You're Not Coming Back Again 9

“You make me go insane and that’s why I think I’ve been holding all these years.” I had whispered in Al’s ear as he had turned around, a bit flushed but he had to just breathe a bit deeper to get his thoughts away then and that had still given me a boost.

Later on we had went out together to eat and looking back then at the evening, I still wondered how much we had looked as a couple and in my head I had wished we were together when things with Arielle weren’t something Al had wanted and I had kept observing him sometimes looking out of the menu and he’d wait until my eyes would meet his and he’d go back down, as if to assure himself that I still loved him. 

Fuck it, I’m a wreck without him and anxiety would drag me on and I’d manage to drink sometimes some bizarre thoughts away, the feelings clawing at my chest as I’d keep playing. That’s how my life had gone after France came as mysteriously and vanished as well. I look at Al, scared that the same would actually happen and when he actually leaves I start going insane, pacing, putting Arabella back into her crib as he’d look back at me with a horrid sour judging face before realizing that she needed to show more evidence so then she’d start crying horribly. 

And I can see Arielle with a horrid snarl when Alex tells her, it’s not that he left her for someone where she’d shrug her shoulders and do a vine about, that he had left her for someone beautiful and that all men are assholes and leave women for girls with prettier hair (I love how shallow straight people seem to be), but no he had left her for another man, someone who she is not, someone entirely different just proving that she was never his type, that she was a mere joke to be passed around with Martini cocktails, she’d yell, feel that she’s threatened by the knife of loneliness that a queer man had went for her and she’d question her femininity. 

I feel bad for her even if she’s the enemy not even aware that a war is going on. I remember how Al had left me and after a few days the itch spread out in desire to meet someone else and it had been stupid that I had wandered out and drank a few cocktails looking at gay men again with the fact that no one had ever touched a finger against my temple. 

They say friendship is like wine, gets better with years, then love is like wine, gets standable in years. In the beginning you have no idea why you do it and you keep fucking it up. But then those who last are the strongest, with time they become stronger, when you know the other inside out, that’s why you love, you still love, there is no need to kill the love. Time and love seem to be stitched together and for some reason that stitching seems to be very strong. 

"The worst break up is when two people love each other." Is what Arielle had told Alex and I don’t know how broken had her face been with all her beliefs that love being apart is still love, that being alone on Valentine’s holds love, that lovers never intertwine besides on some photos, that the lives are separate and that the further the better it is to avoid the pain, but such didn’t happen. She was left. I had hovered imagining how he had to agree but the break up he had feared had been earlier with someone else. Arielle wasn’t the person he had feared. I couldn’t imagine dating someone who was pulling the weight down on the see-saw and I just looked at him, as he looked ahead, wondering what twisted thoughts had creeped in but then I hadn’t been better. Two are always at fault. One for being blind. 

I always wondered how come he had managed to sleep at night when I would walk outside and buy some ice cream at a local newsagent, eyeing all the magazines and wondering how many porn magazines had been stashed everywhere and I’d walk through the aisles, wondering when would they figure that I should leave, but instead I’d get ice cream and I’d leave it as such, walking back in the cold, the city managing to lick my wounds, but the problem was that it was too early to do so, as I was still bleeding. Everything seems like a faint memory now, but still seems quite bright in my eyes, some things just don’t fade away, but memories do break eventually. 

One day you just wake up and the depression seems to be gone and that had been during France. We were renting an apartment and what had amused me was that there was an oddly shaped full body mirror near the shower and Alex had been talking to Alexa and I was taking a shower. We had both taken the piss that most likely it was to watch themselves wank. I kept scrubbing my skin, avoiding the mirror and I had looked at myself. It was odd. I had always felt rather skinny, but I’d still avoid meals and then I looked at myself. I wasn’t that bad.

I wasn’t that bad.

I looked at myself as I scrubbed my arms, I wouldn’t be attracted to myself, but I wasn’t that bad with hair glued to my face. I wasn’t as wrong as I felt I was. I just got out of the shower and waited then for Alex patiently to continue lying to Alexa and to myself, but I had let myself dissolve as he seemed to have loved me. But during all these years, I still felt as if I had been holding onto straws which I couldn’t even feel on my fingers anymore. It felt as if once I had jumped onto a better place Alex would fade and we would never be on the same thought of getting back together. And it seemed to be that way and the pain never went away. It would increase unlike those days where I would try to tell myself to forget him and sometimes that would work until he would talk to me again and it would get worse.

We tried to get back together and I had closed the door again, right before Arielle again. It’s been so on and off, that I don’t even know which ones are dreams which I wake up from the night as he had poisoned all my essence, but it’s a slow painful death and he’s not doing anything to make it stop, it’s a small bite of venom which keeps spreading, making my body numb and fully dipped in lust and love. 

After France I had felt that I had been two, I could see myself nourishing my depression, I could see myself feeding myself. I could see myself wondering if I had the guts to run a butter knife up my leg and I’d even wonder how deep would it have to be for me to reach the blood and would I be numb enough to reach the bone, would I always be in the black box, shut tightly, not to even hear Alex’s footsteps, so that I never know where he is at. 

The fear still pierces me on the inside of my cheek as I look at him even now, wiping off all the ash which is left from Arielle off his sleeve. 

When you fall in love you suffocate and then when you’re loved back, you’re back to breathing only with your lungs full of fluid, but it’s not deadly, it’s the belief that it is, because people get scared of trusting people who will surely break their lives, telling the rest to be scared just because they are. 

Just because they had died from the water, doesn’t mean that all will. 

His perfection seems to taint me and fill me with fear and it had. The fear consumes me. I never feel well enough, especially after he kept leaving me it was me against the floor, trailing the nails against the floor, feeling my nails ache as I would imagine Alex with any silhouette just not my own. His perfection would seem to scare me, let me silent and wish that he would build me, that I would be an Alex in love with an Alex, but even then I’d find some fault within me to disqualify myself half-time. And even when he’s back with no Arielle on his sleeve and lipstick stains and he is all mine, I even feel envious of Arabella as I will never be an Alex and everyone else can. I was even shy to let the stubble grow because Alex would never do so unless he could, but because he couldn’t I saw no sense. 

The fact that the water in seas goes black in the night fascinates me and scares me. Also in ponds and when I’d get depressed when Alex would call Alexa, I’d get my collar up, no scarf and I’d walk maybe to remind myself how close I had been to death and that his hand is always there.

Maybe I am not grasping at straws indeed, maybe it’s a whole hand tugging me up. 

But jealousy had been the knife which we’d be carrying and it would be stuck between our bodies as we would make up, cutting us both, but when you bleed, you forget about the other. I can sometimes still see the blood on my fingers and my eyes have been opened when Alex’s wound is stitched and maybe I don’t hate his quiff anymore. 

The fear of seeing Arielle seems to startle me, the fact that she would point at me and yell that I am a man, that Alex is a man and that we shouldn’t be together and the heavens or whatever her mind will pray to will not accept it, how wrong it is and she will walk away as if she had sent the plague on our houses forever. I shiver. 

I’m not on the right side, to the world, to society I am the disgrace and I have converted Alex Turner. To the eyes of many I am the queer thing, the odd one, the faggot, the one who you should close your eyes on the street and the one my parents pray every night with the thought in the back of their head that they wish I were dead and long gone already to never dawn on their soft pink existence. 

I don’t have girls singing Arabella to me and wishing they were just as skinny as Arielle or Alexa. I had flicked through the book and the masculine cut and granola offended me, why would you even go to a female? Does your haircut matter? How shallow are you? It made me wonder if she had never been someone I should be scared of? Maybe he just missed her because she was recent. She didn’t seem to tip toe into his thoughts, he’d flick the yellow pages through her, his eyes barely catching her.

Maybe there is no fear to fear?

Like a child, I feared that I thought that all relationships were like ours, I happened to wear heart shaped glasses thinking that this was how it actually was to be queer, only a few deviants actually crawl out and confess about their lifestyle. Anxiety seemed to be keep going within me and the dark waters seemed thick, yet when I wasn’t near they seemed to attract me, but it felt as if if I were to jump, I’d suffocate I’d drown and I’d take Alex with me in a kiss. 

Fear kept following me as I’d watch him dress up and I think even Alex had noticed my distress the closer we had gotten to leaving France forever. We would never come back and I had started wondering if I could stick my head into the black goo, for it to swallow me and I wondered if in the night water would taste like licorice due to its colouring an perhaps flavouring.

I kept thinking that there was surely something wrong with me, stinging me like an unfinished cigarette giving you some odd fear that it might burn something as you cross the street towards some direction you won’t recall tomorrow. 

I really thought that something was wrong with me and I kept fiddling with the thought of therapy but throwing forty quid a week seemed unreasonable with something which could be contuing a week per every year and that seemed to bother me and I knew that someday my depression would catch up on me, the anxiety and sometimes I just felt tempted again to see how it would feel to drown with no Alex to yank me out, so that I could see all their reactions on their faces, but just like time, suicide was terminal. 

The fear of being unwanted stings and dismantles, giving an odd pear taste of jealousy which seems to cause all my insecurities. The fact that I was alone and gay after Paris seemed to make it worse, gay seemed to become a word linked to me so close that I had forgotten that there was something odd about me loving another man and even in Paris, I didn’t feel gay, I didn’t feel like waving a pride flag and attaching it to my bike, I just felt in love, the word which people try to describe.

I didn’t feel worthy with all his quoting of Dostoevsky who I couldn’t read late at night, holding my eyes and feeling no connection to someone who was attracted to females. Mishima was far too much of an odd and loveless read, but at least I could see the attraction between men which seem to ride my interest, but even then I could not understand how Alex would bite through all these books and I realized that he still had half of him which understood people who were normal. I don’t understand why do we barely have any books, why do even the books with good plots have to escape my fingers because I don’t understand the rules of written love.

You just fall in love and sometimes even queer people forget about it.

I flinch. 

I shift to Alex, it all comes down to the fear of being left alone in the walls when the gun is loaded and there is no chance that the bullet won’t happen in this delightful game of Russian Roulette. The gun is entirely loaded with Alex in my mind. 

I believe the thing which even made me lean closer to the water was meeting Jamie and Alison in Paris. We had both had the question upon the lips, only The Kills had the whole atmosphere of are they actually fucking with all the guitar sex, which I thought we never had. 

I tried not to think of myself that I even forget what I was thinking of, when the jokes would shift on the tables which we’d sit with people and he’d laugh at gay jokes and I would just sit there, how he can shift in and I can’t, how I don’t understand the thrill of a dumb trophy wife on your side, I don’t understand how can you let your life slip free without love. 

"Have you ever thought that maybe he’s doing for the whole interest of are they fucking or not? Once you knew about The White Stripes it still had the whole why are they still together, so that’s an exception. They will gave interest." Hince would blow on his cigarette as it would continue lazily burning. "While if me and Alison got together, yeah, great lets see them fuck on stage. But then what? Yeah you see us fuck and that’s it, the singles get annoyed and pray that well break up because they can’t get the guts to fucking date. That’s it. You lose."

I palen and I keep watching Alex with Alison laughing about something and drinking each other’s shots, still three shots in a row in front of them.

"With you and Al, it’s even better, you’ve got the whole tongue in cheek interest, the whole sin thing going on. You just can’t say you don’t love each other, you love the sex behind the scenes but you don’t want gay men in your iPod, do you?"

I don’t hit him. I don’t even change topic, I let Hince’s smug face fade away as his interest in me is now a loss which even he sees.

“Even those who say gay is ok, the won’t go supporting you and they’ll fucking support any cunt who happens to be do something they are used to on television, the gay jokes will continue because the homophobes are in power and those who will accept you will be backstabbing your carreer by giving the homophobes the power to turn you into powder. That’s why you don’t come out, Kane.” I just freeze and he watched me amused and through his own fog of alcohol and earlier taken drugs I’m guessing and easy smile, as the drugs start wearing off. I watch him. 

The loss of Paris seemed like a heavy load, something like a blade cutting the fabric and even if there had been no blood, I still cringed at Alex’s lack of time and how I would just can myself inside and when I started touring and giving myself a schedule I felt as if now he had all the reason to ignore me under my own flesh. He’d still visit me but we’d be scared to touch as I had known who had given him his shirt, who had planted a kiss of trust on his lips just for me to peel it off. 

-

I'm sorry that it has taken so long to write it but it is over 3k isn't it? XD Anyway, don't worry I'll be writing more often now with weight off my back, so yeah. Don't worry I'm not planning to break up anyway who wasn't supposed to break up XD 

The longing through out the chapter is pretty much quite intense, so yeah. The line about the break up came to my head randomly I believe a few weeks ago and I had written it down wondering who from the story could've said it and it even seemed ironic for me to choose Arielle, because I frankly dislike her, so yeah. Break ups are always messy if they're with someone who you're not meant to be with or frankly someone vain like Arielle in this story. I don't know why people hurt people and you're the culprit. I don't know. 

I started tackling Miles' depression in this story just like in a lot of my stories mental health is a theme which goes through out only Miles is also suicidal which brings it up in the story again with the whole metaphor of water since that seems to be his choice of method, I'd say. 

I dunno when it comes to depression it's really from day to day and on bad days from hour to hour. 

Water in the night seems beautiful and odd. I guess through out the stories it's seen what fascinates me in an odd way, that's why I enjoy any rides from busses to trains which inspire me to no end. 

Homophobia is always a key element because frankly I won't shut up until we are all accepted and people stop excusing homophobes, you're not helping if you're supporting the ones against it. It's that simple. It's human. It's a human right. We are all people. We all deserve the best and same. 

In general my stories are all to increase visibility through characters which I love and I hope will make a change in this stupid world where people think that heteronormativity is ok. I guess I like my stories deep and with meaning. 

Apparently I have an obsession with Hince ruining everything XD and yeah, I love him to bits anyway xD 

Pretty much the message is simple, stop supporting homophobic things, if you are, well, fuck you. That's it. I'm just tired of fighting over it. And if I'm not enough or my stories or people who get killed aren't enough, well, then, that's something I am not interested in and frankly it won't matter because the time will come when all will be alright and we won't have to fear getting killed, at least not as much as now. 

Please feel free to request and tell me if you enjoyed it and thank you :)

<3