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Dec. 3rd, 2005 01:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quietcreativityTitle: Alive
Characters: Eric Foreman
Pairings: Foreman/other
Rating: R for strong language and racial slurs
Word Count: 1,367
Disclaimer: Don't own Foreman, alas. Nor is this his definate history. I'm speculating.
Information: This is chapter two.
~
Cause I’m broken
When I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right,
When you’re gone away
You’re gone away…
Broken – Seether, featuring Amy Lee
Everything was the same when he got back to his house. The front door was locked. The back door was locked. He took out his key and slid it into the lock, easing the door open and stepping inside, careful not to disturb anyone.
He carefully climbed upstairs into his own bedroom, the smallest room in the house, and closed the door behind him silently. Sliding his chair against the door, he put his backpack on his bed, and sat down next to it, reaching into his pocket for the key.
The box he had taken from the Felker’s home was an old, ornamental piece. The cover was engraved and had gold paint on it, an intricate pattern of flowers and butterflies. Taking the key, he sighed heavily, hesitating before he put it into the lock.
Turning it, he heard a quiet click, and the lid of the box swung open.
He had to bite back a mixed sound of remorse and happiness when he saw the contents.
Everything I expected. Everything she promised.
Photographs. Drawings. Letters. Stories.
He picked out a few of the most prominent photographs and drawings. He could feel his lower lip trembling as he looked at the pictures, and bit it, hard enough to draw blood. The familiar sting of pain brought him down to earth, and he stared at the pictures. They were all Polaroid’s, most of them crooked, as if the people in the picture were taking it themselves.
In it, were a younger Eric Foreman, and a happier Elise Felker.
He placed his index finger under the chin of the photographed girl, and shook his head some. Carefully, he put the photos in a pile to his left.
The drawings were something different. Each had a different theme, some of them he had done with her. The first was of a pill bottle, a simple elegant sketch, dated September of 1987. Several of her drawings were like that, he noticed, gorgeous pencil or pen and ink sketches of common products. As the dates grew later, he began to notice more intricate drawings. Her hand, he saw, with an IV in it. The lines of her fingers, the realistic sizing of it struck him. It was dated February of 1988. As the more recent pictures came to the top of the pile, he paused.
January 2, 1989.
The day after New Years.
I know this…
The scene was bitterly familiar. The stark walls, vague paintings sketched into the background. The table, the large open window facing out to a city several stories below. And in the corner of the drawing, yet somehow the most prominent point of the image, a young man was sleeping. He felt his stomach heave uncomfortably, looking at the contours of the face, the shape of the eyes.
It’s me.
He moved his backpack to the floor, taking the picture she had drawn and setting it carefully on the nightstand. The composure he’d been fighting to hold in place all night was crashing down all around him, and he had to bite back tears despite his bitten lip as he slid under the covers. Under the warmth of the sheets, he turned so he could see the picture, dark eyes focused on it until finally sleep began to approach him.
“Eric!”
The hospital was quiet. It’s only eight o’clock in the morning, no visitors ever come this early. That why he comes now, because now is the only time that would safely work out.
“I promised you I’d visit,” he said with a childish grin, pulling up a chair as he sat down next to her. “When’re your parents coming? I don’t want to meet up with them again.”
“Not till noon,” Elise replied. “I told mom I wasn’t feeling so well and I wanted to sleep in, so they agreed to come later.”
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, yawning some.
“Not so well,” she mumbled, “but a lot better since you came today. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
“I promised you,” he said quietly, touching her hand, “I keep my promises, you know that.”
“I know. I’m so happy you came,” she said, her pale hand taking his.
He smiled at her tiredly, glad to see something other than gloom on her face. That was all he had seen, lately. Gloom. Her eyes were sunken and her face was pale. She couldn’t breathe without being on oxygen anymore, so she spent all of her time in bed.
“How are you holding up?” Eric asked, shifting his weight in the seat so he was facing her properly, concern etched over his features.
“I don’t know. I told you, I’ve been feeling pretty rotten. But…you’re here today. Let’s…focus on that…”
He nodded some.
“Have you drawn any more pictures, Elise?”
“No,” Elise murmured. “My hands have been shaking so terribly…I haven’t even tried.”
“You should,” Eric whispered, squeezing her hand gently.
“I can’t,” she mumbled.
“Don’t give up now.”
“Eric…”
“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head a bit.
“When I die…I have something for you. You can’t tell anyone about it.”
“You aren’t going to die, Elise.”
“In…in the bottom drawer, on the left side of my dresser…there’s a box.”
“You aren’t going to die…” Eric replied softly, both his hands meeting with hers.
“In the biggest pill bottle, in there, there’s the key to the box. Take the box…it’s for you. Promise you’ll take it?”
“You won’t die, Elise, I you won’t die…”
“Promise me you’ll take it, Eric, please. You have to,” Elise whimpered, on the verge of tears.
“I promise,” Eric whispers.
Elise smiled weakly then, her other hand resting atop his. “You look tired.”
“I had to get up really early to do my paper route so I could come see you.” Eric stifled another yawn, pulling his hands away from her as he stretched.
“Do you want to take a nap? Nobody will be here for a while, and then we can play cards or something.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all…I’m still sleepy too. Us sick people need lots of sleep,” Elise said with a bit of a laugh. “The chair in the corner is the most comfortable, I think.”
She watched Eric get up and change positions, settling himself in the chair across from Elise.
“Have a nice nap, ‘kay?” Elise giggled, leaning back in bed herself. “Don’t be cranky when you wake up.”
“Night,” he mumbled as he tilted his head against the wall, closing his eyes. It was hardly a few minutes before he nodded off…
“What is he doing here?!”
“Mom, I can explain. He just came to ask me a question…”
“Get him out of here! I’m calling security!” a man’s voice boomed, and heavy footsteps trailed out of the door.
Eric woke with a start to find Elise’s mother glaring at him.
“Get the hell out of my daughter’s room, you nigger!”
He winced, getting out of the chair.
“Mom stop, please, he’s been so nice to me, don’t yell at him!”
“You’re a filthy—rotten—good for nothing—”
“Mom, stop it!”
“I’ll leave,” Eric said weakly, backing away from her. “I’ll leave—I’m leaving now…”
“You fucking sick little nigger child. Get the hell away from my daughter!”
Eric grabbed his coat, heading for the door, when he bumped into Elise’s father. His grip was strong as he grasped Eric’s shoulder.
“Who the hell do you think you are, visiting my daughter in the hospital, you lazy paper boy?” he growled, pushing the boy backwards, towards the door.
“Daddy please, he’s my friend!”
“I’ll see you later, Elise,” the boy managed to croak out before he was completely shoved out of the room. “I promise.”
He shot up in bed, his breathing heavy.
“I promise…” he mumbled, hands reaching up to his face. He felt his eyes were tearing, and shook his head.
“I always keep my promises…but not this time…” he said weakly, turning back into the covers, burying himself beneath the comfort and silence of sleep.
~
Characters: Eric Foreman
Pairings: Foreman/other
Rating: R for strong language and racial slurs
Word Count: 1,367
Disclaimer: Don't own Foreman, alas. Nor is this his definate history. I'm speculating.
Information: This is chapter two.
Cause I’m broken
When I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right,
When you’re gone away
You’re gone away…
Broken – Seether, featuring Amy Lee
Everything was the same when he got back to his house. The front door was locked. The back door was locked. He took out his key and slid it into the lock, easing the door open and stepping inside, careful not to disturb anyone.
He carefully climbed upstairs into his own bedroom, the smallest room in the house, and closed the door behind him silently. Sliding his chair against the door, he put his backpack on his bed, and sat down next to it, reaching into his pocket for the key.
The box he had taken from the Felker’s home was an old, ornamental piece. The cover was engraved and had gold paint on it, an intricate pattern of flowers and butterflies. Taking the key, he sighed heavily, hesitating before he put it into the lock.
Turning it, he heard a quiet click, and the lid of the box swung open.
He had to bite back a mixed sound of remorse and happiness when he saw the contents.
Everything I expected. Everything she promised.
Photographs. Drawings. Letters. Stories.
He picked out a few of the most prominent photographs and drawings. He could feel his lower lip trembling as he looked at the pictures, and bit it, hard enough to draw blood. The familiar sting of pain brought him down to earth, and he stared at the pictures. They were all Polaroid’s, most of them crooked, as if the people in the picture were taking it themselves.
In it, were a younger Eric Foreman, and a happier Elise Felker.
He placed his index finger under the chin of the photographed girl, and shook his head some. Carefully, he put the photos in a pile to his left.
The drawings were something different. Each had a different theme, some of them he had done with her. The first was of a pill bottle, a simple elegant sketch, dated September of 1987. Several of her drawings were like that, he noticed, gorgeous pencil or pen and ink sketches of common products. As the dates grew later, he began to notice more intricate drawings. Her hand, he saw, with an IV in it. The lines of her fingers, the realistic sizing of it struck him. It was dated February of 1988. As the more recent pictures came to the top of the pile, he paused.
January 2, 1989.
The day after New Years.
I know this…
The scene was bitterly familiar. The stark walls, vague paintings sketched into the background. The table, the large open window facing out to a city several stories below. And in the corner of the drawing, yet somehow the most prominent point of the image, a young man was sleeping. He felt his stomach heave uncomfortably, looking at the contours of the face, the shape of the eyes.
It’s me.
He moved his backpack to the floor, taking the picture she had drawn and setting it carefully on the nightstand. The composure he’d been fighting to hold in place all night was crashing down all around him, and he had to bite back tears despite his bitten lip as he slid under the covers. Under the warmth of the sheets, he turned so he could see the picture, dark eyes focused on it until finally sleep began to approach him.
“Eric!”
The hospital was quiet. It’s only eight o’clock in the morning, no visitors ever come this early. That why he comes now, because now is the only time that would safely work out.
“I promised you I’d visit,” he said with a childish grin, pulling up a chair as he sat down next to her. “When’re your parents coming? I don’t want to meet up with them again.”
“Not till noon,” Elise replied. “I told mom I wasn’t feeling so well and I wanted to sleep in, so they agreed to come later.”
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, yawning some.
“Not so well,” she mumbled, “but a lot better since you came today. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
“I promised you,” he said quietly, touching her hand, “I keep my promises, you know that.”
“I know. I’m so happy you came,” she said, her pale hand taking his.
He smiled at her tiredly, glad to see something other than gloom on her face. That was all he had seen, lately. Gloom. Her eyes were sunken and her face was pale. She couldn’t breathe without being on oxygen anymore, so she spent all of her time in bed.
“How are you holding up?” Eric asked, shifting his weight in the seat so he was facing her properly, concern etched over his features.
“I don’t know. I told you, I’ve been feeling pretty rotten. But…you’re here today. Let’s…focus on that…”
He nodded some.
“Have you drawn any more pictures, Elise?”
“No,” Elise murmured. “My hands have been shaking so terribly…I haven’t even tried.”
“You should,” Eric whispered, squeezing her hand gently.
“I can’t,” she mumbled.
“Don’t give up now.”
“Eric…”
“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head a bit.
“When I die…I have something for you. You can’t tell anyone about it.”
“You aren’t going to die, Elise.”
“In…in the bottom drawer, on the left side of my dresser…there’s a box.”
“You aren’t going to die…” Eric replied softly, both his hands meeting with hers.
“In the biggest pill bottle, in there, there’s the key to the box. Take the box…it’s for you. Promise you’ll take it?”
“You won’t die, Elise, I you won’t die…”
“Promise me you’ll take it, Eric, please. You have to,” Elise whimpered, on the verge of tears.
“I promise,” Eric whispers.
Elise smiled weakly then, her other hand resting atop his. “You look tired.”
“I had to get up really early to do my paper route so I could come see you.” Eric stifled another yawn, pulling his hands away from her as he stretched.
“Do you want to take a nap? Nobody will be here for a while, and then we can play cards or something.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all…I’m still sleepy too. Us sick people need lots of sleep,” Elise said with a bit of a laugh. “The chair in the corner is the most comfortable, I think.”
She watched Eric get up and change positions, settling himself in the chair across from Elise.
“Have a nice nap, ‘kay?” Elise giggled, leaning back in bed herself. “Don’t be cranky when you wake up.”
“Night,” he mumbled as he tilted his head against the wall, closing his eyes. It was hardly a few minutes before he nodded off…
“What is he doing here?!”
“Mom, I can explain. He just came to ask me a question…”
“Get him out of here! I’m calling security!” a man’s voice boomed, and heavy footsteps trailed out of the door.
Eric woke with a start to find Elise’s mother glaring at him.
“Get the hell out of my daughter’s room, you nigger!”
He winced, getting out of the chair.
“Mom stop, please, he’s been so nice to me, don’t yell at him!”
“You’re a filthy—rotten—good for nothing—”
“Mom, stop it!”
“I’ll leave,” Eric said weakly, backing away from her. “I’ll leave—I’m leaving now…”
“You fucking sick little nigger child. Get the hell away from my daughter!”
Eric grabbed his coat, heading for the door, when he bumped into Elise’s father. His grip was strong as he grasped Eric’s shoulder.
“Who the hell do you think you are, visiting my daughter in the hospital, you lazy paper boy?” he growled, pushing the boy backwards, towards the door.
“Daddy please, he’s my friend!”
“I’ll see you later, Elise,” the boy managed to croak out before he was completely shoved out of the room. “I promise.”
He shot up in bed, his breathing heavy.
“I promise…” he mumbled, hands reaching up to his face. He felt his eyes were tearing, and shook his head.
“I always keep my promises…but not this time…” he said weakly, turning back into the covers, burying himself beneath the comfort and silence of sleep.