A Time of Hiatus

[Vice Ingram]

Vice rubbed his eyes, kneaded his temples wearily, trying to block out the garish sunlight that streamed through the spotted, dusty window. He knew he should have refused those last couple of shots. Or three, or four. He'd lost count of how many he'd had, and now he was paying the price. His stomach lurched, and his head throbbed violently as if a crowd had gathered to shamelessly beat his skull with hammers. He was sure that something had stabbed his brain, and he rolled over onto his front, clutching at the sheets in desperation. Having no idea how long he'd been lying awake in torment, Vice wished rashly for death to come and relieve him of his agony. And that wretched window.

He fought to let his muscles relax, heaved deep breaths despite the friction in his throat. If only he could sleep. He was grateful, at least, that none of the boys had decided to remain inside that day, and the acknowledgment of the empty room brought a small amount of comfort. Oh, but it hurt to think. He wrenched his eyes shut, lowered his head to rest on his arms, and laid perfectly still. He was unaware of how many seconds ticked by, and only vaguely aware of his own presence. Soon, the pain began to ebb, never leaving, but fading hazily as he felt himself drifting...

And drift he had. Light was beginning to seep through his eyelids, and he noticed dismally that it no longer tortured him. Instead, the warmth was welcome, and he flung an arm across the bed, not yet opening his eyes. He inhaled. The burn in his throat was gone, and he realized as his parched lips parted that his thirst had grown immensely during his sleep. Finally letting his eyelids flutter open, Vice's dark eyes moved lazily about the room, and he noted that he must have shifted positions, as he was now facing the previously despised window. The door stood next to it, and he hoped violently that no one would come bounding in.

Vice raised his arms above his head, stretched his muscles, felt the satisfactory rippling in his abdomen and the relieving strain in the strength of his shoulders. Vainly, he examined his forearm, flexed his lower back. He wasn't sure he possessed many good qualities, but physically, he knew he had never fallen short. He moved sideways onto his back and stared at the ceiling, tempted to let sleep overtake him once again.

[Delilah]

Light trickled in through the window placed high up on the wall. The rays managed to penetrate the dark room and flutter down to settle onto Ayala's eyelids.
She lay relaxed on her bed. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, breathing regularly, and her hair spread out over her shoulders-the picture of peace.

Eyes snapped open.

"UCH!"

Covers were kicked back and feet hit the ground. There was no way that she was going to get that nap she wanted. It wasn't so much the light -though it didn't help. She just couldn't sleep. She grabbed her beige and red button down off of the end of the bed and pulled it on over her undershirt, buttoning just a few buttons. The brown pile of fabric on the floor was transformed into a pair or pants as she lifted them up and slipped them on easily. She gently swished her hair so it was all behind her left ear ad pulled it into a sloppy side ponytail, just trying to get it out of the way.

She opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. Most of the kids were outside being that it was in between the afternoon and evening editions of the newspapers. They usually spent their free time outside whenever they could, napping was a rare choice seeing as they usually went to bed early anyway.

She left the door slightly open behind her and gently padded down the hallway. She knew that vice had gotten back late last night after meeting with some friends, and he'd been pretty out of it. He'd reeked of alcohol but that happened to everyone around here sometimes....still, she hadn't seen him that morning so she figured she'd go check on him.

The door wasn't latched and was open a crack so she pushed it open very slowly. All the beds lay empty, all except vice's. He was laying perfectly still, facing the door. She tiptoed in and quietly closed the door behind her. She carefully walked over to the bed and squatted down next to his bed. She gently brushed the hair off of his forehead and kissed the smooth skin of his forehead. It was warmish.

She stood up and walked over to the giant bathroom that was attached to the boy's room and grabbed a washcloth. She let the water run for a moment, soaked the washcloth with cold water, and filled a cup up with water. She rung most of the water out of the washcloth so that she wouldn't make a mess and walked back into the main room.

As she entered the room she saw Vice looking at his arm and then at the ceiling and she smiled to herself. She wanted to make her presence known, but at the same time she liked watching him when he thought no one was around. She felt like somehow it was the only time that he was ever really himself, and she liked that.

[Vice Ingram]

His eyelids closed, and he inhaled the blissful silence. His head still seemed heavy, but his body was light, and the coolness that hung over the room touched its welcome fingers to his skin. Letting his eyelids flutter open once again, Vice swung his legs over the side of the bed, noticing with satisfaction the way his defined stomach contracted as he sat up. The pounding in his head was beginning again, and he ran a hand through his tousled hair as his vision blurred. Sighing heavily, he pushed himself from the bed, stood for a moment, and then turned in the direction of the adjoining washroom, the smooth wood cool beneath his bare feet. Managing to make his way across the room, he stopped at the entrance and leaned his head against the doorway, attempting to collect his scattered thoughts. The throbbing in his temple was no longer unbearable, but the drumming behind his eyes was beginning to irritate him. Water. Oh, water.

Vice lifted his head and stopped abruptly. His throat now unbelievably dry, he stared blankly at Ayala, his dark eyes unsure where to focus. He said nothing. After a long moment, he pried his gaze from hers and moved inside the room and to the sink. He felt his neck begin to flush as he splashed cool water on his skin; he hadn't invited her here. The shame of being seen in such a state would not have bothered him had it been anyone else. But no, it would have to be her. She'd seen him drunk plenty of times before, but something about allowing her to witness the aftermath of his actions bothered him. Somehow, he felt it weakened him in her sight, and besides, his head still ached. He wanted to be left alone.

He stared at himself in the dirty mirror, his own dark eyes blinking pensively back at him. Still keenly aware of Ayala's presence, he resisted the tempation to glance at her. He wasn't angry, only dismal. He hoped anxiously that she wouldn't mark his inattention down on a list of his faults--he had too many of those already. He turned his face absently back to the mirror, drying his hands on the seat of his pants. He really could have used a thorough washing. He saw now that his white-blond hair was matted with sweat, and even the bangs that fell across his eyes smelled distastefully of whiskey. Vice flexed his jaw irritably, letting his gaze flicker quickly to Ayala and then back to the mirror. He reached a hand across his broad chest, and, rubbing his bare shoulder, strode sullenly from the room and sat once again on the edge of the bed. He didn't expect her to leave, but the fact that he'd have to wait until she left to strip himself of his putrid clothing irked him.

[Delilah]

Ayala's eyes followed vice as he pushed himself off from his bed. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it quickly, unsure of how to draw attention to herself without seeming weird that she was just standing in the doorway.
His ran his hand through his hair, and the expression on his face worried her a bit. Maybe he'd had a little too much to drink last night...

He was walking towards her, but he didn't seem to notice her...She moved out of his way as he neared the doorway. He looked at her, and his blank stare scratched at her heart a little. He was just a little hungover.....that was all... right?

She dropped her eyes to the ground as he walked past. The waves of whiskey scent reached her nose. She heard him turn the sink on and turned to watch him. He was splashing water on is face, and she could tell something was up. He hadn't said anything to her and she wasn't sure if she should have come. Maybe she should have just kept trying to sleep....

He was looking in the mirror and so she looked in the mirror with him, and raised her eyebrows at his reflection though he didn't seem to notice. He looked irritated, and she hoped that it wasn't because of her. He glanced at her, and the hope grew. She really didn't want to be on his bad side.

He walked out of the room, past her, and back to his bed. As he sat down on the edge of his bed, she followed. She sat down on the edge of the foot of the bed, close...but not too close.

"Hey." She said quietly and held the cup of water out to him. He looked like he could use it.

Once he'd finished she held out a hand to take the cup back. She leaned over, set the cup down on the ground next to the bed and sat back up to face him. She reached out hesitantly to brush his matted bangs out of his eyes. "you okay?" she asked, her voice still quiet. His forehead felt warmish, almost like he was still buzzed from all the alcohol. She gently brushed the cold washcloth against his forehead hoping that it might help.

[Vice Ingram]

As he'd silently predicted, Ayala followed and took a seat next to him, the rickety bedstead rocking beneath them. Vice didn't turn to look at her, but instead shook the hair from his eyes and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He bent his head. The fact that she was hesitant in her approach did not escape him, and he felt slightly guilty for the neglect he'd just shown her. He heard her murmur something and took the glass she held out to him, letting his eyes linger on her face as if attempting to reconcile. The water cooled his throat; he appreciated the gesture, handed the cup back to her. He wanted to speak as he watched her set the glass on the floor, but no particular words came to mind and he shut his mouth again.

"You okay?"

She brushed his bangs aside, and Vice almost laughed when they fall immediately back. He slid his own hand lazily through the white shock and grinned. As she lifted a cloth to his forehead, he pushed her hand away, leaning back across the bed. "I'm fine."

It was the truth. He knew in an hour the dull aching would cease, the life would spring back to his limbs, and everything would be the same as it had been. But right now, he didn't have the strength to resist the attention she offered. He stretched his long legs. Turning his head to the side, he buried his face in the cool sheets, reached up to lightly trace his fingers along Ayala's back. She'd tied her hair back, and his fingers sought to untie it. He twisted a dark strand gently around his finger before speaking again. "It's not you. I just hate having you here when I'm like this...makes me feel like a failure."

He paused, wanting to continue but unsure of what to say. He knew he probably sounded stupid to her--he sounded stupid to himself. He unwound her hair from his finger, moved his hand once again to her back, and looked up at the ceiling. Then, finding his voice, "I guess if you've seen me hammered, you've seen just about everything. You're still here, though."

[Delilah]

Yali stifled a smile as vice's bangs fell back into his eyes right after they'd slipped from between her fingers. Oh well, that was to be expected. His hair was wild- it didn't accept restrictions- she noted, much like isaac himself.

Her hand was pushed away and she didn't resist. She knew that he wasn't feeling his best but she also knew that he wouldnt admit it so quickly. Perhaps eventually.... perhaps.

"I'm fine"

She would have rolled her eyes if he hadn't been looking. She gave up and reached for the cup on the floor. She picked the glass up gingerly and walked over to a table, setting the cup down. She walked back to his bed and flopped down next to him, this time daring to more closer than the farthest edge of the mattress. He stretched behind her and she felt his fingers begin to trace to her back. A sigh escaped her lips, her mind following the patterns being traced against her back. The delicate dance of fingertips ceased and she felt a tugging at the string that was holding her hair back.

Her eyes closed as her hair fell around her shoulders. She liked it to be free, but it was easier to control when it was confined with some string. Maybe she should cut it a bit... those thoughts halted as isaac's fingers wound their way through her hair.

"it's not you. I just hate having you here when i'm like this. . . makes me feel like i'm a failure."

Ayala wasn't sure what to respond with. HE didn't seem like a failure to her, this was normal in their lives. Besides, he didn't have to be strong all the time. Everyone needs a break every once in a while.

"I guess if you've seen me hammered, you've seen just about everything. You're still here, though."

His fingers had returned to her back but she turned her back, twisting out from under his touch so that she could shift her position to be facing him, laying on the edge of the bed. "I am." She confirmed. "and i will be"

[Vice Ingram]

Isaac let his dark eyes rest heavily on Ayala's face as she turned to survey his expression, her own eyes wide with honest sincerity. He appreciated the gesture. Her words, he knew, were true in and of themselves, but somehow the boldness of her stare contained a reassurance that verbal communication could never equal. His fingers found hers, and he squeezed them gently, a small smile flickering at his mouth. A few short months ago, he would never have let himself become so vulnerable as to rely on the fidelity of another, and he let out a slight chuckle at the thought. To be sure, trust didn't exactly come easily to him, but he liked to think that the more he stretched himself, the more he gave of himself to Ayala, the stronger the bond between them would grow. If she said she would be here, he had no choice but to trust her. He demanded that of himself.

Letting his fingers roam once again to her silky hair, Vice looked down at the girl lying next to him. It had taken an effort to get this far, an effort he hadn't at first wanted to put forth. It was a funny thing, his pride. It ate away at the trust he placed in her, accused him of loosening his severe persona, and taunted him endlessly with tormenting thoughts of abandonment and unfaithfulness...yet he clung to it desperately. It did him no good, but, he reasoned, would allow him an extra measure of dignity should anything go wrong. The thought of Ayala with another man never failed to send a chill down his spine and always caused him to withhold a sliver of that precious trust he so wanted to give her. One thing was for certain: he wanted all of her, every single fiber of her living being, and if he couldn't have that, he didn't want any at all.

"I'm sorry. I need to stop thinking." He knew his silence must be intimidating, and he didn't want her to worry. It was no use attempting to sort out his jumbled thoughts. He kissed her forehead. "Know what else I need? A cigarette."

Letting his bare feet slide to the floor, Isaac shook his hair absently from his eyes, slightly ashamed at the lie he'd just told. Really? A cigarette? What is this, Vice? Some sort of excuse to
get you off the hook from all these things you should tell her? He blinked hard and got to his feet. Now wasn't the time. He should wait, wait for a more opportune time. He was always complicating things, and the last thing he wanted to do was unload the frazzled thoughts of his weary mind on the girl he no-doubt already caused so much pain.

A loud bang sounded at the door.

[Delilah]

As his fingers squeezed hers and he looked back into her eyes, she saw a smile flicker across his lips. She cocked her head to the side a bit-wondering what he was thinking.

Sometimes as she looked at him she wondered what act of fate had brought them together. What if they had met earlier? Would things have been different? It was so... human. A violently quick introduction which somehow mutated into this moment. Sometimes she wondered if they had never been meant to run into each other that day and then she thought of how life might have been. She didn't like it. There had to have been a reason that they'd met when they had- she'd been giving up slowly and he'd brought her back. He'd given her someone to look after and someone to care for. Sometimes she thought he needed her. Then she'd realize that that was a selfish thought and it was probably the other way around anyway. She probably needed him more than he needed him. For some irrational reason, she wanted to look after him and she worried about him.

Something was wrong.....

She felt his fingers through her hair and studied his face. His thoughts were definitely roaming. Sometimes she wished so badly that she could read minds. She wanted to know what ran rampant in his thoughts, especially the one's that seemed to tear him apart.

"I'm sorry. I need to stop thinking."

A smile flitted across her lips for the fraction of a second that his lips touched her forehead.

"You know what else I need? A cigarette."

She didn't move but her eyebrows knit together with worry for a second. Her eyes followed him as he slid his feet to the floor. He sat there for a second shaking the hair from his eyes. In that second, she took in his movements and felt her heart ache. Something was troubling him. Something was troubling him and she couldn't help.

This was definitely one of those mind-reading moments. She wanted so badly to reach out and tell him it would be okay but without knowing what he was thinking, she couldn't say so for certain.

A loud bang sounded at the door and she bolted upright. Her eyes wide she stared at the door. Another bang sounded and the door swung open to reveal a woman standing in the doorway. A woman wearing clothing nicer than anything Ayala had ever bought with her meager earnings and holding something in her arms. The woman took a step into the room and Ayala put a hand on vice's shoulder.

Did he have any idea what was going on? 'Cause she sure didn't....