by Tomaj

Copyright© 2006 by Tomaj

: Donovan remembers everything that's meant anything to him recently.


He simply wrote several names on a piece of paper.

Trent. Mayhem. JJ. Zillah. Jesse. Gage. Tony. Ethan.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair, fingers still holding the pen between them. He bent over in his seat, and tore each name from the paper. Eight strips now sat in front of him, each with a different name. Beginning with the last, he began to write letters. Most of the way through the first, however, he found himself unable to continue.

He crumpled the letter, throwing it in the wire wastebasket next to his desk. He then took the slips of paper in his hand, moving across the room. Briefly, he stopped to admire the shape soundly sleeping under the thick blanket on the bed. He'd always considered himself lucky to have come together with someone so... well, he didn't really know what to consider Rent, really, but he felt better not trying to attach a label. Trent was, after all, the only one that ever proved him wrong, that not everyone was the way everyone else had labeled each other.

He walked to the fireplace in the room. There were a few pictures on the mantle, mostly of him and Trent together, but one of his favorites was the one of him and Mayhem at a park. He smiles to himself. Mistress Mayhem, Princess of Darkness... also known as Mya Damillicatent. He didn't really care was she called herself, or what other people called her. He picked up the picture, letting his fingers run over the glass, and startled himself by speaking aloud. "She's still Mayhem to me."

He shook his head, chuckling as he replaced the picture with a second. JJ. He bit his lower lip, and then sighed heavily. His hand trembled slightly as he held the photograph. Despite not having seen him in what seemed like forever, he was still ever grateful that JJ had helped him in the way he had. Shaking his head, he replaced the picture to the mantle. Memories still returned to haunt him in the form of nightmares sometimes. Leaving the room, he flipped off the light switch, and as the light went off, the only thing left was a candle, dimly illuminating the room.

He made his way down the hall and to the staircase. Brandon and Zillah were a part of one of the pictures. He never knew Brandon very well, but he'd always thought that Zillah was a kind-hearted woman. She was the one he went to when he needed pictures of employees for whatever reason. She was also one of the people that he talked to in order to try to feel better about himself, even if he did eventually learn there was no reason to feel badly in the first place.

Next to that was a picture of Jesse, his perpetual competitor. He smirked a little, though, because he knew there was always some form of sexual tension between them. It was never acted upon, but he never was sure if he was grateful for that. He still resolved, however, that his own personal drinks were stronger, and could knock a man on his ass before he knew it. Still, he thought of Jesse as his friend.

A third portrait was one of Gage. Gage was an artist, and he would always make sure Gage knew that. He was never unhappy or displeased with Gage's work, and always paid him well. After all, he made Le Péché de la Peau, at least in part, what it was then. He didn't think Gage received the recognition he deserved. He'd hoped to change that, at least a little bit, with his art being featured at the club. Unfortunately, it never seemed to happen.

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