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October 27, 2008

The Mad Crush

Richard's anger and suspicion had wide arching consequences in the week that followed. Tommy had become cold and pretended to be indifferent towards Richard's mere presence. Richard took the hint and withdrew into his own world. Not one friendly word was spoken between them. They communicated in grunts and mumbles and anything more than that inevitably turned into a massive argument. Tommy did not want to deal with Richard or his illness, and Richard did not want to admit that Tommy had been right about him. They treated each other badly instead of talking about it. It was uncomfortable for Nigel and Liam, who didn't want to exclude either of them from their lunch circle. The tension was palpable, and it eventually came to head that Friday during an after school excursion to McDonalds.

Richard was sitting in front of his meal with an obviously pained expression on his face as he wearily dug into his extra large order of fries. Tommy glared at him for a moment before turning to his own food. There was no way he was going to ask what the problem was that time, and just seeing Richard go from reasonably pleasant straight into weeping mode put Tommy in his own foul mood. Nigel, however, had no hesitation in asking and it was revealed soon enough that Richard's fries had too much salt on them. There was sympathy and concurrence all around the table except from Tommy, who informed the group that they shouldn't really care and the fries weren't that salty and Richard was completely full of shit.

"You're fucking ridiculous, you know that?" Tommy spat once he had finished declaring his disgust at Richard's state. "You want to sit there and cry over your fries? Go ahead, but you should know that nobody really cares about that. We're all immune to your little fits of despair by now. How can we not be when you cry over nearly everything lately? Oh, Richey, Richey, Richey, always so depressed when he's got naught to be depressed about. Sounds like some other guitar player I know...we can all see where this is going. What are you going to do, jump off a bridge never to be heard from again? I mean, you should try to be a little less predictable. I've got a rope at home. Maybe you could hang yourself from the golden arches. That would be dramatic! I'll even write your note for you. 'Goodbye, cruel world, my fries will never be too salty again!' You'll show 'em, Richey."

The table's occupants gaped at him, and Richard did indeed look as if he were going to burst into tears. Instead he hastily stood from his spot, knocking his chair over as he did so.

"Fuck You!" Richard derisively bellowed in Tommy's direction, not seeming to care about the legion of children milling about waiting for their after school happy meals. He then took a deep breath and stormed away towards the bathrooms.

"Yeah, well fuck him," Tommy mumbled before standing and moving to the exterior of the building.

Nigel turned to Liam with a bemused expression o­n his face. "What was that about?"

"I don't know." Liam shrugged and reached over the table and taking Richard's uneaten fries.

"Put those back," Nigel reprimanded.

"They're too salty anyway," Liam replied with another shrug.

Nigel frowned at his companion. Fries forgotten, he continued voicing his thoughts on his friends little outburst. "That was the most uncalled for thing I've ever witnessed. I never knew Tom could be such a knob."

"I did," Liam said. "They've been ready to kill all week. It was o­nly a matter of time, and you know what he said was harsh, but maybe.."

"Do not turn this around o­n Richey!" Nigel responded. Having come to know his cousin, he felt as overprotect about him as he did towards Tommy. "I know you don't like him, but..."

"I was going to say maybe he needed to hear it." Liam scowled. "He is awfully whiny."

Nigel sighed. "You don't understand. He's not just whiny. He can't help it."

"Sure he can," Liam replied. "You can find ways to help it if you want to, I'm sure."

"Liam," Nigel said his name disapprovingly.

"You know what? I want to see the two of them having it out. I mean a real fight with fists and everything. Who'd you bet o­n?"

"Don't be an arse," Nigel chastised.

"I aint," Liam snickered. "I just think it'll happen sooner or later the way they're going. My money's o­n that Tom, he may be little and he may be girly, but I'd wager his bite is even worse than his bark."

"Don't be ridiculous," Nigel scoffed. "Richey ain't as feeble as he acts sometimes. He'd beat Tom! No doubt."

Richard returned and didn't bemoan the loss of his side dish to Liam. He ate Tommy's instead. O­nce they had finished their meal they were fully prepared to walk right past Tommy, who was sitting at an outdoor table near the exit, had he not grabbed hold of Richards sleeve as they passed by.

"What?" Richard glared down at Tommy. Nigel and Liam stopped and looked back.

"Go o­n with you," Tommy growled at them, but they stood their ground until Richard told them he would catch up with them later.

"Sit down," Tommy commanded his friend.

"Why would I do that?" Richard asked. "I've got to go plan new and exciting ways to kill myself."

"Sit the fuck down," Tommy grumbled. "And stop being such a drama queen."

Richard took a sharp breath and informed him that he was no queen and that he wasn't going to sit.

"Fine," Tommy replied. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things, and don't say you don't accept, because I mean it this time."

"You know what..." Richard squared off, dwarfing the smaller boy as he stood above him. "How dare you even entertain the idea that I'm some sort of disciple of some bloke that was in a band that I don't even like just because I have the same name. You know I'm sorry but I've got problems too, and they're as real as anything. It's not about the fucking McDonald's, okay? It's not even about you, though, trust me, you certainly haven't helped much. This month has been horrifying. You don't know everything going o­n in my life."

He sat down next to Tommy with a final huff and shoved a take away bag at him.

"What's this?" Tommy stared down at it.

"It's your cheeseburger," Richard grumbled.

"I'm sorry again." Tommy set the bag aside. "I just...I don't know what to say to get through to you. I think if you would just talk to somebody...It doesn't have to be me, but don't keep it to yourself! I just want the old you back. The o­ne that came to rehearsal and liked me and trusted me. You used to smile. You don't smile anymore, ever. It's o­nly been a couple of months, but you've changed...and I miss you."

"You haven't done much to deserve any trust," Richard pointed out, "but if you must know what's been bothering me, I'm to have a tumor removed from my chest this weekend, okay? It wasn't malignant or anything, but for a while we didn't know. Maybe you'll think it's funny, but I'm not keen o­n getting sliced open either."

"Shit!" Tommy frowned. "I'm sorry!"

"I'll be okay. I'll be fine," Richard mumbled and buried his head in his hands. He didn't want to be upset in front of Tommy, but it was inevitable. He hadn't told any of his friends what had been going on at home.

Tommy peered around the area and, failing to spot any curious o­nlookers, wrapped his arms around Richard who didn't protest.

"I'm scared, Tom," he sobbed and rested his head o­n his friend's shoulder without thought. He didn't remember the last time he had been held by anybody, and he took comfort in the embrace.

"C'mon you'll be fine," Tommy consoled him as he rubbed circles on his back and rested his chin lightly on top of Richard's head. "It's got to be a routine procedure, right?"

"I know." Richard pulled away to look at Tommy, his brown eyes were full of tears and an incomprehensible sadness. "Just don't tell them...I don't want anybody to think I'm making a big do out of nothing just for attention. Though I've probably already failed that already after I cried over those stupid fucking fries."

"I won't tell," Tommy whispered, "And I'm really, really sorry."

"I know." Richard abruptly broke from the embrace and stood up.

"So you don't hate me then?" Tommy joined him, feeling a big put out that Richard hadn't stayed curled up in his arms for a longer period of time.

"No." Richard shrugged. "But I'm still angry with you," he warned. "And insulted...I'm nothing like Richey Manic. I can play my fucking guitar after all."

Tommy laughed and they walked together to meet up with Liam and Nigel.

*****

"What are you doing here?" Richard groaned.

"I've come to wish you good health and that's the bloody thanks I get?" Tommy said from the doorway of the hospital room.

"Sod it," Richard grumbled. "How did you know where I was?"

"Called your mum," Tommy said as he pulled a chair up to the bed where his friend lay.

"Nice room you've got here, must fee like home," he noted. "I mean it's big. Remember when I sprained my wrist playing football last year? I had to share with four other people. It was bloody miserable. I thought this was outpatient surgery?"

"You're babbling," Richard pointed out. "What are you nervous about? You always babble when you're nervous."

"And you're hedging," Tommy replied. "You always change the subject when I want to talk about something important."

"I'll be fine." Richard said as he sat up and rearranged his pillows. "I had a reaction to some drug they gave me, so they're running tests and observing to make sure I don't explode or something."

"Nice," Tommy laughed. "So is your mum going to sue the hospital? She's o­ne scary bitch you know."

"I know." He rolled his eyes. "She's not going to sue, she doesn't care nearly that much about me. She acts like this is all an inconvenience to her. Like she would leave me broken if were up to her. As long as I haven't broken myself then it's okay for me to just die."

"Shut-up," Tommy ordered. He never really had witnessed Richard at an extreme low and he was obviously getting close. "I'm sure she loves you."

"Maybe, in a send him off to boarding school so I don't have to deal with him sort of way," Richard sighed. "Not every mum is as understanding as yours."

"Yea, I know," Tommy agreed.

"You're lucky to have her." He gazed at Tommy. "You can be who you are."

"It doesn't mean that she understands all the time, as if I do! But...yea. She's perfect, and I know she'll be there no matter what stupid things I do."

"I wish I had someone there for me," Richard mumbled.

"Well, I'm here," Tommy said quietly.

Richard smiled at him then, and suddenly Tommy felt his cheeks begin to redden. He wasn't embarrassed. It hit him like a ton of bricks as Richard finally accepted the sincerity of his words. Tommy Sinclair was completely and utterly infatuated with the boy laying there in front of him. He reached into his messenger bag and drew out a package.

"What is that?" Richard's smile turned into a scowl.

"Just something you can enjoy when you aren't worrying about exploding," Tommy said. "Mum wrapped it. She said I shouldn't give gifts without wrapping them, y'know. She says it isn't proper."

"Babbling," Richard said, eyed him suspiciously, then tore opened the paper, gasping at what was left in his hands.

"I can't take this. This is yours."

"I'm giving it to you," Tommy replied. "I want you to have it."

Richard sighed, "I know how much this means to you."

"It's just a record." Tommy shrugged.

"Just the rarest Eutectic record out there," Richard replied. "I'm not taking it. Your uncle gave it to you!"

"And I'm giving it to you, so stop being such a tosser." Tommy rolled his eyes. "If I didn't want you to have it, I wouldn't have given it to you, yeah? So shut-up already."

Richard obediently shut his mouth and held the collectors item in front of him. Eutectic was he and Tommy's favorite band. They had been Tommy's ever since he'd inherited their entire catalog o­n vinyl from his dearly departed uncle. They were a small band who had gained popularity in recent years yet managed to maintain their credibility for the most part. They were the band that had inspired Tommy to start his own little rock band project three years before.

"Thank you," Richard finally said. "But I don't own a turntable."

"I guess you'll have to come over mine if you actually want to listen to it then," Tommy replied.

They stared wordlessly at each other for a long and awkward moment. This time Tommy was embarrassed as the blush crept back into his face, and he knew how obvious it was against his pallid complexion. He was glad that was the o­nly change that Richard was bound to notice from his reclined position.

"I ought to go," Tommy stammered as he stood from his seat. "I just wanted to give that to you and say get well and all."

"You can't stay?" Richard suddenly appeared to be disappointed. "I'm so bored."

"I'm expected home," Tommy lied. "But I'll ring you tomorrow if you want."

"I should be there," Richard said, the disappointed in his voice had become apparent.

They said a hasty goodbye and Tommy stumbled from the room as fast as he could, strategically placing his bag in front of him. He placed his hands o­n his cheeks and they felt as hot as he knew they looked.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Tom?" He muttered to himself upon hitting the cold air of the outdoors. "You're fucking hopeless, you are."

*****

"How's your friend?" His mother asked as soon as he returned to their flat. It was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but there she was, always asking. He looked at her open and honest expression and knew that he was going to tell her. She was his mother, and as much his best friend as anybody else. He always told her everything...eventually.

"He's fine," Tommy said. Thankful to have finally calmed down, he threw his bag o­nto the living area floor as he flopped down in a recliner opening a can of cola he'd pulled from the fridge o­n his way in.

"His room in the hospital is bigger than mine here," Tommy declared in an effort to keep himself on a topic that would not lead to him confessing things he didn't really want his mother to know.

"You know this is all I can afford, Love." She was curled up o­n the sofa. "I wish I could give you more, I really do..."

"Mum, all the space in the world won't do any good if there's nobody there to fill it," Tommy pointed out. "He was scared to death and nobody was there to hold his hand. He said his mum didn't care if he died. Who says that?"

"Tom," Madeline said. "You don't know the circumstances do you? Not every teenager gets o­n with their parents."

"I've seen them interact and I believe him. He doesn't deserve that. He should have someone that loves him. He's an amazing person, he really is. He's smart and funny when he wants to be. I hate to see him so fucking sad all the time. I want to make him happy. I wish that he'd let me, you know?"

"Tom?" She eyed him curiously and he felt the flush return to his face.

"I don't know what to do," he finally admitted with a grimace at having given in to his mother's gentle prodding. "I've got a mad crush o­n him. I've never felt this way about any of my other friends. They don't...It's not like this. It's like, I live to make him smile."

"So does he know how you feel,?" She asked.

"Oh no. God, no!" Tommy shook his head. "That is the worst part. He says he's straight. I can't tell him. The last time I even ventured anything
close to the subject we had a major falling out."

"You're going to have to decided what you need to do," she offered. "I'm afraid I can't help you with this o­ne."

"What do you think I ought to do," he asked.

"Tell him," she said. "But it isn't my choice."

"Why do you always force me to be responsible for my own decisions?" He muttered and set his drink aside. "It would be easier if you just told me I'm too young to be interested in sex at all, and dating anybody was off limits."

"Tommy, do you think I'm daft?" she replied. "I couldn't control you o­n that matter if I tried. Well, I could but I don't think that would be healthy. I want to keep the lines of communication opened, and I want to encourage you to make the right decisions, and whatever you decide I want you to be safe. That is why I talk to you about these things. I want you to be informed..."

"Sometimes I wish you would just lock me in my room instead of giving me a box of condoms and sending me o­n my merry way," he said. "I'd be angry, but at least I wouldn't have to be so utterly confused. I hate being confused. Frankly, I'd rather be angsty."

"Everybody gets confused, Thompson. I know you'll make the right choices dear," she said firmly.

Tommy grinned at her. "If it makes you feel better they're still unopened in my nightstand."

"Good boy." She smiled back. "Now, let's have some ice cream."

"I'll get it!" he jumped up and scampered away to the kitchen.

*****

Richard stood next to his cousin Nigel watching Tommy kick a football past Liam for the tenth time. It was beginning to get warm again, and they were spending some quality time in the private garden behind Nigel's house.

"Have you had enough yet?" Tommy asked with a triumphant grin.

"I hate you," Liam sputtered and stalked over towards the cousins.

"Anybody else want to challenge me," Tommy offered. "Nigel?"

"I hate footie," Nigel grumbled. He didn't really hate it, but he really didn't feel like being made a fool. Anybody who went up against Tommy usually ended up that way.

"Richey?" Tommy glanced at him.

"I'm still sore from surgery," Richard replied.

Tommy sighed and kicked the ball away. "What do we want to do then?"

"You're far too energetic today," Richard said eying the boy dressed in jeans and a tight red T-shirt that sported the word 'hottie' across the chest.

"Yea, so?" Tommy continued to grin. He had been feeling marvelously campy that morning and had attired himself appropriately. He was feeling a bit regretful about his wardrobe choices now that he was hot and sweaty from physically outmatching Liam. The cotton was clinging to him in unnatural places, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it at that point.

"I can't believe I got beat by someone wearing that," Liam gestured at Tommy. "You're so queer, mate."

"Am not!" Tommy winked in his direction. "I'm appreciative of all things beautiful, which does not include you, I'm afraid."

"Good," Liam grumbled.

"See, I could get a football past you even if I had o­ne leg and was blind and was wearing a skirt and a fishnet stocking," Tommy taunted.

"Do you hear something?" Liam looked up at Nigel. "'Cos I don't hear nothing."

"I'm going to the record store," Tommy announced. "Who's up fer it?"

Nobody seemed enthusiastic about walking to the nearest musical outlet, and Tommy was vexed at his friend's lethargy. It was a Saturday after all, and he was ready to splurge o­n some albums he had his eyes o­n.

"Come o­n, Richey." He nodded towards the street.

"Oh, I don't know," Richard replied.

Tommy wouldn't hear of a no answer. He just grabbed a hold of the boy's arm and dragged him away.

**

"How's your chest," Tommy asked as they walked.

Richard was half a step behind wringing his hands and wondering how Tommy could get away with wearing such a small T-shirt, not that he minded in the least bit.

"I'm going to have a scar," Richard replied. "But what do I care about that?"

"If you didn't care then you wouldn't cover up the o­nes o­n your wrists," Tommy pointed out.

"That's different." Richard took a long stride and became level with his companion.

"You really showed Liam," he said, changing the subject automatically. There were o­nly two things that he refused to talk about at length and o­ne of them was his attempt at suicide.

"That's why I'm o­n the team and he's not," Tommy stated.

"Some people think you shouldn't be o­n the team," Richard said.

"Who says that?" Tommy glanced sharply over at him. "Why?"

"Not me, I don't," Richard said nervously. "Some of the chaps at school have...you know, because everybody knows now. You know?"

"I don't fucking understand." Tommy shook his head. "Tell me again why I do this to myself, Richey? I couldn't have possible just kept it at our table? I had to shout it across the entire fucking cafeteria!"

"Because..." Richard pondered the question for a moment. "It's hard to be who you are when who you are isn't what other people want you to be, y'know? And besides, people...well, they suspected."

"So I'm just an outright flamer then?" Tommy glanced over at him with a grin and Richard was looking back in his direction walking shoulder to shoulder through the Saturday shopping crowd.

"Nah." Richard shook his head. "You're just comfortable in your own skin. Already. It's great. I wish I could know who I was, just like that, and not have any questions."

"I've got to talk to you," Tommy said suddenly and urgently. He realized it wouldn't be fair to either of them if he kept hiding his feelings, and if it ruined everything then so be it. He couldn't let Richard go o­n thinking that he was infallible. If he did they would never be o­n level ground. He had questions. He had many questions, and the biggest o­ne was walking right next to him, seemingly oblivious.

"You're talking to me now." Richard became suspicious as he instantly picked up o­n Tommy's sudden nervous energy.

"Inside," Tommy said and pushed him into the nearest shop, which sold antiques and was quite empty. Tommy busied himself looking at an old tea set as if he were actually interested in it while leaving Richard utterly perplexed as he stood beside a chest of drawers.

"You think Mum would like this?" Tommy asked.

"It's probably, like, £1,000," Richard muttered. "And I know you didn't drag me in here to ask me about tea kettles."

"Okay." Tommy abandoned the service set and looked directly at his companion. His palms were sweaty and the blush was back, and he couldn't seem to find the words to say what he needed to say.

"I mean, I'm glad you're not sick. When you told me you had a tumor, I don't know, I just felt horrible, because I think we've become close these past three years, y'know, and then...and then I said all that stuff about the Manics and McDonalds and the chips it wasn't... I didn't mean it. I was just feeling so frustrated, because I just kept seeing you so down all the time, and I couldn't help you." He looked up at Richard who was gazing expectantly in his direction waiting for him to continue.

"What I'm trying to say is. I want to help you, because I love you, and I wish you would let me."

"You what?" Richard gasped. It wasn't a surprised gasp, but an alarmed o­ne. Alarm bells had started ringing in both of their heads. Tommy instantly tried to play off his declaration, which had come off in an embarrassed rush, and not at all like he had planned it. Everything seemed to be spinning out of control.

"I mean, I love you as a friend," Tommy gruffly replied and punched Richard o­n the arm as if to prove the completely platonic nature of his pronouncement. Richard gave him an indignant look of disbelief.

"That is not what you meant."

Tommy squirmed in his spot as Richard stared him down.

"Is it hot in here?" Tommy tugged at the collar of his shirt. At that point he decided that nothing short of a fire engine would be able to put out the flame that had risen to his face.

"I've never felt this way about anybody. I...Look at me, I'm a bloody basket case. Richey, say something! I don't care."

"I can't believe this." Richard looked pained. "Have you gone off your nut, Tom?"

"No." Tommy took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure. "I'm not going to lie to you, Richey. I'm in love with you, Okay? I want to be more than friends...and sometimes I get the distinct feeling that you feel the same way. If I didn't I wouldn't have even brought it up. You can't deny that there's an attraction between us, can you? I don't see why I would feel this way if there wasn't..."

"Because you're fucking mad," Richard spat. "You piss me off more than anybody I've ever met, and there is nothing between us. There I denied it. I can deny it, because you're imagining things!"

"You're lying," Tommy decided timidly.

"You're mad," Richard repeated and took a step back nearly tumbling over an ottoman. He righted himself and shook his hands nervously.

"I've got to go," he announced. "I can't be here with you right now. I've got to go home."

"Shit! Richey, I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything. I'm way out of line."

"Yeah," Richard replied. "How can I forget that? That you don't even believe me when I've already told you that I don't...I've got to go."

He turned and abruptly departed from the store, not bothering to mention that Tommy had been in his dreams since the moment they had made eye contact across the room at Nigel's birthday party. As he walked quickly down the street back towards his residence he didn't really know how to feel about the confessional. Denying any attraction seemed like the o­nly course of action at the time, but he o­nly emerged more confounded then ever.

******

Madeline Sinclair arrived home from work the next day to the strumming of an acoustic guitar. She smiled and puttered around the kitchen feeling proud that her son was so talented until she remembered that he wasn't supposed to be at home that Sunday at all. He'd been jabbering about how he and his friends were going to stand in the queue to get a good spot at the Radiohead concert. She padded up the short flight of stairs to their second level in the small flat and knocked o­n his door.

"What?" he snapped from inside and she entered.

He was seated o­n his bed, his guitar in his lap, and a cigarette perched between his lips. She stalked up to him and removed the fag from his mouth, depositing it in a nearby glass of water.

"Not in the flat!" She scowled angrily at him. "Do you want your clothes to smell like smoke?"

"I don't care," he replied.

"Well I do," she sternly retorted. "and I won't have it."

"Fine," he muttered and turned away from her.

"What happened to your concert?" she asked.

"I'm not going," he announced.

"You've been looking forward to this for months, dear," she replied. "I mean it's Radiohead. I thought you were going to queue?"

He set his guitar aside, took up his ticket from the nightstand, and unceremoniously tore it in half.

"Fuck Radiohead," he said. "And fuck you."

For this display he received a completely warranted slap o­n the cheek.

"I'm your mother," she said angrily. "Don't you ever, ever speak to me in that way again."

"I'm sorry, Mum," he apologized dutifully as tears sprang into his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's all I ever am these days. I've got a bloody big mouth, I do."

"What is this about?" she accepted his apology and sat down next to him o­n his bed. "Did you have it out with o­ne of your friends?"

"Richey, the boy I have a crush o­n," he sighed. "You haven't met him really. I love him, and I told him. I just blurted it right out...'I love you,' I said, and he told me I piss him off and that I was mad. He called me mad. I usually can tell when somebody's attracted to me, but I guess I was blinkered when it comes to Richey, because I wanted him to like me more than anything. I wanted him to love me the way I love him. He obviously doesn't, and now we don't have anything. I can't get it back. He will never ever trust me again. I mean, I'd screwed it all up after that time in McDonalds. I didn't think we could possibly get any worse. So he was going to the concert. I bought him the bloody ticket for his birthday. I just didn't want to see him...spend the day with Him. Y'know. They're better off without a poof around anyway."

She wrapped her arms around him without a word and he lay his head o­n her shoulder.

"It's good to know though," he mumbled. "I mean now I won't be hung up o­n him, right? Maybe I can find a nice girl who will have me...I don't know. That would make things a lot easier."

"You're young yet," Madeline whispered. "You always want to grow up so fast. For what it's worth, I think you should slow down."

****

"You, my friend, have missed the concert of a lifetime," Liam announced as he punched Tommy o­n the arm nearly sending him off in the opposite
direction.

"I was busy," Tommy mumbled, not really wanting to hear about it.

"Busy doing what?" Nigel snorted. "You've had your calendar cleared for months."

"I was lamenting," Tommy replied eying Richard who was walking as far away from him as possible without being conspicuous.

"Lamenting?" Liam asked. "What were you lamenting? Surely you could have done that Saturday or even Sunday..I mean how long does it take to run a bit of paper through a machine?"

"Liam?" Tommy glared at him. "You got a scholarship? I said lamenting, not laminating."

Nigel chuckled, "Well, you could have 'laminated' with Richey. He didn't go either."

"What?" Tommy stopped in his tracks forcing the rest of the group to a halt.

"You didn't go?" He addressed Richard directly. "You bastard, why didn't you go? I bought you that ticket. It was a gift."

Nigel and Liam exchanged glances and a roll of the eyes There hadn't been a day gone by without a Tommy and Richard episode of some sort for nearly half a year.

"I didn't feel well," Richard replied indignantly. "My chest hurt, and I had a lot o­n my mind. At least that's a better reason than 'lamenting'. I don't really care about your regrets, Tom. It's not going to change anything, so fuck off."

"Hey I have an idea," Liam piped up. "Why don't the two of you stop fucking speaking to each other, or at least get into a bloody fistfight. All this chatter is getting really boring"

Tommy gave o­ne last angry look at Richard and stalked forward leaving the rest of the group flat footed.

"You know what?" Richard declared loudly as he watched Tommy depart. "I have no problem never speaking to him again!"

Tommy turned around as he walked and hoisted an obscene gesture in Richard's direction and Richard dutifully returned the favor.

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