Chapter Text
William's mouth tasted like bile.
He had guzzled three bottles of water and a cup of coffee, but the acrid taste still remained. Desperately it clung to his tongue and to the roof of his mouth, and everytime he took a breath the sensation intensified, dizzying and sickening him in equal manner.
Liquor hadn't helped matters. If anything it had made him feel more sick, but at least it had numbed him. Maybe he should've taken some Xanax instead, mellowed himself out, but he drank to forget, too. He wanted to hurt the next morning. He wanted to destroy himself on the inside. He wanted to dig his fingers into his skin and tear himself apart, and since he couldn't, he'd settle for the poison.
William's mouth tasted like copper.
He had bit into the inside of his cheek during the drive. He didn't know where he was driving, nor did he really care about driving too safely. His high beams were on, illuminating the path ahead, and a part of him wished they suddenly malfunctioned, so that he'd have an excuse to take a bad turn and go tumbling off the road.
Everything tasted like copper now. If anything, it was worse than the bile. It reminded him of his nostrils being assaulted by that sickening metallic smell and human waste, the screams of children and parents, the squelch of brain matter falling out of a giant, agape maw.
His knuckles had turned white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. William's chest was constricted, the world was shrinking, and he felt like he was about to die, then and there, in the middle of the road. He wondered what people would think when they found his body. If they found his body. The road was an uncommonly used one that wound through the forest, and the most you'd see there were deer or the occasional unfortunate hitchhiker.
His dim eyes flickered upwards as a tall, illuminated sign cut through the treeline, the first indication of civilization. Sparky's Diner, it read. William chewed on the inside of his cheek until his mouth tasted a little more like copper, and pulled into the parking lot. It wasn't Juniors, but it'd do.
William's car stopped directly over the line separating two different parking spaces. He didn't care to fix it as he put the car into park, twisted the key out of the ignition, and stepped out. The summer night was cool and refreshing. In the distance he could hear the pops of fireworks, even though the 4th of July had passed just the day prior. Or perhaps the day before that. For all William knew, it was the 6th instead of the 5th, given how late it was.
His fingers twitched for a cigarette, but he'd left his favorite pack in his suit jacket, which was all the way back at the…
No, it wasn't there, was it? He remembered taking it off, wrapping it around a small, deathly still body. He remembered red soaking into the purple fabric, desperately reaching out to cling onto it even as it was taken away from him.
He remembered…
William gagged, and he stuffed his knuckle in between his teeth, bracing himself against his car as his stomach lurched. He wouldn't be doing a repeat of this. Not again. Not when he knew that all that would come up would be stomach acid and coffee.
He let out a low groan, pressing his sweaty forehead against the car window. His entire world spun, unhelped by his tipsiness. He needed to sober up, or he might do something seriously stupid.
The back of his neck prickled. William glanced up into the night sky, as though searching for some sort of message within the stars. Maybe if he looked hard enough, he'd find a reason why it had to happen. Maybe there was something he was missing.
Maybe, in all his ignorance, he had caused this.
The clouds began to creep over the stars, dark, rolling, and he knew it would rain soon. The warmly lit interior of Sparky's Diner looked awful appealing in that moment.
He staggered to the front door, and practically fell through. The burst of warm air was a welcome change, and he was suddenly aware of how cold he had been earlier.
William ignored the hostess and seated himself in one of the booths, grimacing at the sticky seats and the crumb covered table before him. He needed a coffee. He needed a drink. He needed some sleep.
Anything, to avoid going back home that night.
Sparky's Diner lost its homey glow at night. As customers filtered out and cars grew to frequent the streets less and less, stepping inside made the hair on the back of your neck raise. It wasn't like it was a dingy, rundown place anyways. It was well-maintained and honestly pretty clean. It was just the atmosphere- it was so isolating. If something happened, there would be little to no witnesses.
That's why you loved working the night shift. You had fewer responsibilities, the night manager was more laissez faire than the day manager, and creeps tended to tip more than the well adjusted members of society did. Of course, it also meant that you needed to ask one of your co-workers to walk you to your car after every shift, but otherwise it paid a less-than-shitty minimum wage.
You deposited a tray of hashbrowns and sunny side up eggs at a table, and seriously contemplated why someone was eating breakfast food at twelve in the morning. You then wondered why a mostly breakfast-centered diner even bothered opening at night in the first place.
"Jenna, love of my life, why do we bother opening at night?" You asked the hostess, leaning against the counter as you did.
Jenna was an older woman who tied her hair in a tight bun that left you wondering how it didn't cut off the blood flow to her brain. She smelled faintly of ginger and peppermint, and together with her plump body and blonde hair made you liken her to Mrs. Claus. She had the jovial personality to match, and though oftentimes she was very quiet, she became a chatterbox whenever you came up to her.
You had the feeling that she was very, very lonely. She didn't have any family at home, not even any pets, and you could tell that she craved the company. Sometimes she'd bring you things she'd found in her attic or basement that she might think you'd like- old, somewhat tacky jewelry from a bygone era, antique silverware she had claimed belonged to her great great grandmother and was "real silver", and the occasional tooth-shattering hard candy.
When she had gotten to know you a bit better, she approached you after your shift one night and hurried you to her car. The sharp chill of winter nipped at your cheeks and fingers, but you didn't let your impatience dictate your actions. And what a reward you got from that- because when she popped open the trunk, she pulled out a small stack of journals that belonged to her late husband.
A physicist and an astronomer, she had claimed. Just like you wanted to be.
You had spent the next few hours perusing the journals with her, until the moon dipped below the horizon and the sun rose, and with it came its radiant light. With the sky a rose-petal pink and the lingering warmth from a companionship that left you content for once, you had driven home in an oddly dreamlike state.
Suffice to say, you didn't mind wasting your breath on her as much as you did with your other coworkers. You even bothered to learn her name, which was more than you could say for most people.
Jenna gave you a wry smile, her rosy cheeks dimpling with the effort.
"If you keep talking like that, people are gonna start asking questions," she said.
You blinked. "Who? The two morons in the corner trying to light a garbage can on fire?"
"No, the- wait, what?" She stood and turned to see two of the customers huddled around one of the garbage cans in the diner. "Oh for the lord's sake…"
She rushed off to go and shoo them away, and you let out a soft huff. It irked you that she took her attention off of you so quickly, but whatever. You had more important things to do than entertain some old bint. Like… Well, embarrassingly enough, you didn't know.
As easy as the night shift was, it was also boring as shit.
Which was why you perked up when the bell dinged, and a scruffy looking man with a thousand yard stare walked in. Your first thought was that he would be mildly entertaining to poke at. He seemed to be in his mid to late thirties, with a silver band on his ring finger and equally silver eyes flickering out into nothingness. He didn't even bother trying to talk to the hostess. He just found a chair, slumped in it, and buried his face in his hands.
He was somewhat interesting at first. He was muttering something to himself, and when you got closer to him you could hear him whispering something that sounded like… a mantra? Like he was begging for forgiveness or pleading to a higher power or something. A sob occasionally broke through his praying, and you were about to write him off as a guilty Mormon- nothing that unusual to come across at this time of the night in this part of the Bible Belt- but then he started to swear under his breath.
He was quietly threatening someone. Making promises of grievous harm, of revenge, and then it circled right back around to the crying and praying, and back again.
"Should we kick that man out?" Jenna muttered to you, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek.
Maybe you were a bad person, but it was unstable people that entertained you the most.
"I'll go take his order," you said. "Who knows? Maybe he's just grumpy on an empty stomach."
"... honey, I don't want to assume things about a man I never met before, but you're a nice girl and I don't want you to get stabbed," she gently said, and you rolled your eyes.
"Don't worry, Jenna, I'll be fine," you said. "... but if he does, do you think I could keep the knife?"
Jenna didn't dignify that with a response.
When you approached the man, you were struck by how strongly he smelt of alcohol. Oh, yeah, he was definitely wrecked. His graying hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead, and he trembled so badly that he looked almost feverish with his flushed cheeks and red rimmed eyes.
You plastered on the perkiest smile you could muster. "Welcome to Sparky's diner! Is there anything I could start you off with today?"
"No," the man muttered out, his eyes trained directly on the clock behind you.
"Any appetizers? Drinks?" You asked.
"No. No thanks," he hiccuped slightly on the last word, his shuddery breaths beginning to even out a bit. Though, the way his fingers twitched towards the rolled up utensils made you uneasy.
"Any desserts?" You pressed.
"Fuck off!" He snapped, but it held little bite to it. It didn't sound very threatening when at the same time he sounded like he was about to burst into tears at any moment.
You studied the broken man for a minute or two, and then looked around the diner. Almost nobody was here, and you had already served the ones who were here.
"How about some company?" You softened your voice.
For the first time that night, the man looked up at you. His eyes were striking. It would be an injustice to call them gray. They looked like mirror images of the moon.
He swallowed. His teary eyes flickered uncomfortably across the room. Finally he spoke.
"... I won't stop you."
You allowed a small smile when he finally gave in. You appreciated his cooperation.
"Thanks," you slid in the booth across from him, and sighed in relief. You'd been standing around all day, and your legs ached. "Nice night, isn't it?"
"..." The man didn't respond. You didn't care. You were too busy studying his face to really pay attention to anything he might have said.
"Aren't you talkative?" You mused to yourself. He didn't respond, so you decided to fill in the silence. "Hey, have you gone to see the meteor showers this week?"
To that, his eyes flicked upwards to you. You took that as a sign to continue.
"Utah's got the best night skies in the country," you said. "You go far enough away from civilization, you can look straight up and see half the universe from where you stand. So when the time comes, you can spot a solid meteor shower in the sky. And let me tell you, they're beautiful. I can't describe it, but it makes you feel a little less alone in the universe, knowing that things like that just happen on their own."
The man sniffled slightly. He glanced out the window. "Never thought about it like that," he croaked out. He had an accent, you realized. British.
"They're a sight to behold. Ha, look at me. Behold, " you said the last word in a mocking falsetto. "My high school English teacher would be jumping for joy."
"Mmm," he murmured. He hiccuped.
"Anyways so I think right now is… so yesterday was July 5th," you said. He flinched at the date. "Around this time we can usually spot the Alpha Capricornids. They peak at the end of the month, but you can get a good look at them now if you drive out far enough. They look like huge balls of fire in the sky. First time I went out to see them, I kind of wondered to myself if this was what it'd look like when the world ends."
"Sounds familiar," he darkly muttered, but at least he wasn't ignoring you. "Capricornids… sounds like Capricorn …"
"What, like the constellation or the birth sign?" You asked.
"Either?"
"Okay so…" you furrowed your brows in thought. "Okay, so the birth sign- totally coincidental, if I remember correctly. Capricorns are born sometime between December 20th and January 20th, but I don't really care about astrology and that pseudoscience business that much so I couldn't tell you."
"And the constellation?" He prodded.
"Alpha Capricornids is named after the constellation Capricornus because it takes place near it. Again, nothing to do with that pseudoscience nonsense."
"You seem to really have a thing against 'pseudoscience nonsense', as you put it."
"I knew this bitch in college- sorry, a girl in college," you cleared your throat, "who shared the same dorm with me, and she would not shut up about star signs. To her it was like just because we're both majoring in physics means I care about the fact that her being a Gemini means that she can steal my boyfriend because 'he's a Libra, we're celestially compatible' as if my keys weren't about to be 'celestially compatible' with her car."
"Sounds personal. If it's any consolation, the only time I tried dating in college, the person turned out to be using me as a way to 'experiment with their sexuality'," he said, before he leaned over the table, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. You tried not to wince at the alcohol breath wafting over to you. "And he turned out to be a fucking traitor, too."
"Oh, you poor thing . That's awful. Did you slash his tires?" You asked.
"Legally I can't say anything," he shrugged. "... especially since he's my business partner now. But I wanted to fucking skin him for it."
Oh, so he wasn't just unstable, he was unstable. You wondered if he was like this when he's sober, because if so you pitied the poor woman who put a ring on his finger. It was probably a bad idea to continue the conversation, but the idea of humoring him was more entertaining than following your survival instincts.
"Oh, I've been there. They always run away whenever you tell them you'd wear their skin as a coat, as if it isn't a compliment," you sarcastically said, leaning your cheek against your palm.
He slammed a palm against the table and pointed at you, not seeming to get it. "You… you get it! And they- they always leave you in the end, even when they keep on saying, 'Oh William, I love you, I promise not to fucking tear your heart apart in fifteen years'."
William, huh? It seemed like too proper a name for a guy like him. You seriously had him pegged for a "Dave", or even a "Steve".
You wondered if you could make him cry again.
"It must have been a bad break up if you're still hung up over it," you said.
"I'm over it," he clearly lied.
"Oh?" You asked. "What were you crying about earlier, then?"
William cleared his throat, and glanced away from you. "... could I get a cuppa? Black, medium."
"Oh," you blinked, startled, before fumbling for your notepad and pen. "I- yes, of course. Give me a second."
You scribbled his order down as the man across from you studied you, his gray eyes trailing over your form. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin atop them.
"So you studied physics? Earlier you seemed more interested in…" he trailed off.
"Astronomy," you said, and squinted at the slip of paper. "So that's a medium black coffee- no cream, milk? Sugar?"
"None," he said.
You tore off the order and quickly retreated to the kitchen.
When you came back, the man was staring out the window, seemingly studying it.
"So you said you can see it right now?" He asked. "The meteor shower, I mean."
You cocked your head. “Well, yeah. If you get far enough away from civilization, probably.”
He chewed on his bottom lip, before suddenly downing his cup of coffee, disregarding the fact that it was steaming hot. You winced at the way he cringed afterwards, his expression tinged with regret.
William's voice was hoarse when he next spoke. “Show me.”
Leaving the diner with a strange, drunk man wasn't exactly at the top of your to-do list. Frankly, any other woman in your position would have told him a straight “Fuck no, creep.”
But he was just so interesting. You wanted to play around with him a little longer.
“... give me an hour until my shift ends, and you can follow my car there. Deal?”