Friday, 5 November 2010

Papercut. Chapter 13.





Everything’s yet so bright, as I strode along as if I held fucking candy canes in my mouth.

I fiddle with the lock not as long so that it doesn’t break. With one more push the insides are revealed to me. I look through the memories, as I walk around, watching everything through a sane mind until I hear footsteps. I stop in my track, hold my breath as I am caught red handed by my grandmother while taking more sweets than I should have or by running around with a knife, screaming, as I’d force people to wonder as I cut my arm vertically, the bone peeking out, the skin a wrapper. Other examples fly through my head as I watch a pair of chocolate Converse head inside with its owner, its shoelaces a washed or brand new white. I strode them with my eyes, soon enough reaching a blue pair.

I capture her jeans with a belt and a colourful t-shirt. A towel is around her hair, a wet red steak on her forehead giving out where the rest could be. As I want to tear it down, water flicking down. My eyes travel back to her oval face, her pale cheeks, clearly hinting the lack of sleep and caffeine, with small dark circles under her eyes. Her light eyes hint nothing of the sort, looking optimistic and curious.

I hold my tongue from muttering some cheesy trademark phrase with baby at the end. I’d use to say in high school, while that dreadful Lola wasn’t around or even to mock the girl herself. I feel a bit uncomfortable in my head, as I call her dreadful maybe there is a connection, maybe not direct, but as if we were brothers or sisters? Roman would be the slutty one of course, packed with a whip. Maybe blondie stirred in his sleep, muttering how bad I am.

“Hola.” She says holding a phone with her shoulder as I want to take it from her and wrap her arms around my neck, as her hands are occupied with the chips she is eating. Her eyes a chamber of curiosity as she laughs her eyes fixed. I smile at Kayleen, as I wait for a one-sided dialogue, her eyes now closed, a blush creeping up. My hands in my pockets, as I want to hear her talk, endlessly of dreams she holds, of the banality she sees and grasps blowing it onto bubbles which I’d love to pop for her, as she’d sit on the throne laughing.


She drops her gaze on her chocolate Converse and pierces the silence. “Yeah, yeah, it is my roommate.”

She says that rather easy going. She stretches out the bag of chips. Offering a product made of potato, but not of flesh. I shrug but take one anyway. My mind seems slow, as I drop my messenger bag to take off my Converse. Wait is she going somewhere? Panic! Maybe she smokes? But then we have a balcony, don’t we?

My room. Yes, baby, my room, now!

“I didn’t use the cleaner, so not suggested. Yes, Pam, I’m talking to my roommate. So what did he say?” A grin captures her features, as she laughs out loud, biting a finger, I make a quick reference, I smirk. I do not bother and tie my shoelaces again, feeling my eyes glued. Oh, I think I tied one to the door. Oh, Romie, you’re a moron going for some blonde wannabe while…



As I could feel myself threading my hair, if I’d close my eyes I’d see myself sitting besides a pale, gasping for air Roman. Where we killing each other? Or we were killing ourselves? Nice and slowly, as we’d watch each other’s blood pour and be released in the abyss, as both eyes would be locked, nothing exposed, everything drenched in a foul smell.

Were we while holding each other’s thoughts destroying our own, both of us floating on air, as he’d wonder aloud, why the moments of closure were brief.

As if there were none.

But then why were we fighting over Roman’s beaten up by Lola thoughts body? Why were we fighting over an unused sinful body? Maybe because there was no other?

Were his fluttering eyelids the culprit to my dull pain, as the hand would sting, as he’d open his mouth and chew on my pinkie, his eyes focused on an imaginary escape of reality, of his consciousness?

While what?

“Yeah, see you, Pam. Yup, you’re next. No, I’m not telling him that, gees, no! Fine y-” She pauses for a while as she catches my gaze and stares as I feel her move her lips. I can’t help but watch, mesmerized. I shut my eyes. It’s still there. Kayleen gulped nervously, but continued. “Cruel. Yeah, see you.”

Pam’s out. Fail, Pam, fail.

She stares back at me in pure confusion trying to avoid my next move. She should scream, but she doesn’t, she remains there in the headlights, held up in the air above the empty audience seats filled with laughter. Maybe my arm stretched out pressed against the wall, above her head was awkward, but I didn’t care. She opens her mouth to actually say something, her mind filled with endless possibilities both on earning a point for me and for her. I’d suggest, I’d guess if I could press my ear against her lips and she’d whisper.

I couldn’t realize for one moment in all those flicks I had what I was doing.

The thoughts seemed to be mixed, as he sat opposite as if I’d be Roman but I wasn’t.

Don’t you want to suck the life out of it, as it screams for mercy? And you see it pulse, yes, he’s dying, but some shite is holding him, so he lives. Y’know why? ‘Cause someone’s an idiot, taking the young ones, their souls young, as they see others rot or maybe because they realize it? They’d die at seventy, but they’re not immortal, like the rotten ones thrown against the wall and hung.

Maybe he was calming me down, my blood pressure, maybe because I am breaking out several times now, holding him by his hands so that he can’t break free grabbing the given a few minutes ago book and destroying the pages against lover boy’s head.

Take control, fuck everything up.

Maybe now he is screaming now in my head, as my eyes are open with the pain.

“How was your day?” I ask sounding as casual as always, well, with the fact that we have known each other for a single day. Kayleen blinks and takes a step sideways, the day clearly not enough, making the distance longer and pressing one side of her body against the wall, still lost in thought, but the gaze kept.

“Good, good. Yours?” Was this some sort of game? Was I playing the red or getting the red? She tilted her head sideways, as she heads towards the kitchen dropping off her finished bag of chips in the bin, never a glance back. Grasping everything, are we? With a quick head nod towards the bottle of coke she asks me, after pouring herself a glass. I shake my head.

Although I’m thirty and not for blood.

“Yeah, it was ok. The art university is filled with freaks of course. Tons of bastards thinking that they are worth a bloody million, probably doing voo doo rituals to harm others, see the blood spill in front of their eyes but it’s ketchup, but there’s a faint anyway from the audience. I hope they choke on it, enough mouths to be fed already, don’t you think? Why should an insignificant Narcissus live?

Fascinated by the sight that they have less competition. I am sure that half of them are bloody insane.” I hold my tongue from swearing but too many words run to play around in the kitchen come out of my mouth. She makes no reaction or she fakes it. What stops Kayleen is my mention of blood.

She flinches and closes her eyes, biting her bottom lip. To blood, sweetie?

Blood. Red. Darker close to black as it comes down among chins, resembling some sick black. I could see them holding dolls, Melvin, Frank, Jill, Derek, Brenda, Amelia, Agnes, James. All their names taken, as I want to forget and hold only one name in my head. Not me. Not even my own. But I go by Roman’s name. Although who wants to hold the exact name of someone who closes your eyes to shield the light? Should I hail him alone, as I’d leave being the priest, as he says I do? All of their faces twist in a not so friendly way in front of me, their eyes going mad, their hands synchronal reveal the small doll hidden in their palm pinned to their skin, the doll’s fabric soaking in their blood, the screams the soundtrack of her eternity.

One doll resembles me, another resembles Brenda, Frankie and so on as a last one has a mop of scarlet red hair, as the two coloured girl grins.

Then I turn towards Kayleen, each breath seeming heavier despite trying to relax myself. She seems to be talking again, as she takes off her towel and her hair falls down, touching her cheeks, water drops travelling down her chin, neck and onto the rough white fabric. I gulp.

I’m a guy ok?

I watch her answer, her voice change into a hearty laugh, her hands ruffling her hair as her cheeks give out a pink tone. They are probably talking about her boyfriend then my eyes flick to her lips pressed together not waiting to give out the information she had been holding so long inside from gossiping about her chosen one. Or maybe it’s because I’m here.

I have no idea, I just do what I feel like.

But then isn’t that what I had been doing all this time?

I grasp my insanity,

Let Roman grasp his and give me a one-way ticket to his body. That sounded weird.

I feel like yelling, I yell, I feel like painting, I paint, I feel like talking about blood, I feel like pressing my own lips against someone’s, I do that.

And that’s what I want to do. Kayleen still talks on the phone, as I place both my arms on both sides of the table leaning closer, I am literally above the table, I’m a porn star! Then her gaze travels up and meets mine. She stops for a second, but talks and watches me like nothing is happening. She even leans, as I smirk, the gaze mutual and I take a steak off her cheek, but it falls back. Then it hits her, she leaves her friend to yell into the phone.

I lean closer.

I close my eyes, but he’s there with a bucket of water.

And then the tingle in my right arm appears.

He dumps it on me.


Blink, blink, blink.

Wakey wakey, rise and shine, uni’s awai-

I see a something blurry in front of me there are no mice neither do I have a pet or a one-night stand, so close that my vision cannot capture it or take a shot. My hands feel wood, the floor underneath me and someone’s breath upon my lips.




I gasp and instantly pull away, my hands upon my lips to find any trace of a kiss. I in a panic wave even shove a finger into my mouth, as if I got some chewing gum from Kayleen. Orally. I shake my head, trying to take that word away from my head. My tongue explores my mouth trying to trace some unknown taste to me. Nothing, nothing. My own sexy insides. Hah. I press my palm against my head, exhaling happily. I did not cheat on Lola. All I did was break up with her.

That would stick to my mind, but now I have Kayleen in front of me. Isn’t that the current problem? I was expecting her to stand there with her mouth opened yelling at me. That’s what Lola would have done. But she didn’t. Her blue eyes look at me, trying to understand my sudden change of plans, the redness in her cheeks gone along with the sudden trace of near claps and medals with ‘hey, you nearly kissed Roman, think again!’ Annoyance? Not a trace of it. Confusion and misunderstand was plastered on her face. Before she can ask anything I open my mouth at the speed of light.

I don’t not launch myself at her, pressing her against that table, my lips crashing against hers as my imagination goes on with my split-personality cheering and telling me to go on, as if he never undressed her in his mind. But soon I killed that thought and just made a rebirth to Kayleen’s confusion.

“I didn’t mean it. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. You have a boyfriend, I just broke up. I guess it’s due to the lack of sleep and overdose of (manliness – my split-personality whispers, laughing). It’s not like I ditched you on the last moment. Actually, I did. Oh my God, look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. I guess it’s my harmones. Or just got caught up in the moment. You have the full rights to tell me to snap out of it in a rude form next time.” I could have blabbered on, but instead Kayleen shrugged and took her phone and answered it, hitting Pam about it, in my presence.


Soon enough the old smiles, eye rolls and gossip was back. I couldn’t help but sigh happily.

And punch my split-personality.


I’d lie, saying that I slept as a cute kitten dreaming about puppies, because it’s forbidden. I’d lie, I did not sleep and stir from while to while the blurry image glued to my head. On my forehead, as if I’d loom in the mirror and see it staring at me. But none of that happened. I stirred a while, opening my eyes and feeling darkness become a hoodie gray as if I was colour blind feeling my eyes scan some object to rest on until the sane gray appears, a child to two contrasts. The room not mine, asides several canvases lying on the floor forgotten and several pencils scattered and bitten. I could see several erasers laying next to the farthest left pencil. They all seem so forgotten that I feel lonely for them for a second. I struggle holding myself from grabbing them, whisper stuff to them as I’d draw.

I’d draw the sky, the clouds, the horses and a muse with a wand. Whoosh. Give me the feeling, inspire me, baby.

I bite my lip closing my eyes with force as they beg to stay open. I was trying to load my mind with thoughts. Usually I lull myself to sleep by thinking about Lola, but now I just feel guilty as if she were holy, she is. I spot my scarf by the chair hanging there useless. I gulp feeling the nakedness of my neck. The exposure, the exhibitionist now me, as I attack.

My torso doesn’t bother me, as my neck does.

I stand up feeling the sleep hold my feet together and mouth wide, as if it were holding a scream for eternity, due to my sudden move. I walk over to the chair and pull my mossy green scarf, one end of it falling as if it were light on the floor. I pick it up and wrap my neck around it, feeling its soft fabric. I bet I look idiotic in my boxers, barefoot, standing in the middle of the night with my scarf around my neck.


Is this the last feeling before you grasp your insignificance?

Then I fall into bed, the dreams coming back.

Then my thoughts blend, making some sort of weird dream or nightmare dragging me slowly, as I feel the warmth from my scarf telling that it’s alright. I see myself running, laughing, confused. I am in the university, I got there, didn’t I? I am babysitting Romeo, I am dancing with Lola, she’s there in my class with no Melvin or Frankie, I press myself against Kayleen…

I stir as I see Kayleen in my dream staring with a flower, a more dominant role in the relationship, as I stand in a plaid skirt. Kilt? I move my lips, feeling my body heal, the lips numb from the preparations. I watch her more, but the kiss not happening, instead I waltz with Lola. Her laughing filling the empty room with no music a hidden, mosaic hanging there hidden in the white, just her laugh, but her lips firmly pressed against each other. I lean closer, feeling that I may not have another chance once more.

Chapter 14

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