#I’m having really self destructive thoughts like deleting this account and junk let me have my guilty pleasure

[creamecream]

“When I saw your face,

You made me feel like a stranger in a brand new place,

And it felt so good to be understood,

There’s so much I wished that I could say,

So I, I’ll be your armor,

Do whatever it takes,

I’ll make the mistakes,

I’ll spend my life being your partner,”

Bubble Bath belongs to @abyssnighthawk and I.

[artificialqueens]

Notebooks and Post-it's - Chapter 13 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: YOU GUUUUUUUYS! All the comments, all the love. Seriously, I’ve been warm all over with all the love, which is why you are already getting a new chapter. I am not saying that we are hitting home stretch, but I do believe that we will soon be getting close to an ending.

Whatever type we will end up getting. Who knows?

Summary:

It was fine.

Doing the show, being their friendly selves. Hinting at more than friendship because the fans loved it.

It was fine.

Vanjie truly didn’t feel like her heart was breaking every single time she joked about Brooke, her dick or alluded to their ‘sex life’. She didn’t.

Vanjie was fine.

LINK TO AO3

It was fine.

Doing the show, being their friendly selves. Hinting at more than friendship because the fans loved it.

It was fine.

Vanjie truly didn’t feel like her heart was breaking every single time she joked about Brooke, her dick or alluded to their 'sex life’. She didn’t.

Vanjie was fine.

So what if she sometimes shed a tear in her bunk on the bust when it was way past midnight and they were on their way to a different city.

So what if she sometimes wanted scream in sheer jealousy over the fact that Detox and Nina got to hug and touch Brooke - in and out of drag?

It didn’t matter.

Because Vanjie was fine.

Except. José wasn’t.

Every joke about Brock’s dick that he made at the shows left his mouth feeling ashy. Every #branjie hashtag made him want to delete his Instagram account.

He missed him.

José had panicked in the elevator, afraid that Brock would leave him again, so he decided to make it easier by leaving first.

It gave him the control, something he felt had been taken away from him the last time.

Ending it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but only for about 20 seconds.

The moment the doors of the elevators had closed behind him, reality hit him hard.

He didn’t want it to end.

He had never wanted it to fucking end.

But.

He had ended it.

And well…

Vanjie was fine.

Brooke was not fine.

Brooke felt like death walking. Her head was fussy from all the drinks, the meet & greet’s and the long trips on a tour bus.

She felt like a painted queen in more ways than one. The smile on her face faker than her hips to waist ratio.

She endured all the jokes that Nina, Monique and Vanjie made at her expense. Dealt with all the #branjie tags on Instagram and tried to not care too much about every single “where’s Vanessa” question that was posed to her.

But.

Brooke was not fine.

She was barely hanging on by a single thread, knowing that it would take almost nothing for him to hit the deep end.

It was not fine.

She tried to quiet down the beat of her heart every time she packed her things in the dressing room. Tried to not look for a post-it. Tried to kill any type of hope.

Failing every single time.

But while Brooke was not decidedly not okay, Brock was numb.

He didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol, heartbreak or a combination of the two, but he just felt numb.

He talked with the others, he did the work, went to the clubs and tried to exist.

Was this how José had felt when Brock had ended things the first time around?

Fuck, he hoped not.

If he had been the cause for José hurting like that…

Shit.

They had the first day off from the tour the day after, and Brock didn’t know how or if he could get through it. The other’s had talked about bowling and karaoke, which normally would have been his thing.

But alcohol, Brock and his ex seemed like a bad mix.

Brock and alcohol on its own already the worst idea.

Brooke really wasn’t fine.

Looking back, he couldn’t tell why he had made that comment on his live. He could blame the alcohol, blame the playfulness that had been in the air the whole day.

Maybe even blame the other’s as they had all seemed to pick up on the tension between the two of them, which made them try to push them together.

Fucking bitches.

They had all gotten drunk on a lethal mix of cider, tequila and beer. It was what made José’s body feel loose and free. It was what made him look two, three, four times at Brock’s ass when they had gone bowling.

So maybe it was the alcohol’s fault.

Sober him should have realised what was about to happen. Drunk him didn’t even give it a thought as he did a live Q&A with his followers as the other’s were getting midnight junk food.

“Have you ever fisted anyone, Miss Brooke Lynn?” José had specifically chosen to only ask Meatball, the question not one he wanted to ask his ex.

Trust Meatball to pick up that dropped ball from the floor immediately.

“Sure have not.” Brock looked directly into the camera, his eyes glazed over with fatigue, alcohol and something else.

“He didn’t even barely- he never even ate ass.” The words tumbled out of José’s mouth as he looked over a Meatball, the word not even registering in his mind, nor the fact that he was live with too many of his followers.

“Never ate ass? Now, wait a minute-” Meatball sounded surprised and almost sorry for José’.

But then.

“I did it once in the shower.”

That quiet and assured voice coupled with that look. The slightly raised eyebrow challenging him to disagree.

Stone cold. Almost angry.

But also playful.

José didn’t know if it made him want to kiss or slap him.

The energy between them after that had been… Weird. As if they both didn’t know what to do with that exchange. Brock seemingly shrugging it all off, though the challenge in his eyes stayed present.

Daring him to do… Something.

It had all come to a confusing head at the club, as they somehow ended up danced against each other, their bodies gravitating towards each other like to magnets, their eyes meeting in an unspoken agreement that found them in a cubicle in the toilet.

The door slammed behind them as their lips had met in a frantic kiss that tried to say everything, but only managed to voice a cry of some form of desperation.

Brock pushed José against the wall, their kisses biting and hard. Hands everywhere and nowhere.

And then they had stopped. Almost as if someone had pressed the off-switch. One moment José had been ready to drop down on his knees and take Brock’s dick in his mouth right there in a shitty toilet in some gay bar in Newcastle… And the next they were both calmly parting ways.

After that José seemed to lose track of the rest of them. His confusion over the kiss coupled with his ADD mind and overall drunkenness was probably why he hadn’t noticed their departure, effectively leaving him behind.

Leaving him to find his way back to the hotel on his own. His anger fighting against his fatigue, hurt and want.

He felt abandoned in multiple ways, his body starting to vibrate with a classic José mix of anger, hurt and indignation. One wrong move or word and he would pop off, he just knew it.

As the cab was turning down the winding roads, en route towards their hotel he felt his phone vibrating in the fancy-ass fanny pack he had strapped to his thigh, probably overflowing with notifications as people reposted and tagged him in thousands of versions of that live.

His flustered face and that look from Brock getting retweeted and analysed to death. Maybe he should read them, knowing that the Insta-stans might have better luck figuring out what was going on in that idiot’s mind.

José certainly didn’t know. His mind hazy and tripping over twenty-two different trails of thought that somehow all lead back to that look in Brock’s eyes.

I just need to sleep.

It was all that went through his head as he walked into the lobby of the hotel.

The only thing his brain could manage voicing, as he got the elevator up to his floor.

I just need to sleep.

Walking out, the elevator doors closing behind him, he looked down at his phone, feeling his soul leave his body at the idea of the 100+ notifications from Instagram.

Which was why he didn’t see who was coming towards him until he walked smack into the hard chest of Brock, who was stumbling towards him.  

“Hey,”

“You’re so fucking drunk right now, it’s not even funny.” He had woken Detox with frantic knocks at her door, not caring that she would give him hell for it tomorrow. He needed someone to talk some sense into him, the night having messed with his head way more than he thought was possible.

Normally he would go to Nina. But she was kind and understanding.

Right now he needed the bitchiness of Detox.

“I know,” taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he tried to let the smoke clear his head a bit, hoping that it would make the image of José’s flustered face after he had clearly just remembered that time in the shower, disappear from his mind.

“So you’re drunk, an idiot and you’ve possibly just let the ‘love of your life’ as you so aptly put it, walk out of your life… Am I missing more from your week of self-destruction?” Her no-nonsense voice made Brock smile wryly.

Fuck he had missed her.

“We made out in the club tonight? And I am pretty sure that there is a video online of me stone-cold admitting that I ate him out one time in the shower. Other than that? Nope, that’s all,” finishing the cigarette, Brock immediately lit a new one, needing the comfort that the nicotine gave him. Not caring that what he had promised Nina, not caring that he had tried to stop.

“Bitch,”

“Yup,”

“No, really… Jesus. You need to grow up and act your age, B,” Trust Detox to cut through the bullshit and be the captain of team Tough Love.

“But I-”

“No buts. I am so tired of seeing you being sad and self-destructive. Be an adult. Do that fucking challenge, Brock!” The sudden harshness of her voice made him look up at her tired face. Even through his drunken stupor, he noticed the worry in her eyes.

He hated that he was the one to have put it there.

“I… Okay. You’re right, I’m 33 years old. I should start acting it,” he tried to muster up a small smile, hoping it would dissolve some of the worry in her eyes.

“You really should. Just fucking talk with him. No sex, no anything. Just talk. Fuck’s sake, it’s not that hard, Babe.”

Easy for her to say.

“Yeah. Thanks for the smoke. I think I’ll go to bed,” he gave her a long hug, lingering a bit as trying to savour the human touch so he could hopefully carry it with him to his empty and cold hotel bed.

He stumbled his way out of her room., trying to remember the way to his room. He wanted to laugh over the irony of a ballerina having trouble not falling over his own feet. Suddenly he got hit by a very familiar weight.

If this had been a Disney film, this would be that moment where everything just magically seemed to work out.

“Hey,” José looked up at him, his phone in hand, lit up with the enormous amounts of notifications that were probably mirrored on Brock’s phone, safely hidden in his room.

“Hi,” José’s voice was raspy, while his eyes seemed tired and done. The way he looked at Brock was disconcerting, but he had promised Detox, so he just had to power through.

“So. I think we need to talk,” His voice seemed far away, the words slow and almost reluctant like Brock couldn’t believe that he was saying this.

But this was not a Disney film.

“‘Bout what? Didn’t we finish this whole talkin’ bout shit a week ago?” José kept avoiding eye contact, which made the knot in Brock’s stomach grow. His anxiety seemed to slowly cover him in its slimy hold, everything turning acidic and wrong.

But fuck, he had promised Detox.

“No, I… Fuck, I keep on wanting to have this talk, but then I just… Don’t. So, given the fact that I’ve had too much to drink, and probably won’t even remember this in the morning-” before he had a chance to finish his rambling José cut him off, his eyes desperate as he finally looked directly at Brock.

“Then maybe just don’t, Mary,” his eyes seemed to scream something at him, but Brock was too drunk, too emotional, too up in his own feelings to be able to interpret it, so he just carried on.

“I am just going to come right out and say it.” But the words seemed to be stuck somewhere in his throat, lodged there together with the anger and hurt he had felt the last couple of months but had never voiced out-loud to José.

This was really not a Disney film.

“What you waiting for, hoe? I need to get me some Z’s so I can be pretty for the children tomorrow. Chop, Chop, Miss Brooke Lynn.” He was losing time, José starting to be annoyed, his voice reaching that particular impressive trucker not, that he only got when he was close to getting angry.

“Are you sure about wanting to end this?” Brock’s voice was low as he pointed between them. José seemed to freeze for a second as if the words did not make any sense to him.

“I… Right now? I don’t know. Ask Sober Me tomorrow and he’ll probably say yeah.” Brock could feel himself become heavy as the rejection hit him. Square in the chest with a direct hit to his heart. His cheeks seemed to heat as the embarrassment of what he had asked became clear to him.

“Oh. Well. Okay. That’s fair. Yeah… Wow, fuck I’m just an idi-” He needed to get away from this situation. Needed to go back to his room and deal with this refusal.

“It’s fine, Mami, we all get drunk. I won’t make a big ass deal out of. Get you some sleep and then I be seeing ya at the show tomorrow.” José’s hand softly touched his arm, making Brock flinch, afraid that José would feel him trembling, afraid that sliminess of his anxiety could be felt.

“Yeah, sleep tight, and uhm sorry.” with that he fled, not hearing if José said anything back. He needed to get back to his room.

He could break down there, he could analyse the kiss in the toilet, the look in José’s eyes and his dismissive words.

If this was acting like an adult, then it fucking sucked.

This was really not a Disney film.