Finger-Shaped: Original Fiction
Author: Bitterfig
Title: Finger-Shaped
Fandom: Original
Summary: When I was in college I liked this boy, Vincent….
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 664
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, drinking, violence, sexual content.
Author’s Note: Written for visualcomplex’s origfic: writing meme for the prompt “bruise”.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.
Finger-Shaped
When I was in college I liked this boy, Vincent.
He was two years younger than me and punk as fuck. He read Love and Rockets, he’d met Iggy Pop, he’d even done heroin. He had long, greasy black hair and crooked teeth. He wore big boots and wrote poetry about masturbating on the large open air plaza at the center of the school.
I was fat in college and because of that I considered Vincent completely out of my league. He was cool; he smoked cigarettes and went to NYC on drug runs. He also had a girlfriend who looked like the punk rock version of Snow White.
As I said, completely out of my league. I nursed my crush for Vincent confident in the knowledge that it would come to naught. Still, we were pretty good friends. He liked my writing and even let me dance for a band he was in when they performed at a community center in Woodstock. We talked about books by William S. Burroughs and Henry Rollins. We talked about all girl punk rock bands, which were my passion in those days. He hugged me whenever we saw each other.
Then everything changed.
It came to naught all right, but not quite in the way I expected.
In February of 2003, about a month after I turned 21, Vincent’s girlfriend went out of town for the weekend. The two of us decided we’d get drunk together. Using my newly legal status I bought some beer for him and some brandy for me. I took them over to his place. He sang Neil Young’s “Powderfinger” for me. He played Babysitters on Acid, an album by the all female NYC band the Lunachicks. I danced. I liked to dance back then, even though I was overweight, I stomped and spun and tossed my head till I was dizzy. I loved to dance. I don’t dance any more.
At some point during the evening Vincent’s housemate Jason came home. He had my friend Shosanna with him and her friend Jill. Jill and Shosanna were both pretty girls, unlike me. Both of them always had guys interested in them. They were also attracted to each other and couldn’t deal with it so inevitably the conversation came round to their mutual attraction to each other as straight girls.
I was drunk enough that I told them it was bullshit and that everyone was bisexual so why didn’t they get over themselves and make out? Jason agreed. Jason happened to be gay, so I suggested that if Jason could kiss a woman, Jill and Shosanna should have no problem kissing a woman. Jason and I kissed. Jill and Shosanna kissed. Vincent and Jason kissed. I kissed Jill and Shosanna. Everybody kissed everyone else but mainly, Vincent and I kissed. I confessed that I had a bit of a thing for him. He said he’d thought I was a lesbian. We kissed some more and he dug his fingers into my arm. I was wearing a little black dress (they make them in plus sizes too) and a droopy black sweater. He dug and dug and dug his fingers into my arm until I screamed.
At some point in the evening I passed out.
When I woke up I was laying on Jason and Vincent’s couch. Shosanna was standing over me going “I can’t believe what you did.” I couldn’t believe what I’d done. My arm hurt. When I looked there were black marks on it. I thought the dye from my sweater had run. Not so, it turned out that they were bruises. Dark black bruises shaped like Vincent’s fingers.
As the bruises faded, whatever Vincent and I had been faded too. We didn’t talk about books or rock bands anymore. He didn’t hug me any more. There had been a time when I had thought I’d give it all for just one kiss. I got my wish, but it tasted like ashes.
Title: Finger-Shaped
Fandom: Original
Summary: When I was in college I liked this boy, Vincent….
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 664
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, drinking, violence, sexual content.
Author’s Note: Written for visualcomplex’s origfic: writing meme for the prompt “bruise”.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same.
Finger-Shaped
When I was in college I liked this boy, Vincent.
He was two years younger than me and punk as fuck. He read Love and Rockets, he’d met Iggy Pop, he’d even done heroin. He had long, greasy black hair and crooked teeth. He wore big boots and wrote poetry about masturbating on the large open air plaza at the center of the school.
I was fat in college and because of that I considered Vincent completely out of my league. He was cool; he smoked cigarettes and went to NYC on drug runs. He also had a girlfriend who looked like the punk rock version of Snow White.
As I said, completely out of my league. I nursed my crush for Vincent confident in the knowledge that it would come to naught. Still, we were pretty good friends. He liked my writing and even let me dance for a band he was in when they performed at a community center in Woodstock. We talked about books by William S. Burroughs and Henry Rollins. We talked about all girl punk rock bands, which were my passion in those days. He hugged me whenever we saw each other.
Then everything changed.
It came to naught all right, but not quite in the way I expected.
In February of 2003, about a month after I turned 21, Vincent’s girlfriend went out of town for the weekend. The two of us decided we’d get drunk together. Using my newly legal status I bought some beer for him and some brandy for me. I took them over to his place. He sang Neil Young’s “Powderfinger” for me. He played Babysitters on Acid, an album by the all female NYC band the Lunachicks. I danced. I liked to dance back then, even though I was overweight, I stomped and spun and tossed my head till I was dizzy. I loved to dance. I don’t dance any more.
At some point during the evening Vincent’s housemate Jason came home. He had my friend Shosanna with him and her friend Jill. Jill and Shosanna were both pretty girls, unlike me. Both of them always had guys interested in them. They were also attracted to each other and couldn’t deal with it so inevitably the conversation came round to their mutual attraction to each other as straight girls.
I was drunk enough that I told them it was bullshit and that everyone was bisexual so why didn’t they get over themselves and make out? Jason agreed. Jason happened to be gay, so I suggested that if Jason could kiss a woman, Jill and Shosanna should have no problem kissing a woman. Jason and I kissed. Jill and Shosanna kissed. Vincent and Jason kissed. I kissed Jill and Shosanna. Everybody kissed everyone else but mainly, Vincent and I kissed. I confessed that I had a bit of a thing for him. He said he’d thought I was a lesbian. We kissed some more and he dug his fingers into my arm. I was wearing a little black dress (they make them in plus sizes too) and a droopy black sweater. He dug and dug and dug his fingers into my arm until I screamed.
At some point in the evening I passed out.
When I woke up I was laying on Jason and Vincent’s couch. Shosanna was standing over me going “I can’t believe what you did.” I couldn’t believe what I’d done. My arm hurt. When I looked there were black marks on it. I thought the dye from my sweater had run. Not so, it turned out that they were bruises. Dark black bruises shaped like Vincent’s fingers.
As the bruises faded, whatever Vincent and I had been faded too. We didn’t talk about books or rock bands anymore. He didn’t hug me any more. There had been a time when I had thought I’d give it all for just one kiss. I got my wish, but it tasted like ashes.