by Trisky
The Beam in my glass is brown, maybe I can just get the whole world drunk and have my way with them. No, no, even better I can use one of those dogs, the ones with the big brown eyes, brown and white skin, and the floppy ears, what the fuck are they called? I don’t know, they remind me of Mikey, big sad eyes, permanently pouting. Fucking Mikey. How many times did he call me today? I lost track after the fourth call. Fucking Mikey. The only thing I need is another drink, and an ad campaign, not your goddamn sympathy. That Ethan kid he had brown eyes didn’t he? Shit-stained eyes.
Hahahaha! That’s perfect, I can just have Mikey and Ethan wearing one of those doggie costumes and taking a dump and the slogan would be “Would you rather have this Brown or this Brown.” I’m a genius. I amaze myself. I don’t know what’s funnier the thought of them both sitting in their own shit, or the look on Vance’s face when he sees it. The funniest thing of all would probably be my ass out on the street slugging back a bottle of Beam and singing for my supper when he was done. Maybe Ethan could play the violin, fucking little beggar boy pretending to be some homeless, misunderstood, tortured waif and Mikey would stand and pout and nod sympathetically. It’d be brilliant. I raise my glass in salutation to myself, laughing hysterically, so loudly and for so long, I don’t even notice him standing at the open door, staring at me, staring right through me for a good long minute.
God his eyes are blue, like cobalt blue, especially when they’re intense and focused. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Maybe he has, maybe I’m really dead right now and I don’t know it yet. Maybe I’ve been dead all along.
“Close your mouth Justin, unless you’re planning on putting it to good use.” I blink, no I swallow and I blink, the Beam has started dribbling out of my mouth in the form of shitty things I know I shouldn’t say, but I say anyway, on purpose. And if he doesn’t like it, it’s too damn bad.
He just looks at me, exasperated, repulsed, with that fucking sympathetic look everyone has been giving me. He feels sorry for me, sorry for everything about me.
“I didn’t think you’d be here. I just came to get my stuff.”
Where did you think I would be? Same place everyone else thinks I am.
He’s awkward, like that first night, all jitters, staring at everything in awe, fascinated by the train wreck he was about to embark on. Should have bought a ticket to someplace else, nothing but boggy marsh to wade through here, just ask Brown Tech, I’m about to sell them as an alternative to shit.
“What are you going to carry it in?” Didn’t think about that did you? Didn’t really think that far ahead, like usual. Just saw what you needed to do and did it, and you’ll worry about the rest later. I can see from what he’s wearing, that all he’s thinking about is needing a change of clothes. Looks like Ethan didn’t give him one. Strange.
“I’ll just grab a garbage bag or something.”
“You can get what you need for now and leave the rest until you work something out.” I turn away from him, turn my attention back to my old friend Jim. Can you hear me, do you hear one fucking word I’m saying?
I listen to his feet padding across the floor stopping in the cabinet for a bag, looking in the sink at my two day old plates, not his usual quick steps, they’re slow and deliberate, like he can’t even lift his legs to carry him from one room to the next. Maybe Ethan fucked him so hard, he can’t walk without effort. Maybe he’s remembering what I feel like inside him. I hope he misses it, I hope it’s so empty in there, that six fists wouldn’t fill it up. I watch him, through the panels, surveying the dump that is my bedroom at the moment, bed undone, glasses on the nightstand, clothes strewn all around. It was just too much effort to clean up after myself the past couple of days. It’s not like I had anyone to impress anyway. He works quietly, opening drawers, stuffing khakis in his garbage bag. Good, that’s where they belong anyway, he should have done that a long time ago.
He stops mid-stuffing and turns, watching me watch him. He looks like he might want to say something, but can’t bring himself to. Say it, fucking say it Justin, tell me how sorry you are, what a big mistake you made, how you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, you weren’t thinking, you’re sorry and you want it all to go away and what can you do to make it up to me. Fucking yell, scream, throw something at me, I don’t care, just say something, don’t give me that long face full of pity. I know you know how to talk, it’s one of the few things you’re better at, than I am.
He turns, and goes back to the work at hand, and I hear it, that distinct muddled sound I know so well, somewhere between a choke and a whimper. They haven’t invented any allergy medication to stop him, yet.
I get up and I go. To him. Because he knows damn well, I always will, when he sounds like that, and I see my hands, holding the Beam in one and reaching out to his shoulder with the other, and I feel it tense and relax under my fingers, and I don’t dare say a word, I just hold on, steadying my dizzy stance. I close the distance between us, lean over his ear, rest my chin on his shoulder, breathe against him. “Where are you going?” I’m pretty sure I said it outloud. I’m pretty sure I can’t even blame the Beam for letting me. I kiss that soft spot between his ear and his jaw and he lets me. I can feel his cheek cave into my mouth, like he can’t hold it up by himself anymore. He needs a lifeline, someone to pull him out of this, if he’s expecting one from me, he’s got a long wait. He closes his eyes, his head shifting in the general direction of my mouth, and I feel the first sliver of warmth I’ve felt in days, inside my mouth, all around me. And I let the Beam and my tongue say everything my voice will not. I feel his hand, weak as it may be still, gripping my neck, willing this answer to be enough. But I stumble, the glass of Beam spilling out between us, and I let go, looking down at the mess I’ve made, brown puddles all over the floor, on his pants, and he sees what I’m seeing and pulls away, straightening his back, rubbing his eyes free of whatever germs have gotten into them, this time.
“I’m leaving.” Shutup Justin, shut the fuck up! Stop talking, didn’t I always tell you, you talk too much.
“Back to your pretty boy?” That oughta do it.
He’s doing it again, looking right through me, he doesn’t even flinch. And his eyes are so fucking blue, even in this light, I can see how blue they are. I see how they don’t move, they just take me in, and I haven’t drowned in them yet, they haven’t thrown me overboard, they just hold, steadfast.
“I’m going to my mother’s for a while.”
“You haven’t been there, she would have bought you something to wear. And you haven’t been with Ethan either, he would have given you something. Where have you been?” I try not to panic, but he doesn’t look any worse for the wear, it had to be someplace safe.
“Why do you care?” Good question.
“I’m just wondering why you have to go back to your mother’s if you already have a place to stay.” H...E....A....R M...E... Justin, fucking hear me, because I can’t yell any louder.
“I think I’ve outstayed my welcome... with Daphne.”
I just nod my head, I understand. “Daphne loves you, she would never put you out.” Shiny bubbly Daphne, with her brown bouncing head of hair, she always was a good friend, good for a million and one uses.
“There’s not enough room in Daphne’s place, for me.”
“Have you asked her if there is?”
“I don’t have to, she’s made it pretty clear.” He just stares, such a hard stare, I’m almost proud.
“Maybe you should just... ask... Daphne, what she wants. You might be surprised at the answer you get.” I speak deliberately, tongue snaking around every word. God love you Daphne, even more than my Beam.
“It’s not about what she wants, it’s about what I want.”
“And you want to go live with mommy and play pattycakes with Ethan on the side? I’m sure she’ll be really happy about that.” Fucking Beam. Well at least I can finally see anger forming in him.
“I want...” he sputters, he has no fucking clue how to deal with what he wants, just me, always me. I don’t fit into that khaki strewn garbage bag, do I? “I want you to make this easy for me. I have no choice right now.”
“You always have choices Justin. Always did, always will.” He nods his head at me, unconsciously. He understands.
I walk away, leave him to finish his business, and go back to my own.
Beam and Brown, what a combo...