I'm Not Like Him [boyxboy]

Chapter 19

That was a super long wait.

I think that this may be the most rubbish chapter I have ever written in my life. I'm sorry but writer's block sucks. It is such an assbutt (any SPN fans out there?)

Vote and comment and stuff :)

Alex's POV

“River.” I whisper as he answers his phone. I swallow hard as I await his reply.

“What do you want?” He asks, his tone abrupt.

“I don't know.” I say truthfully. I don't know why I called him; my fingers just tapped the buttons, and they led me to his name.

“Alex, I'm not in the mood for your games. What do you want?”

“I don't know.” I speak firmly, wiping my cheeks.

Even after all of these years, that bastard still has this effect on me. I'm still his puppet.

“Don't do this to me, Alex. Not now.” He sounds exasperated and I can imagine him frowning; his nose wrinkling a little.

“I'm sorry. I just need to talk to you. To anyone.” I add, flicking open his lighter and feeling the weight of it in my hand.

“Then call someone else. I told you how I felt.” He emphasises his words and I start to feel like an idiot. I shouldn't have phoned him.

“No, I know. I just...I'm sorry.” I sniff, biting my lip as I try not to let any tears fall out of my eyes.

“Are you...crying?” He hesitates for a moment and I close his lighter; the dull 'clink' replaying in my mind.

“No, I'm fine. I shouldn't have, er, called you. I'm sorry.” I apologise, hanging up on him.

I sigh as I run a hand down my face. So much for forgetting him.

I wipe my eyes and grab my home phone from the counter. I replay the message that was left by the doctor.

“This is Dakota Fleming from General Hospital, if a Mr Alex Matthews is in residence, can you please phone us back? It's urgent.”

Was my father's death urgent?

I hear a knock on the door and I open it tentatively, not wanting any nasty surprises.

“What's wrong?” River asks, striding inside and standing in front of the couch. His eyebrows are raised and he's got his arms folded.

He's wearing dark blue jeans and a black shirt. My mood has been embodied by his choice of clothing today.

“What are you doing here?” I hesitate, my voice sounding croaky to my own ears.

“You sound rough, Alex. You're eyes are red and you look like a mess. You don’t look too good.” He notices.

“I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine.” I repeat, trying to believe it myself. I didn't deserve to cry over my father. He didn't deserve my tears.

“No you're not. Come on.” He looks into my eyes, making me feel uneasy.

It's too soon.

“You can't just waltz in here after what you said. It doesn't work like that.” I say firmly, crossing my arms.

“I know but I was worried about you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I care about you, Alex. I don't want you to be unhappy.” I avert my gaze at his words.