Silence seems to throb around as Jamie raises his dark green eyes, clutching the now empty glass, putting it down, next to the mirror, as he just maintains his thoughts, closing his eyes, his fingers shaking as I recall how we seemed to be giving each other the allowance to break with the other, we’ve lost count how many times either of us would have to move out, yelling at each other, for some reason all love gone at that moment.
I try to recall us, in photobooths, Jamie’s hair changing from blonde to black and back, hidden photos of him in dreads, all of us laughing at last year’s outfits and clashing guitars as we would make out, whilst showing whatever we had written to each other.
Depression comes back with a string of memories, a taste of doubt as I recall all the awkward dances we’ve had, different haircuts, different clothes, the same love pulsing and subtracting us from one another. It’s too wrong to remember who did the mistakes. Anxiety strikes like thunder. I’ve spoken enough already, my intentions more than clear and my fear transparent to his naked eye.
“I just think...” What do I think?
Sex becomes a concern because just like loneliness becomes a social construct for us to ease, so does desire.
I don’t think the image of someone sexually dominant should be a woman or a man for that matter, it shouldn’t be someone with a thin waist or tits popping out or someone who is as skinny as a twig, I don’t think it should even be gender,
I stare at him,
he haunts me, not in my dreams, in my reality, his nails tracing my lips, pulling them, eyes nearly closed, resembling the ghost of an angel, his face not spoilt with the hatred I’ve given him in the bouquet of my poisoned love, but something else-
he’s spoilt with my own desire,
that I go through his mind, knowing that I’ll never be his best shag. I won’t ever even cross his mind again after putting the last nail in the coffin, which he stands besides me as I do so. It’s all metaphorical, sex, because no matter how bad our relationship was, we’d still fuck, heads leaned down, always giving us the simplest film of closure and erasure of memories and thoughts.
Jamie stares at me, most likely picking the harshest thorns from the withered roses.
What do you say when all your years come crashing down?
“I miss you.” He doesn’t bite it, I approach him, he’s taller than I am. My whole fear seems to be pounding me and my insanity now driving me to the edge of my life, as I look at him, not smiling at the changes the years bring us, yanking us through humanity-
He says he doesn’t.
“... We can be friends. I don’t want to.” Fear leaves me, I’m only bones. “But we can try.”
“I don’t want to either.”
“Great, let’s date.” The words leave my mouth, the conversation never having the right words, my whole scene blank, every time is more absurd than the rest, all the anticipation and fear gone, the candles blown out and you’re still stuck at your dull child birthday.
I wish I didn’t turn around when he was the one holding my wrists, begging me to stay not even angry at my absence and I had just shook him away. His eyes sliced wide open with hurt, a different shade of hate.
He had dropped my wrists then and now he’s not even touching me. Jamie blinks.
“What. No. What. No.” He shakes his head, scared that he might mutter something wrong, voice raised.
Jamie’s always the last thought in the night, because that’s when my consciousness leaves me.
And he’s right in front of me, shaking.
Sometimes I feel like I’m insignificant, all words mumbling themselves together until dissolved, to make sure that even I forget about myself and looking at Jamie, with shards still left on his fingers from all the fighting and breaking we’ve done, makes me realize how comical my plead is. I want to hold him like all the times I’ve held him or he’s laid in my lap, watching me, kissing my fingers, soothing in my touch, letting depression slowly unwrap him. I’d be there, fucking it up but I’d still hold him, the only object of his was left was the Jaguar which we’d chuck at each other to take away, depending on who had broken up with who the last time. And now it had been with me for a good couple of years, to holding hotels,
it had been a thing with him, playing quietly in hotels, until I’d yell that I don’t care, drunk from all the booze he had brought and he’d pin me against the wall as I would laugh, cupping his drunk red face and we’d kiss, make out, guitars left on the floor and clothes ready to be tangled and lost in before finding the other
when I’d be sad and tragic, I’d sob how beautiful our love was, how we would wake up, not knowing where we were and Jamie would keep looking at me, hair tussled from morning sex and lack of sleep, none of us caring about morning breath for a while, until we’d nudge each other and end up applying make up to each other just to wander the streets, to see an enormous amount of people we didn’t care, pretend not to see each other until bumping and then yelling-
yelling-
the image of me pinning him down as I fuck him, his back arched to meet my hips, my nails tracing his stomach, sweat no longer holding the orgasm and release from both, as I would insert a finger in his mouth, watching his eyes exhaustedly open-
I don’t know what to say and I just want to hold him even if it is from myself.
I no longer see him or myself in the crowd, as it goes, like in a bad movie scene, marching, walking faster, there’s just the blur of the crowd-
there’s no us-
yet I make an attempt to hold him, as he slaps me off,
the crowd buzzes and changes faster, now yellow and black.
I try again. He doesn’t ease in my touch and pushes me away, bewildered.
“Playing in hotels reminds me of you. Everything reminds me of you. We’ve dated for so many years. Have you found anyone else? Coz I sure as fuck haven’t.
What do you do now when you get depression from anticipation? What the fuck do you do then? You honestly think...” I just feel my hands shake and I am desperate in need for his touch or at least to brush my fingers against of any of of him, any part, just to cool myself down that at least I got near, the image not enough and soon not even the touch will be. “I would stay quiet then?”
“You wouldn’t. You never do. You always come back, as if you’ve never had enough-” He snaps and he keeps looking around the room bewildered and I can see fear becoming his second layer. I don’t even know what I’m aiming for, he’s far too bitter and it’s understood, but I’ll never gather up the courage which I lack for even staying with him, I know how we had been together and I just refused to drag with him, while Placebo had been taking off, which was entirely built on his ashes and how I had refused to call him whilst we were touring and he would call me, he would keep doing so and the only anger I’ve seen for a few months when I came back would be in the songs which wouldn’t chart properly and in the end I just ended up finding some oblivion I didn’t even want myself and we had started arguing-
And then he had started the weird shenanigans with Alison, when he had never even been properly involved with women. And all of a sudden it was covered up, everyone just pretty much shrugged it off and whenever anyone asks you about Jamie, you just shrug, saying that just like he said, he always had girlfriends.
I don’t think I have anything else to say. He looks at me lost.
Jamie’s lost. He’s always goddamn lost and his depression isn’t better than my own, I could complain how the fuck does he even manage to be with someone like Alison, but then I’m not much better, I’m even worse.
It was the most bizarre experience recording with her as I would imagine his lips long left hers, but I could still envy that she had drawn him to the edge and even gotten some love and some place in his heart, whilst I was left alone to just make a career, write song after song about how much I had missed him, how much he would come in mind
Fear bewilders me
“Goddamn it, just go with me anywhere.” Words leave me. My whole body shakes and I see Jamie biting his lip and I’m not allowed to soothe him anymore. I wonder if I should leave and Jamie just points at the door.
“No.” He breathes, eyes closed and I see his eyelashes wet. Some miserable hope creeps onto me.
“You’ll never- You haven’t- I haven’t. Jamie, we’ve dated for more than five years. I-I know it’s not much, but we’ve never scrapped more.” My voice shakes. I’m talking gibberish and he just sits down on the couch, getting a cigarette and lighting it and I just watch him.
I do have nothing to say.
“I just miss you. I’ve still got your guitar-”
“Keep it. I haven’t used it in years.”
“It’s a lovely guitar.”
“Exactly. Keep it.” There’s nothing romantic about a beaten up old rare guitar which ends up with whoever doesn’t want to recall the other and is seen in photos throughout. I recall how Jamie had found it and gifted it once I tried playing it and we just sat quiet for a while and he gave it to me. I had bought him something else the next day, but the fondness clung onto that one.
I try to pretend that I’ve seen him play a Höfner before, but I haven’t and the memory is not for mine to remember.
It’s weird to discard something which you’ve known so long, it’s weird that I know how much loneliness can pierce his face just by looking him, I used to know even in college if he would try to get a drink after classes, his depression a constant swing, as it seemed just deeper and much more melancholic than my own. He never tried to fight it, he let it carry him, like a lost lover, letting the love linger, only there was nothing loving about it, it was a faded out bruise which still ached just for the beloved and self to see.
Fear takes me because I know I’m not the one discarding but he is.
“Every fucking time I take you back, you just find someone to fuck around with! It’s not even that you even have the guts to tell me, you just fucking do it, snickering on the fucking side!” Jamie raises his voice and he feels small and fragile all of a sudden, like anytime we’d broken apart when he decides to cut me off and the exact moment when we feel the taste of the void among us. “What fucking hope do I even have with you when I know that your own head and desires just let you pounce off any day and all you have to do is yell instead of admitting you’ve fucked up over and over again?”
He heads towards the door and stop and he pushes me off and unlocks it, as I watch him and storms off. Alison walks by and quickly glances at us, as she smokes, smile instantly rubbing off and I see her jealousy and loss of never getting Jamie back but I just head after him, as he just lights a cigarette on the go, bewilderedly watching the cars before there’s space and starts crossing, not caring that one nearly knocks him down and he keeps walking and I just watch, amused as if I were seeing him walk for the first time and I make a dash after him.
“FUCK OFF!” He yells at me, increasing the speed and I don’t even register how the chase starts and how he drops the cigarette and he runs far faster than I do and I eventually have to decide to take turns and pray at fate that I’m even choosing the right directions he would.
But I don’t and at a turn, I see him nowhere and I slow down until I realize I haven’t breathed in a while and I gasp, bending in two and I just wish I could even feel his presence. But he’s not here and I’m left alone and I fear that what if he disappears again. I start coughing, recalling how he smirked at Richey Manic disappearing when I had my obsession with him in the nineties and he would just read the interviews, a bit too quietly and he never spoke much of them, watching me obsess and get tickets, where I’d drag him to see Richey imitate guitar solos whilst drinking beer.
He had disappeared once for two days and I even got a call, all contacts asked and soon enough the phone was dropped and he reappeared two days later.
Alison is not aware he’s gone and when he’s furious he just loses contact with the world and does God knows what. He vanished when he lost touch with the Berlin bloke, that’s what I’ve been told, just shifted from apartment to apartment until realized that even London was small enough to be found. I always wondered what did he do, most likely drank a lot of wine and cried, that’s what I always imagined and scattered boxes maybe lined up or all squished by clumsy feet and actions, but no one witnessed Jamie’s utter breakdowns, because he made sure he was alone.
And I wondered if this was one of them and how many have I caused without knowing, just because they had lasted less than a day or because I had discarded him like said boxes by messy actions to be stomped on and thrown away with all the tobacco inside and scattered, the filters missing from a malfunction at the factory.
And I wondered if this was one of them and how many have I caused without knowing, just because they had lasted less than a day or because I had discarded him like said boxes by messy actions to be stomped on and thrown away with all the tobacco inside and scattered, the filters missing from a malfunction at the factory.
-
And guess what I'm listening to while I'm writing the back story xD actually it's a cover by Scarfo. I dunno I really enjoy the song even if the story takes a different turn. It's weird that I haven't updated this story since May which is ridiculous because I've kept writing it slowly and due to the period when I wasn't posting anything a lot of stories were getting updated and I still struggle every day with what to post and finally this chapter's time came. I don't even recall when did I finish writing this chapter xD
One of the most interesting I guess facts is how Jamie disappeared once and Alison even posted that on Facebook, so I went a few days wondering where would he go and that was very obvious (bear in mind, I'm halfway through written the third chapter so my mind is a bit ahead xD)
And yeah, they're my OTP so it's like I haven't posted anything in months about them so here xD
There is just so much evidence scattered everywhere if you know both of them inside out and I recently came across the first interview of The Kills which was surprise surprise by Steve Lamacq and they spoke briefly of Brian Molko, so I was like YAS MY OTP DGDJSHV and yeah xD Funny fact is that I never liked Lamacq being a Richey fan for years and the fact that well, anyway, long story here, Scarfo and Jamie's past is buried and hidden for me just to guess, string up the small evidence and that's the way he wanted which I found interesting, because it's as if the Scarfo Jamie vanished and because I'm a huge Richey Manic fan I can't help but see some similarities and Brian himself expressed to be a Manics fan in the day and back when Callie was the Jamie die-hard fangirl (she was very obsessed, when we were in London Callie was like omg, let's go to Highgate and I was like dude, what the fuck, no and we didn't thankfully xD but fangirl Callie is scary shit and that's why a lot that I know of Jamie is from Callie) and it was in that London trip where I bought my Höfner Galaxie.
The biggest fear in writing this whole story would be how the fuck does it even happen, how would you have the guts to do so and the whole story is a big LET'S TRY AND DO THIS TOGETHER, MY OTP, MY BABIES XD it's very simple and I'll see where it goes and I'm not spoiling the ending and both TOL and PDD feel very intertwined and even Untitled as they all focus on Jamie's past.
Have I spoken of the Jaguar? Well, pay attention to Brian and Jamie, they both have a Fender Jaguar which I haven't figured out when exactly who keeps it and in general they would share guitars, the other Fiji guitar Jamie has (Jaguar only green and white) can also be seen with Brian. And in general Jamie used to stick to Jaguars and then he shifted to his 176 Höfners for The Kills (I can't recall what he used in Blyth Power and etc).
I write everything I can, dig out and pierce together about those two and I love them dearly even if I'm more of a Jamie fan.
I hope you enjoyed it and please tell me if you did, the next chapter of PDD will be up soon:3 tell me and I'll have the next chapter of this up soon as well
thank you
reminder of the donation box
<3
Jamie
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