(no subject)

Sun, Aug. 3rd, 2008 03:48 pm
badbobbybarnes: (Default)
Listen. I tried Tyler. I really tried. There are things about you that I like, you're smart, you're funny, you're spectacular in bed. But you are intolerable. You have serious emotional problems, deep seated problems for which you should seek professional help.
- Fight Club


Professional help. Half the people I know need professional help. The other half, well, they're long past it being able to do a lick of good. Still, it's kinda an off thought, to know that ya need help and to have someone else point it out to ya.

That's the boat I'm in. I know I need help, but I like being in denial. Denial's kinda fun. I've been thinking 'bout throwing a party here. Inviting all my friends who are also in denial. We'd have a fucking blast. No, really, we would.

Yeah, I got emotional issues. I got a fucking truckload of 'em. And they tend to piss people off. Sometimes, that makes me laugh. Most times, though, it just upsets me. So they're pissed at me, I'm pissed at myself. That's a lot of shit to be heaping on one person, 'specially one as busted as I am. And that shit just breeds, caught in a fucking feedback loop.

Professional help is overrated and takes all the fucking fun outta life. So fuck off.






Would now be the time to mention I have a therapist? No? Somehow, I didn't really think so. But it seemed kinda important after a few minutes of thinking 'bout it. At least I'm consistent.

[212 Words]
badbobbybarnes: (Default)
What was your most defining moment in your life?

My most defining moment? Ah, Hell. I use to think it was something from a long time ago. Like that decision to not take the Bar, even though I'd gone through all of law school. I used to think maybe it was when I kicked Simon out and decided to never get involved with anyone ever again. And maybe those were defining moments, very defining moments. But not the most. I know what the most is now; I can follow a series of decisions from it that got me to where I am now. Not a one of those moments made me happy.

Nah, my defining moment is the night I accidentally overdosed. And yeah, it really was an accident. Underestimated the amount of drugs in my system when I stuck that needle in.

That needle, sweet Jesus, I missed that.

Anyway. Yeah. The needle. That was the defining moment. He realized that he actually, really, gave a shit 'bout me. To the point that he was ready to trade whatever he had to make me well. I learned alot 'bout Leo, and myself, from that. Learned that I really didn't wanna be without him. That was the moment. Needed him and wanted him. Everything I done since then has been to be with him.

Gonna be with him. Forever. End of discussion.

[224 words]
badbobbybarnes: (Default)
1) He stood over the stove, once again not quite managing to do what he’d set out to do. Sandwiches he could make. He could even handle toast, boiling water, and eggs. Eggs he did fairly well. But he was no chef and he never would be. That, however, would not stop him from trying to have something that passed as a decent meal for when his lover got home from his classes.

2) He watched the man sleep next to him, still feeling mildly guilty. Advertising what he’d chosen for a nickname all over the internet before actually telling the man next to him had not been the best plan. He’d had to pick a lock to get him to talk. Still, in the end, Bobby’d been forgiven, again. He reached out and touched the grey hair, smiling softly as he whispered his lover’s nickname in his ear, “Kermie.”

3) Three hundred miles away and Bobby just wanted to be back in Pennsylvania. No one ever wanted to be in Pennsylvania. He still had an hour before he was supposed to meet the guy he was working with. He walked into a bodega and selected one of the cheesiest postcards he could find. He bought it and the postage, then went back outside. Leaning on his bike, he jotted a quick note to Finny, then dropped it in the mail.
‘Kermie, wish I was there. Seeya this weekend. – Hurricane’

4) He’d never been much of a cuddler. Of course, he’d never been much of a relationship guy, either. Simon was an aberration, not the norm. But he felt no resistance at all to Finny pressing against him while he worked to catch his breath. Instead of pushing him away that first time, he pulled him closer. He was still pulling him closer and he never wanted to stop.

5) His past was a mystery. He worked hard to keep it that way. But when the professor looked at him in that way he had, open and unassuming, Bobby broke down. Things he’d never told anyone tumbled out of his mouth as easily as saying hello. It was, very much, a mood issue. But it was more open than he had been since he was seventeen.

6) Phineas did not like the ease that Bobby had with his flirting. After that first fight, that very first weekend, Bobby went out of his way to not make him uncomfortable. As much as the urge scratched at him, the last thing he wanted, in the entire world, was to have his lover upset at him. So Bobby didn’t flirt. And he was okay with that.

7) A very open homosexual, Bobby was used to being able to say what he wanted. He was used to being able to kiss the man he was with on the street with no fear of attack. When he was in Railton, when he was visiting his lover, he went out of his way to act as straight as he could. He thought he was actually pulling it off. And making Finny proud of him.

8) He watched the older man hunch over the papers he was grading. He could see the set of his shoulders, the tension radiating off of him. He knew things were up in the air at the University, that people’s jobs were on the line. Getting up from his chair, he set his book aside and approached him. After kissing the top of his head, he started to rub his shoulders. When Finny started to speak, Bobby shushed him. He needed no thanks.

9) After the NA meeting, Bobby felt raw and beaten. It had been years since he’d stood up and admitted to being an addict. He kept waiting for the look of disgust on Finny’s face, the look that would confirm for Bobby that he really wasn’t worthy of caring from anyone. When that look didn’t come, even after they had gotten back to Finny’s house, Bobby finally stopped fighting. He hugged him, put his head on his shoulder, and let himself finally cry.

10) He knew what Finny would say, knew that the older man would say they were moving too fast. Even Bobby felt that way. So, instead of saying what he wanted to, he opted for ‘I’m falling for you.’ It wasn’t quite right, but it was a start.

Bobby Barnes - OC
[ooc: Finny ([livejournal.com profile] prof_coomb) used with permission]

Five and One

Sun, Apr. 20th, 2008 05:12 pm
badbobbybarnes: (Default)
[ooc: [livejournal.com profile] mind_the_muse April prompt: Five people who have died and one who's still alive.]

When he was heavily into the drug scene, there were five guys that Bobby did most of his drugs with. They all got high together and fucked. Sometimes, they fucked other people, sometimes each other. It never really mattered. All that mattered was the high and the pleasure. They could have been fucking watermelons for all any of them cared.

The first one of them to die was Damien. He got on the wrong side of a dealer just after Bobby met Simon. They found his body in a dumpster in Harlem. His death was called an overdose. The cops didn't ever bother to ask how he got in the dumpster. But Bobby and his friends knew.

Tim was next. He actually did overdose. Damien had been his boyfriend and when he died, Tim got into heroin to take the pain away. A hot shot did him in. It was Bobby who found him, dead on his living room couch. No need for the cops to investigate that one.

A year went by before Jerry passed away. An undiagnosed heart condition, natural causes. The X sure helped, though. He just used up the life he'd been given. That funeral was hard for Bobby, Simon had refused to come because he'd never liked Jerry. Bobby never felt like he could grieve Jerry correctly. That was really the beginning of the end of that relationship, although neither of them would ever admit it.

Jason committed suicide. The note he left was vague but it was definitely his handwriting. The cops thought it was a homicide for all of twenty minutes. Then they just chalked it up to another ex-junkie queer who couldn't handle being sober. Bobby had to admit that it was probably the truth.

Pete's death hit Bobby the hardest. He and Pete had been the last of their group, and they'd been keeping each other on the wagon. Simon was gone, off fucking some younger boy, and Pete was the only man who was constant in Bobby's life. They'd gone out and had a couple of beers, then gone their separate ways. The phone had woken Bobby the next morning. It was the police. Pete had been mugged on the way home, his body found too late to save him, could Bobby come down and identify the body.

There had been six of them. Now the only one still alive was Bobby. He was off the drugs now, although the itch still hit him when he was stressed. Sometimes, all it took to make it go away was to take out a picture of them all together. Sometimes, that only made the itch worse.

[Bobby Barnes - OC - 445 words]

Black Lacquer

Mon, Mar. 24th, 2008 01:43 pm
badbobbybarnes: (Default)
[ooc: The 'I'm a moron' [livejournal.com profile] mind_the_muse application response, using this image.]

He stared at the sword and shook his head slowly. There was no good reason why he should be so interested in it. But he was. The detail on the scabbard was amazing and he could see a way to incorporate it into the marble piece he was working on.

The clerk came over to him, her eyebrow raised in concern. When she touched his shoulder he jumped, and blushed deeply. He realized that he was tightly gripping it, his knuckles white against the black lacquered wood. He gave the woman a sheepish grin and nodded, then slowly set the sword down. He was at war with himself over if he should buy it or not. Getting it home on his bike would prove to be interesting, but he wasn't that far from his building.

He wandered around the shop for a little while longer, looking for anything else that might strike his fancy. But nothing else did. Not giving any time to talk himself out of it, he grabbed the sword and carried it up to the front of the store.

It was wrapped carefully by the clerk after Bobby paid for it. He zipped up his jacket, then settled the sword across his back. As he pulled his helmet on, he felt like something out of a movie, like the lone ronin preparing to ride off and regain his honor.

The young clerk gave him another confused look as he started to chuckle. Explaining it to her would be pointless, so he just shrugged. He pulled his helmet on and walked out the door to his bike. He spent the ride home trying to decide how he could incorporate the weapon into any of his in progress piece. He knew he could come up with something.

[Bobby Barnes - OC - 301 words]

Murder

Sun, Mar. 16th, 2008 10:39 pm
badbobbybarnes: (Default)
(OOC: [livejournal.com profile] mind_the_muse application response)

Murder. Funny old word, that. It is a fine line between murder and defending yourself. I keep telling myself I was defending myself when I did it. I was taking a life to ensure that I kept breathing. Self defense.

We will go ahead and ignore the part where I waited two weeks to enact that self defense. We will ignore the fact that I broke into his house to defend myself. And we are most certainly going to ignore the fact that I beat the shit out of him before I killed him. I was just defending myself.

It had started out as something simple enough, too. We probably could have been friends, if he had not reacted so badly to my hitting on him. It was an honest mistake. He looked, talked, and acted like a queer. He was in a queer bar. I thought he was on the up and up. Hell, he even let me buy him a drink and kiss him.

He didn't freak out until he felt my hand on his crotch. Never mind that he was rock hard under his $300 slacks. We were outside by then and he slammed me into the wall. I still don't know where the knife came from. But he sliced me open like a stuck pig. Then he held the business card I'd given him up, pointing out that he knew where I lived. Told me if he ever saw me again, he'd kill me.

Just because it took me two weeks to find out where he lived doesn't mean it wasn't self defense. But if anyone found it, they would probably call it murder, just the same.

[Bobby Barnes - OC - 281 words]

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