To Miles 45

Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me, if I were to be punished for said sin and my punishment were to be gay, what was wrong with me in the first place? It was that odd time when in the first time when I was on a ship, before Paul had even kissed me and Jack was awfully agitated with all new faces around and he had passed the cigarette box expecting all the newcomers to start coughing, but instead he just kept talking.

"What was the worse thing that you had ever done?" Was the question asked by the older pilot. I guess Jack seemed to follow my common cliches built in my head regarding pilots, maybe because Matt was unattainable he was more than suffice. He had been well built and I hadn’t even know that I was even into well built men back then, and he seemed to be far too charming and confident until you would ask him something and then perhaps he would stutter at the right moment, cracking, as if teasing of what he was underneath it all.

Someone had said that they had killed their own dog.

Someone had said that they threw their sister down the stairs because she throw someone else’s wooden train prior to that out of the window into the mud.

Someone confessed to cheating on their girl, which resulted whistles from the newcomers as if the queerness of the navy would soon be unleashed and the ladies as faded and forgotten as the white shores.

"Sailor?" Jack asked me, his dark eyes on me and like a stab through the heart, I just shook my head, not knowing what to even tell. He put his hand on me and I was half hard just from looking at him, legs crossed, barely realising how deep my desire for him went. "Sailor?"

"I don’t think… I had a girlfriend and I lied to her about the location to go watch the movies with my pal. I left her there for hours." I shrugged and the attractive pilot just shook his head.

"Left a gal alone? That it, sailor? Pfffft…" And he waved his hand at me, my turn skipped and I wondered why did his eyes keep lingering on me regardless, how come he still kept looking at me and then he had caught me in the night, asking me how come I had never done anything worse than that. And I just shrugged, looking back and knowing that he had slept with Matt, his intense look at me and I was confused if he had moved closer to me next to the basins, but I was too clueless and I never moved and we had only fucked years later, but he still haunted my mind and frankly my masturbation fantasies. 

And all he had graced me with was pushing me onto the basin, for I was much shorter than he was and making out, I was too exhausted from desire to even let anything else commence, but his lips still haunted me and the kiss itself was higher than anything sex seemed to be giving me, it wasn’t even love, it was some intoxicating desire, some flirting on the edge of a lengthy orgasm, he seemed to be far too thrilling, intimidating, confusing and pushing me far too over the edge, as I had solely followed him during some bizarre period of insomnia and he had been kissing me, pushing me harder against him, keeping me close and neither of us pushed further, the kiss mutually started and ended in some nostalgic evidence of something we had regretted not having done. Days just went on and on, I would check out Jack, he would stumble in words, he seemed to have fully been broken but nothing had happened even after his death, he didn’t visit me even if he had laughed, spreading the rumor himself that he would sell his soul to the Devil just to haunt down some old girlfriend from a past life, because if he wouldn’t have the time to find her today, then he would later on, because none of us sailors were going to heaven anyway, so why not like life cheats with suicide, why don’t we cheat ourselves?

Why don’t we give our soul away for a full price rather than a mercy giveaway, and maybe that was his logic and I wondered if all of our mutual faith in the Devil made the ships sail, the boats rock, the nights eerie in the wrong passes and thoughts scattered to resemble demons, the churches haunted and voices to scramble from old sailors and pilots.

And he had died.

His death was more than a mystery, that it wasn’t even discussed and me and Paul had no longer been an item, Daniel long ago chosen and Matt’s stuck in his own world, Lana being my sole companion of someone who I was interested in solely talking and hearing of snippets of her endeavours onshore with whisky or stashed bourbon on the ship. 

I wondered how close Matt and Lana were now, since I seemed to grace their minds and how much had Matt spoken and how come if we were the closest we couldn’t speak of the most sacred things in our hearts? And I would be lying if I would say that I didn’t want his photo tucked safely in wallet, which was now shamelessly Jamie and I wondered what would happen if someone would raid through to find the stitched small pocket to hold said photo, would anyone yank it out and see Jamie’s serious captain photo, which I had bought in a newsstand, happily, knowing that it were with me in my suit pocket if I were to leave the ship without him, any day and now it seemed to be with me on the ship as the present Jamie would be downing his time onshore. 

I wondered how come if we wouldn’t hesitate in sleeping in the same bed, just eager from each other’s shoulders brushing, how come we could never speak out and how blind were we to solely make out on a party and then dismiss everything we ever could, for our sole fear? And how come we had admired our own fear which didn’t even build us to put above the other, the lover, or was it because we wanted to keep the lover from ourselves, because the circle is complete, we don’t want ourselves to be tainting someone else’s life? 

So does our self-hatred become something we drown ourselves in? Is it not the other tainted person’s love but our own self-hate to even allow ourselves to drown? What if some loves are just plain suicide attempts and then, at the very last moment we are yanked, harshly, that the hand starts emitting the ache, depression worn off and we will shout at the sudden pull, because the veil of unreality is peeled off, exposing the raw and red from cold skin, as if we had fallen into icy water, only the lover who we presume to be drowning is the culprit, not the one who saves, but rather a new and older one. 

Maybe it is such that all lovers in our lives are all different, not from the outside, but all different and maybe just one quality is shared and maybe one is the odd one out?

And would Miles be the such and would he be the one, and if he were the one, what kind of one would he be? Is it because we don’t value ourselves so much that we become attached to someone who keeps luring us in? And how come I had hated myself so much, is it because I had never had sex with Jack? Is it because I only had sex with Matt and he would never utter the same words which would come each day from Jamie’s mouth against my throat and his tongue on the ready, ready to keep pushing me over the edge sexually and emotionally.

How come some loves consume, once fully blossomed and words lack all speech, because it becomes the blood flow and how repetition becomes the heartbeat and as essential and fear strangles due to the unsure insecurities, because they say love happens once in a century and I’ve had far too many and only one so far to shatter my being, to make me as infinite as the waves below, as the light reflecting through the waves and washing down everything to make it swirl and dance throughout all beings of the planet. 

And it keeps escalating with each kiss, each touch, each thrust as he pulls me back in, for another kiss and I’m scared to even look at the watch to even see when do the hours slowly start becoming minutes, my being shaking from the fear, from the departure and I wonder if my kiss is as salty as my own tears might be and I wonder if any of us will even cry or just shatter inside, just to pray upon something, upon no departure and cursing that we weren’t doctors of such, but then would we have the luxury of a utopia where we could afford to be openly gay in our minds and within the walls of the ship solely to our hierarchal destructive nature? 

And I wonder how much do our minutes even vary from the actual minutes and we seem to keep clinging onto each other, keep kissing as minutes seem to pass and I wonder if they had excessively even morphed into hours and life is full of regrets, fear that you haven’t talked enough and the talk of grabbing books is discarded by the sole desire of keeping kissing, sex avoided for the sole sake of erasing frustration from the length to calm down, the kisses either increasing or decreasing, as the pain starts lulling in and seems to blacken the scene as I keep kissing and he kisses one last time, before glancing at his watch, wine drank and all spread on the lips and dried up to be fixed with lost saliva.

“It’s close to five.” His voice cracks so much that if you were to hear Jamie for the first time, you would think that it was a broken clock to begin with. He sits up, turning to face the window, which barely lets any moonlight leak in and I watch his shoulders rise and slowly push down, as he turns to face me and I even feel my hands ache and break, as if held tight rather than untied and loose. 

Was the pain due to the fact that Paul had cheated on me or was it solely because he had left me and was it even hypocritical of me to judge if I were simuletionuesly reading in my head about numerous men as if they could all join me in an orgy and I would be the main centre piece?

How would I feel then? An object of desire by those who I desire and would they be jealous would I be jealous if Matt were to kiss Jamie, leaving him surprised yet kissing back? Was that an image of fear or was that my sole cry for masturbation and loneliness? Was that my manifesto of being in love with too many men, just as wrapped in the spiders web as evident and sticky as sperm? Was that what bonded us our own harvested goods?

I just feel like depression and null melon melancholy will keep taking me and it’s won’t even be flirting or a conversation but an awkward side by side sit as I would feel it slowly deep inside me as if I were breathing someone else’s cigarette smoke.

Sleeping in bunk beds after Jamie’s room seems far too intimidating with suddenly it becomes far too many men and cluttered to even think properly until under the covers, curled up and head against the wall instead of pillows, allowing myself to forget about everyone else whom I’ve ever known.

Paranoia withers at dawn, as the sun is still cluttered by winter and I slowly dress up, as if I were escaping and sneaking out as I let Jamie do my tie, as I keep watching him, never looking up and fingers shaking at the unnecessary knot, which he had undone as well. Love seems to glitter through, but our own teeth are held at departure.

I try to fog up my mind or at least drop the veil, to make sure that we are at least watching a movie but instead it falls under standing under the rain with a cloak and hair soaked already. And it’s not even that I’m alone under my desire veil turned cloak but Jamie is with me, to make sure that my own sudden disappearance is far more painful.

Silence seems to be butchering time short, spiralling into something shorter as we both dress and his excuse is to walk on the ship and check if he had taken everything and that shall be it. And even then we both hesitate within our mute speech to do so, as untangled hands are the worse at times.

It doesn’t escalate it gets worse as an axe, as the fingers are numb through the sufficient cold and we go past the streets, barely recalling how we had left the hotel in a hurry, lips paralysed only to be dragged in haste to an alleyway with a cat sleeping.

We kiss, holding, as if our hair could go gray anymoment and misery is just the snapping of the fingers as the warmth breaks.

"Yeah." Jamie utters, looking down, his coat unbuttoned and scarf loosely hung around his neck as if it could be a loop, but death rarely comes to those who seek.

And that is all.

I grab his shoulder and I kiss him again, even softer, nearly a flutter as we depart back to the streets, I stretch just for my limbs to ache more as he watches me and in that moment I feel that as cliche men we hold our emotions far more in tact than we should.

We agreed to come first and Jamie says to keep whatever he had left behind and then just give later, shrugging.

A mere moment of getting caught becomes the price of minutes with him.

We don’t dare to kiss, but he hugs me.

That’s all.

We don’t even allow our heads touch the shoulder, just a brief hug, which is far tighter and the jerk of Jamie’s body as he just let’s go of me.

I take out a pack of cigarettes as he hands a small envelope.

"You forgot your own birthday, I did as well." He mutters, sighing. I just shrug.

"I don’t see the difference between getting older by days or years with you." I gulp painfully, feeling my throat close up intensely.

Jamie hugs himself and looks around just to see the night, the stars barely even seen now and sailors most likely passed out under bar stools. I just get closer, reaching out to touch his cheek, but land on his shoulder.

Too many sentences, phrases and words circulate.

"I love you." My voice just falls down and not even shards are left, Jamie nods, looking down, his whole body now shaking.

"I… Have to go." I mutter, speaking for both of us. I quickly kiss him, praying and then give him my first letter, not censored and heartily true.

He kissed back and it started tracing in my mind even harder as I headed up to the ship, always glancing back at Jamie, who managed to wave and we both hesitate but never risk, as I just head inside, before I take a deep breath and then all my fear tips me over as I close my mouth to muffle and weep loudly, alone on the ship.

And I can’t seem to calm down and surely not know even which direction to go, my whole body giving up on me, hands covered in salt already, even if the tears dry up after a while, the whole body is still hysterical and my mind just urges me to lock myself up in Jamie’s room, the whole ship now reeking of silence and some dead end, some tunnel which would only end in three whole months and in this exact port and I would tell myself to solely think of how I would think of seeing him again, how I would pin him against the door again, feel him excited at my fingertips, but everything seems to venture and let everything down, just the faint reminder and saying of the departure in a few hours. I manage to force myself to go over to the bunks, a heavy alcohol regret and lack, all wine filtered in my body to even not allow an illusion of alcohol intoxication, as I just lay down, before I pull the suit off, my body just hammered numb, all clothing taken off besides undershirt and underwear. 

I inhale with my mouth open, as if to cry again, but nothing comes, the mind numb as if Jamie never existed and I look at my wrists as if to see traces of his fingers, but nothing, people remain and withdrawal is felt on the chest, as if I could stretch it open with my fingers and retrieve my lover.

I turn around, just to feel his lips and a prayer to see him in my dreams, scattered, shattered and exposed as I am. A misery to share.

-

I think this is the oddest chapter to post when 

I HAVE WON NANOWRIMO :D 

Yup yup yup :D and yeah, it pretty much mostly describes two days which happen, if to spoil and I hope you had enjoyed the ride, the other chapters will be published in the next few days and don't forget that we're only in 1940 so there is just so fucking much left of the story:) it's odd, I've admitted that I'm writing this surely for the next few years, but at least I'm a few months off the end of the first part, thank fuck XD 

It was a nightmare describing the last day between Alex and Jamie because I ship them so much and I knew what's ahead even if nothing goes as planned when writing Captain Jamie specifically in To Miles for some reason xD 

I like sidetracking from the main arc if you must and I still regret killing Jack from day one, but he allows me to give bittersweet memories and build a myth around him, which is quite interesting to write:) I'll keep silent because this is not the last spoken of Jack :)

What was the worst thing I had done was actually asked by an old classmate of mine, it's really weird to look back into your life and frankly realize why so many things hadn't worked out or so many had backed out, how much friendships were formed by crushes, it's really odd. And I guess with time I get a bit reluctant to talk about personal, he had reminded me of what I had liked in one of my boyfriends from years ago, funnily enough I don't keep in touch with said ex and the guy mentioned we both lost touch, kind of not the best of things to recall when you get fucked over by some xenophobic shits. 

And I didn't know what to reply, I had backstabbed people, but I had never done anything bad and it was one of the earliest conversations we had had. So my own reply made me think a lot of myself. I honestly couldn't think of anything and all my suggestions were discarded as not bad enough xD

I dunno, I like showing how rookie everyone seemed and in general it's interesting to enter even a closeted queer space.

I forget that he and Alex never fucked. Makes me sad, one sex scene short xD

I started slipping talk of insomnia as I had been suffering from it heavily at the time.

I won't spoil anything of Al's Devil talk.

I couldn't even write the departure scene on the laptop so I just banged it out on my phone, nearly crying and I myself wasn't in the best of states, so it was easier to write it out somewhere else. 

Ironically I recall I had hooked up with a bloke once and he had to leave, we hooked up on the last day, by hooked up we made out and a year later he had blocked me on Facebook. And I recall that we had solely half an hour and I was the one to announce the end of it, as he had to leave (trying to recall if it was 5 or 6, I think). But looking back, everything is just so fucking gay. It wasn't as painful.

Seeing Callie off was painful, so that's where the memories are collected and it's very odd to look back since we've been together for nearly two years now (living :) not LDR). 

I had shamelessly forgotten Alex's birthday and that was my solution. 

And yeah, I don't know what else to say, this was awful to write and was written on the phone, the last scenes and I was dreading everything else. 

Thank you and I hope you enjoyed it

And thank you for all the Nanowrimo support, I will have No. 1 Party Anthem up soon, the wait is nearly over xD

And yeah, I'm off to cry about those two (I'm a non-spoiling asshole xD)

<3

Jamie

To Miles 46