a_littlefaith | (no subject)

When it comes to her own music, Beth is of two very different minds.

There's a part of herself that knows she's talented. She can write thoughtful lyrics, she can set them to interesting, intelligent melodies, and she can play nearly any instrument. Her voice is both sweet and powerful, something she can hear when she listens to herself after she's been recorded. But at the same time, she has terrible insecurities about it all, convinced she's only fooling herself, and all of this will never amount of anything resembling a career.

But here she is. This is an album, it's her album, fully finished, and it sounds good. Not only that, but people are buying it. They want to spend money on this.

Beth plays a short set, not wanting to overwhelm herself, then mostly just talks to people at the release party. It's still crazy to think they're here for her, but everyone is really friendly and happy and supportive. It relaxes Beth and by the time she realizes someone is staring at her, it's nearing the end of the party. A lot of people have left already, the bar has emptied out a bit, and she's standing alone near the stage door, off to the side and out of the way, so she can put her guitar away.

Her corners her there.

She's been watching ever since she realized he was looking at her, but only out of the corner of her eye, thinking there really wouldn't be anything to it. Guys are weird sometimes, she's used to that. It's the memory of Gorman that she's not used to, not yet, even less used to it than she is the memory of her own death. There are things she's dealt with and things she's ignored, and as he corners her in that tiny hall just beside the stage, a shiver runs up her spine and she tastes green apple candy.

Turning, Beth flashes a quick smile and tries to get past him. "Sorry, I just gotta-"

"You were really good up there," he says, stepping closer to block her way. "You've got a great voice. Great look, too."

"Thanks," she says, trying to stay bright. Her mouth is flooded with the taste of that candy Gorman had pushed between her lips and she tries not to taste it. It isn't real, she's only imagining it, but it's sweet and sticky and she licks her lips, trying to force the taste away.

"Yeah," he says, putting his arm against the wall so there's nowhere for her to go. She doesn't even have her knife. Just the guitar behind her, barely a weapon at all, especially in a space as small as this. "You're really pretty, you know. Would it kill you to look at me?"

Beth glances up, sees Gorman, no matter how impossible it is, and glances away.

"I really have to get goin'," she says, her voice coming from far away. "But thanks."

"Hey," he says, pressing closer to her. She can feel his breath on her cheek, on her neck. He's so close and she can see Gorman's face and taste the candy and she wants to scream. "C'mon, stay awhile."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The problem with keeping everything all bottled up is it still never really goes anywhere," Chuck says, as significant an admission as he could make. He still prefers to do it, finding it far easier than dealing with messy, unpleasant emotions, but it doesn't actually fix anything. Especially in a case like this, though, God knows he can't blame Beth for trying. Of course she would want to forget about something like that. He has things he wishes he could forget, too, fragments of other people's memories buried in his head that he'll never fully be able to erase no matter how hard he tries.

"It is easier, at least for a while, until it's not anymore."

She can't help it, even as flustered and uncomfortable as she feels right now, she has to laugh at what Chuck has just said. In all the time they've known each other, which is significant at this point, she never imagined their positions might be reversed like this. Beth is lucky to have him as a friend, despite what she's sure he would say about himself, and she wishes he would give himself more credit in general.

But even still, with how much she believes in him, she couldn't have expected this.

"Yeah," she says on an exhale. "Yeah, I know. You're right. I just... I didn't want to confront this. Somehow bein' dead felt easier. Is that messed up?"

It takes more effort than it should for Chuck not to let out a laugh at that, though there's nothing particularly humorous about the subject at hand. He shakes his head, though, shooting Beth a wry sort of expression. "No," he says, then reconsiders that. "Well, probably. But that's how I felt about a lot of things when I got here." For a long time, he'd wished he stayed dead, finding it easier to die for a cause than to have to live without one. He knows that for Beth, things happened in an odd order, that she'd been here for a long time before she remembered having died, but he thinks he gets it even so.

"When things end, they just end. You know what happened, you go from there. But something like that..." Not sure how much he can or should speak to that, he pauses for a moment. "Seems harder to carry around. Harder to shake."