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

Blue/Jacket

I don’t know why he’s here.

And he looks back at me, just as confused at me and holding a painting in his hand and in that leather jacket with One For The Road written on it with something else written below it and I can see how shaved the back of his head is, how his hair is styled in a quiff and how he looks at me, a look which every year I change my opinion on.

At first, it’s normal, I’m attracted to a man,

but it changes at least in the eyes of many people when I put on the binder and people comment on how flat I get and they ask me, why do I look like a man

and those who have some sense in their heads, they just say ‘oh’ and their mouth stays like that

and I can still recall him,

maybe this year it’s different

I can’t recall anything but something soft in his eyes, so many years ago, I just know the stories that the man in the leather jacket had inspired me to draw. We didn’t talk, we just stood side by side and I got pissed that my sketch or whatever the fuck that was, wasn’t praised and that I had gotten mad and he just watched me, he sat besides me as I drew as the lady went on to look at other’s children’s art

it was like some art school test which I’d take many years later with my mom trying to do something with my hair and I’d hiss too loud and then apologize.

I’d apologize.

Fuck, I’d apologize even to myself for wondering where would the man be, his eyes focused on my scribbles. 

Then I come out as gay. Simple, right? Gay trans man, I take two letters from LGBT, but no, if I am transitioning why do I not go for women, wouldn’t it be simpler to “stay” a girl and use my vagina and of course, the argument

children.

For the love of fuck. No. Not now and frankly, I’m not even sure anyone would want children with me.

I’ve tried sketching him, I’ve tried and I’ve stopped, scared, trembling that I’d get him wrong and the image would disappear from my head. 

He’d vanish.

I’d even try to recreate his haircut at a barber’s just to get told it’s a man’s haircut and regret having the hair way too damn short, yet not many kronen were spent and nachos were bought on the way back. In the end I was given a shorter haircut and heading to Willy’s still seemed victorious. I felt lost, trying not to think too much of the fact that I had to actually call the doctor even if I’ve had enough T injections on me for the next few weeks. 

Sometimes I wondered how much should I discard of him, but then the paranoia of a new city seemed to dazzles me as sometimes I just sit in T-Centralen wondering why the fuck do I live so much up north with lakes with ducks which never leave and I leave not even remembering that I could’ve picked up some Ben’n’Jerry’s at Hemköp. 

I still count everything in my head and still translating even the minor things as I look right to choose a bigger grädfil and I see him. 

With the jacket, the neatly shaved back of the head.

He’s got a scarf around him, his quiff intact and eyes nearly fully sleepily closed, the leather jacket opened though, the letters a bit rubbed off on the back, not as clear as in my head-

And he glances at me, his dark eyes not catching anything and he’s a bit shorter than I am. I don’t grab the grädfil, still staring at him as he just grabs the Russian kefir and turns around, not even with a cart. 

It’s minus and he’s in the leather jacket and I think I’ve shivered enough and I just stare at him, I walk behind him, my cart nearly empty and he doesn’t bother to look back and I can’t see to wake up from my nightmare gone wrong, as he still walks past the isles, past the press with Princess Victoria and the one brand of Swedish condoms. I watch him pay and I don’t even say hej, praying that I’ll manage to follow him and I just make a dash to the further exit to do self-check out in a second and when I walk out he’s there with a fag between his lips. His dark eyes focus on me and I didn’t button up anything and I get reminded on how I’m sure I don’t look attractive at all with something like a bad stubble never really shaved off properly and the haircut just done because I wanted something masculine, but he doesn’t bat an eyelash. 

My voice didn’t even break properly and I’ve regretted refusing voice therapy and every time I feel quiet and sad instead of asking. I still feel guilty for what I am doing with transmen being nonexistent and the world applauding Jared Leto’s nomination. My fear closes my eyes and triggers me to even to talk to someone who is giving me a taste of deja vu which becomes bitter with fright. 

I’m a different class, I have the risk of getting a straight man who will see me as a woman or someone in the queer zone who will also see me as a woman. Women portray transmen, I’m seen as a drag and no one cares, people are too busy thinking that other discrimination is worse. People are daft.

I want to touch his arm, but I don’t know how to approach. I just follow him, hoping that deja vu will steal lead me somewhere with him. I don’t even recall his name.

How do you ever converse with people? After I realized who I were I just isolated in my room, reading and watching everything I could and after school I’d bind my chest to make sure to take it off once my parents would arrive. I had no knowledge, I thought the best I could get was an erect dildo in my pants.

I keep walking, the face of Jared Leto haunting me with all the unheard trans voices including my own and he turns around, the box of kefir opened already. 

I don’t realize that I’m already home, a name I had already stuck to this place because I am far too clingy to anything which doesn’t call me a woman for the first five seconds. He opens the door and I can’t help but feel as if I am in a fairytale, it’s not even that I don’t know who he is, I don’t, fine, but I know where I’ve seen him. I keep looking at him and I try to guess his age but nothing besides twenties gives out any hints and I wonder if he still draws as he opens the door for me to walk through. I nod and I walk through as he has a small smile as we stand near the elevator with the odd signs which I haven’t gotten used to it yet.

I wonder if the elevators are IKEA as well or at most Jysk. 

I glance back at him.

“Hej.” And my Swedish is at such a horrible level that I laugh at slutstation every fucking time which means final stop. I just smile bleakly before I ask him in a very crooked Swedish if he speaks English, so far only two people I’ve met haven’t spoken English which for someone as dumb as me is a horrid privilege. 

“Oh, yeah. I figured. I mean, your accent also gives it away.” I freeze up. My accent and my girly voice, even if the hormones have started changing my body, my voice is far from anything. I paled up a bit and he just gives a soft smile, taking another sip from the kefir. 

“I mean, you’re from Liverpool or somewhere, aren’t you?” His accent now I realize shows that he has been living in Sweden but not for too long, but still has a soft tint of the local speech. 

“Oh, yeah.” We walk out on the same floor and I understand that I have to finish my groceries later. I can’t talk. I even forget how to deepen my voice, but his face seems soft and slowly the deja vu is slowly wearing off as I feel reality dawn on me. 

He’s real again.

-

I actually had this idea for a very long while and I've kept it in the drawer taking it out and adding a phrase or so to be honest xD

But Jared Leto's winning really triggered me as a person who has a trans partner and I've had transphobic attacks towards me and my partner, so yes, I fucking care and it's disgusting. And unfortunately I can't do much again besides give my own representation in stories.

The fact of making Miles trans in this story came from my thought of why are they always portrayed as cis in fanfiction? We have gender swap and everything, but we still have cis Milex all the time, pretty much. 

And in general trans are highly ignored in society or worse, ridiculed. There is barely any representation and I just really wanted to have a transman character and here I am with Miles. Also a lot of people don't know about how transition for FTM works, so I will be touching that. 

About the plot, it came to me in an odd dream where I felt that I was young and I was once back again in art school and Alex was standing next to me in his jacket. It was like an odd sense of deja vu, I won't recall the dream as it happened months ago and that's how the idea came to be. I also had an intense deja vu feeling once, which had been odd and it made me attracted to a person, who had resembled a person I had met the year before and I was fascinated with. I wasn't used to meeting people who had been both artists and writers and the 2nd person looked a lot like the first. I guess that's how all came to be. Both were douchebags to be said and back when I believed myself to be a straight woman, which is funny.

I don't understand why we are taught that our genitals dictate everything and people's fear of the wrong genitals. These stupid beliefs ruin lives and shits like Jared Leto keep it up to remind us that genitals do matter. 

Ugh.

Anyway, all I can say is flip a finger and just keep reading, supporting LGBT movies, fiction and everything you can, really.

Oh, also this is the first story I've actually properly set in Stockholm which has been published online xD I guess living here made me want to use it as a setting and it is very LGBT friendly which is amazing and which the world seems to lack terribly. So I'm pretty much sticking wee things in like stores and stations to I guess give the feel, just like you say the character drank a mexican coke xD

Shamelessly used both titles in mind xD

I hope you enjoyed it and please tell me if you did so as I am quite nervous about my writing as usual xD

Please feel free to request :3

Update (2016): This had been written back when I didn't know I was trans, so the backstories are odd xD now I know why I loved this story so much and related to it.

<3

To Miles 25

I was falling for Hince, because he was the only one who seemed to tell me that there was a place for him, so I figured that it would be for me as well. I had started blaming Miles but it was getting far too messy, I was far too attracted and it was getting destructive. I’d even go to his during the day and I’d start making out with him and he’d undo my shirt. I was enjoying sex with him far too much, how he’d bite, how he tasted, how he had sucked me off and I didn’t care who was fucking who, it seemed to even out and I didn’t care how rough he’d be, it seemed actually sexual and it seemed to yank me into some reality I had not known. We just kept fucking. He’d even mock me afterwards that I won’t have the energy to fuck other men and I had just silenced him by sucking him off again as he’d pull my hair as I’d take as much as I could in. 

When it came to Miles, even while talking to Carlos I felt as if he was in a happier place as I kept getting thrown from side to side and that seemed to bother me, that he was happier and I couldn’t bring to make myself happier, I was even numb with Hince, whose presence I was beginning to enjoy with his collection of Dostoevsky he had bought last time on shore. 

I was slowly descending into misery. 

"You remind me of Miles." Hince says smoking a cigarette, holding the smoke far too long and I feel as if he’s dragging his nails against my chin. I shiver, feeling myself freeze at the mention of Miles’ name. His nails are opening up rivers to match my wounded state, not critical yet a pathway to the blood stream is opened.

“What the fuck?” I give a dark laugh, the one where the cheating lover died. 

“We’re different entirely.” I pause, my voice shaking, he knows he’s hit a string and cut it in two with scissors and I didn’t have time to scream before death, just open my mouth and let myself die in this motion. “Opposites, he would never send people off.”

Hince grins.

"You’re both naive, believing that neither of you would do it. Miles was the previous. Too many things slipped, kept fucking some guy instead of actually doing the job. He’s not the hero you think." Hince bites on his cigarette, looking ahead to the door.

I feel my jaw freeze, now all the blood going down my cheek frozen, all my skin in goosebumps as I imagine Miles and how he would go on his knees, enjoying himself or maybe he had been rough, his face seems to be molded with Hince’s in my head, which is ironic because I am no longer better than he is even in my head, the veil of justice of descending people to jail no longer being just held by myself, the fabric had been held by Kane as well. 

"Sent that guy he was fucking… Jay or something off. Wasn’t doing anything besides fucking him and it was getting too wide spread of them both. Don’t need such a fucker, sure screw around but fucking dating, fuck no and he barely handed any men over. Sent the other fucker off and warned Miles if I catch him fucking someone I swear to fuck he’ll get the fuck off." He stops and still looks into the distance. I feel like I’ve been dunked into ice cold water, but dead so that I just see that it’s supposed to be cold, but it’s nowhere close to being cold, it’s lukewarm and I’m no longer viable above water, so the ice becomes a screen to look at and close my eyes on. I lied. He lied. 

"Didn’t catch him with Casablancas so yeah, playing fair and you don’t seem to be fucking him either." He says coldly and I flinch. "Fucking decided to be celibate or something?"

I recall Miles.

I don’t dare to tell anything to Hince. I don’t dare to say thing aloud. I don’t dare to say how he is oddly still attracted to Miles. I don’t dare to tell him anything, not even on his death bed. And they say you can see when people can die. And it’s ironic that I had read that in Lermantov’s Hero of our Time, which Hince cannot stand. I don’t think that on his death bed, I imagine him lying in the coffin, the fortune-telling wife sitting and I imagine her silhouette all dressed in black and even holding the deck of cards, but because I don’t know what card means what I just don’t see anything, but if I’d remember the card which the dame of Spades tricked the man into, I think she’d have something else. I see her and I wonder if she is death with her deck of tattered cards she had gained years ago and I wonder if I could be able to shuffle them and reveal the fortune I would not be able to comprehend to explain. 

I watch him and I wonder, before I leave if I also look like death and who else will have that face tonight. If tonight would be the death of any of us. 

Just like poison he’s still within me, cursing my thoughts. I think both are poison, the more the day ages the more I feel that Miles is not just killing himself, but in this slow suicide he is bringing me down, as his lover. And the image of him being more ideal doesn’t seem to shatter anytime soon, he is still in my thoughts, he is the one licking the ice blood away, dipping his fingers in, into something deeper than my skin so that I can’t feel him anymore besides the faint taste of his lips which I long so much that I seem to recall the memories so often that they seemed to have been erased and the longing seems to break my spine in two. 

Days pass with Hince taking me by the collar and our endeavors keep continuing all the way closer to winter and Matt keeps writing, his letters inscribed within me, as I keep longing for him, half my body detesting Miles and wishing to see Matt and the other having the opposite and some old neglected thoughts think of Hince and I just think of Julian sometimes. 

I feel like wrecking havoc. Too many men go past me, grabbing me somewhere if I try hard enough I had even fucked one in a gay bar just by asking a few things and recalling his light eyes. My body departing and imagining far too many men who seem to be standing in a line in who would be in my thoughts today and sometimes when I have sex with Hince they all shuffle and for weeks it just becomes Miles, who I fear to avoid and I don’t raise anything, I don’t ask him about Jay, I don’t ask him about anything.

The only thing I do is that he stays away from Julian, as I seem to finally have the courage to wreck havoc indeed. 

And I do. 

The fear of time running fast seems to trigger me and everyone, the fear upon everyone’s lips and Miles’ distance is no longer the one which shreds my skin and lips as I can see my hair growing and I despite myself from being frozen in time. Things seem to be content with Matt at a certain distance and I can only believe in his love towards me. My hair gets longer that Hince pulls it and I insist to stay over at his, chugging the remains of the bottle away.

Like a numb arm from an uncomfortable position that is how my body seems to be folded with anger and desperation. My life seems to be meaningless as my purpose seems to be the reaper of so many men that I don’t care anymore, Hince destroying my entire soul, the pact with the devil done so long ago that I forget that I even had a soul anymore, as the devil keeps making love to me and that frightens me, that scares me as I make love to him back and I think I’d be lying to myself if I’d say that I don’t think of him, that he doesn’t haunt me in the shower that I don’t harshly kiss him as much as he does, that sometimes I wish I were Miles, instead of with Miles, that then I’d have all these men around me. 

I just feel far too skinny, far too tired from the melancholy eating what’s left of me. And Matt’s letter don’t seem to be enough until I reread them, picking up what could be shards of love and longing even if I know that he loves me.

It scares me up to the point that I wish I could burn these genuine letters as the venom of Hince triggers me more than ever. Matt’s love on the table makes me question Miles who avoids me and Hince who is just there. 

Miles seems to descend in my thoughts, the kiss as far away as the shore and I don’t have the guts to ask him anything as he just went on, tiptoeing around my life, making me shiver, trailing his nails on the back of my neck, just leaving trails for me to see rather than feel, as all my insides had bled out and dried up, the bones drenched in long blue sorrow. 

“Love is a wide term.” Hince lights a cigarette, blowing on the newly formed smoke string. “How many people do you love, Turner?”

I shiver as Hince grins and smirks and I look at his teeth as he drags the cigarette, both of us naked in different corners of the bed, the room dunked in a post-coital state which always seems to be whenever we are both in it and he seems to be driving me insane, the devil which brings some odd belief in God within me and I wonder where will this whirlwind take me as I just crawl over to Hince and put my head on his lap watching him from below as he smirks and slowly sticks his index finger in my mouth, getting it deeper and deeper as I smirk, licking it and sucking it lightly. He seems amused, but the question like death is still plastered in his thoughts with his smug grin. Hince lets it slide to reveal another ace pretty much most likely was stuck up his balls. 

"Your world crumbles when you fall in love with a man. Because then you know it won’t be you pulling the rug from under your feet, it’ll be society and God who had created you. There’s that Gogol quote ‘I had given birth to you and I will be the one to kill you.’" I don’t know what’s worse the quote itself or the fact that Hince was quoting Gogol and I couldn’t recall if the novel idea was also given to him by Pushkin or not. I still cringe and Hince grins using that quote.

“You know the novel, right?” 

“It’s shit. Fuck off.”

“Who did you side with?”

“The son who traded sides to be with the Polish woman and turned his back on Ukrainians and killed them for his beloved.”

“Unpopular opinion, Turner.”

“Of course you’d be the father.”

“Yeah, I’d fuck you, son, before killing you.” I raise an eyebrow at him as he grins, stroking my hair. “It’s quite homosexual, just men among men.”

“Like the navy.”

“Pretty much, we all fuck here, Turner. That’s why your always on the loop and always a lover.” He can’t stop amusing himself proudly. He sticks two fingers in my mouth and pretends to have a gun to shoot me. 

“Chekov’s gun?”

“Only I don’t know if the aim is right and if it’s the right person.” He pauses and leans closer to me. “But the gun is on stage, Turner, it will shoot, love.”

Pull the trigger, inject the poison, Hince, but there is so much poison that my blood stop identifying the blood and now the poison carries the oxygen as I pull him closer towards me, anxiety riding all of my loves around in a death carousel and I wonder as the fear of war comes with all cities collapsing and Hitler using far too many aces.

Hince had asked his wife to fortune-tell and he tells me she won’t tell if we all fall or if we don’t for her amusement as war is not a person, war is all of us and revealing such a card is something she shouldn’t do as too many deaths stain it. I had wanted to meet the death in her, to see how she’d do the cards and she seems to be in my thoughts. 

And when I meet Alison, she’s something like I had expected her only with children and the house nowhere close to her lace and black attire and the women who come to her, as I watched her fortune-tell, waving at me to let me stay and how all the plain cards would come out red, how men would come and go in women’s lives and only once a woman had showed up when I had asked her to fortune-tell for her. She had laughed and asked me to fortune-tell for me.

She put the cards out and kept silent for a while.

“Will I die?” Was the question which escaped my lips. 

“I would not tell something bad and you won’t. The death upon your arms is not yours, you’re the one holding it, Alex.” She gave a faint smile. We had all eaten and Alison had said that she was now pregnant and Hince had smiled, reserving his emotions as I saw with a few exchanges with Alison. 

The image of Miles never seems to fade as it seems to be growing stronger, specifically in the Hince’s household where I imagine Hince had taken Miles and had fucked him somewhere away from his wife and children. 

And I wonder how many parallels come in life, how come I’m the parallel and replacer for something so dear as Miles and the more I think the more I will stare at him onboard, wondering who had he kissed if he had kissed anyone at all. 

And I wondered if we are all continues to someone who would Matt be with his letters and thoughts and as I sat eating with the Hince’s I had recalled Matt’s last letter on how he muses of love and it feels like a fragment of his thoughts is the only thing my dear friend and hopefully lover may give me. 

There is a love which threatens you, he had written and I was sure that he had written this scared maybe even on the deck of the ship, letting the wind take over his fingers and mind not wrap around his secrets fully to let them loose as we are not nearby and Matt in general would let me his thoughts but apparently I had always been to blind to see that I was the person who I was in love with.

Alison had asked me who was my interest and without asking she had taken a diamond Jack putting him on one side and me of clubs on the other, tell me to chant some phrases and without questioning we weren’t the ones in the middle of the circle, which was the best outcome and then she asked me if I wanted to be told again.

I didn’t say anything and she just smiled softly to dismantle the telling. 

There is a love which threatens you, Matt had written, it’s not necessarily the person who you love who is holding the gun against your temple before a kiss, but most likely it’s you against yourself pointing at your reflection knowing that it will backfire.

I didn’t think Matt would be the one who would backfire, but yet we weren’t in the middle of the circle and as I headed out with Hince, I wondered, but then Matt surely was the diamond Jack Alison had paired me with and I just couldn’t help but wonder why hadn’t Miles shown up on any cards at all? 

I wanted to be Miles’ parallel even if Hince had already done it for us. 

Only when I was leaving I had noticed a photo near the corridor of Alison with her arms around both Hince and a younger man with a longer fringe and who was laughing, something unusual to see in black and white photos and I had wondered for a while why was Miles here and he seemed to be in his teenage years.

Alison had smiled when I had started staring at the photo.

"That’s my brother, Miles. Jamie influenced him to go to the navy."

And I’m a fool for loving.

And I’m a fool for letting someone who I do not know destroy me.

And I do wonder why does Hince fiddle with me so often that he comes back, our trip to his wife and children over as soon as it had started with both us leaving to the ship. We tried to have slow sex, but it’s never gracious, it’s also clumsy and sweaty, a bit too much pulling or not enough, swears under the breath and Hince had been far too tired. 

“I think when you fall in love, fear takes over you and all the years and days they don’t matter and the time only passes with how the person ages.” Hince says turned away from me, taking the last drags of a cigarette and placing it on the floor, already stubbed out as he hugs himself and I know that if it were us to be in the circle of fortune telling cards, I believe we would’ve changed places. 

“What the fuck happened between you and Miles?” I ask him, praying on his sleepy state but instead he turns around and I see his green eyes focusing on my own, he gives a dark twisted smile far too broken and I’m sure that if the light would be on, I wouldn’t even see a man.

“I could ask you the same thing, Turner.”

“I don’t think I’m the one fully dunked in love with a man who will never love me back.” I mutter.

“I think you are, Turner. You’re the one getting shattered and played with.” He smirks at his broken reflections in my eyes, grabbing me by the chin. Our shards will never put a mirror back together, instead we were carrying a mirror with a big crack but only when the damn thing shattered we see that we had been carrying nothing in the first place and we can no longer see our reflections besides the fact that we are the cards which show up on Miles’ cards which Alison would reveal slowly but because neither of us are fortune tellers we don’t know which cards are present, past or future or if all two are present tense. 

-

I think I have a lot of fortune telling explaining to do here xD I pretty much discovered my old book and cards so I had a go and even learned (I can't remember if I used that one before) a new one xD and I pretty much gave that thing to Alison which I quite enjoy, ok, off to explain the whole thing xD

I can't, I have this odd fucking love for Hince/Al here O_O I don't like them but oddly enough they are together in an odd way and Callie just told me that I'm just in the character (I mean I have been in this story and I don't think I distinguish myself from Al anymore jk jk XD) 

A lot of this was written on my phone in buses actually or as I was walking somewhere, specifically pretty much all conversations between Alex and Hince. 

This chapter has two plot twists the fact that Miles had Alex's job but because I had written it before it's now less shocking to me and the idea just sprung in my head like pretty much everything in To Miles does, as I'm writing on the phone, thinking. I was musing over what was the connection between Hince and Miles and it's not even over yet as it is much deeper. As I said To Miles has a lot of parallels and pretty much every character has a parallel with another, like now one is pretty obvious which is Alex and Miles and it's funny how Miles was seen as the hero and now he and Alex are very alike and Miles is even close to as anti-hero as Alex and in general I like the idea of how his heroness is now demolished and he is a close equal to Alex.

And as usual there are discussion between Alex and Hince on Russian literature. As much as I hate Russian literature Hero of Our Time shall forever be one of my favourite novels and frankly Pechorin is still one of my favourite all time characters ever created. If you ever have the time I will actually say, yeah, check it out, although I've heard that the translation is shit. I enjoy Lermantov in general, so yeah. And the last chapter is about how Pechorin hears that you can see if a man will die and he makes a bet with someone that the man will die, the man avoids something quite dangerous and by the end of the day dies by some foolish avoidable accident, making Pechorin win the bet. 

Also the other short story mentioned is actually the only ever work I've liked of Pushkin, which is called the Dame of Spades and I had read roughly around the same time. I've also seen the opera which is quite good and the story itself is short and rather entertaining. The story seems to fit this chapter with the whole analogy of Alex and Matt having their own cards. In the story it is said that a woman can always win this certain card game where you have to guess the cards and gambler decides to sneak up on her and scares her to death, but she comes to him in his sleep (I hope I'm not muddling up facts) and tells him the cards which will be on tomorrow's game. You have to guess three cards and he doesn't guess the third one which ends up being a dame of spades instead of a seven of clubs I think which the woman had told him. The man eventually goes insane. 

I believe I will address the fact that Alex is polyamorous later on in the story and I already have given him a lot of love interests xD 

Also the author I've been avoiding like the plague, the worst author which has ever existed on this Earth, fucking Gogol, I don't care if you like him, I had to study him and I hate him with my guts and I even had to see movies based on his work. I couldn't avoid that son of a bitch, he had to be used in here since apparently this is where all my knowledge of Russian literature is going to xD 

I hate that quote, I hate Taras Bulba with my guts, it's so fucking bad and the only thing I had enjoyed about it were these few paragraphs when the son flees with his Polish lover. That's it. They attack the Poles for the fuck of it and it's awful and I had to argue and like Alex choose the unpopular opinion and hear people say how right Taras was for killing his son. Ugh. I watched the movie and funnily enough the actor who played the man who fled was played by my favourite Russian actor (I had been fangirling for a while xD) and since we are touching Petrenko xD (I feel so Russianized wow xD) I had seen him live in a theatre performance in a WWII piece about Leningrad and his character heavily influenced Matt in this story and a bit of Jack. In general my favourite movies and theatre plays about WWII are pretty much about pilots in one way or another, so don't worry we've got pilots ahead in the story! (Wow, spoiler, spoiler xD)

Ok, back to Taras Bulba, it's pretty much about how Cossacks get bored and decide to attack the Poles and that's it. I kid you not. And then they lose men and son and they cry over it (you're the ones who got bored and decided to go fight -.-) and the famous quote is "I gave birth to you and I will kill you" (I'm too lazy to fully translate from semi-old Russian) and I've always hated it but in this religious context it was given in the story it kind of makes sense? xD And yeah, in general I like the religious themes in the story and how all of a sudden the relationship with Miles are poisonous as well for now, how everything seems to shift, because in life, everything changes all the time.

Just in case Chekov's gun is a term which means that there is a gun on stage it will shoot at some point in the play. Jack for instance, his character is in my opinion a massive Chekov's gun in the story. (Holy fuck why is this story so deep xD)

Like a good fortune teller, Alison does not tell when bad things will happen, you can predict death but you're never supposed to tell, so yeah, spoiler? 

About the cards. I've pretty much had fortune telling around me at all times coming from a fortune telling family with fortune telling dreams, I guess, it's just something even daily to me? So I'm not sure how much does fortune telling differ from place to place, all of this is not on tarot cards by the way, I was musing if I should, but I use pretty much a) regular deck b) specific deck (this odd thing I bought ages ago which always seem to predict stuff, it's odd, but then fortune telling is an odd thing :) ) so Alison pretty much uses the ones I use and she has a regular playing deck. About the diamond and jack of clubs every person (there's two ways by the way of getting assigned to which Dame or Jack you identify as) I pretty much used hair colour and eye for Alex and the other person. Also the middle of the circle means that fully mutual love and the cards had shown close to that, meaning something stopping them. I've had that come up on my own, it's interesting xD 

And boom, that's pretty much the heavy plot twist which I wanted to end the chapter on but I pretty much felt like continuing and I wrote a bit more. After a lot of musing on Hince and Miles, I finally have their full backstory in my head and I will keep silent on what it reminds me of, I'll just say I love Almodovar a lot and I had compared it to a less poisonous version of one of my favorite works done by him (no, it's not Todo Sobre Mi Madre for once xD) And I quite like the idea of Miles and Alison being siblings :D 

And I think I'll end with the fact that now there is a parallel between Hince and Al regarding Miles which is more than obvious :D

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and yeah, I pretty much put a lot of thought and backstory in this story and the idea of Alex being at Alison's and Hince's was something I wanted to do for this chapter and I was struggling how to do it and in the end, I was like fuck it and it happened and I enjoyed it :D and yeah, Alison is pretty much very cool here and there's a lot of her ahead and I wonder if anyone picked up on her, tell me if you figured out where is Alison mentioned before xD dun dun dun xD 

The last one, I tried this interesting long fortune telling a while ago and basically you get two present cards but unless you know which card's position means what tense, you're pretty much clueless and so is Alex and Hince in their case, as they don't know where are they in Miles' life. 

I hope you enjoyed it and if you did please tell me so :3 and I'll get inspired to write more :D and I guess if you have any questions regarding the story or anything please feel free to ask or if you have any assumptions on what will happen I'm interested to listen to them :D

Pop me a message anywhere really :3 (Holy fuck long behind the scenes xD)

Hope you enjoyed it and please request if you enjoyed it :3

<3

To Miles 26

Balloons

There’s the hesitation, there’s the flick of a cigarette among all the confetti already chucked and destroyed under the feet. And soon enough there will be Alex who will nag that of course we will be seen as a couple even if we had both decided that life is tough and after Alex breaking up again, I had decided or rather my own lips mumbled and I’m sure my facial expression was far from something which I could’ve hidden deep down and I stuttered, but daft Turner didn’t even pick up on anything, he just smiled and rolled his eyes to proceed nagging about the lack of a date, even if now he had a valentine. 

But then it’s not just, hey, Al, I really mean it, I’m your date tonight and shut the fuck up with the sulking and checking out the birds around. And he’s still not arriving and I just keep tapping my foot impatiently holding myself from alcohol on an empty stomach because he’s always late and the fact that he’ll remain late doesn’t seem like a good idea to mix with alcohol. 

When do I wind the clocks back? When was the time I should’ve asked him to date me, when nothing had happened and my hands had just itched and he had entirely polluted my existence up to the point that there had been days when I would just lay on the wrong side of the bed and I’d stare at the ceiling wondering if the paint had devils which would take me away, that had been after being entirely pissed, but he had still been in my thoughts. And so he comes in, his hair much longer after all the recording he’s been doing and I just smile. Sometimes I feel like we’re beyond everything, but I still want simple pleasures with him which he sulks about. 

I watch him as he reads the menu.

How many dates like these have we had? 

Maybe if my birthday was on Valentine’s I’d always have a date with him, if I were a child I’d ask him to, because you should fulfill the wishes of the birthday boy. I feel myself sweat and I can’t even concentrate on what should I choose, I think I have even successfully forgotten what do I usually order here, so I just keep staring at the salads for a start, hoping that my mind will close up for a bit and I would be able to order one. Alex notices me fidget, gives a weak smile and dunks himself back into choosing. If I was as calm as he is.

But then that would mean one less occasion to see him. 

Fear still seems to pierce me. I keep looking at him and I’m scared as if I have never talked to him before, what do I talk of, because whenever he was with Alexa I’d wonder why do they even talk as I’d prefer to be in silence instead of talking to her, they bring the wine and I just take a sip even if I regret ordering something so light, I’d rather take a shot and believe the illusion that like a blanket it would give me warmth and strength. 

I wait for him to talk of Alexa, how he misses her, instead he just right after we order starts talking about the recording and I had heard the album already even if there a few final steps to be done and I just nod, because it does sound great, amazing just like anything he had ever touched. I wonder why does he not speak of his ex when everything seems to be forced with some plastic love which people seem to hold and sometimes I wonder what do other people feel, what does choke them at night and if they have ever felt something because they give up on love so easily?

People give up too easily and maybe I cling too much, hoping on everything, on small gestures which seem to be plastered to my mind. I feel so scared that all my phrases consists of a few words. 

We even start eating and it’s all Alex who is talking. I don’t even know how to start. I don’t know how to end when I can’t even tell what the ending will be. I just keep watching him, my entire being frozen and at the same time all I want to do is to kiss him, that’s the only move I’d do if someone would guarantee me that I wouldn’t be pushed away. 

“Sorry that I stole you off for Valentine’s, Turner.” I grin softly, I lie, I don’t feel sorry, I am selfish I want him for today, for every day, the fear that he will leave me captures me before I even have him. The fear seems even selfish as I don’t think he’d want me back and maybe he even feels sorry for me. I didn’t come out but I feel as if only the ones who are fully blind will not see who do I prefer. 

“I thought you were my valentine.” Alex grins lightly and takes a sip of wine. I feel myself shake a little. Small gestures which mean nothing seems to ruffle my mind and turn me against my self. I cling onto him, I cling onto the belief that he might love me back. Stop giving me false hope and I feel like I could even say it out loud. 

“Well, for tonight...” I pause. I try to grin, but I am far too nervous. “I guess I am. First and last time a bloke for Valentines, eh, Al?”

I say and I keep poking the meat with a fork far too much, nervous and anxious, I believe I’ve reached the point where I will never have to courage to ever touch this subject as well and all I hear is small laughter coming from Alex. 

“Oh fuck no.” He keeps laughing. “Of course not, shit, I thought Matt went on and told everyone.”

I nearly drop the fork. My mind is blank and I just raise my eyes at him. Fear seems to be thin with hope eating the fabric as if it were a hungry, blind moth. Just because he might just be interested in men just gives the fact that he might be attracted rather than actually give evidence that he is. 

“Oh, I never thought you...” I pause.

“Were into men?” Alex smirks and then tries to hide a frown by looking at his nearly finished plate. “Changes then the tiles of the game?”

“No.” I say nearly instantly and he keeps looking at me. “It doesn’t. Well, it does, but.”

Alex is confused. 

“I just never realized you were...” I think we are blindly finishing each other’s throughts.

“Into men.” He says.

“Yeah.” I just keep poking my barely touched food and I’m sure Alex wants to comment on that, but he doesn’t, instead he just looks around and focuses on the balloons let loose on the ceiling with all the shades of red and pink, a few gold ones most likely left from New Year celebrations. 

Is this the part where I come out? Is this the part where I tell him I love him? What do I say? I can’t eat and the piece of meat has been on my fork so long that I just put the fork down and I can’t even distinguish voices as I just stare at Alex, who keeps taking little sips of wine. 

“Is it Valentine’s day when you tell the truth?”

“Christmas.” I say barely audibly, but Alex seems to have plans of his own.

“Whatever.” He’s not drunk. “I’m into blokes too.”

I don’t say so I’m I.

Some words are better than coming out.

“I love you. Go do whatever you want with it. I fucking love you.” He says it and my world collapses or rather, it seems to have managed to shine brighter, something close to the shine he always had for me. 

I don’t say I’m into blokes. I don’t ask him anything.

“I love you too. That’s why I invited you over, that’s why I always invite you.” And I manage to keep my mouth shut about all the girlfriends and the flings he’s always mentioned. I just actually manage to be shaking and grinning, both of us grinning and I even stand up and I yank him by his chin to kiss him. My whole body is swollen and I’m sure our lips will be bruised and his hair is in the way.

But I fucking love him.

We pull away. Suddenly, I’m not scared I’m excited over the fact that I might just be with him if I manage to open my eyes to the fact that the feeling was always mutual. 

-

Sorry it's a delayed Valentine's fic, but here it is :D and I should have the next chapter of Arabella up soon:)

Disaster 2

I wish Marina would be my girlfriend, that we’d giggle and there would be no games but then I don’t think that would be her and then it’s not even her I’m dreaming of, I’d be flirted and played with and with a bunch of aces tucked in her lace sleeves.

I don’t think I’ll be ok until I can pinpoint my feelings and the problem is feelings aren’t flat to be stuck against a wall with a blue pin. 

“Matthew doesn’t like it when I leave him red lipped.” She says and I watch her apply gloss to her lips before we leave school with the days soon enough to be counted in our head, just like it is closer to summer but this time it’s more of a final bell. I just blink, but I keep my silence knocking my Converse together as I sit on the window sill, my body lightly shaking from the fact how her eyes seem to see me through and I can’t actually bring myself to answer her. I just smile, dumbly, something I’m sure she does with her boys. She just smiles back, opening her mouth and applying more to have them more glossy and sugary.

I’d want her to put on red lipstick and I’d be wearing dark purple for instance and I’d want them to mix, both of us forgetting and how it would be licked off and mixed going to our cheeks, I’d want to leave traces on our necks and I’d want us to be caught redhanded, evidence clearly on each other’s mouths if we’d take our mouths off each other, maybe it’s not that I want other people to notice, but I’d want her to notice. 

Sometimes I feel like I am indeed going insane that I’m going in cycles in how I want to feel her fingers trace my shoulderblades after my mind goes back from wondering in how would sex feel like with her.

Just like one day you wake up without depression, one day you wake up fully immersed in love, realizing that you needed to breathe underwater. Breathing water is suicide and makes the lungs burst as if they are a balloon trying to be threaded with yarn in some sick decoration, people idolize being single too much and if they manage then it’s a empty balloon with the yarn covering everything. Of course unless people actually don’t want to be taken or with someone, but those with the smiles are the liars.

You don’t show your smiles to the rest.

Maybe that’s why I smile when she shows it more to me. 

But I still don’t think I have the rights to kiss her. 

It feels like I keep falling deeper underwater and the image above is so blurred and I’ve been falling so long, that even reaching the end I feel as if there’s more to fall down to and not all is lost. I feel far too distant and then what she says seems to yank me out of the water and is like a sudden gulp of air.

I stop writing the biology homework which I seemed to be doing the crosses wrong and with all of Mendel muddled up in my head. I just look at her. 

“I really don’t want to sleep with him, that would be a loss on my end, you know? But he’s too hot and I just think we should... push it, y’know?” She grins and I try to focus on her hair and her ribbon in her head, just to avoid her eyes but it’s getting too difficult and I don’t even had the time to nod as I start sweating and I think my pen will soon fall from my fingers. It’s the second time she brings it up and now with more courage. 

“I heard about Alison. Y’know... the girl at the party. She said you were quite into it.” She gave a cheeky grin and I felt even more uncomfortable, it’s like that lost birthday wish coming true only under the wrong twisted light and with the wrong words mumbled, yet fated. I feel falling even more backwards and maybe she’s the one pushing me in, I don’t know and I don’t know who is the enemy anymore. She starts the circle again only now throwing more wood into the fire to watch me burn as a witch, even if I think that it is her boyfriends which will make her burn. 

“What of it?” I try to speak very drily and Marina just shrugs, a bit taken back, as if coming out would be no big deal. But then for those who don’t understand how deviant we even are to ourselves, the L word being something scary to even grasp in the mind, just sometimes I manage to call myself such in my head and for a moment in the crowd I’ll put my head up high before recalling the times I am tucked in. 

She is oddly taken back and I just think if I should plunge, but instead I flirt with fate as I am pushed deeper but it seems that she is the depth with me or waiting for me. 

She is the depth which I don’t see and don’t understand. 

Marina keeps her silence maybe in regret, then she just shrugs, leaning her head a bit lower into the book and she actually starts tracing the sentence she’s reading. I watch her for a while. Then she suddenly jerks her head. 

“No, I didn’t mean anything, that I’m against it, I’ve known you and well... it’s who you are, I guess. Um.” She tries to shrug it off. “More like you didn’t tell me and well, I just had a few thoughts since I found out and I was wondering if you wanted to... do things?”

I just blink.

I’m not sure how to feel of it if to think of it clearly yet it seems to please, tease and scare me. 

Sometimes you wish that the other person had done the move and all the scenarios seem to be laid out in your head, what could’ve happened but in the end you’re happy you did it. And I don’t know what actually triggers you to do it at that moment and that way, I could only feel that I loved her and maybe that was what intoxicated me for so long when I took her face in my hands and how she froze, how Marina’s eyes widened and how she waited for me to kiss her softly. 

I push her onto the bed, everything seems to be collapsing and building itself up. 

But I get scared maybe love is like death, your life flashes before your eyes, because falling in love with Marina, something seemingly too controversial that it was odd to realize that I am in love with a woman and my being has never been on fire before, it’s as if I was always locked and now I was burnt down to realize that I was some sort of phoenix awaiting the flame to burn itself and I emerged. 

I don’t know why me liking Marina is controversial I don’t know why am I controversial and why is my love so different and with all the violence I’ve seen and the divorce rates, all the children getting thrown out when LGBT parents have their arms stretched out and the statistics shock me. 

And even the kiss is shocking to myself, it shouldn’t be, there shouldn’t be a division between me and a straight cis couple who don’t love each other but because they’re together they have all the rights I only wish to have. 

We keep kissing and I have too many mixed feelings even if I’m drowning in my feelings for her as I push her onto the bed, on top of her and I try to keep my hands to myself, but Marina is the one who doesn’t hesitate and gets her hands under my shirt. I feel myself far too wet and I keep frenching her and I feel like she is leading me with her desire, maybe because she has no love xattached to it, I actually don’t know as she cups my breasts and I gasp into her mouth, scared to open my eyes, getting some courage to go under her shirt and slowly start touching her stomach and my fingers stay there for a while as I wonder and I actually go down, undoing her jeans and stroking the skin above her underwear. I don’t even know which one she is wearing but I trace my fingers lower, feeling Marina moan. 

I touch her clit over her underwear and she’s soaked as she herself lets her hands wander down and I lean back to see her breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and I rub her clit faster and I actually stick my hand in to feel her clit and she stops touching me and she rubs herself against my fingers, pulling me into a hungry kiss and I wonder if she’s embarrassed and I feel intoxicated as I start biting her neck, licking, sucking it and stroking her harder and harder. She pulls me back into a kiss and she gives a long moan, grinding against my hand, biting my lip and I watch her come, catching her breath and I watch her.

I made Marina come. 

-

At least Lana fucking tours properly, I've been horrible depressed about AM+Miles Kane today, so I'm still at that stage

Anyway, fuck them, they don't want to tour, ok, I'm not cashing out for Berlin, I think that's my last stance. No offense, get your head out of your US obsessed ass. 

Anyway, about the story, as you can see I was angry and depressed today xD

Now the plot actually flowed here and pretty much all my thoughts were shoved in and yeah:3

I hope you enjoyed it and please feel free to request :3

<3