Slip away with sunrise (excerpt from a trash novel)

The sun rose and crept in gently through the bottom of the blinds. My eyes fluttered with fatigue as I rolled over to greet the morning’s kiss. I looked around me, taking in my surroundings, finding myself misplaced. With haste, I sprung from the bed and nearly shouted,

“Where am I?”

A lump rustled from beneath the covers and soon, his crown of rooster plumage emerged. His sleepy, bright blue eyes peeked from below the blankets and he stretched, fully revealing his naked torso.

“Christ,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes, “calm down. There’s no need to be actin’ about at seven in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

He flopped down against the softness of the mattress and swallowed me into his arms, pulling my body tightly against his. I fought him for a moment, struggling to wriggle free from his sweet, yet iron, grip. He only grasped me tighter.

“I have to go,” I said.

He shook his head, eyes closed, and nuzzled against me.

“You’re not,” he insisted.

I pulled away from him, finally, and sent him backward onto the mattress. He sighed and rolled over onto his side, watching me as I got dressed. His eyes roamed my body, taking in every detail as though it would be the last chance he’d have to do so.

“When will I see you again?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow. I shrugged as I slid my boots on.

“I don’t know. Do you really think that’s a wise idea?”

He furrowed his brow.

“Well, why wouldn’t it be?”

I met his bright blue eyes.

“Because. You know as well as I what this is. Besides, you can find easy skirt anywhere you tour. No need to cling to me.”

His eyes grew fervent and hot with rage.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

I placed my hands on my hips, haughtily.

“Oh, come on, Matt. Everyone knows your track record. You may think you’re a one woman man, but we’ve all seen you in action. That’s why she left you, after all.”

His lip trembled and his eye twitched at my words.

“How dare you say that to me. Get the fuck out. Should have known you’d be just like the rest. You’re all cold at heart.”

I grabbed my coat and my purse, saying nothing as I opened the door to exit.

“Wait,” he said, now stricken with a hint of unrest. I turned to face him and folded my arms.

“What?”

“Don’t go, please,” he insisted.

“You know, you sure are fickle. You accuse me of being coldhearted for pointing out the truth and you can’t even make up your mind about what you want. I’m not going to let you use me as a rebound, Matthew. You don’t rebound with royalty. It’s been lovely, but this is as far as it’s going to go.”

His face remained stoic, yet I knew that, inside, he was breaking. I took one last look at him before composing myself and opening the door once more and walking out into the foyer. I waited a moment with my back against the door, listening.

Silence was the only song that filled my ears. I exhaled, relieved, and made my way to the elevators, taking refuge behind their massive golden doors as they carried me down to the lobby. On my way out, I nodded, casually, to the man behind the desk, flashing him a sweet, bright smile before making my way out through the revolving doors. I halfway expected to find Matt chasing after me, shouting my name, begging me not to go. He didn’t.

As I crossed into the morning sunlight, I pulled my shades down over my eyes and took a look at the world around me. The sun’s gentle rays warmed my skin as I took my first steps into the empty street. Silence was the only song that filled my ears, but emptiness was the feeling that filled my heart, and his.

Garcia Lorca made me do it...

I lay here in the stillness of the cool summer night, the cicadas in the trees just outside of my window rubbing together their leaves of gold, gloriously humming. The darkness comforts me in these late, quiet hours, as my mind drifts far, far away.

I dream of you, Granada, where we shall dance again beneath the blanket of the stars. Our soles on fire, yes, fire, from this dance.

I dream of you, Granada, where your rolling hills and illustrious mountains echo the names of every distant voice deeply within the heart. Do you hear it? My name beats twice within.

I dream of you, Granada, where the Cuevas swallow me whole, laying me to rest within their cool and reticent darkness. I dream in peace with you. Always with you.

I dream of you, Granada, where I run free amidst these Andalusian fields, the wind my great companion, the sun a fierce charm against my skin, clothed in the comfort of a cotton summer dress. I breathe you, your essence, my rapture.

I dream of you, Granada, where the waters, cool and cleansing, offer me their embrace. They envelope me in blue sands of silence, lulling my weary limbs as the poplars float past me. They carry me to the edge of the night, toward your balmy, fervent olive groves. Ah, such ambrosial treasures lie here!

I dream of you, Granada, blessing my blush lips with the blood of your vineyards. The taste of you in itself is God. My tongue trembles in prayer, caressing stony rosaries as my soul bends at the knee before you. I close my eyes.

I wake to find myself unremoved at all. Ah, Granada, what yearning in my swollen breast!

Oh, Granada, your Sierra calls me. In you alone do I find such sweet repose.

Painter vs. Poet

He is the painter
I'm just the poet
He creates beauty
I try to grow it
I sit and think
I sit and drink
I sit and stare at the drain in the sink
And I watch the paint
As it washes away
He cleanses the reds
His hands have been stained
He turns off the sink
Then turns away
I sit and think
While the brushes decay

I stare at his canvas
Puerile and plain
I stare at my notebook
Putrid, defamed
And realize our passion
Cannot be the same
For he is the fire
And I smother flame

He is the muse
I'm just the pest
He brings inspiration
While I bring unrest
I watch him build
I watch him shape
I watch him love
And I start to hate
As he captures her features
And mine dissipate
And the subject I was
Seems nothing so great
He fills in her color
And I am left bare
I watch him sculpt glory
As I scribble despair

He is the painter
I'm just the poet
Each stroke that he makes
Covers up what I wrote
I sit and think
I sit and drink
I sit and stare
At the drain in the sink
And I watch my ink
As it washes away
I cleanse the reds
My hands have been stained
I turn off the sink
Then turn away
I sit and think
As my skin turns to gray.

Random garbage

The tears flowed in torrents as I did my best to pick up the house. I began to gather the shards of glass that had broken on the floor several days before, finding it painfully ironic that I was trying to pick up something shattered. Truthfully, my condition was such that just about anything could and would trigger an intense emotional response entirely against my better judgment. There would be no more music. No more laughter. Only silence. Silence and tears and the roar of the vacuum cleaner to swallow the filth and the fury.

I stopped myself every once and a while, checking to see if I'd missed a call. Nothing. Why would there be? After all, it'd been days, hadn't it? Logically, I knew far well that the end was no more on nigh. It had already passed and left me locked in lover's limbo. I found myself transfixed in Purgatory, catatonic, trapped. My better judgment pushed for me to accept this tragic state of affairs, but my heart, oh, my heart.

I wiped my eyes, now bleary and bloodshot from sobbing to such a horrific extent. I pushed the vacuum against the wall and sank to the carpet, mollycoddling myself in a sorry embrace to acheive some sense of comfort. Weakness. I'd fought it with every fiber in my being, yet upon reaching this level of consummate suffering, I had no choice but to succumb, licking the reopened gashes as though a wounded animal. I hated myself for being so foolish, for behaving in such an infantile and petulant manner; but the agony overwhelmed me. What more could I do?

Several moments later, I turned my gaze to the bookshelf, noticing a small bottle of pills sitting on its ledge. Curiously, I rolled out of my self-embrace and rose to my knees, taking a better gander. I lifted the small bottle and read the label, cautiously popping the lid from the top to peer inside. I counted seven round pills inside of it, then simply stared at them, reviewing my options. Christ, it seemed so easy. The stuff was deadly enough on its own, and taking it sevenfold would sure enough send me somewhere: Heaven, Hell, but out of this Purgatory, for certain. Upon further debate, my hands began to shake, and I dropped the bottle to the floor, spilling its contents. Oh, God.

There they were again. The torrents. I dropped my hands to the floor, now supporting myself with all four appendages. My body convulsed, compulsively, as I made more of a mess out of myself. I screamed and wailed, assuredly disturbing the neighbors. At this point, however, I'm certain they'd grown accustomed to my wailing through the walls. I'd more or less spent the past few months sniveling to myself on a daily basis. Weak. Oh, how loath it made me to think of it.

I prayed for sunshine in the darkness. There was none. I raised my weary eyes to the smudged window and saw only the flickering orange lamp light of the unknown.

"Get up," I whispered, urging my body to react in perfect tandem with my mind. Begrudgingly, I yanked myself from the floor and stood. No, I wasn't whole again, nor did I expect to be. If nothing more, it was a step in the correct direction, a step up, a step that forced me to realize that, even when everything inside of me screamed in defeat, I still possessed the capacity to gather the shattered glass, to pick up the pieces, and, in time, stand on my own two feet.

I closed the blinds and backed against the wall, closing my eyes and monitoring my breathing. I could feel the beat of my heart within my chest, and placed my left hand over it, for comfort and warmth. Perhaps things would never be the same, but at least I knew how deeply I loved someone, and how deeply that love was respected and reciprocated. I found it in myself.

Abandoned, unfinished piece.

The wine’s no good tonight. I’ve drunk more than my fair share, and haven’t felt a tinge of reaction yet. Normally, several glasses and I’ve more than reached my capacity. You know, lampshade on head, topless dancing, sloppily kissing strangers, regardless of sex. But not tonight. I’ve been sitting in this dank, lonesome corner sipping glass after glass, and none too casually, mind you. I’ve watched lovers dance and laugh and canoodle beneath the ever so seductive mood lighting, shabby-chic plastic chandeliers with burned out candelabras. The place in itself is enough to induce alcohol poisoning, just to forget its so-called ambience.

My date never showed. Truth is, I never had one to begin with, but it’s always nice to imagine some sweet young thing giggling and climbing onto my lamp with great difficulty, much too tipsy for her own good, suckling on my neck, admiring my not so admirable qualities. It’s all too charming for me to bear, so I pour another glass and begin my routine all over again. This vicious cycle. What’s it take to get the kind of action I’m seeing in here?

I lean back against the wall, propping my head on a plaster pillow, allowing my eyelids to flutter and seal themselves shut for just a moment. The jazz band plays on, the noise grows, and I feel myself becoming warmer as my intoxicated blood flows through my mulled veins.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice says, causing me to slightly open one eye, “is this seat taken? My feet are so sore, you’ve no idea.”

I look her over. Christ, of all places, she’s chosen to sit here, with me? I smile softly.

“Please, go ahead.”

She returns my smile with her own, far more angelic than I’d ever be able to procure. I can feel my stomach flip as she sits beside me, taking off her much too high red heels to reveal pretty little feet and toes, with matching nails to boot. She sighs and watches the dance floor as I do my best to sober up now that I’ve got such company with me. She turns and looks at me, cocking her head just so. I feel my temperature begin to climb. She parts her soft, full lips to form the classic words,

“Come here often?”

It’s almost too awful to hear from a creature so enticing. I shake my head, politely,

“No, actually, every once in a while usually does it for me.”

“I know what you mean. Pretty sad dive, isn’t it?”

I nod, taking a foolish sip of my wine.

“I suppose. It reeks of love lost and found only to be lost again.”

“Interesting way of describing it. I suppose you’re right,” she says.

She sighs and leans back in the same fashion I have, arching her back to accentuate her perky assets. My eyes drift, but rush straight back to the dancing couples as soon as she catches me gazing. She looks at me strangely, but makes no comment of it. I do, however, notice her blushing. Perhaps it’s just the bad lighting.

“Are you here alone tonight?”

“Yes, the usual story. I figure, it’s better to torture myself with what I don’t have in public than allowing myself to sit at home and go crazy alone over it.”

She laughs, such music to my ears, and touches my arm, electrifying me.

“Well, darling, at least you weren’t stood up,” she sighs, and her face softening, losing its glow, “I was.”

I sit up too quickly for my own good upon hearing her words,

“Who on Earth would stand you up? You’re a knock-out.”

Her cheeks grow rosier at my words.

“Well, thanks. Apparently, he didn’t think so.”

I shake my head and take another sip of my wine.

“Would you care for a drink?” I ask.

“Oh, you really don’t have to,” she says.

“No, I insist. Would you like something?”

“Sure, it has been one of those nights.”

I look her over quickly, feeling the heat grow within me, and then get her what she wants. I’d have gotten her anything if only she’d go home with me. It has been ages since I’ve experienced a woman’s warmth beside me, especially one of her caliber.

We sip our libations, casually, watching the band and the dancers, clapping, and singing. She leans in to me and rests her hand on my shoulder,

“I’m Jewel,” she says

Yes, you are, I think. I extend my hand and shake hers.

“The pleasure is mine,” I say.

She smiles and we say nothing, merely sipping and tapping our feet to the music. A pair of lovers lost, only to be found and lost again.

Filthy Fucks

Don't remember if this is posted. Oh, well. Have it again, if it is.
_________________________________________________________________________

Good things never last. It's too true. And while our band was playing shows twice a week, there was hell at the house. I came home one night with my last paycheck from the grocery store and knew that I had to find some way to get a new job to buy the kegs. When I told Ian and the boys that I'd lost my job and was having trouble finding a new one, they told me not to worry about it. We weren't getting paid much for gigs and the boys didn't all work - how could I not worry?
"How will I make up for it?" I asked Keith. He looked at me strangely and pulled me against his razor sharp hips.
"There's a way, Floie." he said softly and pulled my face to his to kiss me roughly. So, that was it. The boys found a way for me to make up for lack of rent and passed me back and forth whenever they needed me. Everyone but Ian knew what was going on.

One night, right before our last show together, Mikey pulled me backstage and told me to be quiet. He pressed me against a wall and slid his hand up my skirt, which led me to bite my lip and grimace. I was nothing more than a cheap fuck to these boys and I should have known that from the start.
"Shh," Mikey coaxed, slipping his fingers inside of me, "you be quiet for me, Floie."
I closed my eyes, but didn't struggle. Then, Ian's voice broke the silence.
"What the fuck is going on?" He shouted, forcing Mikey to back away.
"She ain't paying rent, Ian."
I looked into Ian's eyes, shattering, and saw the same look in them.
"Go and get ready, Mikey. We're on in ten," he instructed, sending Mikey away. I turned my face from him and started to go, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back.
"After all I fucking did for you, fucking slag! No fucking respect for anyone. Not even yourself."
"Ian, please, I - "
"Shut up, shut up. Just shut the fuck up! I gave you everything, and you tossed it into the rubbish."
"I'm sorry," I whimpered as he stormed away.

We played the worst show ever that night, and then Ian fucked me in the toilet.
"Did Keith fuck you this hard? Did Mikey like the feel of your mouth on his cock? Did he?" he snarled something along those lines, smacking my head against the wall as tears rolled down my face.
"Stupid cunt." he sneered and spat on me before leaving me ruined on the dirty linoleum. I sat up and grabbed some tissue to wipe the spunk off of my inner thighs, fixed myself, and walked out. The boys had already left and the next band was on: a five-piece called The Filthy Sckuf.

The lead-singer had the most obnoxious voice I have ever heard, and the band could barely play, but their presence amazed me. Convincing myself that I'd have a place to sleep that night, I ordered a pint and watched them play and almost got spit on by the bassist. When they finished, I had both a feeling of relief and a rush of uneasiness. The snide singer burped loudly and came over to the bar.
"'Ey, man, get me a pint, then." he sneered, spitting across the room. I cringed and turned away from him as he started coughing horrendously and the bar keep passed him a pint.

"How come he didn't have to pay?" I demanded, appalled.
"Cos he's a performer."
"So what? That's not fair. I played here, too."
The snide singer downed his pint and looked at me.
"Oh, fuck off. Your music's shit anyway." As he said this, my jaw dropped to the floor and I threw the rest of my pint in his face.
"Fuck you, it's all I've got! You can't even sing!"
He growled at me and pushed me, then spat on me.
"And you sing too pretty. You're a fucking fraud."

I jolted from the floor and pushed him against a wall.
"Don't you call me a fraud." I told him in an icy tone. His deep blue eyes raged with fury.
"I don't hit birds, dearie, but you're fuckin' pushin' it."
I sneered and slapped him.
"You don't have any idea what I've already been through tonight."
"Baby, you don't know what I've been through in my life." He shot back.

The bassist came over cheering, with a forty ounce beer in his hands.
"Hey, John! You gonna have it off with her, then?" He laughed and sipped his beer.
"Close yer gob, Alfie, for fuck's sake." he snapped, but Alfie didn't lose his smile.
"Right, right! Hey, Dave, Charlie, Jimbo!" He called to the other members of the band before joining them, despite the fact that they were too busy with a group of girls to notice him.

I looked back at John,
"You gonna let me go, or you gonna keep me pinned to this wall all night and waste my time?" he snarled and I raised a brow.
"What's the matter with you? You don't like being pinned to a wall by a girl? Are you too much of a pussy to push me off?"
John glared at me and pushed me hard then brushed past me.
"Cunt." he grumbled under his breath as he lumbered off towards the rest of the band, but I followed him.
"Piss off!" he shouted, "what do you care if I got a pint for free? Christ, you're blowing everything out of proportion!"
"You called me a fraud." I glowered.
"You are," he began, "but we all are in our own way. 'Cept me. I'm realer than real."
"I think you're just a cocky bastard." I retorted, coldly, sending him a mean sneer. He raised his fist, and as he was about to hit me, Alfie grabbed him arm.
"Come on, John. Stop actin' about! Buy the bird a drink."
John looked at him as though he'd lost it.
"Yeah, man! Save the abuse for a bunk-up!" Charlie, the curly blonde drummer, called before clinking his glass against the two guitarists' and downing his pint.
"I wouldn't shag this bird." John grumbled and spat on the floor in my direction.
"Oh, bollocks!" Alfie exclaimed, incredulous, "you'd hop into her knickers in a flash!"

John shook his head and started swearing to himself.
"I'm fucking out of here. I'll see you tomorrow, mates," he looked at me, "hope I never see you again." He snarled and gave me the look of death.
"You lie, John. But don't worry; I'll be at every gig you play from now on." I kissed him hard on the lips and the band cheered. When I pulled away, I noticed just how red his had become, and smirked to myself, then patted his cheek.
"Goodnight." I cooed before putting on my blazer and walking out of the club.

I left in a haughty manner, overly proud of myself for creating such a scene, but the magic didn't last. I took no more than five steps when I saw Keith approaching me with a duffle of my things.
"What's going on?" I panicked.
"Ian wants you gone. Don't come back no more, Floie."
"But, why?"
Keith threw the duffle at me.
"He don't like sharin'," be began, "wanted you for himself."
"What?"
"He wanted you for himself. He repeated and spat on my shoes before walking away.

I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, letting the news sink in. I was homeless, now. I had no money, no job, no food, no home. No one would even give a damn about that. Defeated, I sank onto the sidewalk, pressing my back against the brick, and hugged my knees tightly to my chest. I heard loud, garbled voices coming from the club, and soon, The Filthy Sckuf emerged, singing in a drunken stupor. They didn't even see me. I noticed that John was not with them, and too soon after that observation, I heard that awful cough and spit routine. He walked out of the club and spat on the sidewalk then started to walk in my direction, so I buried my head in my knees.

"What you doing down there, then?" he asked, "don't you want to go home to your boys and have a bunk-up?"
I bit my lip.
"I can't go home, and, unfortunately, I've had to fuck them for the past four months cos I couldn't get a job for rent." I said softly and looked up at him.
"You're joking," he stated, incredulous and slightly appalled.
"No, I'm not." I replied and got up then picked up my duffle, "I don't have a clue where I'm going now, but I've got to go find somewhere to go."
I began to walk away, but he called,
"Hey! Wait!" and I turned around as he rushed over to me, "you want to come to my gaff tonight? It's not much, but it's better than a gutter - well, maybe not, but, it's a place to sleep."
"You're really unpredictable, John." I told him, shaking my head, "Christ, I thought you hated me."
"No, I don't hate," he started, "I just make people think I do so they fuck off." He smiled queerly at me.
"Would you really give me a place to stay for a little while?" I questioned.
"Yeah, sure. I think I can stand you for an hour or two."
I sneered and hit him playfully.

"Come on, get the fuck, the train stops runnin' in twenty minutes." He grabbed my wrist and tugged me down the street towards the station.
"But I don't have any money." I told him.
"Christ, you've been in England for over a year and you don't know how the subway works? Watch and learn, girly." He looked quickly around the station then bolted under the turnstile, taking me with him.
"Ouch." I whimpered and rubbed my head.
"Yeah, that happens sometimes. Come on."
We rushed down to the terminal and hopped onto the train seconds before the doors shut.
"Christ, what a rush." John stated, attempting to catch his breath, "What the fuck is your name, by the way?"
"I'm Flora." I responded and he shook his head.
"Fucking Americans."

When we got to his building, I could not believe how filthy his apartment was, and how little like a home it looked. He had no real furniture other than a few ratty cushions, a television, and a tipsy cardboard box with a few half-filled bottles of booze and an ashtray.
"Ah, home," he proudly said, "you'll meet the flatmates soon enough." he informed me.
"Who else lives here?" I asked causing John to grin.
"Oh, you know, the roaches, the rats, some mice. They don't hurt you if you don't hurt them."
I cringed discreetly at his words and simply nodded.

John stretched out on the cushions and lit a cigarette, but I stood still and looked around, nervously, for the flatmates.
"Mind if I shower?" I inquired. He shrugged.
"Do what you want. Just don't leave any girly products lying about." He responded and turned on the TV.

I wanted to wash all of my skin off, just peel away the layers until I was just bone. I don't know how long I was in there, but I turned into a lobster. I just stood there and let the water hit me, just staring at the grimy tile wall. John came into the toilet and yelled,
"Hey, Flora! You've been in there for twenty minutes! Come on, then!"
But I made no response. I sank to the bottom of the tub and let the tears run down my face, washed away by the water, over and over, but they didn't stop flowing.
John called again and when I made no response, he pulled the shower curtain and saw me there, sitting down, curled up, and crying.

Something changed in his face at that moment, for he, too, looked as sore as I was. He turned off the water and wrapped me in a towel, then he helped me out of the shower.
"Don't let those cunts ruin your life, Flora. Don't let the bastards win." He urged. My head fell against his shoulder and I wrapped my arms around him, but he did not respond to me. He slowly patted me on the back and left me to dress.

A month or so went by, and I told John I was going to find another place to go since I felt I had outworn my welcome. As I opened the door and took one step out, he stopped me.
"Don't go."
I turned to look at him, but before I could say anything, he pulled me inside, slammed the door, and stared at me. "You're staying." he declared, eyes firmly fixed on mine. I went to speak, but he pulled me into his arms and kissed me fervently, honestly, and I returned the kiss in the same manner. A spark had grown into a fire between us.

I didn't leave that day, or the next, or the next. I didn't want to; because even though Johnny and I had nothing more than each other, it was all we needed. And all I'd ever wanted.

Et Tu, Brian? pt 4 (Rebirth)

I'm really not sure how I feel about this chapter. It's kind of not that good in my mind, so, obviously, there will be future edits. Kindly read and respond. Your feedback is crucial to me. Many thanks.

I somewhat want to rip this chapter to pieces because it's not very impressive. Oh, well.

PS: This one is sequential to the last posted segment. Thanks.
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My mother left for work on Friday night, informing me of her departure as I lay half asleep on her sofa, listlessly watching CNN.

“There’s baked ziti in the fridge if you get hungry,” she said, “and please be sure to take the dog out before you get too sleepy. I’ll be home in the morning.”

I nodded, sluggishly, letting my eyes flutter shut as she closed the door and locked it behind her. I groaned and rolled over on the sofa, pulling a blanket over the top of my head. I drifted off to sleep without hesitation, completely disregarding her request. It seemed that, only shortly after doing so, I found myself snatched from my world of wonders and hurled back into reality. My phone would not cease to ring. I rolled over and picked it up, without first reviewing who so desperately sought my attention.

“Yeah?” I growled.

“Brian? Were you sleeping? It’s me.”

I moved the phone away from my mouth and grumbled to myself,

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered before replying to her, “yeah, I was asleep. What’s going on?”

“You never called. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for two days.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Do you want me to let you sleep?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well, will you please call me when you get up? Please?”

“Yeah, I’ll call.”

“It’s just, you know, it’s Friday night and I was hoping we could get together.”

“I’ll call you in a little bit,” I said, groggily, doing whatever I could to get her to leave me in peace.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting,” she said, much too cheerfully.

I hung up and turned my phone off, giving my best attempt to fall back into sleep’s sweet embrace. An hour later, after failing to do so, I rose from my nest on the couch to attend to the dog. I let her run wild and free by the waterside, allowing her to do her business in peace as my mind wandered. I reached into my pocket, in search of my cell phone, and turned it back on, curiously. I had anticipated a slew of voicemail notifications, missed calls, and text messages, but surprisingly, found none. I raised a brow, perplexed, and ushered the dog back inside of the apartment building. I flopped down on the couch once I’d made my way inside and allowed my eyes to glaze over as I stared, blankly, at the television screen before me. My eyes fluttered, once again, and I settled into my resting place on the sofa.

I mused on calling Calpurnia and convincing her to come over, but something about loafing around seemed far more appealing than her aggravating and sickeningly affectionate company. I curled beneath the blanket and debated sleeping or feeling her warm skin next to mine. Within the next restless hour, and against my better judgment, I placed the call, requesting her to join me in my nest. Promptly and ever-willingly, she agreed to arrive within thirty minutes. I sighed and buried myself below the blanket, wondering what I was doing and why I seemed so drawn to her now, all of a sudden.

I fell into a dreamless sleep shortly thereafter, but it didn’t last nearly long enough. In truth, I’m not sure which I’d have preferred less, not dreaming in sleep, or being with her. She rang the bell, forcing me to rise again from my haven. I went to answer the door, hair matted and clothing wrinkled. There she stood, crisply dressed and fresh faced, still glowing, still gorgeous, still spiting me without her knowledge of it.

“Hey,” I said, lethargically, before producing a tremendous yawn. I opened the door, wider, granting her permission to enter. She smiled much too sweetly, batting her eyelids with attempted girlish charm that only made me even more livid. I closed the door behind her and watched her as she walked around the apartment.

“It’s been so long since I was here,” she said, as though a child visiting Disney World for the first time. I flopped back down on the couch and shook my head,

“Nothing’s changed,” I said. She looked at me and smiled again,

“I missed it.”

I snorted,

“God, whatever for? I can’t even stand being here.”

She sat down beside me on the sofa and sighed softly,

“How’s your mom?” she asked.

“Working. Can we not talk about her, please?”

“Oh, sure, sorry,” she said, quietly, abashed.

“It’s fine, I just, I don’t feel like bringing her up. You know?”

She nodded like a simpleton, crossed her legs and folded her hands on her lap.

“So, what do you wanna do?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. We could watch a movie or something, I guess,” I said, defeated, bored, and incapable of upholding my callousness.

“Okay,” she said, smiling in that same nerve-wracking manner of hers.

I grabbed the remote and flipped through the available options, choosing what I felt to be the least insipid and mind-numbing. She wouldn’t have cared what I’d chosen, anyway. The girl could have been pleased as pie sitting in a dirt road with me, for crying out loud. I’d never witnessed anything as sad as how spineless she was. I leaned back on the sofa to relax and watch the film. She continued to sit straight up, still posed in her proper position. I sighed and touched her arm, causing her to look back at me with her wide blue eyes.

“Lay down,” I insisted. Slowly, she leaned back onto me and I awkwardly wrapped an arm around her. She rested her head upon my chest as we watched the film. Some moments later, she lifted it and looked at me.

“You heart is beating so fast,” she said, “are you all right?”

“It happens,” I said, urging her to shut up.

She laid her head back down and kept quiet. It almost felt normal, laying with her, cuddling, stroking her back as she listened to my rapid heartbeat, our eyes firmly fixed on the television screen. For a short time, I seemed almost content with the situation, but I knew that that feeling couldn’t last. Near the end of the film, I began to grow increasingly uncomfortable as a slight wave of panic washed over me. I tapped her on the arm several times and she looked at me, startled and confused.

“My arm’s getting numb,” I lied.

“Do you want to lay on me?” she asked. Too tired to argue the idea, I nodded and we switched positions. I rested my head on her chest and listened to her heart beating as she stroked my hair. I closed my eyes and drifted away, too relaxed and comfortable to deny.

“Brian? Brian? Are you asleep?”

She shook my gently, waking me. I sat up, instantly, and moved off of her.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you,” she said. I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She frowned and rubbed my arm before I got off of the sofa to get a drink. Like a lost puppy, she followed me into the kitchen.

“Do you want a root beer?” I asked, “One week out of the year, I seem to go through a phase of it.”

I poured myself a glass and turned to her.

“Sure,” she said.

I got out another glass and poured her some. We drank in silence standing in the kitchen, eyes averted from one another. I opened the fridge and peered inside, taking note of the baked ziti my mother had mentioned prior to her departure. I sneered and picked up a package of chuck roast I’d picked up at the grocery store earlier that day. Calpurnia looked at me, perplexed, as I examined it.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Oh, I was going to cook this earlier, but I fell asleep,” I said, “want some?”

“No, that’s okay,” she replied.

I wrinkled my nose, shrugged, and threw the package back into the fridge before slamming the door shut. I placed my empty glass in the sink and walked back to the sofa.

“Just leave it in there,” I said, before she’d even had a chance to inquire.

I heard her place her glass beside mine before padding across the carpet to join me again. I picked up the remote and flipped channels, ultimately ending where I’d started earlier that evening. She sat down beside me and watched, silently and attentively. I looked over at her and examined her features to great and excessive detail, making note of every blemish in her skin and every red crack in seemingly flawless blue eyes. Somehow, regardless of her imperfections, I felt profoundly drawn to her. I leaned closer to her, causing her to turn and face me.

“What?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

I found myself staring at her lips, sensing my own beginning to quake and tremble, aching for a taste of them. I leaned in and pressed my mouth to hers without any inhibition. She reciprocated with such an exquisite fervor that I simply could not control myself. My entire body quivered with lust and with nervousness and with delight. I pulled her onto my lap and she entangled her legs around my midsection, our lips still locked together. I allowed my hands to roam the contours of her slim, shapely frame as she ran her fingers through my hair. I could feel myself growing increasingly aroused as our foreplay continued. I pulled away from her and moved her off of me, laying her down onto the carpet below us. I lay down on top of her and continued to kiss her, furiously. She wouldn’t get a say in what I was determined to do next. I wanted her – no, I needed her, and I’d stop at nothing to have her. I unbuttoned my shirt, leaving it on, but wide open. She slid her tiny hands across my chest, raking her nails against my skin. I inhaled sharply and leaned down to kiss her again. Unfortunately, I’d been beaten to her mouth.

She started giggling, nervously, and I pulled back to find that the dog had come over and started slobbering on her face. I sighed, having lost my capacity to seduce her, and pulled away.

“Come on,” I snapped at the dog.

Calpurnia laughed and rolled around on the carpet, pushing the dog’s wet nose and tongue out of her face, playfully. I rose from the floor and grabbed one of the dog’s toys, throwing it across the room so she’d chase after it and let the girl loose. Calpurnia sat up and wiped off her face.

“Ugh! So sloppy,” she said, still giggling slightly. I took my place back on the sofa and folded my arms, scowling. She slinked across my lap and reached for me, but I moved from her grasp.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, the glee dissipating from her face.

“Nothing,” I said, stoic and cold.

She sighed and regained her proper and posed position, legs crossed, hands folded. The two of us stared blankly at the blinding box in front of us, not sharing a single word.

She began fidgeting with her thumbs and playing with her hair, and tapping her foot rapidly and repeatedly out of boredom. I looked down and watched her moving it up and down, faster, faster, faster.

“Could you stop that?” I asked.

She froze and turned to me.

“Stop what, Brian?”

“That foot. You’re, you’re tapping.”

“Oh, yes.”

She ceased at my request, but I could perceive the intense boredom in her eyes. She leaned back on the couch, stretching and arching her back. I gawked at her curved, slight frame as she did so, almost capable of counting each of her ribs one by one. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head.

“Did you want to go out at all or anything?” she asked. I shook my head.

“I’m hermitting tonight,” I replied. She smirked and shook her head.

“That’s a classic,” she remarked.

“What?”

“You, being a hermit. Don’t you want to go out and live life, Brian? I mean, what’s so great about sitting inside in front of the TV all night? It’s all you ever do. There’s a whole world waiting out there.”

I made no response, simply stared at her briefly before yawning and reclining back on the sofa. I closed my eyes and rested my head on her shoulder. She sighed heavily and massaged my scalp. I opened my eyes, groaning with pleasure and stretched myself across her lap. I gazed up at her as she continued to run her fingers through my hair. She possessed a kind of glow in her eyes that I couldn’t quite place, something warm and fervent and true reflecting my dead gray eyes. I reached a finger up and ran it across her lower lip, tracing its shape. Slowly, I ran my fingers along her jaw line and up around her cheek, resting them gently at the nape of her neck. With her free hand, she stroked mine, keeping her bright eyes locked onto my dull ones.

A violent wave of anxiety coursed through my being. I felt as though I’d burst into a panic attack within the next few seconds as a myriad of feeling took hold of me. What was this foreign and unnatural sentiment she had aroused in me? She laid her hand delicately across my forehead, caressing it momentarily, and then rested her hand upon my cheek. My entire body grew warm and placid. I closed my eyes and allowed sleep to take me. I don’t know how long I lay there, entwined in her arms, strewn across her lap, but as much as I’d never willingly admit to it, it felt divine.

I woke some time later and found her still beneath me, her pleasant eyes closed, and clearly entranced in her very own world of wonders. My cheeks began to burn as I allowed a smile to take hold of my face. I looked at the clock and realized that my mother would be on her way home from work shortly. I poked and prodded Calpurnia, stirring her from her slumber, as she’d so often done to me.

“Hey,” I said as her eyes fluttered open, now cracked and red from fatigue, “come on, you should get up.”

She produced a sleepy and disheartened grunt as she slid out from underneath me.

“I’m so tired, Brian,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, so, come on.”

She yawned and stretched, half-heartedly.

“Into your room?”

“No. No. You should go home.”

“I don’t think I can drive that far right now.”

“Well, just,” I paused, frustrated, and bit my lip, fighting the anger and the panic welling within me, “you have to go.”

She groaned and slumped back down on the sofa, closing her eyes again.

“No, get up. I mean, really, you have to go,” I said, grabbing a hold of her arm and shaking it vigorously.

“Stop,” she whined, still unmoved.

A vicious rush of panic spread through me, and it seemed as though a thick layer of ice had developed on the skin of my back. My pulse raced so high and so hard that I could hear every booming beat of my heart and feel the very organ jumping into my throat. I started to lose my breath, and the hyperventilation commenced. I sank to the floor and writhed, hugging my knees to my chest, begging the brutal ride to stop.

Calpurnia rose from her sleeping place and rushed to my aid.

“Brian! Brian! Come back to me. Come back. Look at me. Come back to me.”

She wrapped her arms around me, but I flung her off faster than I’d imagined possible.

“You make it worse,” I managed to spit out through heavy breaths, “you are the problem. Get out. Get the fuck out!”

With all of my strength, I lifted my quaking hand and pointed, with a trembling finger, to the door. She looked at me as though I were a wounded puppy.

“You aren’t well,” she insisted, “let me help you.”

“I don’t need help. You need to go.”

She reached for me and I squirmed away from her grasp.

“I’m serious,” I warned, the anger brimming from inside of me.

“Just let me put you to bed, then I’ll go.”

“I don’t need you to put me to bed. Just get out.”

She didn’t stop. She advanced on me, reaching out with her tiny, malformed hands to latch onto me in some way, in any way that she could. I couldn’t win. The panic had conquered, and all of the rationality and logic I once possessed had faded entirely. I succumbed to her aid and allowed her to assist me into my bedroom. She turned to go, but I seized her from behind and bit her hard on the neck, running my hands over her. The panic began to dissipate, but awkwardness still lingered inside of me. She shrieked and collapsed against me, melting like putty beneath my fingers. I kissed her neck violently, almost animalistic in fashion, no inhibition, no fear of hurting her, no remorse. She wailed and sank to her knees, slipping away from me. I went after her on the floor to pull her close again, to take her, but I heard the front door unlock and creak open. I froze in the middle of my stance, listening. Calpurnia opened her wide eyes and did the same.

“Brian, what’s—”

I slapped my hand across her mouth to silence her, shooting her a cautionary glance. I heard my mother drop her keys on the table by the door and pad across the carpet into the kitchen. She turned on the water for a moment, and then turned it off, again. I heard her pad further away and close her bedroom door. I waited several minutes after she’d done so before releasing my hand from Calpurnia’s mouth. I wiped it against my pants as she shook her head.

“We’re adults, you know,” she remarked.

“Thanks, I don’t think I was aware,” I snapped, “do you really want my mother to walk in to hear us fucking?”

“We weren’t, and judging by the looks of things, we wouldn’t probably have been. Your meds, Brian.”

I scoffed and opened the drawer beside my bed to procure several bottles and numerous pills from each. She handed me a bottle of water from the stack I had sitting in the corner of my room by the window.

“Here,” she said, as I took it from her, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, my God, you’re not my mother,” I snarled.

“Yeah, and thank God for that,” she shot back.

Admittedly, I found myself thoroughly impressed with her emerging backbone. I swallowed the pills, one, two, three, then downed the rest of the sizeable handful in a fourth and final swig. I put the bottle down on my nightstand and sighed, looking out the window.

“It’s snowing,” I said, opening the blinds a bit more to watch the heavy flakes fall.

Calpurnia crawled across the floor behind me and poked her head over my shoulder to take a look for herself.


“Wow, it’s really coming down,” she said, eyes widened and gazing at the sea of white just outside of us.

I sighed once more and stretched out on the carpet, closing my eyes, exhausted. I reached out for her and felt her warm, soft skin against my fingertips. I opened my eyes and gazed at her. She sat there watching the snow, entranced by it, as though she’d never seen it before. I examined her doing so, finding some kind of simple wonder in how she could appreciate the most intricate and minute details of life that most would take for granted. I stroked her forearm, breaking her gaze on the world outside and forcing her to return to the one she shared only with me. I coaxed her to lay down with me and wrapped an arm around her as she rested herself upon my chest. I stroked her hair and closed my eyes.

“Perhaps you and I really aren’t so unlike,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, but I hushed her.

“Sleep,” I insisted.

She fell silent and, soon, we fell into Morpheus’s sweet embrace. The snow fell silently outside, enveloping the world and purity and life anew. And though I lay in slumber, something new and unfamiliar inside of me had awakened.