Talking About It

~500 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor, Ewan McGregor/Carrie-Anne Moss :: 7/18/04
Carrie-Anne says, “Do you want to talk about it?” and somehow it all just comes spilling out.

Carrie-Anne says, “Do you want to talk about it?” and somehow it all just comes spilling out.

This isn’t the first time they’ve fought. It’s not even the first time they’ve broken up, but it’s the first time Ewan’s felt like maybe this was really the end.

It’s not that there’s someone else, at least Ewan doesn’t think there is. It’s just the usual. Pressures of Jude’s job and all that rot. Ewan tries to be understanding but sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes his mouth says things before his brain has time to stop him.

“I told him I’m sick of pretending.”

And when Carrie-Anne raises an eyebrow at him, he adds, “In a way that maybe, kinda sorta may have sounded like an ultimatum.”


“I said I was sorry. Right away, I said.” He glances down at his beer, dismayed to find it empty. He doesn’t feel drunk enough to have emptied all these bottles, even with Carrie-Anne helping. “I said I didn’t mean it.”

Of course he didn’t; he knows which Jude would choose. And he wasn’t wrong, was he?

He knows Jude’s afraid he’ll lose his job if it gets out he’s gay. Ewan doesn’t want that, of course he doesn’t. But that doesn’t stop it hurting.

It’s only that he hates being introduced as Jude’s flatmate. Hates when Jude has parties and invites friends from work because it’s always the same. Always the frantic talk beforehand, the “Be good, Ewan, please? For me?” And Ewan is. Was, until tonight.

“So you just left?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

He hopes Jude is enjoying his evening, because Ewan bloody well isn’t.

He’s a lot drunker when they stumble into the bedroom and Ewan thinks, as they lie there wrapped around each other, that if Carrie-Anne were a bloke, they’d be shagging. He doesn’t know why he kisses her now. He’s kissed her a hundred times, but never like this. She must be pretty drunk, too, because she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even seem all that surprised.

Her body is unfamiliar; it’s been years since he’s had a girl, and while theoretically he knows what to do, it’s more frustrating than arousing. He doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop until she pushes him away, says maybe a little bit sadly, “Ewan… Ewan, stop. You don’t have to.” And for some reason he wants to cry.

His mobile rings in the middle of the night. Still awake, Ewan reaches down off the side of the bed, scrabbling for his jeans, finding the phone finally in the third pocket he checks.

“What do you want?”

“Come home.” It’s only two words, but Jude sounds as weary as Ewan feels.

Ewan doesn’t answer, doesn’t know what to say, and after what seems like forever, Jude says, “I want to talk… We need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” Ewan says and wishes it hadn’t come out quite so sulkily.

Carrie-Anne’s awake now, rubbing her eyes, and Ewan can hear Jude’s faint “Ewan, please…” as he turns to look at her.

Prodding his arse with her toe, Carrie-Anne mouths “go home” and to Jude, Ewan says, “All right.”