(no subject)
I've been working on something, just to keep myself sane I guess. I'm hoping there's a happy ending. I'm optimistic. But like everything that motivates me, it must begin in tragedy. This is part one and two. More to come, if anyone reads this or cares.
He awoke with a headache. It was another consequence of a night spent drinking himself to sleep. Mid-afternoon had aimed the golden sunshine through his window, though the heat was weak as October took New England into its grasp. He threw the covers toward the foot of the bed and reached for the bottle of ibuprofen that lay open, conveniently on his nightstand. He emptied three white pills into his hand, hesitated, and added a fourth. A long day behind the wheel awaited him.
With a sigh, he climbed off of his mattress and stood. He stretched and breathed deeply, then shuffled into the bathroom across the hall as he dragged his feet behind him and fought the urge to vomit. He showered and let the scalding water wash his anxiety away. He knew it would not be gone long, but the solitude of his morning routine was a temporary escape from the worries that worked their way into his head and into his heart. There was something in her voice that gave it away. Still, he dried himself and shaved his face; smooth like she had always preferred. He packed his bag with only the necessities: faded clothing, his toothbrush, the bottle of ibuprofen that stood by his bed, and a liter of spiced rum to warm her up when he arrived.
Still noticeably fatigued, he carried his bag down the stairs. He checked the kitchen briefly, though he knew he would find it empty. There was no one to bid farewell to and so he walked out the door and down the steps to his driveway. He shielded his eyes; the brightness of the sun caused his hangover to come rushing back. Unconcerned, he tossed his bag into the backseat and took his position behind the wheel.
He called the girl to inform her that he was on his way. Instead he heard her voicemail, a message with which he was becoming far too familiar. He decided not to leave one of his own for her because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He started the car and left it in park as reached into the glove compartment. He extracted a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and his iPod which had been furnished with a play list of all the songs that reminded him of her. After he configured the music to resound through the cheap car stereo and lit his first cigarette of the day, he departed for a journey to the west and to the north that encompassed two hundred miles of mountain roads. The highway was a lonely recipe of exit signs, nicotine, and fleeting hope that bad news wasn’t waiting for him.
*
The commotion surrounded her. She found herself in a chaotic atmosphere of laughter, liquor, and lust. Never keenly focused, her mind wandered farther and farther from the stale air and the stale beer. Suddenly, a familiar voice brought her back to reality. It was a boy she remembered from weeks past, the one who showed an interest and touched her thigh when he spoke to her. She began to let her guard down. His cheek brushed subtlety against her face as he talked into her hear, moving in close so his words could overcome the deafening noises from the party around them. Although she had promised her heart to another, and in no time at all he would be by her side, she began to let herself forget.
The disorder of their surroundings unnerved her, and when the familiar boy invited her outside, she instinctively complied. They exited into the brisk climate of the autumn evening. The cold moon cast a deep blue glow upon the landscape as she struggled to light her cigarette against the breeze and falling rain. The boy smoothly cupped his hands around hers, assisting her. She exhaled the smoke and it danced upward into the muted cobalt sky.
The taste of the tobacco briefly reminded her of the boy who shared her brand and with whom she had also shared a suburban summer romance. Yet she had fled for a mountain town in search of bigger things; and he left for the city reluctant to admit this change in locale meant nothing could stay the same. She told him she’d stay faithful, but knew she never would. She was stubborn in her thinking and doubted love’s existence. The liberation of a new habitat coupled with the alcohol. Her inhibitions dissolved and her desire intensified.
The familiar boy had curved his arm around her waist. His hand was creeping around her beltline and into her back pocket as he steered her toward his empty room. His body felt warm against hers as he kissed her inside the doorway and her heart began to race as he helped her out of her wet clothes and into his bed. An ephemeral glimpse of another flashed briefly into her mind, but she stifled it. She bit down on the lower lip of the one she found in front of her. The taste and scent of new flesh intrigued her as she pressed her hips into his, and forgot about the city boy.
He awoke with a headache. It was another consequence of a night spent drinking himself to sleep. Mid-afternoon had aimed the golden sunshine through his window, though the heat was weak as October took New England into its grasp. He threw the covers toward the foot of the bed and reached for the bottle of ibuprofen that lay open, conveniently on his nightstand. He emptied three white pills into his hand, hesitated, and added a fourth. A long day behind the wheel awaited him.
With a sigh, he climbed off of his mattress and stood. He stretched and breathed deeply, then shuffled into the bathroom across the hall as he dragged his feet behind him and fought the urge to vomit. He showered and let the scalding water wash his anxiety away. He knew it would not be gone long, but the solitude of his morning routine was a temporary escape from the worries that worked their way into his head and into his heart. There was something in her voice that gave it away. Still, he dried himself and shaved his face; smooth like she had always preferred. He packed his bag with only the necessities: faded clothing, his toothbrush, the bottle of ibuprofen that stood by his bed, and a liter of spiced rum to warm her up when he arrived.
Still noticeably fatigued, he carried his bag down the stairs. He checked the kitchen briefly, though he knew he would find it empty. There was no one to bid farewell to and so he walked out the door and down the steps to his driveway. He shielded his eyes; the brightness of the sun caused his hangover to come rushing back. Unconcerned, he tossed his bag into the backseat and took his position behind the wheel.
He called the girl to inform her that he was on his way. Instead he heard her voicemail, a message with which he was becoming far too familiar. He decided not to leave one of his own for her because he couldn’t think of anything to say. He started the car and left it in park as reached into the glove compartment. He extracted a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and his iPod which had been furnished with a play list of all the songs that reminded him of her. After he configured the music to resound through the cheap car stereo and lit his first cigarette of the day, he departed for a journey to the west and to the north that encompassed two hundred miles of mountain roads. The highway was a lonely recipe of exit signs, nicotine, and fleeting hope that bad news wasn’t waiting for him.
*
The commotion surrounded her. She found herself in a chaotic atmosphere of laughter, liquor, and lust. Never keenly focused, her mind wandered farther and farther from the stale air and the stale beer. Suddenly, a familiar voice brought her back to reality. It was a boy she remembered from weeks past, the one who showed an interest and touched her thigh when he spoke to her. She began to let her guard down. His cheek brushed subtlety against her face as he talked into her hear, moving in close so his words could overcome the deafening noises from the party around them. Although she had promised her heart to another, and in no time at all he would be by her side, she began to let herself forget.
The disorder of their surroundings unnerved her, and when the familiar boy invited her outside, she instinctively complied. They exited into the brisk climate of the autumn evening. The cold moon cast a deep blue glow upon the landscape as she struggled to light her cigarette against the breeze and falling rain. The boy smoothly cupped his hands around hers, assisting her. She exhaled the smoke and it danced upward into the muted cobalt sky.
The taste of the tobacco briefly reminded her of the boy who shared her brand and with whom she had also shared a suburban summer romance. Yet she had fled for a mountain town in search of bigger things; and he left for the city reluctant to admit this change in locale meant nothing could stay the same. She told him she’d stay faithful, but knew she never would. She was stubborn in her thinking and doubted love’s existence. The liberation of a new habitat coupled with the alcohol. Her inhibitions dissolved and her desire intensified.
The familiar boy had curved his arm around her waist. His hand was creeping around her beltline and into her back pocket as he steered her toward his empty room. His body felt warm against hers as he kissed her inside the doorway and her heart began to race as he helped her out of her wet clothes and into his bed. An ephemeral glimpse of another flashed briefly into her mind, but she stifled it. She bit down on the lower lip of the one she found in front of her. The taste and scent of new flesh intrigued her as she pressed her hips into his, and forgot about the city boy.