Carl found himself thinking about Pete again. It must have been the early hours of the morning and he was having one of those nights when he couldn't sleep no matter how tired he felt or how much wine he drank. He got out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown, leaving his slippers where they were because it was quieter to walk downstairs without them on and he didn't want to wake Annalisa. Sat at the kitchen table, pot of coffee on the go (well if he couldn't sleep anyway there was no point avoiding caffeine) and a cigarette burning between his fingers. Sighed to himself that after everything...the fights, the drugs, Pete blabbering to the papers and bad-mouthing him wherever he went, the tentative public meetings, the less tentative private ones and finally the reunion gig...after all of that he still found himself thinking of Pete in the middle of the night. Remembering the way his eyes used to light up at the smallest things, the way he used to sing in the morning when he knew it drove Carl mad...but then the way he'd always make up for it by making Carl's tea just the way he liked it, or knowing when he needed a hug, or just shutting up when Carl didn't want to talk. He couldn't stop thinking back to the 'good old days' even though he knew they weren't even so wonderful at the time...no money, empty cupboards, someone always after them for something, them always bickering, Carl always on the edge...even though he knew that now was so much better, now with Anna who loved him and cared for him and would never hurt him like Pete had. Now with DPT, with Stan and Didz and Gary, old and new friends alike, together forging a new Arcadia...
So why were there big droplets on the kitchen table...big salty wet tears that flew down his face and landed in the steadily growing puddle just next to his packet of fags? Why did he miss someone who'd hurt him so badly, who'd chosen heroin and crack over his friendship, over his love?
He moved to the pot of coffee, now it had stopped making that weird whooshing noise and sounding a bit like an aeroplane taking off (since when was boiling water *that* noisy?) and poured himself a cup, stirring in spoon after spoon of sugar absent-mindedly, not thinking of the coffee at all...
And he was still there many hours later; many cups of coffee and cigarettes later; when Anna came down the stairs and stroked his head gently, regarding him with sleepy eyes. And he was still no nearer to a conclusion, no closer to forgetting...
"You alright my love?" He heard his girlfriend ask softly.
He looked up, into her brown eyes, so much like another pair he knew, and so different at the same time...
"Yeah. Just thinking about things."
"Come back to bed," she suggested.
He sighed. "You go. I'll be up in a minute," he replied, watching her nod in response and walk back out of the room again.
Rubbed his eyes and walked to the sink to throw away the remains of his last cup of coffee, sugar caked in the bottom. Found himself staring out of the window, watching the sun lazily rise from the depths of its sleep up into the morning sky. Saw its rays split across the dark sky, turning it pink and red and golden, filling the world with light and making him blink. Another deep sigh. He should really go back to bed. This was getting him nowhere, like it always did. Thinking about it didn't make it hurt any less, didn't make him love Pete any less...all these years and that hadn't gone away, and he didn't really think it ever would...
...Libertines forever, throwing themselves into eternity....
