Four (Danny); Alaska.
Pretty fucking bored, me. I suppose I should attempt to do something constructive, but I really can't be bothered. I suppose I should stop mooching around the house drinking. I suppose I should clean up the remains of my recent scrawlings. I suppose I should stop supposing what I should do.
I sigh and pick up the half-empty glass of whisky, and stare at it, then sigh once more and put it down again, preferring instead to poke idly at the pile of ashes and charred paper on the glass-topped table in front of me. It's been a while since I've needed to write so much. Can't imagine why. Guess it's got something to do with the emotions that won't fuck off and leave me alone, no matter how much I try to drown them with alcohol. Or maybe it's something to do with how much I hate England right now. Or maybe it's Amy.
I can't figure out what I feel for her. One second I swear I would do anything for her, and the next I just want her to get out of my head and never, ever come near me again. I had to stay back here after the wedding (is it me, or does that appear to need capitalisation? Such an ominous event) but Amy returned to England. I guess it was a mutual decision to split -after all, carrying on any kind of relationship, especially the sort we had, was going to be impossible across the seas- but it wasn't as mutual a decision as I would have liked. Nor was it that easy. I didn't want her to go. I wanted her to stay here. I had no choice; I'd agreed to score another film, and I need my studio for that, but all Amy was returning to was a fucking waitressing job! How could that be more important than me?
And God. That sounded fucking stupid! I pick up the dregs of the whisky and down them, trying to drive the pain out of me again.
"What?!" I snap at my ringing phone. Fucking thing disturbing me! I suppose I ought to actually answer said fucking thing. "What?" I repeat as I pick it up, slightly less aggressively than I had a moment ago.
"Uh? Danny?"
"Tim, it's my phone, who else would be picking it up?"
"At your house? I don't know. One of your puppets for all I know! Anyway, uh - hi! Er, could you score a film for me?"
"Another one?" I try to sound bored, but I can't help smiling somewhat; I like working with Tim. In a strange, twisted way.
"Yeah, it's - this thing about a thing on a train and a - this guy-" Tim's rambling, and I'm letting the words wash over me. I don't understand any of what he's saying, because he's subsituted any words that might have been of any kind of use with 'thing' or 'that' or 'uh', which doesn't help me in the slightest.
"Yes, Tim, yes." I sigh, cutting him off mid-flow. "Sure, I'll do it." I agree. Why not?
"Thanks Danny!" Tim sounds ridiculously happy that I'll work with him, and I have to pour myself another glass of whisky to steady my shaking hands. I don't actually think the whiskey's going to do any good, but still... "Oh! Just a sec Danny, there's someone here who you should speak to..."
"Tim," I sigh. "What is it this time?" I demand wearily.
"Perhaps you'd be better off asking Tim that."
That voice. Oh God... That voice. I don't mean to, but I bite my lip, replacing the glass on the table, something that isn't due to the effects of the alcohol beginning to bubble in my middle. Amy. Oh good fucking hell...
"Who - what - where are you?" Smooth, Danny, so smooth. I want to kick myself for stuttering like Tim. Bloody fucking stupid of me, considering this is Amy I'm talking to... Amy, who once - actually, I don't want to remember that... Not now, anyway!
"I'm in a cardboard box, under a railway bridge, in Alaska." Amy says sarcastically. Great move, Elfman, you've made a fucking pratt of yourself again! I groan silently.
"Nothing unusual then?" I drawl, silently praising whatever entity gave me the power of decent speech once more. Amy sniggers and I smile, relieved to hear her voice again, after almost two long, lonely fucking years.
"He asked me where I am,"
"What?" I blink in confusion.
"I was talking to Heather." Amy says, her tone implying that I should have known that.
"Apologies for not being all-knowing and all-seeing." I bitch. I hear a snigger in the background and roll my eyes, sighing.
"Do you have Speakerphone on?" I question. I hear another muffled snigger and a 'shh' sort of noise, and roll my eyes again.
"No..." Amy murmurs, as I hear a rustle, a click, and the background noises fade.
"Thank you." I mutter, feeling piqued. Amy sniggers once more.
"Yais... He said 'thank you', for turning it off, I guess!"
"Look, if you're going to talk to me, actually talk to me and not Heather!"
"Oooh, getting jealous are we?"
Sigh. I take a large mouthful of whisky, blinking at the burning sensation spreading slowly down my chest. Then it's gone and I feel slightly more relaxed.
"Not in the slightest. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Working. What are you wearing?"
"Amy!" I hear the shocked-verging-on-amused shriek from Heather in the background and roll my eyes yet again. I'm going to get dizzy if I keep doing this.
"Clothes." I reply shortly. "What about you?"
"A smile." Amy replies, in a voice that makes my breath catch in my throat, and I have to swallow before I can reply with any kind of decent comment.
"Well, you're with Heather and Tim, so I suppose anything's possible." Well, a vaguely decent comment...
"Yeah, and? S'nothing unusual." I know Amy well enough to be able to tell she's smirking now. I sigh, then groan irritably as I hear Heather chastising Amy in the background.
"Can you please shoot her? Or at the very least gag her so I can attempt to hold some sort of conversation with you."
"Been there, done that. Well, restraints anyway, I never used a gag - I liked the sounds..." Amy's sniggering as she speaks, and I can hear Heather's enraged squealing in the background.
"AMY!!!" God, if her voice goes any higher in pitch she's going to shatter my whisky glass.
"Awww, don't worry," I hear Amy tease her. "Tim'll kiss it better for you. Have you told him you like to be tied up-"
"Amy!" She has it in stereo this time, from both Heather and I. I don't want Amy talking to Heather when she has every opportunity to do so. I don't. I want Amy to be talking to me! It's so strange, how she seems so natural, like talking to the guy she hasn't spoken to in nearly two years isn't strange.
"Yeah, what?" she sniggers again, at me this time, I think. "You coming to Heather's birthday thing tomorrow?"
"What th- oh yeah, that..." Bloody social event... I don't know why Heather bothered asking me... She can't like me... Although I appreciate what she's tried to do in the past. She's an alright kid, Heather. Although I guess she's hardly a kid, her mind's a fucking freak-show! She writes some damn fucked-up stuff for someone who looks so 'cute'.
"Yes, that. You'd better be there, or there'll be trouble!" Amy says, her tone threatening. God but does she sound sexy when she says that...
"Oh yeah...?" I challenge. "Trouble with who...?" I add, trying my very hardest to sneer, and not to imagine what sort of trouble Amy could cause me...
"With me, who else?"
Sounds to me like an incentive not to go...
Chapter 3 ; Contents ; Chapter 5
