Title: Forget Author: Lilanore Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob Fandom: View Askewniverse, Pre Clerks Rating: Sadly PG, maybe R for language and drug references, but probably not Status: New Archive: Just in the list archive please Feedback: lilanore@hotmail.com Series/Sequels: No Disclaimers: I own nothing. I am a broke college student. Please don't sue me for loving the characters a little too much. Notes: This is my first fan fic. It sucks, I'm sorry. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. The story seems a bit fragmented, sorry about that. Not beta read, although that might be painfully obvious. Also I think this goes into the SmartJay realm. And it's pretty short. Summary: Jay gets blasted and Bob takes care of him, as per usual. Warnings: Absolutely riddled with sap. Ugh. ~~~ I never really thought of H as a drug. I didn't picture it as an efficient road to self-destruction. All heroin meant to me was an instantaneous chemical eraser. Cook, load, pop, and I was blessed with a liquid kaleidoscope that soothed and eased my brain and de- fanged my most vicious memories. It always hurt. Every fucking time, I felt this blood racing pain coast through me. This wavery bone-melting crack of pain a few seconds after shooting. I would make these "to do" lists in my head and always at the top was, "No more hard drugs." Then that glorious golden shift would happen. This time my last coherent thought was, "So this is what it feels like to die." Opening eyes to low level light and the smell of cigarettes, I knew I was home. He crouched over me, that soft brown hair drifting against my skin. It was always like this and for a second I want to hate him--so tired of being the little fuck-up that he cares about when he really shouldn't. Every night, I was a whirlwind, fucking and drinking, cursing and shooting, and it always ended like this. This silent fucker watching me, heart-crushing eyes flickering over me like I was the one good thing he had. I hate the banked tears in those eyes. I want to disappear. And, as always, he picks me up, vice-grip arms wrapped around my long limbs, and tucks me in. I feel like such a stupid fuck, but I feel safe. He's my safety. Which is pretty fucking obvious, when everyone in this shit hole of a town knows he's my muscle, my right hand. We never speak when he goes into protective mode. My constant mind-numbing bullshit isn't necessary and I always feel like I've relapsed into the five-year old me: hiding behind my dresser, actually young enough to think that the fights and the blows will never come to me. A constant game of hide and seek, from Mom, Dad, and all the other adults with feral gazes and candy-coated smiles. It was a shitty game. I always lost. He brushes his large hand across my temple, worry colouring his quiet brown eyes. He touches me like I'm special, like I'm a person. I feel a choking ball of tears in my throat and I can't hide anymore. The raw heartbreak in his eyes each night makes me know I've turned into one of the monsters. Fuck. I'm crying. Goddamn it! I've pulled away so much, I can't even figure out how to let someone care. He traces a tear down my cheek; his face closed down with a shimmer of fear and love spiraling around his pupil. I know that I put that fear there and I fucking start sobbing. Wet, hot tears of shame, anger, and regret soaking into his shoulder. "Why?" His rusty, brandy-smooth voice laps away at my tears better than any pink-tongued girl could. I know he's not asking about the waterworks or even my silence. Fucking guilt rolls in and I just stop. I really can't do this anymore. "I'm just trying to forget." A split second shot of fear coats his eyes and I whisper one of my more lewd curses. My tongue is too fucking numb and my brain is melted down so much that I don't know what to say. I'm just struck with the need to show him the truth, if only once and only tonight. Reaching out and wrapping my shaking fingers around his wrist, I pull him down and lace my gangly legs around his. I put my trembling lips to his ear, finally knowing what to say. "I'm not trying to forget ya. You're my home." He has confusion coming off of his body in waves and I suppress the insane urge to giggle. I know, without a doubt, that he's doing his eloquent eyebrow raise. I feel the question and I know he won't say it. "I'm not stoned. Well- I am, but it's still fucking true." I pull my upper body away and look into that face. I want to melt into him. Sticky and sweet and fuck the consequences. A heartbeat and every goddamn movie clich� runs through my head. I nudge his lips apart and slide my tongue carefully along his bottom lip. So damn soft and he tastes sweet as sugar. A kiss of promise and I stroke my hands across his shivering back. My tongue delving farther into his warmth and then he pushes me back. Arctic chill blasts through me, ripping a whimper from my throat. I feel his laser eyes trailing down my face, branding me. I've never been this scared--never in my broken life. My lips are moving, but I know nothing's coming out. "Jay." I lock eyes with him, brown to blue, and I can breathe again. He figures I'm lucid enough and continues, eyes falling to the bed, fingers trailing nervously against his thigh. "You're my home too. Always." I laugh, realizing how stupid and maudlin we must sound. I smile gently, the gentle part feeling weird and out of place with my usual sneers and frowns. We kiss again, a flowing press of understanding, and I pull my arms around him. I know tomorrow will be hell, but I don't give a damn as long as I can remember this instead of the nightmares. ~End~