had all happened yesterday. The fucking twisting of his heart still paralyzed him with every step he took. With every breath he took. With every second blink of his eyes he felt it squeezing his life right out of him.

Shit was simple now. He could do anything he wanted—whenever he wanted. He could fly from dusk to dawn. He could swallow the island's entire supply of alcohol so long as God permitted him. He could taste every area of life that had life had to offer. He could change women on a daily basis like the same way he changed his shirts--

But he never did. He never could spend the entire day in the air, looking down all the beauty below him that still registered as nothingness to him—deep, deep now inside. He never could drink that much even though he had drank until he forgot his name and where he was—no, never did he drink enough for it all to end. And the women, they were a never too because once he found that one dancer, that's about all he could handle. It was about all he could swallow as he tried his damnedest to nurse his broken heart.

How could he though? He hadn't ever loved before her. Sure, there were a few crushes and a few silent declarations of loves to his airplane, but never was there anything else. She was his first. His greatest trip in the air; she was his heavenly blue sky—absolute imperfection that had been packaged in a pretty package.

He was no Prince Charming much to his knowledge and much more to hers. So when they parted on a daily basis he would take her with him, in his mind and in his heart, inside his plane and he would fly into her—his heavenly sky...

But when she would leave she would turn her back on him, forgetting who he was and what he meant to her. Her free time was her time away from him—it was an out of sight and out of mind kind of deals. He had been important to her once, but soon the feeling began to fade.

There had been a violent storm the night he had thought he wouldn't make it back safely on the ground. The lightening struck his plane and it fried the radio. He had been so close to the runway that he could taste his feet being on the ground; nearly safe. That night was one he would accept as never being able to forget as he did manage to land and he did manage to bring himself back home only to find her with him.

It was a fucking nightmare. His crystal-blue clear skies had turned gray and had struck him for a reason. It had all started to make sense to him; out of all the storms he had been in during his life this one was the only one that stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Never again would he ever be able to tell anyone about the worst ones he had ever been caught in because he hadn't wanted to ever speak of that one again.

Angelica never questioned him. He was sure she was as stupid as she looked and behaved, but everything about her was simple. Everything about her attitude had been the complete opposite of her. Being with her hadn't felt amazing, but it hadn't caused him any pain either.

Often times he wondered what could hurt more than his wife telling him she was in love with his best friend, but he just couldn't bring himself to wonder for too long. After several minutes, his everlasting supply of booze was there to dull his thought process and much of everything else that was inside of him. The more he drank the more loose he became and the more he just became someone who honestly did not give a fuck about anything—not even himself.

She made him weak. Her words alone were enough to kill him and since they hadn't, her leaving, he was sure, would have done the job. Instead, like black magic, she zombified him and she made him live with the ache. He couldn't hate her for it though, he could only hold himself in contempt of fucking up the only thing really worth while in his life.

Sure it was self-torture mostly, especially it being two whole years later—but who was there to stop him? Certainly he couldn't pull himself out of the corner he had pushed himself into. Angelica couldn't do it—she wouldn't do it, because she wanted what he said he wanted. He wanted shit to be simple—anything and everything. He didn't want to have feelings—but he had them. He didn't want to have memories—but he remembered everything. He didn't want to hate himself—but he did.

Those on the island thought he was just the best pilot around. That he was sent to them to get their many jobs done. He was always on-time, he was sharp, he was witty, he was charming—the whole motherfucking package. He could entertain the tourists and he could keep them having back and they would only have to pay him for his services as pilot; nothing more. He was their 'twofer' and they certainly weren't going to ask anymore from him.

So when he disappeared nearly every night, outside of his favorite bar, down by the part of the water where the waves crashed against the rocks, with his trusty bottle, no one ever asked. They wondered, but they never dared to ask.

The booze always tasted better alone he realized every night down by the rocks. He could keep it all to himself, and when he had gotten so drunk to the point he found himself falling asleep right there on the sand, he could be left alone. He could be free, if only for a a while--

And when he awoke at sunrise, he had always laid there with a throbbing head and a throbbing heart to match knowing that nobody was there to help him. Nobody was there to care for him, nobody there to love him. While laying there in the baking sun he would silently plead, 'Wake me when it's over...' to no one, but himself.