CLUMSY

AN: This Chapter is kinda Serious, because I wasn't really sure where I wanted the story to go when I started writing it. The next chapter is a bit more humorous, so please read and stick around for the next chapter which I can promise is much better.

3 much love ~

Chapter 1- Excuse My Intrusion

Stanton stood outside on the deck of his fourth story apartment puffing on a cigarette he knew would eventually lead to his untimely demise. Four smokes in the last hour. Each smoke killing eleven minutes of his life. He couldn't tell you when he started or why, how many smokes he'd had in just this one night, or why stress was eating at him to the point that his life for the past month and half had lead to him having nothing in his system but nicotine and spiced rum.

Cars drove steadily past him through the cool night air and he pondered on each one of them; where were they going? Where did they come from? Were they as miserable as he? The cold October air had a bite to it that made him pull his small black jacket closer around him but he didn't rush his smoke, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly as he pondered the night.

A group of your giggling girls walked past in high heels and skirts too short for the current weather. With the mood he was in he couldn't help but say a few things to ruin their good mood. "Nice ass!" he called out causing them to look up, "It's so tight I'd suck a fart outa those cheeks and hold it like a bong hit!"

"You fucking sick perv!" The screetched moving quickly past flipping him off in the process.

He giggled quietly to himself and took another puff off the nearly gone cigarette.

His thoughts began to torment him again in the dark cool air dark cobwebs forming into a twisted mass that seemed to have no beginning or end, steadily growing with half thoughts and memories of a time long since past.

He thought about the days when he lived with his mom and younger brother, Karyl. How happy and naive he was. How everything seemed to make sense. He was going to be a great star, a Hollywood performer, a singer maybe, or an actor. He was going to make it big and spend the rest of his life taking care of the wife and kids he was sure to have.

He thought about his old friends from school, Twiggy, Mason, Lurch... he wondered where they had moved onto. If he'd ever hear from them again, if they even cared to talk to him again.

Memories tumbled past him in an undulating wave of emotion and bitterness, each one getting darker. The day his pet dog died, his mothers drug addictions and the endless stream of men that walked through their front door. He thought about the day he got kicked out of the house at no more than fourteen years old. He grimaced as the memory of the car accident that killed his brother. He'd been drunk, driving home after a party. He should have known better.

Inevitably his thoughts began to wander to the one thing they always wandered back too – his ex boyfriend, Kasson.

Kasson was his one and only real boyfriend, he was beautiful and smart. Captivating. Dark green eyes like a cesspool of sin and madness beckoning to him from behind dark lashes and a perfect smile. He could still remember the scent of his cologne and the way his hair felt against his cheek.

He had strong arms that could both sooth and terrify him to the core of his being, and somehow it made him feel safe and protected regardless of his fears.

Despite outside appearances, and how utterly charming and captivating he was during the first six months of their three year relationship, Kasson's demeanour became controlling and forceful to the point of both physical and emotional abuse. Every word and action had to be carefully planned and thought out lest Stanton pay for his small-mindedness once they were alone.

Despite the flaws and abuse, despite three years of intense therapy and counselling, nagging feeling still crept upon Stanton that leaving Kasson was not a clever move and dispite this thought, he always went back. Now, after almost a year since the last time he took him back, Stanton still missed the warmth of his one and only lovers embrace. It was fear and logic that kept him from crawling back, but a year of loneliness, pent up lust, and isolation drew his hardly used cell phone out of his pocket and fingers dialled a number that should have long since been forgotten.

He paused only for a moment as his thumb hovered over the green 'talk' button. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was stupid, insane even but he couldn't help himself as he lowered his thumb firmly onto that button and heard the small beep it made as the call went through.

Breath caught in his throat as he waited through the first ring, maybe he wouldn't answer, maybe he'd changed his number. He wasn't sure if the thoughts running through his mind were those based on hope or anxiety, but nothing he thought prepared him to actually hear Kasson's voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello..." the gruff and tired startled Stanton to complete silence as he heard the voice of the man who'd caused him so many years of grief.

"Hello? Are you there?"

"I- I am." He replied in a broken, frightened voice.

"Who is this?" the tired voice asked, sounding suddenly curious about the late, unwanted phone call.

"I- it's... It's Sta... Stan."

There was a pause before the man on the other side of the conversation replied quietly, "Who?"

"Wrong – wrong number. Sorry." Stanton quickly slammed his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket, berating himself as he did so.

"That was the stupidest thing you could have done. You're not even drunk yet! What's your problem?" he sighed and closed his eyes resting his elbows on the wooden railing of the deck. Long black hair hung around his face in uncombed tendrils and he drew a shuddered breath and sighed.

The sharp sound of his cell ringing broke through his thoughts of self aimed anger and prompted him to pull the small black phone from his pocket and glance uneasily at the glowing numbers. Kasson's number.

Eyes wide with shock, Stanton stood staring at his phone as tears gathered in the corners of his coal rimmed eyes.

The phone stopped ringing before Stanton had a chance to make up his mind about whether or not he should answer.

Near panic clutched at him when the small ding indicated the affirmative of both his biggest fear and most desperate wish. He dialled his voicemail password and waited for the message to play.

"Stanton, c'mon, I know it's you. I'd recognize your voice anywhere. Answer the phone. We'll talk. I forgive you for leaving you know? It's not your fault. Just talk to me. Call me again. Stay on the phone for a while.

"I've missed you so much, more than you know. Let's just meet up and go for coffee sometime, okay?

"I won't call again, I won't bother you. But I really hope you give me a call. We can make some plans, alright?

I hope to hear from you, Stan...

Goodbye, I guess."

He closed his eyes as the message finished before hitting the number that would re-play it. Seven times he listened to the short message listening for any indication as to whether he'd changed. For too long he sat on the deck in the growing cold before he picked himself up and dragged his weary and emotionally exhausted body back into the warm apartment.

Tears stained with eyeliner streaked his face in an obvious show of how very, desperately lonely he was. Desperate to calm himself down, he lurched for the fridge where he knew a brand new, unopened forty of spiced rum waited for him. Not bothering with any sort mix Stanton opened the bottle and took a swig. The burn of the harsh liquor urged him to move toward the couch and continue drinking with abandon. Each shot pushing him further from the insecure realm that had become his reality.

Stanton's roommates, Seamus and Boss, had left for the evening to help their somewhat mutual friend cope with a dying grandparent, which Stanton hadn't the empathy, nor will, to join. By the time they'd arrived back home, Stanton along with the rest of the house, was an absolute disaster.

"What the fuck?" Boss quietly spoke into the silent house.

"No shit," Seamus agreed as he stepped gingerly around sharp pieces of glass and pools of vomit and blood. "What the fuck happened?"

The two men found their friend lying naked and covered in vomit on the couch; small cuts accompanied larger cuts and scars on his arms hands and legs. Some still open and bleeding slowly, others already beginning to scab over. "Oh... Oh Stan," Boss whispered as he picked the smaller male up. "Sweetie, what happened?" he asked the still unconscious boy as he began carrying him toward the small bathroom. "Seamus, can you grab the first-aid kit? We need to get him cleaned up."

Stanton awoke the feeling of a soft warm cloth gently moving against his skin. He noticed an arm around his waist and a warm body against his before realizing he was naked and sitting in a tub of warm water. Whispered words he couldn't quite focus on floated around his ears in sparse patches.

"Stan, baby, wake up," Seamus urged as boss gently washed the blood and vomit from his battered body. "C'mon darling." He softly murmured as their friend silently groaned and tossed his head. A small whimper escaped barely parted lips as Stanton shifted restlessly in the warm water. "That's it sweet heart, time to get up."

Stanton opened his eyes to see his friend and roommate sitting before him, a worried expression on his handsome face. A hand reached out and brushed stray hairs from his forehead. "Hey," he whimpered as his body protested every movement and noise. "Don't feel good." He moaned as he tossed his head to the side.

"I know you don't sweetie." Boss whispered from behind him as he cleaned the last of the dried blood off his arms. "You're going to be alright. Seamus and I are going to get you into a nice warm bed, and you can sleep, okay?"

Stanton nodded mutely and closed his eyes as two sets of arms wrapped around him and lifted him gently out of the bath water.

"We'll just lay him down in our bed; I want to keep an eye on him tonight." Seamus requested after they had gotten him dressed and bandaged. "I wonder what set him off..."

Boss stayed silent as he lifted the drunken man off the carpet and carried him to the bed that he and Seamus shared. "It's been a while since he's been this bad." Seamus continued, "I'm really worried about him."

Boss nodded, "Me too."

"Do you think he'll tell us what happened when he wakes up?"

Boss lifted his shoulders before letting them droop again in a mute gesture of complete uncertainty, "I know something's got to be wrong, I don't know if he'll tell us. He's been drinking a lot lately though. Maybe we should get him back in to see a councillor?" He looked forlornly at the scene before him, "Something's not right. He hasn't cut since the last time he took Kasson..."

"He wouldn't." Seamus bit back angrily.

"I know he wouldn't want to." Boss agreed before walking out of the room to clean up the mess that littered the rest of the house; leaving Seamus to watch wearily over their bent and broken friend.

"You wouldn't, would you, Stanton?" he whispered into the darkness as he lay down beside him to drift off into a restless slumber.

AN: Thanks much for reading! Leave a review, tell me what you think, I'll return the favor :)