Rating
: PG-13
Angst. Lots of Angst. Thank the music I'm listening to.
Back then it was subtle touches and longing glances, preferred words of lust and leisure towards others and notions of feelings that we were not yet ready to comprehend. Lyrics and songs and notes and phrases that weren’t coherent, just murmurs and gasps of breath that were wasted to deaf ears. Only you and I alone would listen to each other. Our utter nonsense was often mind numbing at times, and when the depression from our monotonous lives finally began to take it’s toll on us it happened.
It started out with a simple Phrase. A casual roll of the tongue, but oh, how it actually meant something so much more. But I suppose you already knew that, you may have been a pretty face, but you weren’t daft. Or at least I hope you weren’t. Back then…
Back then it was subtle touches and longing glances, preferred words of lust and leisure towards others and notions of feelings that we were not yet ready to comprehend. Lyrics and songs and notes and phrases that weren’t coherent, just murmurs and gasps of breath that were wasted to deaf ears. Only you and I alone would listen to each other. Our utter nonsense was often mind numbing at times, and when the depression from our monotonous lives finally began to take it’s toll on us it happened.
"Are you happy?"
It was a simple Phrase. You’d ask me that every day. Am I happy? Oh, how I loathed you for asking me such a stupid question. Back then… Back then I slumped around with shaking hands, tie drawn too tight and eyeliner smudged too much. My eyes were dull and my hair was lifeless, falling limp and helplessly into my eyes. Stupid fucking question.
But every day, every minute, every second that you asked me that I’d smile, just a little bit, and sigh, just a little bit and nod, just a little bit. A little bit as to the point of you knowing that I wanted to hurt you, but instead answering your question. A little bit to thank you for worrying about me and a little bit to break the silence that was clouded around me. "Yes. I am."
Lies. Bitter, shameless, lies. We were the best at what we did, I suppose. What we did to each other. Every lie that we spun had a meaning; it was up to our victim to figure it out. We lied to each other a lot, didn’t we? Yes, I lied to you every day. It was never anything big. Just small things.
"Did you eat this?"
"No."
"Did you move this here?"
"No"
Then it escalated.
"Did you say tha-"
"Oh, never."
"Do you love me?"
"N…yes."
What lies we told. When you lied to me it wasn’t as smooth as my lies. Your lies were so sharp, so cunning; like a blade to the throat. I’m sure you wanted to draw blood as well, didn’t you? Your lies were gentle as well. Quietly whispered with shy eyes, fingers crossed behind your back. And when you’d look at me, and I’d look at you, we’d smile. The most sinister smiles. Dark, dreary, shot down, and lethargic.
Beautiful.
Our demise was beautiful as well, wasn’t it?
The Touch.
The Touch was our demise. Or maybe it was the phrase. Maybe it was both, we swore we’d never talk of the touch ever again, but I suppose that was just another lie to keep our passion of being deceitful at bay. The touch occurred when we were talking. Did I do it? Did you?
Fingers slipped towards my collar, gently, slowly. Another hand fell into my cheek. Hard. My eyes closed, reaching to touch the stinging spot while the other hand grasped yours fingers, stopping them at my collar. That came after the first declaration on love. After that question you asked. You asked a lot of questions. But this one… the fact that you had the nerve to even try and ask me something so stupid…
Christ, I’m repeating myself.
"Do you love me?"
That’s the one.
That’s how The Touch occurred in the first place, wasn’t it? Congratulations, you were right after all. You did kill us. If there were a word I could say to you now I’m sue it wouldn’t be kind, but all words that you receive are turned into kind words. I can scream how much I hate you a thousand times and you’d never flinch. You’d hear that "I loved you so much I’d die for you". "Do anything for you". "Hate you" turned into "Love you". "Fuck you" turned into "fuck me". "Kill me" turned into "kiss me". And "I love you" …love you turned into "hate you."
You were fucked.
You reversed everything that happened after the touch. So whenever I’d wander into your cold room during the night and curse you out you’d reach over and pull me down, wide eyes, lips parted, and kiss me with everything you had. And I’d push away.
So you’d hold me closer. Tighter. You suffocated me emotionally, so when it became physical as well it was it. The last time. I said that last time a lot. Never meant it. I never fucking meant it. I told you I hated you. That I wanted you to die. That you were worthless. That you were nothing but a shrewd excuse for a human being, low and on his last breath. And then I kissed you.
Reverse it.
You reversed it. Everything was well until I kissed you. Your eyes began to tear and you pushed me away, gasping and pointing. You looked as if I had slapped you. "Why?" You looked so childish. So innocent, so pure. Your eyes lied as well as you did.
"I love you."
Did I lie? I…I can’t tell anymore.
"No…"
You said No forever, you know. You said no and shook your head and began to cry in front of me. Wrapped your arms around your chest to the point that you began to hyperventilate and rocked back and forth. You were so cold. So scared. I didn’t talk to you for a while after that.
Was that the beginning or the end? Or the end of the beginning? Maybe it was the middle of something so much more than what we were ready for. We were never ready for anything, you and me. We were the ones who jumped off of buildings before the time would come for us to act upon anything. You were the trigger person.
Remember that nick name?
I’d giggle and call you Trigger.
You’d giggle and call me Mikey.
Useless nick names to hold the past at bay. I knew you knew why I called you Trigger. Your quick words and sharp eyes. Like a bullet to the brain. And I knew why you called me Mikey. Because Mikey was the only name you could remember. You couldn’t say "Nick" anymore. It was too complicated. You’d just stretch your arms out wide, like a child begging to be picked up, and call out to me in that soft, broken down voice. " Mikey? Mikey…"
You thought I had gone crazy.
You woke up screaming one night and I was standing on the edge of the window seal, looking out into the bleakness of the dark. I told you to be quiet. That I was there. That I was always there. To go back to sleep. That I was okay….
But your sobbing filled the room and I had to get off the edge and come back and hold you. Rock you until you fell asleep again. And then I’d cry. Cry because I was stuck with you.
You were selfish.
During the last days you would yell a lot. Hit me. Kick me. Scream at me.
"Why are we like this, Mikey? Why are we so cold!? What the fuck is the matter with me…?"
Seconds later.
"I’m so sorry…I didn- I didn’t mean to sa- sa- say that. I’m w- wrong. Hold me, please. I-I-I can’t breathe…"
Minutes later.
"Don’t touch me. You made me this way." Your voice was cold. You were cold. Yes, I was cold as well. But not as cold as you were.
"No, Alexander. You made both of us this way."
This lie was the last one.
It happened while I was in the garden.
The small flat that we resided in had a lovely garden in the back yard. Since we were on the first floor I would simply walk out the door and sit there. I’d keep our door open so I could watch out for you. But back then…
Back then, at that time, you staid in bed with your eyes closed and your lips drawn tightly. You breathed through your nose and gasped a lot, claiming that someone was choking you. Said I was choking you. I couldn’t choke you if I was in the garden, I’d whisper into your ear, and disappear into the garden. I’d sit inside of the middle, filled with lilies and daisies. The fragrance made me calm and sullen once again. I’d smile. I’d hum. I’d wrap my bony fingers around the flowers and yank them out, root and all, and sniff.
My tears would cloud the view of the flower, but the fragrance always lingered on.
I’d bring you flowers and press them in books. You liked that. Liked folding the book close and looking at me expectantly. I’d kiss you as a thank you. You liked that as well. Matter of fact, you were so happy before it happened. You smiled so much, you know. Lit up the room. Brilliant smile.
Beautiful.
It happened while I was in the garden. As I had said before, I left the door open to make sure you were okay. I was sleeping, my face buried into the grass and flowers when I heard a scream. I woke up with a start, heart racing and ran as fast as I could.
I saw you.
Saw you pressed up against the wall, covers hanging from your body. You were shivering. Cold. Ice cold. You looked so petrified. So scared. As if a thousand demons were staring you right inside of the eye, ready to devour your soul.
"They’re….choking me…" You whispered, hands around your neck.
You were blue.
Your breath got slower.
"Alex…" I warned.
"I can’t--" You wheezed out, eyes tearing even more. Your fingers wrapped around your neck tightly, scratching away invisible fingers. You were dying.
Dying, Alexander.
I grabbed you and pulled at your hands. " Alexander, you’re choking yourself. Stop it! Let go of your neck!" Try as I might, your fingers would not budge.
You shook your head.
Shook your head a little bit. So I would know. And I did.
You closed your eyes and held your breath. You swayed from side to side, like a beautiful ballerina. Hands fell from your neck and you fell into my arms. I held you forever, love. Forever wasn’t enough. How could something so simple…. So pure as a Phrase start all of this? A Touch? A Declaration?
I looked at the ledge. The first floor had one ledge that was high. A beautiful view of the whole city. You loved being there. In the beginning--a funny way to say it now-- we’d sit on the ledge up there and talk for hours. Smile and look at each other. There were no nods. No lies. No giggles. You didn’t say "Mikey" or "I love you" . It was pure. You and me. Pure friendship.
So I took you there. Carried you up the stairs and sighed. Breathed. Cried. The ledge looked dreary now. Not beautiful at all. Pollution filled the air. My own breaths choked me. I stumbled to the edge and looked down. Just a little bit.
And I looked at you, slumped in my arms. Just a little bit.
And I took a step closer, just a little bit.
And you know…
For the first time in life.
That little bit happened to be just the right amount.
Angst. Lots of Angst. Thank the music I'm listening to.
Back then it was subtle touches and longing glances, preferred words of lust and leisure towards others and notions of feelings that we were not yet ready to comprehend. Lyrics and songs and notes and phrases that weren’t coherent, just murmurs and gasps of breath that were wasted to deaf ears. Only you and I alone would listen to each other. Our utter nonsense was often mind numbing at times, and when the depression from our monotonous lives finally began to take it’s toll on us it happened.
It started out with a simple Phrase. A casual roll of the tongue, but oh, how it actually meant something so much more. But I suppose you already knew that, you may have been a pretty face, but you weren’t daft. Or at least I hope you weren’t. Back then…
Back then it was subtle touches and longing glances, preferred words of lust and leisure towards others and notions of feelings that we were not yet ready to comprehend. Lyrics and songs and notes and phrases that weren’t coherent, just murmurs and gasps of breath that were wasted to deaf ears. Only you and I alone would listen to each other. Our utter nonsense was often mind numbing at times, and when the depression from our monotonous lives finally began to take it’s toll on us it happened.
"Are you happy?"
It was a simple Phrase. You’d ask me that every day. Am I happy? Oh, how I loathed you for asking me such a stupid question. Back then… Back then I slumped around with shaking hands, tie drawn too tight and eyeliner smudged too much. My eyes were dull and my hair was lifeless, falling limp and helplessly into my eyes. Stupid fucking question.
But every day, every minute, every second that you asked me that I’d smile, just a little bit, and sigh, just a little bit and nod, just a little bit. A little bit as to the point of you knowing that I wanted to hurt you, but instead answering your question. A little bit to thank you for worrying about me and a little bit to break the silence that was clouded around me. "Yes. I am."
Lies. Bitter, shameless, lies. We were the best at what we did, I suppose. What we did to each other. Every lie that we spun had a meaning; it was up to our victim to figure it out. We lied to each other a lot, didn’t we? Yes, I lied to you every day. It was never anything big. Just small things.
"Did you eat this?"
"No."
"Did you move this here?"
"No"
Then it escalated.
"Did you say tha-"
"Oh, never."
"Do you love me?"
"N…yes."
What lies we told. When you lied to me it wasn’t as smooth as my lies. Your lies were so sharp, so cunning; like a blade to the throat. I’m sure you wanted to draw blood as well, didn’t you? Your lies were gentle as well. Quietly whispered with shy eyes, fingers crossed behind your back. And when you’d look at me, and I’d look at you, we’d smile. The most sinister smiles. Dark, dreary, shot down, and lethargic.
Beautiful.
Our demise was beautiful as well, wasn’t it?
The Touch.
The Touch was our demise. Or maybe it was the phrase. Maybe it was both, we swore we’d never talk of the touch ever again, but I suppose that was just another lie to keep our passion of being deceitful at bay. The touch occurred when we were talking. Did I do it? Did you?
Fingers slipped towards my collar, gently, slowly. Another hand fell into my cheek. Hard. My eyes closed, reaching to touch the stinging spot while the other hand grasped yours fingers, stopping them at my collar. That came after the first declaration on love. After that question you asked. You asked a lot of questions. But this one… the fact that you had the nerve to even try and ask me something so stupid…
Christ, I’m repeating myself.
"Do you love me?"
That’s the one.
That’s how The Touch occurred in the first place, wasn’t it? Congratulations, you were right after all. You did kill us. If there were a word I could say to you now I’m sue it wouldn’t be kind, but all words that you receive are turned into kind words. I can scream how much I hate you a thousand times and you’d never flinch. You’d hear that "I loved you so much I’d die for you". "Do anything for you". "Hate you" turned into "Love you". "Fuck you" turned into "fuck me". "Kill me" turned into "kiss me". And "I love you" …love you turned into "hate you."
You were fucked.
You reversed everything that happened after the touch. So whenever I’d wander into your cold room during the night and curse you out you’d reach over and pull me down, wide eyes, lips parted, and kiss me with everything you had. And I’d push away.
So you’d hold me closer. Tighter. You suffocated me emotionally, so when it became physical as well it was it. The last time. I said that last time a lot. Never meant it. I never fucking meant it. I told you I hated you. That I wanted you to die. That you were worthless. That you were nothing but a shrewd excuse for a human being, low and on his last breath. And then I kissed you.
Reverse it.
You reversed it. Everything was well until I kissed you. Your eyes began to tear and you pushed me away, gasping and pointing. You looked as if I had slapped you. "Why?" You looked so childish. So innocent, so pure. Your eyes lied as well as you did.
"I love you."
Did I lie? I…I can’t tell anymore.
"No…"
You said No forever, you know. You said no and shook your head and began to cry in front of me. Wrapped your arms around your chest to the point that you began to hyperventilate and rocked back and forth. You were so cold. So scared. I didn’t talk to you for a while after that.
Was that the beginning or the end? Or the end of the beginning? Maybe it was the middle of something so much more than what we were ready for. We were never ready for anything, you and me. We were the ones who jumped off of buildings before the time would come for us to act upon anything. You were the trigger person.
Remember that nick name?
I’d giggle and call you Trigger.
You’d giggle and call me Mikey.
Useless nick names to hold the past at bay. I knew you knew why I called you Trigger. Your quick words and sharp eyes. Like a bullet to the brain. And I knew why you called me Mikey. Because Mikey was the only name you could remember. You couldn’t say "Nick" anymore. It was too complicated. You’d just stretch your arms out wide, like a child begging to be picked up, and call out to me in that soft, broken down voice. " Mikey? Mikey…"
You thought I had gone crazy.
You woke up screaming one night and I was standing on the edge of the window seal, looking out into the bleakness of the dark. I told you to be quiet. That I was there. That I was always there. To go back to sleep. That I was okay….
But your sobbing filled the room and I had to get off the edge and come back and hold you. Rock you until you fell asleep again. And then I’d cry. Cry because I was stuck with you.
You were selfish.
During the last days you would yell a lot. Hit me. Kick me. Scream at me.
"Why are we like this, Mikey? Why are we so cold!? What the fuck is the matter with me…?"
Seconds later.
"I’m so sorry…I didn- I didn’t mean to sa- sa- say that. I’m w- wrong. Hold me, please. I-I-I can’t breathe…"
Minutes later.
"Don’t touch me. You made me this way." Your voice was cold. You were cold. Yes, I was cold as well. But not as cold as you were.
"No, Alexander. You made both of us this way."
This lie was the last one.
It happened while I was in the garden.
The small flat that we resided in had a lovely garden in the back yard. Since we were on the first floor I would simply walk out the door and sit there. I’d keep our door open so I could watch out for you. But back then…
Back then, at that time, you staid in bed with your eyes closed and your lips drawn tightly. You breathed through your nose and gasped a lot, claiming that someone was choking you. Said I was choking you. I couldn’t choke you if I was in the garden, I’d whisper into your ear, and disappear into the garden. I’d sit inside of the middle, filled with lilies and daisies. The fragrance made me calm and sullen once again. I’d smile. I’d hum. I’d wrap my bony fingers around the flowers and yank them out, root and all, and sniff.
My tears would cloud the view of the flower, but the fragrance always lingered on.
I’d bring you flowers and press them in books. You liked that. Liked folding the book close and looking at me expectantly. I’d kiss you as a thank you. You liked that as well. Matter of fact, you were so happy before it happened. You smiled so much, you know. Lit up the room. Brilliant smile.
Beautiful.
It happened while I was in the garden. As I had said before, I left the door open to make sure you were okay. I was sleeping, my face buried into the grass and flowers when I heard a scream. I woke up with a start, heart racing and ran as fast as I could.
I saw you.
Saw you pressed up against the wall, covers hanging from your body. You were shivering. Cold. Ice cold. You looked so petrified. So scared. As if a thousand demons were staring you right inside of the eye, ready to devour your soul.
"They’re….choking me…" You whispered, hands around your neck.
You were blue.
Your breath got slower.
"Alex…" I warned.
"I can’t--" You wheezed out, eyes tearing even more. Your fingers wrapped around your neck tightly, scratching away invisible fingers. You were dying.
Dying, Alexander.
I grabbed you and pulled at your hands. " Alexander, you’re choking yourself. Stop it! Let go of your neck!" Try as I might, your fingers would not budge.
You shook your head.
Shook your head a little bit. So I would know. And I did.
You closed your eyes and held your breath. You swayed from side to side, like a beautiful ballerina. Hands fell from your neck and you fell into my arms. I held you forever, love. Forever wasn’t enough. How could something so simple…. So pure as a Phrase start all of this? A Touch? A Declaration?
I looked at the ledge. The first floor had one ledge that was high. A beautiful view of the whole city. You loved being there. In the beginning--a funny way to say it now-- we’d sit on the ledge up there and talk for hours. Smile and look at each other. There were no nods. No lies. No giggles. You didn’t say "Mikey" or "I love you" . It was pure. You and me. Pure friendship.
So I took you there. Carried you up the stairs and sighed. Breathed. Cried. The ledge looked dreary now. Not beautiful at all. Pollution filled the air. My own breaths choked me. I stumbled to the edge and looked down. Just a little bit.
And I looked at you, slumped in my arms. Just a little bit.
And I took a step closer, just a little bit.
And you know…
For the first time in life.
That little bit happened to be just the right amount.
