honey, wake up.
Matty and His brown hair and His brown eyes and His bad intentions crystal clear in vivid vision, walking to him in a pressed sky blue lacoste shirt, a single stripe of navy running diagonally down the middle. His face was all innocence and pastel print and piano notes and idle mornings. jesus christ, the way He made smoking sound like a sunday service, it was commendable.
you look gorgeous today. come out for a quickie?
snapping to attention, he felt for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. yep, they're there. he nodded at the boy, following as he walked through the slowly emptying halls. the parking lot only made Him look more like a burberry model, His back against His jeep, it was like He was working on a new spring campaign.
Matty, wandering wasteful Matty. he leaned in for a kiss. they'd have ripped each other apart but there was strict protocol for keeping together when in public.
he looked at the modelesque thing in front of him, a killing machine between His lips, and channeled his repression to make it so that the jeep he leaned on was Him and the trousers he wore was Him and the tiny mix of chemicals in his mouth was Him. the smoke in his lungs, the disease inching into every corner of being -- all Him.
i love that you do this with me.
this is what they had, self-harm and suicide in a parking lot on a daily basis. he didn't even like the taste of it. it made kissing feel like licking an ashtray; but here was this boy he loved and this was something he figured he could live with. what's a little cancer.
***
the echoing voice stopped. the entire world stopped. a couch pushed up against a cream wall, paint cracking in places where the earth had moved. there was a tv in front of it with dvds stacked up all along the sides, forming a sort of shrine. then there was a girl, bare save for a wrinkled light blue dress shirt that was too big to be hers. she looked up and smiled at him.
"hey, i didn't know you were up!" she said, she sorted her legs out and gave him room on the couch. he took the seat next to her and propped his feet up too. she scooted over so when she lied down, her head could rest comfortably on his chest. "it's this again -- i mean i hate this girl but i can't stop watching the damn show!"
jamie, v.:
her hair was a mess the same way her life was. she was woven into a tattered tapestry. she was a little cracked in places and she didn't function the way the world thought she should. she was soft the same way her voice sounded, hoarse and homey, always low and warm like chocolate in wintertime. she was a point on his plane and he was a ray on hers but neither of them knew the difference, so what did it matter.
they met at a party, he remembered: when she came up to him, he'd already drunken himself half blind. even in that state, he could tell she was stunning. in the haze of the booze and the music and her lips on his neck, he thought he could forget. she felt right and natural and fluid.
"i want to remember you, forever," she said, nonchalantly. "you're so, i don't know, real. i like that about you... i really like you." her fingers found the collar of his shirt and pulled so she could kiss him. "you taste like a chimney." she made mornings after so simple.
he looked so sad, like he had gone somewhere on a quest and had come back alone. she couldn't let him leave in his state, she had to love him -- she had to. so she made him comfortable, and when he let her, she took him home and gave him somewhere safe to stay and rest and be.
he kissed her back. she smiled.
"i love you," she said, her eyes still closed.
he said nothing. and she was okay with that. that's probably why she faded instead of suddenly disappearing. in this sub-reality, she left slowly, in gradient, so gradually that you didn't even notice she was gone... until she was. and then there was nothing again.
***
they were in bed and it was late morning. he reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the bedside table. "god, you know one of these days, those are going to kill you. i keep telling you to stop."
his name was henry, and he was a skinny pale little thing with wild hair and glasses too big for his face. he had these two spots on his right cheek that made him look lovely when he smiled, especially in the morning, especially when he wasn't talking about all the things he wanted, especially when the light hit him the right way.
henry draped an arm over him, "put that down, you can kill yourself later. for now, you're mine, okay?" he breathed in deep. "jesus, are my prada slacks on the floor; goddamn it."
"you keep talking like that, he's going to smite you one day."
he stood up, "quiet now, my baby needs me." he attended to his things.
he looked adorable, he thought, picking up his worn clothes and folding them meticulously. in his pale blue boxers, you could see pale olive of skin and the little brown marks that dotted it all along his body. you could see the lines where his muscles strained against his skin, where his bones protruded, curving and shallowing before disappearing back inside him.
it fascinated him that he could look at someone and find them adorable instead of impossible, how times had changed -- how old he felt. he was only twenty-eight, or something. he looked at henry, fumbling over how to arrange his work clothes on his desk, and saw a child, or himself. "hey, leave it."
henry looked at him, "it's not just clothes, okay." he opened his closet up. "do you think it's too early for this?" he held up a thick black gucci coat with gold detail on the shoulder and collar. "i should probably just go with a suit." everyday was a runway with him, everyday a quest to make yesterday obsolete. it felt like everyday, but it was just the one.
"you look amazing in everything, really." he looked best in his pale blue boxers, he thought, better in his skin than in his shirts.
wow, you're still smoking -- so unhealthy. and who's this?
Matty, next to him with that schoolboy smile and those angel eyes. suddenly, they were both watching henry, indecisive a few feet away. his lungs had never gasped for air so hard, never had he felt them so tattered, like someone had run them through a meat grinder.
"his name is henry," he said.
he's cute, like you.
it's still just you, he wanted to say. i wish you stuck around, he wanted to say. i barely made it through, he wanted to say. "i know, he's mine," he said.
like how you're mine.
Matty smirked and he could hear the angel choir singing their hallelujah chorus. here was this boy he never stopped loving telling him he never stopped being His. he knew, of course, but he liked to pretend he had moved on. he liked to pretend he was capable of forgetting and letting go, and look, he had henry now.
but henry wasn't there anymore. it was just an open closet.
next to him, matty was lying in a denim shirt and navy shorts, his hair long in the front, the curls just hanging over his eyes. how he wanted to comb it back with his fingers, to open up the two top buttons, to know that he could and he should and he'd let him. how he wished it never ended, or that he'd forgotten, or that he'd gotten over it.
come with me.
suddenly, he was alone.
***
consciousness hit him with gripping force. his lungs ached with it. he felt for his cigarettes and made his way to the little apartment balcony. the city was a mellow buzz below him and a maze of glass and brick around him. jamie had gone out; she was supposed to care for him, she came running back the minute she heard the news. she said she never should've let him go (but she didn't really let him go -- she never really had him anyway). his chest rose and fell and throbbed.
he lit one, placed it between his lips, and inhaled. the burn pulled him back into the parking lot; pain seeped into every crack and crevice of him, travelling in his blood into his spine, up into his brain, down into his heart. physically, he was dying. he knew this.
but with every breath he took, he saw Matty there with him, leaning against the railing with a cigarette in His mouth, held between His teeth as He said something smart. he could see Matty raising a hand to touch his face, His eyes an ocean. the pain gathered in his lungs as the smoke scraped his trachea raw, until his throat felt like falling apart. but Matty, He lingered in the awful taste and the dry whiskey feeling.
the pain made his fingers twitch. on a cellular level, he had lost. but then again, what's a little cancer? it was something he could live with and something he would die from, but when the smoke was inside him, so was Matty.
see, even when they sound like grace and look like salvation, like goodness and kindness and peace and joy and all that is right with the world, some loves destroy us.
***
the echoing voice stopped. the entire world stopped. a couch pushed up against a cream wall, paint cracking in places where the earth had moved. there was a tv in front of it with dvds stacked up all along the sides, forming a sort of shrine. then there was a girl, bare save for a wrinkled light blue dress shirt that was too big to be hers. she looked up and smiled at him.
"hey, i didn't know you were up!" she said, she sorted her legs out and gave him room on the couch. he took the seat next to her and propped his feet up too. she scooted over so when she lied down, her head could rest comfortably on his chest. "it's this again -- i mean i hate this girl but i can't stop watching the damn show!"
jamie, v.:
her hair was a mess the same way her life was. she was woven into a tattered tapestry. she was a little cracked in places and she didn't function the way the world thought she should. she was soft the same way her voice sounded, hoarse and homey, always low and warm like chocolate in wintertime. she was a point on his plane and he was a ray on hers but neither of them knew the difference, so what did it matter.
they met at a party, he remembered: when she came up to him, he'd already drunken himself half blind. even in that state, he could tell she was stunning. in the haze of the booze and the music and her lips on his neck, he thought he could forget. she felt right and natural and fluid.
"i want to remember you, forever," she said, nonchalantly. "you're so, i don't know, real. i like that about you... i really like you." her fingers found the collar of his shirt and pulled so she could kiss him. "you taste like a chimney." she made mornings after so simple.
he looked so sad, like he had gone somewhere on a quest and had come back alone. she couldn't let him leave in his state, she had to love him -- she had to. so she made him comfortable, and when he let her, she took him home and gave him somewhere safe to stay and rest and be.
he kissed her back. she smiled.
"i love you," she said, her eyes still closed.
he said nothing. and she was okay with that. that's probably why she faded instead of suddenly disappearing. in this sub-reality, she left slowly, in gradient, so gradually that you didn't even notice she was gone... until she was. and then there was nothing again.
***
they were in bed and it was late morning. he reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the bedside table. "god, you know one of these days, those are going to kill you. i keep telling you to stop."
his name was henry, and he was a skinny pale little thing with wild hair and glasses too big for his face. he had these two spots on his right cheek that made him look lovely when he smiled, especially in the morning, especially when he wasn't talking about all the things he wanted, especially when the light hit him the right way.
henry draped an arm over him, "put that down, you can kill yourself later. for now, you're mine, okay?" he breathed in deep. "jesus, are my prada slacks on the floor; goddamn it."
"you keep talking like that, he's going to smite you one day."
he stood up, "quiet now, my baby needs me." he attended to his things.
he looked adorable, he thought, picking up his worn clothes and folding them meticulously. in his pale blue boxers, you could see pale olive of skin and the little brown marks that dotted it all along his body. you could see the lines where his muscles strained against his skin, where his bones protruded, curving and shallowing before disappearing back inside him.
it fascinated him that he could look at someone and find them adorable instead of impossible, how times had changed -- how old he felt. he was only twenty-eight, or something. he looked at henry, fumbling over how to arrange his work clothes on his desk, and saw a child, or himself. "hey, leave it."
henry looked at him, "it's not just clothes, okay." he opened his closet up. "do you think it's too early for this?" he held up a thick black gucci coat with gold detail on the shoulder and collar. "i should probably just go with a suit." everyday was a runway with him, everyday a quest to make yesterday obsolete. it felt like everyday, but it was just the one.
"you look amazing in everything, really." he looked best in his pale blue boxers, he thought, better in his skin than in his shirts.
wow, you're still smoking -- so unhealthy. and who's this?
Matty, next to him with that schoolboy smile and those angel eyes. suddenly, they were both watching henry, indecisive a few feet away. his lungs had never gasped for air so hard, never had he felt them so tattered, like someone had run them through a meat grinder.
"his name is henry," he said.
he's cute, like you.
it's still just you, he wanted to say. i wish you stuck around, he wanted to say. i barely made it through, he wanted to say. "i know, he's mine," he said.
like how you're mine.
Matty smirked and he could hear the angel choir singing their hallelujah chorus. here was this boy he never stopped loving telling him he never stopped being His. he knew, of course, but he liked to pretend he had moved on. he liked to pretend he was capable of forgetting and letting go, and look, he had henry now.
but henry wasn't there anymore. it was just an open closet.
next to him, matty was lying in a denim shirt and navy shorts, his hair long in the front, the curls just hanging over his eyes. how he wanted to comb it back with his fingers, to open up the two top buttons, to know that he could and he should and he'd let him. how he wished it never ended, or that he'd forgotten, or that he'd gotten over it.
come with me.
suddenly, he was alone.
***
consciousness hit him with gripping force. his lungs ached with it. he felt for his cigarettes and made his way to the little apartment balcony. the city was a mellow buzz below him and a maze of glass and brick around him. jamie had gone out; she was supposed to care for him, she came running back the minute she heard the news. she said she never should've let him go (but she didn't really let him go -- she never really had him anyway). his chest rose and fell and throbbed.
he lit one, placed it between his lips, and inhaled. the burn pulled him back into the parking lot; pain seeped into every crack and crevice of him, travelling in his blood into his spine, up into his brain, down into his heart. physically, he was dying. he knew this.
but with every breath he took, he saw Matty there with him, leaning against the railing with a cigarette in His mouth, held between His teeth as He said something smart. he could see Matty raising a hand to touch his face, His eyes an ocean. the pain gathered in his lungs as the smoke scraped his trachea raw, until his throat felt like falling apart. but Matty, He lingered in the awful taste and the dry whiskey feeling.
the pain made his fingers twitch. on a cellular level, he had lost. but then again, what's a little cancer? it was something he could live with and something he would die from, but when the smoke was inside him, so was Matty.
see, even when they sound like grace and look like salvation, like goodness and kindness and peace and joy and all that is right with the world, some loves destroy us.
