Title: Afterwards
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@hotmail.com)
Date: 1/12/05
Rating: PG-13
Authors notes: This is the product of an amazing collaboration between myself and one of my favorite new Gale/Randy RPS authors.   She wrote the first part, called Confessions and then I loved it so much that I glommed on and begged her to let me write the sequel. She beta’d this story, as well as tossed ideas back and forth with me about plots, dialogue- really, all aspects of the story! Anonymous, I love you! Feedback for “Afterwards” can be sent to phobosgirl@hotmail.com.
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider info on either of these two actors.
Warnings: Gale/Randy RPS
Complete: yes (we think… MWAHAHAHA)

Afterwards- a sequel to "Confessions" by Anonymous

He was there when I got home, packing.

“Simon, what the fuck?” I asked, noticing as I glanced around our bedroom that most of his stuff was already gone. “You said you wanted to try again!”

He didn’t look up, but I could see the barely contained fury in his face.

“Simon!” I shouted, as if I thought he simply hadn’t heard me the first time, “What are you doing?”

“I dunno, you tell me- maybe I’m bleeding to death in the spotlight?”

My heart plummeted to the basement and my mouth went dry. I fucking knew I should have thrown that stupid letter out.

“Simon-“

He snapped the locks on his suitcase and hauled it off the bed.

“I came home to surprise you, asshole. I thought you wanted me. Me. I was so stupid. Were you laughing at me when you wrote to your precious Gale? Were you thinking of me at all?” he demanded, his eyes never meeting mine.

“Simon,” I sank down on the bed, my stomach churning, “It was like writing in a diary. It was crap, it doesn’t mean anything. I never intended to send it. I just-“

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” The volume of his voice began to escalate until he was screaming at me, dragging his ridiculous luggage into the living room and over to the door. All I could do was follow. “Don’t you fucking dare lie to me again! It meant everything! You’re in love with him!” It was an accusation I couldn’t deny.

“He doesn’t even know you exist, Randy,” his voice turned ugly, mocking, and I knew in my heart I deserved every ounce of vitriol he wanted to throw at me. “He’s in love with pussy, and you, pretty boy, don’t have one. You’re pathetic.”

I nodded my head. He was right. I was pathetic.

The door was open now. He was halfway out of it and I hadn’t even tried to talk him out of leaving me. It was what I deserved.

Fuck, it was what I wanted.

“I’m sorry, Simon.” The words tasted like blood on my tongue.

“Don’t call me. Don’t try to see me. I don’t want you any more than your darling, straight little fuck-wit does.” He slammed the door and I felt it echo in my bones.

I had to sprint to get to the bathroom before I vomited.

It didn’t even occur to me until much later to wonder what happened to the letter.

**************************************** *************************

I hardly left the apartment for two weeks. Gale’s wedding day loomed and I was plagued by thoughts of toasts to the bride and groom, and photos of a radiant Kim in her white, white gown that would adorn the walls of their new home, and a piece of wedding cake that would sit at the back of their freezer for a year waiting to be shared on their 1st anniversary.

I ate barely warmed ramen noodles when I remembered to, showered rarely and tried to forget that I was alone and unemployed. Pulling myself together to arrive in Toronto tomorrow and look like anything but a corpse in my tuxedo was becoming less and less likely. I wondered vaguely if Gale would forgive me my absence.

The 15th day after Simon left, the phone rang. I am anti-social by nature and unless I’m working, I don’t mingle much, so a ringing phone at my place was unusual. Knocking away empty beer bottles and crumpled packs of cigarettes, I reached to answer it. I catalogued the people who might be calling me, all two of them- Simon and my mother- and narrowed it down to my mother.

“Yeah?” I wasn’t in the mood to be polite, even to Mom.

“Randy?” His voice was soft, confused and pained. “What the hell is going on?”

Gale.

Now, he knows me better than anyone on the planet but I was pretty fucking sure he wasn’t a mind reader and since I hadn’t told him yet that I was going to skip the happy nuptials, or that I was thinking about just staying in my apartment until the noodles ran out and I starved to death, his tone of voice confused me.

“Huh?” Depression makes me eloquent.

“I got this weird letter from you, Randy-“

Oh fuck fuck fuck and fuck again. I scrambled to remember when I had mailed it. I had stayed just sober enough when I’d written it to keep from sending it. I know I had! Then I had … what? What had I done with it? Tucked it away in a desk drawer? I couldn’t remember and all of a sudden my brain felt like it was full of mud. What had I fucking done with that letter??

Then the answer came to me, like the clear pealing of a bell in my head. I hadn’t done anything with it. Simon had. He’d probably had it in his pocket the very night he left and he’d mailed it- his final ‘fuck you’ to me.

“Gale, oh shit, please listen-“

“Randy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was incredulous. I could hear my letter crinkling in the background- he had it in his hand right now. I wanted to die and I wasn’t totally sure I wouldn’t; this is what I imagined it would feel like to die of a broken heart.

“Randy, I don’t understand, can you fucking explain this to me, please?”

Then he started reading my words back to me and I thought I’d never felt more ill in my life. I gripped the receiver tightly, listening to his confusion and outrage pour down the phone lines.

“‘It was the rush of my blood gushing out of me…’ Blood, Randy? Oh my god! ‘… as everybody on the planet bore witness to the fact that I fell for you even though you were straight.’ Randy, you’re fucking killing me with this, what was the point? Two days before my wedding?”

“Gale, please, try to understand! That letter, it was never meant to be-“ I was frantic but he was beyond listening.

“Get your ass to Toronto, and I mean fucking NOW, Randy, I can’t talk to you about this over the phone! You’re my best man, for Christ’s sake!” Oh God, he wasn’t really expecting me to look him in the eye after this, was he?

“No, Gale, that’s a bad idea-“

“FUCK THAT. I want to see you tomorrow, dammit, you owe me that, at least, dontcha think?” The sarcasm in his voice was stillettos piercing my heart.

“Gale-“

“Randy!” He went quiet suddenly, and I could hear him taking long slow breaths. I knew he was trying to master his anger, so I remained silent.

Finally he spoke again and he sounded calmer now, “Randy, listen to me. I love you. I’m not angry. Well, I am, but it’s nothing I won’t get over.” I pressed the phone to my ear tightly, irrationally afraid that if I loosened my grip, he would slip away from me forever.

“Come to Toronto. The wedding is in two days. We’ll talk about this, we’ll get it worked out. I’m freaking out, Randy, I need you here. I want you here. Please, don’t make me get married without you!”

His words sliced into me and I almost groaned aloud. ‘Don’t make me get married without you.’ Oh my god, oh my god. I had this sudden crazy image scorch into my brain of him and me in our tuxes standing at the front of the church. Only we weren’t waiting for Kim to march down the aisle- we were taking the vows ourselves, together. My stomach was doing flip-flops. ‘Married without you.’

Oh, Gale.

“Fine,” my voice had nearly left me and I couldn’t seem to breathe. I needed to get him off the phone as soon as possible because I couldn’t listen to much more without losing my fucking mind.

“Ok?” I rushed on before he could respond, “I’ll be there, I’ll come tomorrow night, ok? We’ll talk, we’ll work it all out. Just please, don’t worry, everything will be fine. You and Kim will be great! Listen, I need to hang up, ok? I have to start packing!”

I was lying. I wouldn’t be there. Nothing would be fine. But it was his day, his wedding, and I was not going to fuck it all to hell with my drama. I prayed he’d buy my story. I felt like a worm writhing on a fish hook and only he could release me. I held my breath and waited.

“Rands-“ he seemed to be deciding whether or not he could trust me. Of course he couldn’t. I wanted only to steal his heart and run away with it, keep it close to me for the rest of my life, use it to sustain myself.

“Tomorrow night?” he asked, warily.

“I have the plane ticket in my hand!” I had never lied to him before in my life and now I’d done it twice in ten minutes. How would I survive this night?

“Ok,” his voice was softer. “Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow night. Call me when you get in, ok?”

“You bet!” I choked. “Gotta run, Gale, lots to do!” I dropped the phone onto the hook before he could breath another sigh or say another word that might undo me.

I collapsed into the couch, my eyes already flooding with tears.

“Have a happily ever after, Gale,” I whispered into my empty home.

The End