Date: Mon, 3 Jul 2000 22:08:16 EDT
From: FishofHappiness@aol.com
Subject: Remembering Petticoat Lane, Part 10

Hey, everyone. I've started a second story up, so that's why these chapters
are coming in a little later then they should have. I've promised at least
one more installment of "RPL" this week, though, so...

Once again, I know nothing about no one. Don't read if you shouldn't, or
wouldn't like it. The title is from Bush's "Glycerine" and I don't own it,
or Gavin either.

Special thanks to Justin, for the journal bit. It'll become more noteworthy
in the next chapter or so.


Part 10: "I treated you bad, you bruised my face"

	When Lance awaoke, he found that he had a very slight headache. The
room was darkened, the curtains were pulled tight and there was a glass of
water set on the bedside table, along with two tylenol. He sat up, carefully,
and took the pills. He sat there for a few minutes longer, contimplating the
merits of moving compared to the pain of executing such a maneuver. Finally,
curiosity about how he had gotten hom won out, and he wandered downstairs.
He found JC perched stiffly in one of the TV room chairs, watching CNN and
scowling.

	"JC?"

	"What, Lance?" His lover was obviously angry at him. Lance sat in
the armchair oppisite Josh and grimaced when the bright blue eyes didn't
even drift his way. Maybe if he tried a little physical affection...he moved
over to the couch and sat down next to JC, putting his arm behind Josh's
shoulders. The rebuff was almost instantaneous. JC wheeled around on him,
his face contorted into a mask of pure anger. "I swear, Lance, I am so angry
at you that if I didn't love you, I would punch you."

	Lance was shocked, for just a second, but then he pulled completely
away and just nodded. He got up from the couch, and retreated into the
kitchen.JC was puzzled for a second, but after the confusion passed, he got
angry and upset. He rose from the couch as quickly as a single heartbeat. He
stormed after Lance, only to find him with his forehead down on the cool
countertop, looking apathetic (if anything).

	"Oh, so all you're going to do is just stand there and ignore me,
huh? Goddamn it, Lance, if I mean that little to you, I should just leave
you now!"

	Lance looked up at JC then, his forehead was red, as if he had hit
it on the counter roughly. What really killed JC, though, were Lance's eyes.
They were overly red and bloodshot, almost to the point of looking like the
blood vessels had burst. The pupils were also dialated with a more physical
pain. He met Josh's gaze for a second, then looked away. "Don't you have
anything worthwhile to say, Lance?"

	Slow, honest head shake 'no'.

	"You would have no problem with me just walking out on you."

	"I would deserve it."

	"What?"

	Green eyes met blue, and what Lance's eyes showed broke JC's heart,
and his conviction. In Lance at that very moment was the broken little boy
that Lou had taken advantage of. Every scar shone brightly in Lance's eyes
at that very moment. "I don't deserve you."

	"Oh God, Lance. You deserve me, I just don't deserve a drug addict."

	"I'm not a drug addict, I just needed escape really badly."

	"Escape, huh? So you go to a club with us, and get drugs from a club
dealer that you don't know, without telling anyone. Smart, James. Real
Intelligent."

	Lance let his head drop, and one hand went to his temple. His
headache was so bad that he could feel it pulsing whenever JC moved. And
moving, he was.

	Suddenly, a pair of hands encased his head and started rubbing
softly. "Don't do it again, James."

	Lance whimpered, and relaxed into the massage. "I won't."

	"Good." The hands drifted down to Lance's neck. "Geeze, baby, you're
so... tense. Go upstairs."

	"Huh?" Articulation was not Lance's strong point at times like these.

	"Just go."

	Once they had made it to the bedroom, JC backed Lance, herding him
to the bed. He hooked his hands under Lance's shirt hem, and lifted the
shirt over Lance's head. There was a full second of pause before JC reacted.

	"Oh my God. Oh, God. Fucking Hell, Lance! What did you do to
yourself?!?"

	Lance sat hard on the bed, almost crying. "I cut."

	"God, just...God, I can't deal with this. I still love you, but I
can't deal. It's.. it's gone, Lance. It is over. I'll be on the couch."

	JC shut the door quietly and walked back down to the living room
couch. He had meant that the drugs and the cutting were over. That all the
bullshit that had cluttered their lives the past few days was gone, but JC's
strong point also was articulation in times of stress, and it hadn't sounded
that way. Lance was devestated. He curled up in a ball, shaking. He had
driven someone else out of his life. First his parents, now Josh. What was
worse, Lance had falled head over heels for him. After a few minutes, Lance
lay down under the covers, and curled up. Worthless, broken, heart hurting,
he pulled out the small black covered book that he had been keeping by his
bedside lately, and hastily scribbled some words on it. Nothing was helping
him regain his composure, but the activity was enough to make him fall into
a restless sleep (after he had dated and returned the book to its hideaway,
of course) full of comotion and turmoil. Little did he know, that would be
his salvation.