Forget Me Not

Modern doo-wop and classic novels

Crowley didn't make it to the end of the day. The good thing about drinking through a mental breakdown is the hangover makes sick days convincing. When he said that he needed to go home again no one questioned him about it. Well, no one questioned his need to leave.

Crowley's phone has been getting more texts than usual, mostly from Conrad. "What did it start as? Was it a stomach thing? Cause mines been hurting," is the message he reads when pulling up outside of his flat. By the time Crowley gets too his door, Conrad had text again, seeing that he was left on read. "Tony?"

Crowley turns his phone off and walks through his front door. He sighs at the state of his living area but just walks through it. He sets a large paper bag down on the counter with a clank. The liquor store over the road has become extremely familiar with Crowley over the past few days. He pulls one of the bottles from the sack and pours himself a generous glass.

Crowley's favorite wrist watch lays on the counter. He picks it up, clenching his jaw while eyeing the tartan on the back. He opens his laptop that's also out on the counter. The webpage already open is the Scottish Register of Tartans. He spent a few hours searching last night but it was a bust. Almost immediately he gives up and slams his laptop shut.

After pouring a second glass of whiskey Crowley selects a record from the living room floor. It's The Normal Album by Will Wood. Crowley places it carefully on the player and drops it's needle. While a piano intro and various vocalizations sound, Crowley looks at the mess that is his apartment. He doesn't care to clean it up. Instead he walks across the room to where his plants sit.

He switches on a sun lamp for some of his plants and begins to inspect them, poking at their soil and inspecting the leaves. When he gets to his elephant ear plant he makes a pouting expression, "oh, you're so dramatic." Crowley picks up the wilting plant and brings it to the kitchen sink. He sets it in a few inches of water and says, "a drink for you," he pours his glass back and refills it again, "and a drink for me."

The plants are the only living creatures that Crowley feels like he can really talk to. He waters the houseplants that need it while speaking,"I just- I really feel like I'm losing it." Crowley inhales sharply. "Like I can't ignore it anymore." He mists his fern. "It's like a crack in a dam. Those people chipped away at it!" He laughs, "I was perfectly fine sweeping my issues under the rug!"

Crowley presses the tip of the spray bottle to his head, as if pointing to his brain. "But no! Now I'm broken!" He slams the bottle down in the counter and slams back his drink.

The song changes and Crowley bobs his head to the swinging beat. The alcohol is starting to taste like a good time. He snatches the bottle and struts back to the living room.

Crowley stands on his cushion-less couch and uses the liquor bottle as a mic. "The devil made me do it but I also kinda wanted to," he sings along in a baritone. He swigs from his makeshift microphone and snakes his head back and forth to the beat. He picks up the lyrics again in the middle of a line, "when the third eyes open and I like what I see." He hops off the couch, "baby, I might be crazy but I didn't lose, no I set it free!" Crowley stands in silence for a few moments thinking of that verse but decides, fuck it.

He bursts out the reframe even louder, "I'm just a psycho babe! Come and go out my mind! I didn't lose it, babe, there wasn't much to find!" Crowley dances around the room, kicking pillows and papers from the floor. "I'm just a psycho, babe, come and go out my mind. I'm only passing through!"

He prances and spills his drink as the instrumental plays. Crowley hums along while drinking from the whiskey bottle.

When the song ends Crowley takes a seat at his kitchen island. He fumbles to remove the factory seal from his second bottle of Talisker while the next song begins. After failing to tear the seal for roughly 30 seconds he just rips it off with his teeth. Crowley isn't going to waste his time with a glass and drinks straight from the bottle. Crowley taps his fingers on the counter, feeling the pain-stricken song.

While taking a long swig of whiskey Crowley spills drink down his front. He leaps up and exclaims, "oh, Jesus Christ!" His mouth fills with a rancid taste at the words. Between the drunkenness and bad taste Crowley's stomach turns. He makes it to the bathroom just in time and throws his head in the toilet.

After throwing up almost £80 worth of liquor Crowley's stomach is finally empty. He makes his way to the sink to rinse his mouth and face. Music still trills on in the other room. Crowley looks up at himself in the mirror. He sees bloodshot eyes starring back at him as Will Wood continues to sing in the background.

The lyrics say, "who makes the call? What's a symptom, what's a flaw, can it be both? Well, I suppose that's an answer." The next line really strikes something in Crowley. "Would you give up your humanity for just a touch of sanity?"

Crowley looks deep into the mirror and answers that question. "Yes," he says quietly and decides he's done for today.

He retires to his room, feeling shaky. He takes notice to a book on his bed that wasn't there before. Crowley looks around the room before picking up the novel. He opens the book and begins to read the poem. It isn't an easy read, especially since Crowley isn't very well read and struggles to focus on the words in front of him.

Almost immediately Crowley is put off by the story. "This," he flips the book over to read the author's name, "Milton guy seems to have a real superiority problem." He scoffs, "especially to get it wrong right off the bat! Satan wasn't the serpent." Crowley's a bit taken aback by his confidence with that statement but keeps reading.

The talk of the burning lake causes his skin to crawl and for some reason he takes offense to how the author portrays all the demons. He's not sure why but he hates that they are all just rebels full of malintent.

It doesn't take long for Crowley to decide that the book is rubbish and he has no clue why it's in his possession. Before tossing it aside he does survey the cover. Crowley focuses on the angel depicted there. The strangest feeling of grief consumes him.

That out of place feeling takes on a tone of spite the longer he looks at the angel.  Crowley throws the book onto a pile of clothes near the closet. The sun hasn't set yet but Crowley wraps up in a blanket and lays in his bed, confused why he feels the way he does, until he falls asleep.

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Hi guys! If you're enjoying the fic please vote for it and if you haven't heard of Will Wood you should give him a listen!