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Five Finger Death Punch	By : mmarc56 Category: Celebrities - Misc > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1552 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Five Finger Death Punch or any of its members, this story is a work of fiction, and I made no money writing it.

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Chapter Forty-One: Faint of Heart

Ivan Moody woke up extremely sore and hungover and the back of his head hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t lift his head from the pillow, so he left it there and groaned as the fuzziness of the room sharpened into focus. He realized then, after a few seconds, that he was in his own home. Where was Chris?

He rolled his head over but did not see him in the bed with him, but as he laid there perplexed and in pain the hazy memory of the night before came back. He couldn’t remember no matter how hard he tried how he got home, but he remembered the extension cord and fighting the bassist in the dark while the annoying and continuous noise of his dog filled the room. However, he also recalled the gentle, yet heartless, touch of his fingers in his hair and the beloved feeling of his dreadlocks caressing his face.

Did Chris break up with him?

He laid there a long time before he manage to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The pain and nausea was nearly unbearable, but he had to look at himself in the mirror, so he stumble to the master bathroom and beheld himself in the glass. A large, hand-shaped bruise stained the left side of his face, and he tilted his head and pushed hair around to take a look at the laceration in his scalp.

He rested his hands on the bathroom counter and wondered what kind of damage he had done to the bassist. He strangled him, he beat him, but did he look as bad as he did? Slowly the intense disgust with himself bled out of his heart and the reality of having strangled Chris pressed down on his shoulders to the point he struggled to hold himself up. He hadn’t just fought a man last night, he attacked his lover. And for what? To prove a point? He had choked him before, but never had he done it with a weapon – never had he done it with such blind, rage-induced passion. There was no way in hell Chris would take him back.

Even as he recalled that intense feeling of loathing he had felt when Chris carried him to the couch and slung him about, he still dwelled on the fact that he had drank again out of emotion when he promised not to. More shameful still, he hadn’t drank enough to impair his physical abilities, just enough to fuel his anger, yet he had still been angry enough to punish Chris in such a way. He didn’t want to think of his relationship with another man as a competition, but his disgraceful amount of pride forced him time and again to beat the relentless bassist back into his place even though he was also too prideful to stay down.

And what had caused it all? What had caused him to break so easily and drink and hit him? A TV remote. A fucking TV remote.

So how did Ivan cope with this crippling remorse and shame? He drank.

He drank until he was drunk enough to make a poor decision and drove under the influence to Chris’s house. He drank on the front porch when he didn’t answer the door, and he was still drinking when the bassist’s car pulled into the driveway and he stepped out with his gym bag. He had seen him there as he pulled up, so when he shut the door behind him he dropped the duffel bag on the cement and folded his arms.

“What are you doing here, Ivan?” he asked loudly across the distance separating them, “Did you forget that I told you not to come by here without my permission, or did you just drink the memory away?”

“I don’t even remember getting home,” the singer slurred. That really wasn’t the first thing he wanted to say to him.

“Are you fucking drunk again?” Chris walked towards him.

“N—no—yeah… I—I wanted to talk to you,” he struggled to articulate.

“Did you drive here?” the older man questioned, “Under the influence?” Ivan nodded solemnly. “Ivan, that’s fucking illegal! You could have killed yourself – or worse, someone could’ve died due to your ignorance!”

“I—I wanted to talk to you!”

“What? What’s so goddamn important that you had come here drunk off your ass?”

“Don’t get mad at me!” the singer raised his voice desperately, “Listen to me, please! I—I’m sorry, okay? Can’t you see I’m sorry?”

Chris shook his head. “You know it really pisses me off that I’m gonna have to drive your useless ass home again. And then I’m gonna have to arrange a way to get your car to you, but, you know, it’d probably be a good thing if it stayed here for a while!” He gestured at his car parked on the curb. “So you can’t fucking drive drunk again! This ain’t the first time you’ve done that either, Ivan, and it’s fucking ridiculous! Ridiculously stupid!”

“Chris, I’m sorry!”

“Get up and don’t move!” Chris walked briskly away to retrieve his gym bag and was already heading back right as Ivan was trying to pull himself up using one of the porch’s support beams. The bassist lifted him up and then opened the front door as the drunken singer leaned on the post. “Get in here.”

Ivan followed him in and waited by the door, swaying on his feet and focusing on not throwing up, as he put his gym stuff away. The older man gestured for him to sit and he slowly made his way to the couch where he was joined by him. “What’s so important, Ivan?” he asked. His voice was much gentler now, but it was no secret that there was still irritation in it.

“Chris, we need— we need to talk about this, I mean,” he mouthed a couple of words and gestured at the bassist’s face, “look at you eye… just…” he sighed a broken breath and put his face in his hands.

The older man was quiet for a few seconds. “It’s gonna be really hard to talk to you about this when your drunk. Your thoughts aren’t together and anything could set you off and make you angry,” he commented, “then again, that happens when you’re sober, too.”

Ivan’s shoulders shook and his voice was broken, but he kept his face hidden in his palms. “I—I’m sorry, Chris…”

Chris felt a pulse of superiority surge through his veins and he responded in a cold, business-like manner. “Why are you coming to me like this anyways? You think you can fucking strangled me over a broken TV remote and I’ll take you back just because you came crawling back to me crying?”

“It wasn’t about the remote!” Ivan lifted his head. “Sure, it started it and it was stupid, but I didn’t hurt you over that!”

“Why then? Huh? If you really loved me then how could you break so easily and try to kill me because we got in a small fight? Couples fight, Ivan! Okay? They fight about a lot of minor things too, but only in dysfunctional relationships like ours do they beat each other and choke each other over them!”

“Nobody’s ever hit me back! Alright?!” Ivan shouted. He wasn’t so much mad as he was desperate for Chris to understand his side and forgive him, but in his intoxicated state of mind he wasn’t watching the words that fell from his mouth. “I don’t like getting hit either, but nobody’s ever hit me back! They stay in their fucking place!”

Dead silence followed Ivan’s words.

Chris’s face fell, his eyebrows flattened, and his eyes widened. Ivan quickly scanned over what he had said in his mind and then his face fell too.

“Ivan,” Chris said slowly, “have you always been this way? Have you always been abusive, even with your past girlfriends?” The singer kept quiet, bit his lip, and mentally kicked himself. “You were the one who said that we wouldn’t hit women, so we shouldn’t hit each, but y—you…” He couldn’t believe this, but it scared him how much sense it made; how hadn’t he seen it earlier, seen that he always had been and always would be abusive? The younger man wouldn’t speak, so he raised his voice. “Ivan? Have you always abused your partners?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t hit me back!” He snapped, “Don’t act like you’re the victim here—”

“I’m not talking about me!” Chris kept his voice as level as he could, “I’m asking you if you’ve always been this way, even though you said you’d never hit women.”

Ivan stammered and tripped over his words before the word, “Yes!” came out like blank from a gun. “Okay? Yeah, I’ve always abused my girlfriends, okay?! I—I can’t—”

“Did you ever choke them?”

“N—not with an extension cord,” he fumbled.

“But you’ve choked me with your hands too.” Chris could see vivid images in his brain of Ivan getting mad like he does and strangling women against a bed and slapping them across the face, but Ivan was right: unlike himself, women probably never did fight back. They probably took it like punching bags until the relationship tragically fell apart like it always did, and Chris could remember how Ivan would always be very emotional, like he was in this moment, after he and his girlfriends would split, but he had always assumed that he had gotten caught up with heartbreaker. He knew Ivan was inherently angry and violent from the start, so how hadn’t he guessed back when they were just friends that there might just be even the smallest possibility that he was hatefully vicious in relationships?

“I—I’ve never gone so far, Chris. This doesn’t mean I don’t love you! I love you a lot, Chris,” his voice softened, “and that’s why I came here. I wanted to apologize to you and make things work and I’m sorry I’m drunk again and that it’s not helping the fact that I’m so emotional already.”

“But things’ll never get better, then, not if you’ve always been like this. It’s not like this a first time offense, either, Ivan.”

“But you’re not the only victim!” his voice rose, “You hit me back! You always hit me back!”

“Well what do you expect me to do? Strangle you?”

“Tch—! I’m too drunk for this shit!” Ivan exclaimed.

“Then why’d you come here?” Chris’s voice strained to resemble calmness.

“Because I love you! I love you, alright?! And I don’t know about you, but I wanna make this work!”

“Make this work how? Actually get yourself some help?”

“You need help too!” He retorted with an accusing finger.

“You’re too drunk for this! And you know what? I really don’t want to be around you, especially not so soon after last night. You and I? We need a break, Ivan, okay? We need to spend a little time apart.”

Ivan’s mouth fell agape and his heart stopped.

“Y—you’re breaking up with me?” They sat in silence and as the silence ticked on the drunken man’s eyes started to water until a single tear rolled from both of his piercing blue eyes down his cheeks. “Y—you’re breaking up with me?!” he repeated louder.

“I didn’t say that.” Chris’s tone was cold and his expression was stony. “I said we need some time apart, and you need to go home. We can talk about this if you’re ever sober.”

“You’re breaking up with me!” he exclaimed, “Chris, don’t do this! I can change for you. I’ll do anything, I promise!”

“I’m not breaking up with you!” The bassist grew irritated, “And don’t make promises you know you can’t keep.”

“Chris!” The broken singer continued to plead.

“Come on.” Chris stood up and approached him, and as he lifted him to his feet he fell into him and cried into his t-shirt. He cried the older man’s name and made pathetic, childish noises that pulled Chris’s heartstrings more than they disgusted him. He couldn’t be swayed by tears, though, because he already loathed how easily he gave into his emotional displays and he knew it was vital that he stood by his words. However, he also hated seeing the singer cry and his protective nature towards him made him want to break down and do whatever he could to keep him happy; he wanted to tell him they’d be fine and believe it too, and go back to living peacefully as they did and ignore the fact that another imminent fight would be unavoidable.

He walked him to the door with opposition until, at his wits end, he pulled him into his chest and told him straightforwardly, “Ivan, stop this nonsense. This is the way things are gonna be, we need a short break from each other, and this bullshit between us needs to be fixed after we’ve gotten our heads together and you’ve sobered up.”

“Just tell me you still love me…” he wept, “Please, Chris baby… Just tell me you still love me…”

Chris felt his masculinity shaking and his lip quivered. He wanted to tell him the truth, but he saw it as giving in just to make him happy, so his pride caused him to hesitate.

Ivan broke down again and backed away from him. “Oh God, you don’t love me anymore… I’m sorry, Chris!” he shouted, “What do you want me to do? I’m sorry!”

“Ivan!” He pulled him into his body again. “I love you, okay? I haven’t stopped loving you at all, but we need to fix ourselves, and I think the first step to doing so is taking a break. After that we’ll work something out, but I need to think about that, alright?” His voice lowered, “You really hurt me, Ivan, not just physically, and you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Think about how you don’t want to love a monster like me? Think about how you’re ultimately just going to leave me like all the other bitches I’ve loved? I’ve never loved anyone like you, Chris, and I will fight tooth and nail to keep you around. I hope you believe that, and I hope you understand what that means.”

“I hope it means you’ll be willing to make some difficult changes,” Chris responded, “because I really don’t want to give you up without a damn good reason and a hell of a lot of effort.”

Ivan caught him by surprise and kissed him, and once his face was nuzzled into his beard, the older man cursed himself. Ivan had strangled him with an extension cord, yet the very next day he was already kissing him and telling him he loved him.
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Five Finger Death Punch