you're not iconic [oliver, oneshot, 94th]

Sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke
Sip the gossip, burn down your throat

-

[between the 93rd finale and 94th reaping]
tw: alcoholism

Fifteen god damn years. We'd been together for nearly fifteen years, and he leaves me. He wasn't even decent enough to give me a real reason. Was I too much for him? Sure, the Eightieth was fourteen years ago, but he couldn't have expected me to just be over the trauma of it, right? No, he said he'd stick with me through my recovery, and he really was a good person. So, what was it? What was his reason?

Who the fuck really knew?

Did our relationship just not mean anything to him?

Was he pretending to love me all along?

I tried not to think about it. Instead, I did the (un)healthy thing and drowned my sorrows in bad habits. I drink the days away now. I'm twenty-eight years old and have a worse alcohol problem than I ever would've thought. As a kid, I always told myself I'd never drink. It was so taboo to me that it's laughable to look back on. Now it's pretty much all I do to pass the time.

I don't really have friends. The others from the arena? I've pretty much completely fallen out of touch with them. I'm not really surprised though. I can't expect them to have cared about me, either. We were all in there with one goal: to survive. We accomplished that, but most of us in a bit of a roundabout way. We were resurrected.

I can remember that giant sloth and the way it looked right before it caved my skull in. I shouldn't be here now, but I am. I'm living with the trauma, both physical and mental/emotional, and most days I wish I hadn't been brought back.

What was honestly the point of still being here? For a while— for fourteen years— I was grateful. Grateful to have so many more years to spend with Jory. Now I realize that was all just a waste.

The one night about three months ago that I managed to stay sober, I wandered to the District Square. I made my way into a small diner, sitting at a table by myself, just observing the other people there. There was even a happy couple a few tables over. Seeing them made me want to get up and leave. To just head to a bar. As soon as I was about to cave and go get myself a drink at the bar next door, I was approached by a woman who started flirting with me. A woman. I had never been into women, but maybe it'd be a decent enough distraction for me to act like I was interested.

She'd taken a seat across from me, saying that she noticed me from across the restaurant and thought I was cute. Thought she'd make a move. Thought she'd just go for it and see where it went. How cliché.

Regardless, I gave her a smile and fed into her flirtatious endeavors. I complimented her. They were genuine compliments, even if I knew I wasn't particularly into her. I wanted to be nice. What was the point in being an asshole like Jory was to me? Crushing someone's heart is a shitty move, if you ask me. I wasn't going to be that person. Not so soon after Jory left me.

One thing led to another and I ended up going home with her. We slept together, and it was strange for me. I'd never been with a woman, and as a matter of fact, I'd never slept with anyone but Jory. It was different, but I supposed I didn't mind it.

The next morning, I thought that it might've even been something I'd do again in the future, and I told her that (minus the details about Jory and about never having been attracted to women). A few weeks later, though, I realized how wrong I was.

She found me at my home those few weeks later, apologizing for arriving unannounced as she'd asked someone for my address, but told me that what she had to tell me was important. I figured I was getting some sort of confession of love, or something like that, but I was terribly wrong.

She was pregnant.

I was never sleeping with a woman again.

I was the only person she'd slept with in well over a year, so she was certain that I was the cause. Fuck. I wasn't ready for a kid with some woman I hardly knew. Sure, Jory and I had considered adopting kids someday, but that was out of the question now that Jory was out of the picture.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I tried my best to be supportive of her when she told me this, and told her to let me know how and where I could help. She told me she'd keep in touch, and told me when she was due to have the baby.

Six months from now, there'll be a kid in the world because of me. All because I decided I wanted to break a bad habit (drinking) and try something else (having sex with a woman). What was wrong with me?

My life felt like it was falling apart and I didn't know what to do. I wasn't ready for a kid, regardless of how involved the woman would decide to have me be later. Whether she wanted me to be a completely present father figure or an entirely absent one, I wasn't ready. I didn't want the guilt of absence, but I didn't think I was prepared enough to be completely present either.

If Jory hadn't left, where would I be? Would things be better? I suppose not. If he was unhappy enough to leave, I wouldn't have wanted him to force himself to stay. But still. It didn't feel right. It felt like he should still be there with me.

If there's a higher power out there, I sure as hell hope that it decides it's time to help me.

-

You're not iconic,
You are just like them all

-

lyrics: "Gossip" by Måneskin
word count: 982