Fic: She Kisses Harder (3/5) R
Title: She Kisses Harder
Author: inmyth
Pairing: Original male/male slash
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: R
Summary: Ryan and Craig have been best friends since the day Craig whacked Ryan's face with a bucket when they were both four-years-old. Now as the years have piled on, so have Ryan's feelings for Craig. Will Craig accept Ryan's affections or will their friendship turn stale like two weeks' old bread? M/M Slash.
AN: So yeah. This was finished. Until I decided that the last chapter is completely screwed up and just way too abrupt and does NOT sit well with the story. Basically they both die and suddenly I'm bringing in race related hate crime into a stupid story and yeah. Makes no sense. So ummm until I write the last chapter. Any ideas?
Part 1
Part 2
The moment I open my mouth to announce, “I’m home,” though who really cares, I know the day just got from awkward to fucking horrendous. Okay, just crawl up to my room, lock the door and try not to make a fucking sound. Easier said than done. I step on the first step and it makes a deafening creak. Fuck.
I hear footsteps coming from the kitchen. It’s not Mother because she works until eight at night and the only other person it could possibly be -
“Boy!” he growls as he comes up to me. I try not to melt into the wall, I really do, but the rough surface of the wall feels so much more reassuring through the material of my polo shirt. He smells of booze and fags, and the stench makes my eyes water, I turn my head away, but he grabs my chin and forcibly pulls my head to face him. His fingers dig in hard into my flesh. This is going to bruise like a bitch. “You fucking drank all of the milk.”
His fingers dig in further. “N-no. I didn’t have breakfast this morning -”
The sound of the slap hurts more than the sting of his finger on my cheek.
“Don’t you fucking dare lie, boy,” he growls again. His spittle landing on my face. “I heard you make all that goddamn racket. It fucking woke me up and you know I don’t like to be woken, don’t you, boy?”
His dark eyes get that manic glint, the one where he’s going over all the possible ways he can make me hurt. Just then there is a knock at the door. He digs his bitten nails into my jaw one last time before letting go. I slump to the ground, gasping for breath and trying not to flinch as he regards me with cold disdain.
He goes towards the front door and opens it to his other fucking skinhead friends. There’s not much difference between them. They all look like some fucking clones, poster boys for some neo-nazi agenda. Derek, like his friends, has his head completely shaved hence the title and a large Swastika tattooed on his back and some other shit about ‘White’ power.
There are three others this time and they grin at me, showing me their gold covered teeth, before going through the kitchen and into the den. At least they will keep him occupied until fuck knows how long. However long he ignores my existence is enough to pull my emo act. Yes, I think some emoness is in order. I pick myself off the floor and manage to climb the stairs up to my room without dropping down into a sobbing mess.
My room is quite a sad affair. The walls are pretty much bare except for my time table stuck above my computer desk, oh and the absolutely horrid horrid horrid orange colour scheme thing going on. Whoever painted this room certainly seems to have been compensating for their lack of sight, perhaps. I drop my bag by my computer desk and then go on to drop myself onto my sad, single bed.
I touch my jaw gingerly, wincing as pain shoots up the side of it. All I can hope is that it won’t be bruised for the gig tomorrow night. The gig. Craig. See, the thing is, I’ve always had the hots for him. I mean, seriously, like I said before - probably since I was a wee toddler prancing about in the sand box. What’s there not to like? But I resigned myself a long time ago that try as I might (which I won’t because I’m not that fucking stupid), I’m never going to have him, not in the raunchy-Sean-Cody-porno way, at least.
This was made clear to me when I spent Christmas with his family back in the thirteenth year of my young life. Mother was in between boyfriends and she couldn’t care less where I ended up. So I had ended up at Craig’s, his parents being kind enough to adopt a complete stranger to share Christmas with. Craig’s family are devout Catholics and Christmas is a big time for them. I kept my mouth shut about how I stopped believing in God when - actually I can’t remember when I stopped… to be honest, I don’t think I ever had any faith. Mother isn’t the religious type and she’s never taken the time to sit down and explain the mysteries of the universe to me. Ha fucking ha.
But anyway, I digress. Craig’s is a small family. Unusual by most Catholic standards but then again the only other Catholic person I’ve known is Mel Gibson. Not that I know him personally but it’s hard to avoid him, really. After all, he did make The Passion of the Christ, probably one of the goriest films and the only one without hot chicks, a shunned-by-society-leather-faced-serial killer and a chain saw. So yeah, as opposed to Mel Gibson’s eleven offspring, the Lamar family have only two. Craig and their ten-year-old daughter Celia.
So yes, it was Christmas time and Craig thought it a good idea to steal some spiced Sherry from his dad’s cabinet. Now Sherry isn’t the sorta drink you get wankered over but this was us, thirteen, entering puberty and laughing over the word Uranus. It didn’t take us too long to get completely rat-arsed and when you’ve pretty much lost all sense and control of your body, and said body is oh-so-inclined towards your best friend, you can’t help certain reactions. Then of course there was the conveniently placed mistle toe.
It was our first and only kiss, until last Friday that is. Nothing more than a press of Sherry covered lips and an awkward moment stretched into eternity. Craig had just laughed then and kissed me again on my cheek and said, “I love you.”
Call it intuition or whatever but that declaration of devotion wasn’t the sort where you start planning your mortgage and what kids to adopt in fifteen years’ time. It was more along the lines of, ‘I know you’re raving mad about me, but I don’t want to have children with you. Savvy-like?’
Ever since then I’ve watched girl after girl hang off his arm and then join the ranks of the ones before her. But I… I’ve stuck around. I’ve always been there because we’re best friends, innit. If we were a pair of girls then I’m sure we’d have little key chains with bears hanging off them saying ‘Friends Forever’, but seeing as we’re not, I think my word should suffice. We’re best friends. Fated to be.
Then it’s all right. It’s fine and as tragically cliché as this sounds, I’d rather have him in the form of a friend that I know will be there for me when I decide to put up house with a Republican sod and hence, fuck up, than share a few moments of pleasure and have the rest of our lives defined by one awkward moment after another.
Now that we have that established, all that needs doing is convincing myself of the facts. He has a girl friend. He’s pretty much content with his girlfriend. I have him. I should be pretty much content with that. Emphasis on the word, ‘should’.
Why then, after all these years, does it fucking hurt so much?
Just because of one fucking kiss? Why should that even matter? It’s just… I - it’s just that now I know. I know that his upper lip is fuller than his lower one, making it look like he’s pouting adorably most of the time. I know that up close, I can see flecks of yellow around his pupils and the smattering of freckles on his nose. I know that he tastes of cinnamon. I know his lips aren’t as soft as they look, which reminds me, I’ll recommend him the lip balm that I use. Where was I? Yes, emo moment. So see, that’s the problem. Now I fucking know and… I don’t think I can ever go back to how it was before.
I bury my face into my pillow in resignation and it’s only then that I realise that I’d been crying.
--
Damn her! Damn her to hell and back. I knew the moment she stepped through my door that tonight will be a regrettable one. Not because I’m all fucking emo now and might just do something really awkward, but because now I even look like a fucking emo. Emily, under no circumstances, would let me escape unless I did as I was told to. For what it’s worth, I put up a damn good fight, which is why we’re an hour late. I wasn’t about to give in that easily, no sirree, but then she had to turn on the tap works. She’s been doing that since we were fucking brats. She always gets her way like this.
Like that time when she first started her periods and was craving ice cream and was too stingy a bitch to use her own money. All she had to do was quiver her lips and voila! Instant emotional blackmail, would you like sugar with that or cream?!
Five years down the road and I’m still buying her fucking ice cream!
“Oh, do stop sulking, Ry.” She pokes me in the ribs as we come up to The Tavern’s entrance. “You look hot.”
I roll my eyes. I’m seriously starting to hate that word.
She’s made me wear trousers that I hadn’t even seen face of since a couple years back. I had my growth spurt when I was fourteen and have since resigned myself to the fact that I will never grow past the height of 5’10 inches, so it’s not like the trousers are short or anything. But they are tight. Uncomfortably and oooh-are-those-your-balls? kind of tight. Before I used to be skeletal and now I’m just skinny, either way, these trousers are fucking leeching off my skin, I swear.
At least she didn’t make me wear anything more ‘sex appeal worth-ish’ (as she so eloquently put it). I’m wearing another plain white t-shirt with a simple black zip-up hoodie on top. I own a lot of white t-shirts see, because my mum being the cheap-skate that she is, bought me five packs of five t-shirts a pack at a bargain price from WalMart. Ahh well, whom have I got to impress with my wardrobe, anyways?
“Just stop fiddling with it!” Emily reprimands me and I immediately let go off the belt that is holding up the trousers just below my hipbones.
Considering that they’re so fucking tight, I really don’t see the need for a belt but as soon as I had said that out loud Emily had just given me a filthy stare and said, “And you call yourself a gay man!”
I have no idea what she meant by that. Women. No wonder I’m gay. Pfft.
We can hear loud drum beats as we near the door and to my surprise, it’s not some World-Wrestling-type-Bouncer that is waiting for us to show him our passes but Brenda herself. Her face breaks into a grin when she sees us and she comes towards Emily and gives her a tight hug. I had no idea they were so familiar with each other, after all, it’s not like they belong in each other’s social circles or anything.
Then she turns to me and she positively squeals. The sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
“Ryan. You look so fucking hot!” She squeals again.
“Told you so!” Emily smirks at me, looking all proud.
“Just one thing missing,” she mumbles and then rummages in her short skirt pocket and comes out with a black tube like thing.
“Ooh! That is perfect. I didn’t even think of that,” Emily gushes. Both girls turn to me, and bloody hell the looks on their faces aren’t reassuring me in the least.
Brenda uncaps the tube and takes out the lid that has a stick coming out of it. Upon longer inspection (the time it took my brain cells to move from ‘Waaah?’ to ‘Nooo’) I realise it’s eyeliner.
I back away from them. “No. No, absolutely not.” I wave my hands around frantically as they come closer. “Don’t you fucking dare. I’m not some girl, alright?!”
“Could’ve fooled me!” Brenda huffs and rolls her eyes in exasperation. There’s a lot of eye rolling going on around here these days and me not likey, me not likey at all, actually. I’m the master of eye rolling, dammit!
The few seconds that it takes me to come up with that asinine narrative in my head is long enough for Emily to grab me by my right forearm in a vice-like grip. Shit.
“Now listen, you either let us do this or we poke out your pretty little eyes. It’s your choice,” says Brenda in a matter-of-fact tone. Bitch. “I’ve heard that if you scratch your cornea, it hurts like you’ve dropped your eyeballs in boiling oil. Not very nice.”
And there is no fucking doubt in my mind that she won’t actually go ahead with it, either, despite my valiant efforts of fighting her off. I can either come out of this looking like a fucking clown, with my eyes intact, or like a fucking clown and completely blind.
I think I’ll choose the former, thanks.
So I nod hesitantly and stop fidgeting around. I’m as still as a grave as Brenda brings that death-stick towards my eyes. I follow her instructions lest she stab my eyeball while she applies the black stuff.
“You’re fucking shaking,” whispers Emily in my ear.
I want to tell her to fuck off but I’m afraid that the slightest movement will cost me my sight.
“There! All done!” Brenda stands back, admiring her work - as in me - proudly. “Now, was that so bad?”
I’ve progressed from my penguin death glare, and instead opted for the, die-damn-you-die death glare. Alas, these people are immune to my death glares.
Emily giggles and loops her arm with mine and pulls me towards the door.
“You coming, Brenda?” she calls back when she notices that Brenda’s still stationed at the door.
“Nah. The bouncer who was meant to be standing guard got an emergency call. His wife went into labour, so I’m gonna have to stay here for another half hour or so.” She shrugs.
“Alrighty then. Come find us whenever.” With a nod Emily pulls me along into the thin corridor leading to a large, door-less room that is jam-packed with writhing bodies.
The music hits us like a wave, crashing around us, making us sway alongside it. I scan the room for Craig but I can hardly see anything. The only illumination is from dim lights fixed all along the walls. The Tavern is a bad replica of what a bleak 18th Century pub would have looked like, with fake fire torches and a cobbled moshpit. The bar is right opposite to the stage and it’s some sort of wooden thing with a wooden bench running alongside it for people to seat themselves. It’s the only place in town where kids need not fear getting ID’d, makes me wonder why the police haven’t busted this place already.
Emily pulls me towards the bar and after one last searching look, I go along with her. She orders some cocktails for us both, and starts moving alongside the music as we wait for our drinks to arrive.
“CRAIG!” she suddenly shouts at the top of her lungs.
I look up and see a couple dancing slightly to the right of the pit. It’s not very hard to catch sight of Craig’s curls bouncing ever which way as he dances, his head thrown back, and eyes closed as if in ecstasy. I’m amazed he even manages to hear Emily calling his name above all the music.
He waves at us and then bends down to whisper something in Sophie’s ear. She glances back at us, her face expressionless before she shrugs and disappears somewhere in between the moving bodies.
Craig manoeuvres around people and manages to make it to us in one piece.
“Hi,” he says loudly, slightly breathless. His eyes straying to mine and then he stops. He wasn’t doing anything for him to stop but it just seems like he’s just… stopped. He says something but I can’t hear him.
“What?” I shout.
He shakes his head and then laughs, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Suddenly I have an armful of Craig and his mouth is pressed hotly against my cheek before he says in my ear, “You look nice.”
I’m pretty sure he feels me shaking which is why he suddenly lets go, smiling at me in reassurance. I tentatively smile back and that’s when Emily hands me my drink. It’s blue with an orange umbrella in it. I look at it in suspicion before shrugging and downing it in one gulp; it’s sickeningly sweet with a tinge of vanilla. I have this habit of closing my eyes as I toss my head back, so when I open them I find Craig staring at me with an odd look in his eyes.
Suddenly, and completely inexplicably, I’m frightened. I don’t know what is going on here and there is no way I can explain it but I know. I know and he knows that something in the whole Craig and Ryan dynamic has changed. It’s still changing, in fact, while he continues to stare at me and I have no idea how to stop it.
Emily has long since left our side after she handed me my drink and so Craig comes to take the seat beside me. I don’t think I’ve felt so out of place in his company before. He just leans back against the bar table and nods along to the music so I decide to do the same.
Soon the current song comes to an end and the place vibrates with the deafening cheers and applause.
“Thank you!” the lead singer shouts. “This next song is a cover of one of our favourite bands. They personally inspired me to start song writing. It’s called Drilled a Wire Through My Cheek by Blue October! So let’s hear some noise, y’all!”
The crowd goes wild. The drummer starts the introduction and as the lead singer starts singing the words; Craig grabs my hand and pulls me up as he stands.
“I try to stay on top of you
To hold your body down
Your shaking seems to hinder
Every grasp that I had found.”
I throw him a questioning glance but he just smiles and pulls me through the throng of bodies. I can feel my palm becoming moist against Craig’s and hope to God he doesn’t notice how fucking nervous I am.
Soon we’re standing side by side in the mosh pit as the singer starts on the chorus, the crowd screaming alongside him. I feel Craig moving behind me and suddenly his arms are around my waist. I tense in his arms but as his fingers start tracing circles over my mid-rift, I will my body to relax and lean against him. This is okay. It’s fine. We’re best friends. Nothing more. This is nothing. I chant this mantra in my head and hope that somewhere along the road I’ll start believing it, too.
“I hate to show I'd bleed for this
I cut myself to shame
To get to know who this masochist
Who’s stolen my first name…”
“I tried calling you earlier but your phone was switched off,” Craig says next to my ear. He’s close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice too much for me to be able to hear him.
I shake my head and in doing so hit him in the nose. He makes an ‘oomph’ sound and I turn around to apologise but he just shakes his head and mock glares at me. I give him a sheepish smile in return and put my arms around his neck, tip-toeing so I can reach his ear and tell him that the phone had run out of battery. Truth of the matter is that Derek had thrown the phone at my head and I had barely managed to duck, and so instead it had struck the wall behind me. He gives me a strange look but accepts the explanation without further question.
We resume our position as the song comes to an end and in a moment of recklessness I push back into him, but he doesn’t budge, so my back ends up pressed tightly against his chest as I throw my head back against his shoulder and shout out the last words of the song, “So drill it, so drill it, so hard I feel it… It’s Okay now!”
The crowd goes mad around us, shouting and cheering as the lead singer screams into the mic. I can feel Craig’s heart beating against my back and I wonder if Sophie gets to hear this strange ‘thump thump thump’ sound too. I wonder if Craig pulls Sophie into his arms like this after they’ve had sex, their skins touching feverishly, burning hot after the passion has subsided. Suddenly, Craig’s arms around my waist start to feel uncomfortably hot and I break free from his embrace. He looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself and as I open my mouth to say something, Sophie decides to walk up to us.
She doesn’t spare a glance my way but smiles at Craig and pulls his head down for a kiss. I look away, feeling bile rise to the back of my throat, hot and bitter. I don’t wait for them to pull apart before I start to make my way towards the bar again. I need a drink, a strong one, one that will make me forget about that stupid kiss, about Craig, about how he smells of fucking soap and vanilla and how completely and hopelessly I am in love with him.
I finally manage to reach the bar and grunt out something that’s inaudible even to my own ears, so I’m surprised when the bar man lines up three shots in front of me. I look up at him and he offers me a sympathetic smile before leaning in close and shouting, “Dontcha worry, she’ll be back to you soon enough.” He nods towards the crowd.
I look back and see that Craig and Sophie are pressed in an embrace, their mouths working furiously over each other’s. I can’t stand the sight anymore. I turn back towards my shot glasses, my only friends, and down them one after the other. The bar man gives me one last sympathetic look and another shot before going away to serve another customer.
I turn around on my wooden bench, nursing the little shot glass in my hand as I watch my best friend and his girl friend get completely lost in each other. I watch as Craig moves Sophie around so that her back is facing my way and as he kisses her, he opens his eyes and gazes back at me. I can’t see much of his face as it is hidden behind Sophie’s head, but his eyes bore into me as his fingers curl around the back of her neck.
I stare right back at him and the distance between us is charged with something inevitable and as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to look away. Finally, I tear my eyes away from his and down the last shot of vodka. Fuck. I need to get out of here. After paying the barman for my drinks, I push off from the bench, my head feeling heavy as I place one step after another towards the exit. I’m glad to see that the exit is unattended because I don’t think I can stand anyone’s pitying or curious glances right now, especially not Brenda’s.
TBC
Concrit Welcome
Part 4
Author: inmyth
Pairing: Original male/male slash
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: R
Summary: Ryan and Craig have been best friends since the day Craig whacked Ryan's face with a bucket when they were both four-years-old. Now as the years have piled on, so have Ryan's feelings for Craig. Will Craig accept Ryan's affections or will their friendship turn stale like two weeks' old bread? M/M Slash.
AN: So yeah. This was finished. Until I decided that the last chapter is completely screwed up and just way too abrupt and does NOT sit well with the story. Basically they both die and suddenly I'm bringing in race related hate crime into a stupid story and yeah. Makes no sense. So ummm until I write the last chapter. Any ideas?
Part 1
Part 2
The moment I open my mouth to announce, “I’m home,” though who really cares, I know the day just got from awkward to fucking horrendous. Okay, just crawl up to my room, lock the door and try not to make a fucking sound. Easier said than done. I step on the first step and it makes a deafening creak. Fuck.
I hear footsteps coming from the kitchen. It’s not Mother because she works until eight at night and the only other person it could possibly be -
“Boy!” he growls as he comes up to me. I try not to melt into the wall, I really do, but the rough surface of the wall feels so much more reassuring through the material of my polo shirt. He smells of booze and fags, and the stench makes my eyes water, I turn my head away, but he grabs my chin and forcibly pulls my head to face him. His fingers dig in hard into my flesh. This is going to bruise like a bitch. “You fucking drank all of the milk.”
His fingers dig in further. “N-no. I didn’t have breakfast this morning -”
The sound of the slap hurts more than the sting of his finger on my cheek.
“Don’t you fucking dare lie, boy,” he growls again. His spittle landing on my face. “I heard you make all that goddamn racket. It fucking woke me up and you know I don’t like to be woken, don’t you, boy?”
His dark eyes get that manic glint, the one where he’s going over all the possible ways he can make me hurt. Just then there is a knock at the door. He digs his bitten nails into my jaw one last time before letting go. I slump to the ground, gasping for breath and trying not to flinch as he regards me with cold disdain.
He goes towards the front door and opens it to his other fucking skinhead friends. There’s not much difference between them. They all look like some fucking clones, poster boys for some neo-nazi agenda. Derek, like his friends, has his head completely shaved hence the title and a large Swastika tattooed on his back and some other shit about ‘White’ power.
There are three others this time and they grin at me, showing me their gold covered teeth, before going through the kitchen and into the den. At least they will keep him occupied until fuck knows how long. However long he ignores my existence is enough to pull my emo act. Yes, I think some emoness is in order. I pick myself off the floor and manage to climb the stairs up to my room without dropping down into a sobbing mess.
My room is quite a sad affair. The walls are pretty much bare except for my time table stuck above my computer desk, oh and the absolutely horrid horrid horrid orange colour scheme thing going on. Whoever painted this room certainly seems to have been compensating for their lack of sight, perhaps. I drop my bag by my computer desk and then go on to drop myself onto my sad, single bed.
I touch my jaw gingerly, wincing as pain shoots up the side of it. All I can hope is that it won’t be bruised for the gig tomorrow night. The gig. Craig. See, the thing is, I’ve always had the hots for him. I mean, seriously, like I said before - probably since I was a wee toddler prancing about in the sand box. What’s there not to like? But I resigned myself a long time ago that try as I might (which I won’t because I’m not that fucking stupid), I’m never going to have him, not in the raunchy-Sean-Cody-porno way, at least.
This was made clear to me when I spent Christmas with his family back in the thirteenth year of my young life. Mother was in between boyfriends and she couldn’t care less where I ended up. So I had ended up at Craig’s, his parents being kind enough to adopt a complete stranger to share Christmas with. Craig’s family are devout Catholics and Christmas is a big time for them. I kept my mouth shut about how I stopped believing in God when - actually I can’t remember when I stopped… to be honest, I don’t think I ever had any faith. Mother isn’t the religious type and she’s never taken the time to sit down and explain the mysteries of the universe to me. Ha fucking ha.
But anyway, I digress. Craig’s is a small family. Unusual by most Catholic standards but then again the only other Catholic person I’ve known is Mel Gibson. Not that I know him personally but it’s hard to avoid him, really. After all, he did make The Passion of the Christ, probably one of the goriest films and the only one without hot chicks, a shunned-by-society-leather-faced-serial killer and a chain saw. So yeah, as opposed to Mel Gibson’s eleven offspring, the Lamar family have only two. Craig and their ten-year-old daughter Celia.
So yes, it was Christmas time and Craig thought it a good idea to steal some spiced Sherry from his dad’s cabinet. Now Sherry isn’t the sorta drink you get wankered over but this was us, thirteen, entering puberty and laughing over the word Uranus. It didn’t take us too long to get completely rat-arsed and when you’ve pretty much lost all sense and control of your body, and said body is oh-so-inclined towards your best friend, you can’t help certain reactions. Then of course there was the conveniently placed mistle toe.
It was our first and only kiss, until last Friday that is. Nothing more than a press of Sherry covered lips and an awkward moment stretched into eternity. Craig had just laughed then and kissed me again on my cheek and said, “I love you.”
Call it intuition or whatever but that declaration of devotion wasn’t the sort where you start planning your mortgage and what kids to adopt in fifteen years’ time. It was more along the lines of, ‘I know you’re raving mad about me, but I don’t want to have children with you. Savvy-like?’
Ever since then I’ve watched girl after girl hang off his arm and then join the ranks of the ones before her. But I… I’ve stuck around. I’ve always been there because we’re best friends, innit. If we were a pair of girls then I’m sure we’d have little key chains with bears hanging off them saying ‘Friends Forever’, but seeing as we’re not, I think my word should suffice. We’re best friends. Fated to be.
Then it’s all right. It’s fine and as tragically cliché as this sounds, I’d rather have him in the form of a friend that I know will be there for me when I decide to put up house with a Republican sod and hence, fuck up, than share a few moments of pleasure and have the rest of our lives defined by one awkward moment after another.
Now that we have that established, all that needs doing is convincing myself of the facts. He has a girl friend. He’s pretty much content with his girlfriend. I have him. I should be pretty much content with that. Emphasis on the word, ‘should’.
Why then, after all these years, does it fucking hurt so much?
Just because of one fucking kiss? Why should that even matter? It’s just… I - it’s just that now I know. I know that his upper lip is fuller than his lower one, making it look like he’s pouting adorably most of the time. I know that up close, I can see flecks of yellow around his pupils and the smattering of freckles on his nose. I know that he tastes of cinnamon. I know his lips aren’t as soft as they look, which reminds me, I’ll recommend him the lip balm that I use. Where was I? Yes, emo moment. So see, that’s the problem. Now I fucking know and… I don’t think I can ever go back to how it was before.
I bury my face into my pillow in resignation and it’s only then that I realise that I’d been crying.
--
Damn her! Damn her to hell and back. I knew the moment she stepped through my door that tonight will be a regrettable one. Not because I’m all fucking emo now and might just do something really awkward, but because now I even look like a fucking emo. Emily, under no circumstances, would let me escape unless I did as I was told to. For what it’s worth, I put up a damn good fight, which is why we’re an hour late. I wasn’t about to give in that easily, no sirree, but then she had to turn on the tap works. She’s been doing that since we were fucking brats. She always gets her way like this.
Like that time when she first started her periods and was craving ice cream and was too stingy a bitch to use her own money. All she had to do was quiver her lips and voila! Instant emotional blackmail, would you like sugar with that or cream?!
Five years down the road and I’m still buying her fucking ice cream!
“Oh, do stop sulking, Ry.” She pokes me in the ribs as we come up to The Tavern’s entrance. “You look hot.”
I roll my eyes. I’m seriously starting to hate that word.
She’s made me wear trousers that I hadn’t even seen face of since a couple years back. I had my growth spurt when I was fourteen and have since resigned myself to the fact that I will never grow past the height of 5’10 inches, so it’s not like the trousers are short or anything. But they are tight. Uncomfortably and oooh-are-those-your-balls? kind of tight. Before I used to be skeletal and now I’m just skinny, either way, these trousers are fucking leeching off my skin, I swear.
At least she didn’t make me wear anything more ‘sex appeal worth-ish’ (as she so eloquently put it). I’m wearing another plain white t-shirt with a simple black zip-up hoodie on top. I own a lot of white t-shirts see, because my mum being the cheap-skate that she is, bought me five packs of five t-shirts a pack at a bargain price from WalMart. Ahh well, whom have I got to impress with my wardrobe, anyways?
“Just stop fiddling with it!” Emily reprimands me and I immediately let go off the belt that is holding up the trousers just below my hipbones.
Considering that they’re so fucking tight, I really don’t see the need for a belt but as soon as I had said that out loud Emily had just given me a filthy stare and said, “And you call yourself a gay man!”
I have no idea what she meant by that. Women. No wonder I’m gay. Pfft.
We can hear loud drum beats as we near the door and to my surprise, it’s not some World-Wrestling-type-Bouncer that is waiting for us to show him our passes but Brenda herself. Her face breaks into a grin when she sees us and she comes towards Emily and gives her a tight hug. I had no idea they were so familiar with each other, after all, it’s not like they belong in each other’s social circles or anything.
Then she turns to me and she positively squeals. The sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
“Ryan. You look so fucking hot!” She squeals again.
“Told you so!” Emily smirks at me, looking all proud.
“Just one thing missing,” she mumbles and then rummages in her short skirt pocket and comes out with a black tube like thing.
“Ooh! That is perfect. I didn’t even think of that,” Emily gushes. Both girls turn to me, and bloody hell the looks on their faces aren’t reassuring me in the least.
Brenda uncaps the tube and takes out the lid that has a stick coming out of it. Upon longer inspection (the time it took my brain cells to move from ‘Waaah?’ to ‘Nooo’) I realise it’s eyeliner.
I back away from them. “No. No, absolutely not.” I wave my hands around frantically as they come closer. “Don’t you fucking dare. I’m not some girl, alright?!”
“Could’ve fooled me!” Brenda huffs and rolls her eyes in exasperation. There’s a lot of eye rolling going on around here these days and me not likey, me not likey at all, actually. I’m the master of eye rolling, dammit!
The few seconds that it takes me to come up with that asinine narrative in my head is long enough for Emily to grab me by my right forearm in a vice-like grip. Shit.
“Now listen, you either let us do this or we poke out your pretty little eyes. It’s your choice,” says Brenda in a matter-of-fact tone. Bitch. “I’ve heard that if you scratch your cornea, it hurts like you’ve dropped your eyeballs in boiling oil. Not very nice.”
And there is no fucking doubt in my mind that she won’t actually go ahead with it, either, despite my valiant efforts of fighting her off. I can either come out of this looking like a fucking clown, with my eyes intact, or like a fucking clown and completely blind.
I think I’ll choose the former, thanks.
So I nod hesitantly and stop fidgeting around. I’m as still as a grave as Brenda brings that death-stick towards my eyes. I follow her instructions lest she stab my eyeball while she applies the black stuff.
“You’re fucking shaking,” whispers Emily in my ear.
I want to tell her to fuck off but I’m afraid that the slightest movement will cost me my sight.
“There! All done!” Brenda stands back, admiring her work - as in me - proudly. “Now, was that so bad?”
I’ve progressed from my penguin death glare, and instead opted for the, die-damn-you-die death glare. Alas, these people are immune to my death glares.
Emily giggles and loops her arm with mine and pulls me towards the door.
“You coming, Brenda?” she calls back when she notices that Brenda’s still stationed at the door.
“Nah. The bouncer who was meant to be standing guard got an emergency call. His wife went into labour, so I’m gonna have to stay here for another half hour or so.” She shrugs.
“Alrighty then. Come find us whenever.” With a nod Emily pulls me along into the thin corridor leading to a large, door-less room that is jam-packed with writhing bodies.
The music hits us like a wave, crashing around us, making us sway alongside it. I scan the room for Craig but I can hardly see anything. The only illumination is from dim lights fixed all along the walls. The Tavern is a bad replica of what a bleak 18th Century pub would have looked like, with fake fire torches and a cobbled moshpit. The bar is right opposite to the stage and it’s some sort of wooden thing with a wooden bench running alongside it for people to seat themselves. It’s the only place in town where kids need not fear getting ID’d, makes me wonder why the police haven’t busted this place already.
Emily pulls me towards the bar and after one last searching look, I go along with her. She orders some cocktails for us both, and starts moving alongside the music as we wait for our drinks to arrive.
“CRAIG!” she suddenly shouts at the top of her lungs.
I look up and see a couple dancing slightly to the right of the pit. It’s not very hard to catch sight of Craig’s curls bouncing ever which way as he dances, his head thrown back, and eyes closed as if in ecstasy. I’m amazed he even manages to hear Emily calling his name above all the music.
He waves at us and then bends down to whisper something in Sophie’s ear. She glances back at us, her face expressionless before she shrugs and disappears somewhere in between the moving bodies.
Craig manoeuvres around people and manages to make it to us in one piece.
“Hi,” he says loudly, slightly breathless. His eyes straying to mine and then he stops. He wasn’t doing anything for him to stop but it just seems like he’s just… stopped. He says something but I can’t hear him.
“What?” I shout.
He shakes his head and then laughs, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Suddenly I have an armful of Craig and his mouth is pressed hotly against my cheek before he says in my ear, “You look nice.”
I’m pretty sure he feels me shaking which is why he suddenly lets go, smiling at me in reassurance. I tentatively smile back and that’s when Emily hands me my drink. It’s blue with an orange umbrella in it. I look at it in suspicion before shrugging and downing it in one gulp; it’s sickeningly sweet with a tinge of vanilla. I have this habit of closing my eyes as I toss my head back, so when I open them I find Craig staring at me with an odd look in his eyes.
Suddenly, and completely inexplicably, I’m frightened. I don’t know what is going on here and there is no way I can explain it but I know. I know and he knows that something in the whole Craig and Ryan dynamic has changed. It’s still changing, in fact, while he continues to stare at me and I have no idea how to stop it.
Emily has long since left our side after she handed me my drink and so Craig comes to take the seat beside me. I don’t think I’ve felt so out of place in his company before. He just leans back against the bar table and nods along to the music so I decide to do the same.
Soon the current song comes to an end and the place vibrates with the deafening cheers and applause.
“Thank you!” the lead singer shouts. “This next song is a cover of one of our favourite bands. They personally inspired me to start song writing. It’s called Drilled a Wire Through My Cheek by Blue October! So let’s hear some noise, y’all!”
The crowd goes wild. The drummer starts the introduction and as the lead singer starts singing the words; Craig grabs my hand and pulls me up as he stands.
“I try to stay on top of you
To hold your body down
Your shaking seems to hinder
Every grasp that I had found.”
I throw him a questioning glance but he just smiles and pulls me through the throng of bodies. I can feel my palm becoming moist against Craig’s and hope to God he doesn’t notice how fucking nervous I am.
Soon we’re standing side by side in the mosh pit as the singer starts on the chorus, the crowd screaming alongside him. I feel Craig moving behind me and suddenly his arms are around my waist. I tense in his arms but as his fingers start tracing circles over my mid-rift, I will my body to relax and lean against him. This is okay. It’s fine. We’re best friends. Nothing more. This is nothing. I chant this mantra in my head and hope that somewhere along the road I’ll start believing it, too.
“I hate to show I'd bleed for this
I cut myself to shame
To get to know who this masochist
Who’s stolen my first name…”
“I tried calling you earlier but your phone was switched off,” Craig says next to my ear. He’s close enough that he doesn’t have to raise his voice too much for me to be able to hear him.
I shake my head and in doing so hit him in the nose. He makes an ‘oomph’ sound and I turn around to apologise but he just shakes his head and mock glares at me. I give him a sheepish smile in return and put my arms around his neck, tip-toeing so I can reach his ear and tell him that the phone had run out of battery. Truth of the matter is that Derek had thrown the phone at my head and I had barely managed to duck, and so instead it had struck the wall behind me. He gives me a strange look but accepts the explanation without further question.
We resume our position as the song comes to an end and in a moment of recklessness I push back into him, but he doesn’t budge, so my back ends up pressed tightly against his chest as I throw my head back against his shoulder and shout out the last words of the song, “So drill it, so drill it, so hard I feel it… It’s Okay now!”
The crowd goes mad around us, shouting and cheering as the lead singer screams into the mic. I can feel Craig’s heart beating against my back and I wonder if Sophie gets to hear this strange ‘thump thump thump’ sound too. I wonder if Craig pulls Sophie into his arms like this after they’ve had sex, their skins touching feverishly, burning hot after the passion has subsided. Suddenly, Craig’s arms around my waist start to feel uncomfortably hot and I break free from his embrace. He looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself and as I open my mouth to say something, Sophie decides to walk up to us.
She doesn’t spare a glance my way but smiles at Craig and pulls his head down for a kiss. I look away, feeling bile rise to the back of my throat, hot and bitter. I don’t wait for them to pull apart before I start to make my way towards the bar again. I need a drink, a strong one, one that will make me forget about that stupid kiss, about Craig, about how he smells of fucking soap and vanilla and how completely and hopelessly I am in love with him.
I finally manage to reach the bar and grunt out something that’s inaudible even to my own ears, so I’m surprised when the bar man lines up three shots in front of me. I look up at him and he offers me a sympathetic smile before leaning in close and shouting, “Dontcha worry, she’ll be back to you soon enough.” He nods towards the crowd.
I look back and see that Craig and Sophie are pressed in an embrace, their mouths working furiously over each other’s. I can’t stand the sight anymore. I turn back towards my shot glasses, my only friends, and down them one after the other. The bar man gives me one last sympathetic look and another shot before going away to serve another customer.
I turn around on my wooden bench, nursing the little shot glass in my hand as I watch my best friend and his girl friend get completely lost in each other. I watch as Craig moves Sophie around so that her back is facing my way and as he kisses her, he opens his eyes and gazes back at me. I can’t see much of his face as it is hidden behind Sophie’s head, but his eyes bore into me as his fingers curl around the back of her neck.
I stare right back at him and the distance between us is charged with something inevitable and as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to look away. Finally, I tear my eyes away from his and down the last shot of vodka. Fuck. I need to get out of here. After paying the barman for my drinks, I push off from the bench, my head feeling heavy as I place one step after another towards the exit. I’m glad to see that the exit is unattended because I don’t think I can stand anyone’s pitying or curious glances right now, especially not Brenda’s.
TBC
Concrit Welcome
Part 4