There is nothing left. Save for the distance in our monotonous stares.
You're lost in the chaos and I'm drowning in your blood.
Fleshed out and rancid. Too weak to hold your faith. Too lost in the pitiful truths of you and I.
The plexiglass reflections cast away the mishaped reality and we fall victim to the victimization of it all.
God I need you. Slightly less than you need him.
Satisfaction
Clock ticking, the room was filled with lusty energy, of which triggered Keith and Jessica's impulses at half past eleven in the evening. It was a Monday evening, easily inviting the two to come to bed
"Depends upon my mood," Keith said to Jessica upon laying down beside her. Rapidly, Jessica's face starts to blush at the thought of Keith's luscious lips touching hers and as her hair felt soft beneath her head, she knew she can use it as a way to kindle Keith's fire. For she knew that her man easily gets turned on by her long, wavy brown hair. She felt her chest trembling. If it's amazement, or pure lust she's feeling now, it's up to her to make it happen.
Keith slowly faced her. Jessica wearing a transparent satin dress with nothing but a thong inside. Her breasts were as full as the moon. Her eyes bright and fiery as their love. It was such a convenient time for the couple as they just went out of work. Their minds not occupied anymore of any deadlines or duties.
The only duty they have is to conquer fears of intimacy and to just dive into each other. What difference does it make? Is it even any burden to any of them that they both are longing for each other? If not each other, then each other's mouths, bodies and physical bodies. For they know this world isn't enough for them to (to be continued)
The Mudroom
“Sit still,” I whisper. She can’t hear me of course. My leg is bleeding, dripping on the leaves beneath me. It should hide among the red and gold even come morning. I wish I could hold the brush. Touch her chestnut hair. One hundred strokes takes so little time. She’s already moving off her chair towards the lamp. I lean forward, tense my thighs and spring. My hands catch the next branch, but I swing too wide and slam my shoulder hard into the chimney. I freeze and take a deep breath, listening hard for a creak, a door. Nothing. Then I’m climbing.
Cherise’s eyes are closed, but she’s not asleep yet. My huge frame blocks the moonlight coming in from the window. I’m surprised she left it open. The autumn air is cold and the curtains are flapping behind me. Her face is mostly in shadow, but I know those peach lips so well. I could draw them with my eyes closed. And her legs…so thin and pale. A groan escapes my mouth as I think about it. I’ve touched her before, but only when she was definitely out. For now, it’s best to wait. I rub my dirty hands on my jeans. Then I sit back on my haunches, knees tucked in at the armpits and think about what comes next. I notice I’m bleeding on her pink carpet. Damn.
Her soft snores are the signal and I use the windowsill to pull myself all the way upright. Both knees pop as I rise. I’m 6’9” if I’m not hunching, but I’m always hunching. I’m too much of a loser to play basketball, my voice is too deep to sound normal and the guidance counselor seems to think I’m just shy of retarded. Cherise though, she’s always been perfect. Petite with delicate feet and hands, a button nose, large green eyes. I stare down at her now, leaning against the wall opposite the lamp, my fingers restless at my zipper. Wanting her. I make myself wait a minute longer just to be sure.
I can’t talk to her. Even though I grew up next door, I stopped being able to have a normal conversation with her around ten. Her mother invited me to her thirteenth birthday party (a pity invite for sure) and we played spin the bottle. I wanted to kiss her so much, but when it was my turn, she pulled me into the mudroom and put her finger up to her lips. “Shhh,” was all she said. I stood there an inch from her face, breathing her warm breath, looking at her new breasts and suddenly I had to try. She was looking down, a blush rising to the tips of her ears. I grabbed her around the waist, pushing her back against the dryer. I’m not sure what I was hoping for, but she screamed and I was tossed out on my ass. Thus began the hostile stares from her friends and hushed conversations between our parents.
Now that we’re 17, it hasn’t gotten any better and in fact, I think she might be afraid of me now. I’ve done some bad things. I know that. Her dad told my mom last month after the locker room incident that he was considering selling the house. But really, isn’t this normal stuff? Normal teenager stuff? I have a crush on her. That’s all. A crush and 140 pictures of her on my phone. Cherise eating, Cherise changing, Cherise playing soccer, Cherise touching herself (my personal favorite). They’re all good really.
I’ll never be able to leave her alone. I mean, she gets that I think. She understands. I wrote her a note about it during Spanish. So old school, but texting is impossible because of the restraining order.
She’s out for sure now, her breaths coming long and slow, mouth wide. I bend down close. I want to put my finger in her mouth or maybe lick her lip. I’m calculating which when her eyes snap open and her hand appears from nowhere gripping a huge gun.
“Whoa!” My hands fly up automatically and I stumble back, knocking my head against her ceiling fan. Cherise flings back her comforter and swings her legs out fast. I notice she’s fully dressed.
“You freak,” she says, her voice hushed. “You just won’t effing stop, will you?”
“Where’d you get a gun Cherise?” I knew every nook and cranny of her house and her dad doesn’t own one.
“I bought it. So that you. Would. Stop. Bothering me!” she hush-screamed.
“Are you gonna kill me?” I’m not worried. Cherise refused to dissect the frog. I highly doubt she’s gonna murder my ass in her bedroom.
She rolled her eyes, more annoyed than angry I think and then noticed the blood on my sneaker. “What the hell?”
“Wanna see it?” I’m ever hopeful…
“No, but you might as well show me.”
I lift my pant leg. CHERISE is carved deep into my calf. I’m not sure why it’s still bleeding so much. Maybe I should have burned it after or something.
“Goddamnit Eric!! Why are you doing this?” Her shoulders shake a little (with revulsion I think, bummed) and the gun, which sagged when she bent over my leg, is pointed at me again.
I try to explain, again, for the hundredth time. “I want you Cherise. I want us to be together. I want to…”
The gun went off mid-sentence and I stop talking to look down at my chest. A huge hole appears dead center of my Chewie T-shirt.
I fall forward onto my knees and look up at her. I can’t believe she shot me, but I’m also weirdly proud of her.
“You wanted to have me? Here you go! Have me forever!” She screams and throws the gun down on the bed. She starts stripping off her clothes fast, wild. I’m coughing up blood now, but still trying to watch her as she rips her legs out of those tight black pants and pulls her T over her head. My vision is blurry, but she’s just about to unhook her bra and…