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[personal profile] everet
I thought I'd share you my latest piece of writing. It's been a long time since I wrote anything and looking back, I think I've "matured" as much as I can, being my age.

I originally submitted this as an assignment in my Creative Writing class and got a 21/25 mark. My TA commented on it, writing: "A little choppy. Great use of external conflict and beautiful writing." I used to write stories in high school and smother the homosexual content and add a little sprinkle of it here and there but now that I'm all "grown up", I feel free to write anything I want. It's a great change.

Title: Covered In Lies
Status: Completed
Word Count: 2300
Warnings/Content: slash, violence, profanity, drug use, sex
Rating: R
Genre: Drama, Angst

"I know. It's too late." I take my shirt off, not looking at him. "I get it. She's pregnant. She's your wife."

I'm covered in rain when he doesn't open the door. And I'm freezing when I see their silhouettes become one black shadow in my heart. I don't remember walking away or ordering vodka mixed with limeade because he doesn't like the taste of it. I catch myself once again doing something because he would do it too. I should be ashamed that he's got me thinking, breathing and living like him. I feel the urge to throw the glass against the wall and just let the shattered pieces fall all around me so I can lay in them and die.


Then suddenly he's there beside me. His fingers resting on my arm and his face so close, his gravity almost pulls me in. But I jerk away with all my will that a little of the drink spills on the bar table. I don't want to look at him but I can't help it. He's leaning against the counter with his rejected hand in a fist and his eyes staring straight into me like a gentle silver knife.

"Were you outside?" he asks, trying again to touch me but I move my hand off the table. "I thought I heard a knock."

"No," I lie, knowing he would not be fooled because he knows everything about me. I used to think I knew him just as well. I take a sip from my glass and instantly want to hurl. It tastes like him. "I've been here for a while."

I expect him to catch me. To tell me I'm lying. I expect him to dig his nails into my skin because he's so desperate and scared of me all at once. He should be pulling me close to him and whispering in my ear, letting his breath drip down my spine and into the pit of my being.

But he doesn't. Instead, he nods and orders the same drink. Finishes it and stares at the empty glass in his hands. These are the moments that wage calm war.

"She's pregnant," he says. "Found out today." He says it so easily but it's a drop of acid in my throat. We don't look at each other. I'm counting the bottles of alcohol on the shelves.

"Congratulations," I say after a minute. There's a belt of laughter simmering around the bar and the clink of celebratory glass feels out of place in our situation. I feign curiosity. "You know if it's a boy or girl yet?"

"Too early to tell, but I'll let you know." He turns to me with his eyes downcast, hesitation written in his wavering movements. His hand changes position from his glass to his thigh, finally deciding to run through his auburn hair. A sigh from his lips and he finally looks at me. I see all of this from the mirror behind the bar shelves. "I'm sorry."

My grip on my glass tightens. "What for?"

Another sigh and his voice quivers, "Cayden... I don't know what to do." This time I let him take my hand. His thumb hooks around my loose fingers, feeling the lines in my skin. I throw back the last of my drink and turn to face him. I want to look at him and slam my fist into his face, let his nose break under my pressure. But the instant I catch the corner of his eye, desperate and shimmering with everything I've ever felt, I have to stop myself from leaning in and breathing him in.

My hand falls from his grasp. "I've got to go." I pay for the both of us and leave, letting my name disappear into the wet wind and out the door.

It seems reality has finally caught up with us; no longer hanging in air that's so thick with lust that it just floats there and swirls around us. Sometimes it really does disappear but only for a little while and then it rises up with the heat of the moment and cools it down. It's one of those things that drip with truth but we cover it by ignorance. We don't want to know. We never want to know.

I take the long route there, making sure to pass every dangerous alley way and every haunting store and walk past death-injected copies of souls. I know where to go as I step over an ugly mass of what used to be a man, almost trip into the puddle of dirt infested water. The rain beats hard on my back before I take refuge in an old beaten and abandoned motel room. I don't bother to knock.

"Why, if it isn't the little cock sucker?" I hear as soon as I enter. Shelia emerges from the bathroom with skinny limbs and blemished tight skin. The place reeks of urine and vomit. "Come to have some fun?"

"Shut up," I say and almost throw the money at her hideous face. But I know how to do business and I watch her as she teeters towards me. She laughs and throws her hands around my neck and I let her feel me up until she finds the wad of cash in my jean pocket. Her finger glides down my cheek until more fingers grip onto the front of my pants, squeezing tight until I gasp.

"I might not be what you like, but I can give you want you want," she whispers hoarsely into my ear, licking with her dried tongue and cold breath and pressing her breasts against my chest. She massages me but I don't pull away, not because I want it or because I need it. We're like that for a few more minutes. She thinks she has me, chuckles into my neck as she bites me like a mosquito looking for blood; itchy and irritating. She's getting the better end of the bargain as she moans nonsense and writhes like a worm in the dirt.

I finally push her off. "Stop it."

Her pale face is flushed and blotchy as her chest heaves up and down. A dribble of spit runs down her chin. She finally pulls out the needle and hands it to me. "Now now, that's not very nice. Let me finish."

So I let her finish. Mercury runs in my veins as she moves on top of me, naked and gray against the watery moonlight. Her sharpness stabs me like needles over and over again. It's all bones and teeth as they clink together in frozen temperatures. The language of the hopelessly angry silently screaming in my ear and the sensation of falling is trivial perhaps, because how can I go any further when I'm already so low?

Sheila cries out my name, wanting me to save her from her own desolation. I feel nothing as her spine sticks straight out from her thin skin in ecstasy. There's nothing inside me as she collapses and buries her face in my neck, whispering sweet things that taste foul. I've stayed still this whole time, letting my eyes wander aimlessly around the water-stained ceiling. Only my lungs expanding in and out, otherwise I was a statue. Sheila didn't seem to mind. She's just a girl drugged out beyond reality using to satisfy her addiction. As the sweat dries, we sleep and I let the hum of her pounding heart lull me to dreamlessness.

In the early hours of morning, I leave her. She is thoroughly dead to the world and my drug has passed its expiration date. The amount of everything I feel is so overwhelming again. The city waking and stretching its monstrous sounds throughout makes me wince. Neon orange chases away the blue and the twinkle of stars, glaring the world with a new day. It begins to snow and I'm moving against the wind as I step onto the streets. Already so early, cars are in motion and hot exhaust spills out into the air. It's all sounds and business. Heels slip sliding in the new snow. Running into the mist of breaths and slamming against tense shivering shoulders. I used to love this place. I used to love everything about it.

A call vibrating in my pocket and I ignore it. It's probably him; always him. It's him when I reach my apartment and he's leaning against the door like he's been waiting for me all night. As if he has the right to look disappointed when I say nothing and open the door. His hurt face makes me want to scream and rip his lungs out and watch him gasp for air.

"Where were you?"

I don't answer.

"I know you're upset," he says, standing in the middle of the living room. "But now that she's... Fuck, Cayden, you know I want to leave her. But I can't now. Not anymore."

"I know. It's too late." I take my shirt off, not looking at him. "I get it. She's pregnant. She's your wife." I let him take in my bitten body and the bleeding hole in my arm. I did it on purpose, let the needle pierce in the wrong position and hit the vein in an awkward jab so that it would drip red. There's a frustrated sound but I ignore it and continue to strip naked. He doesn't say anything else but his mouth gapes open, wordless to the silence that suffocates us. "You should leave." I shuffle through dirty clothes, looking for clean ones. Our apartment is strewn with clothes and belongings that no longer have owners. There's too much that is both ours. He stands in the middle of it all, fists at his side and chest heaving.

"What the fuck, Cayden?" He throws his coat on the floor, his nostrils flaring. His face is red when I don't answer, zipping up my pants and this time he yells, "What was it? Was it heroin?"

"So what if it was?" I say. I want to spit on his face. I want to slam my head against his. "It's none of your fucking business anymore."

"You can't say that shit. Don't you fucking say you're not my business!" He all but runs towards me and grabs my arm, pulling me roughly to him. I tighten my lip and lift my chin. "You went to see Shelia." He shakes me and his hot breath stings my eyes. "Why would you do that? Why would you go back to that whore, after everything?"

"Fuck you." I shove him away.

A low growl emits from his throat and he lunges at me with a fisted grip. I gasp, struggling against him as we both fall to the floor in a chokehold. "Did you fuck her?" My heart is knocked out of my chest as he slams me against the ground. His mouth is inches from mine. "Tell me!"

He screams raw and hoarse as I punch him in the face. Blood dribbles down my nose to meet his split lip as I straddle him, punching him repeatedly. We're like this for a while, rolling on top of each other. There's red silver spilling out from open skin, mixing with salt water. These aren't blows that were meant to hurt; they're meant to destroy, finish, kill. Obscenities run like water held back for decades behind a dam. It washes over us like waves from a tsunami; unrelenting and all-powerful. Fingernails peel skin and are painted in slick crimson. We don't let the other breathe.

It feels like an eternity of hell, but when our limbs run slow and lag our thoughts, we stop. I'm under him, my eyes tired and I can feel wetness soaking through my shirt where his face is buried in my shoulder. Flames lick at our aching wet skin and the sound of hard hail is a steady beat in our drumming heads. His breath slides down my body and stirs in me more emotion than his blood that's hot on my knuckles.

"Cry baby," I whisper and he nearly jumps out of his skin. I open my eyes and he hovers over me, hot body pressing hard against me. Pain creeps slowly around us. He's struggling as his bottom lip quivers and his tears betray him when they spill out of his eyes. His hands finally release my wrists and come to hold my face. His thumb rubs lazy circles in my cheek and I find myself leaning into his touch. Normally I'd laugh at him for being stupid, for worrying, for thinking he's responsible for anything I've done but this time, he is.

How many times have we've been together like this? It's too many I can count. It's always one of us, shot up and delirious. Always one of us, on the brink of tears or so angry we can't speak let alone breathe. Lately, it's always been me mixing heroin with blood and asking for tears and kisses in return.

"Don't do it. Don't do it anymore," he pleads and it's pathetic. "Please."

"Okay," I lie and he kisses me. "Okay." It's not a kiss that hurts. It's not a kiss where his lips would smother me until I bruised or his teeth would tug and cut me. But it's a soft, slow, and gentle kiss. A kiss for moments unlike this. And it hurts even more. "I'm sorry," I say and I press my lips to his. "I'm so sorry."

What to read other original fics? Go to my FictionPress profile!

365 times a year

The sun's light peaks through those grey Vancouver clouds and spills into my room everyday. I might as well write something about what happens afterward.


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July 2011

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