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Chris is at the party for nearly an hour before he realizes that he doesn't even know why he's there. He couldn't give a shit about politics; last time elections came around, he and Maxxie'd smoked a couple of spliffs and just picked at random. He couldn't remember who he'd voted for if he tried. But there's a group of people, and on his way past the compound that evening, he sees the party, so his instinct is to stop by.

But after a while, he realizes that he keeps looking around for her. It's mental and he knows it; even if he does see her, he knows they haven't really got anything to say to one another. It's all pretty much been said now, hasn't it? She doesn't love him. Or she does but not in the same way he loves her.

Maybe it's his own fault, maybe Chris tried to make Claire into what Jal was for him: someone clever who still talked to him even after they found out how much of a fuck up he was.

But Claire's not Jal, and it was stupid of him to think that somehow, she could be. And maybe love conquers loads of stuff, but only if both people are really up for it.

After the third time Chris looks through the crowd, looking for that familiar glint of blonde hair, he realizes what a fucking dick-splash he's being about all this. This bit is more fucked than any other part of it, really. So he nicks a bottle from the refreshment table and takes off.

Maybe he'll go for a hike or something, somewhere off into the jungle, at least for the night. Mostly, he doesn't feel like being around anyone at the moment, not even Maxxie or Cass.

Disappearing into the trees, he pulls a pill from the pocket of his shorts and drops it into the bottle. Fuck it, maybe he'll feel better about it all, come morning.


fuck_it: (Default)Chris Miles

March 2015

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