Recklessness
Title: Recklessness
Author:
soulsdisband
Pairing: Bert/Gerard
Rating: PG
POV: First. Bert's
Summary: Recklessness, these days, seems to be contagious. I only really noticed as I found myself standing on the roof of the mini-mart, looking down at the ominous car park.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Not true.
Author Notes: Please, just tell me what you think. I need validation!! Validation! Or a least someone to tell me where I fucked up. My first one based around plot and not sweeping metaphors.
Oh and look up corningware visions on google if you don't know.
Recklessness, these days, seems to be contagious. I only really noticed as I found myself standing on the roof of the mini-mart, looking down at the ominous car park. I could feel the prickle of my nerves as you squeezed tighter and tighter around my hand. We count in time with deep breaths, syncopating our fear and excitement. On three we’re flying toward the darkness, but all I can feel is you holding tight around me before there is a dull hardness that I sink into as you float away.
It’s the second time in as many weeks that we’re found bleeding and broken next to the rows of shopping carts. They ask us why, but all I can say is that I feel alive when you’re there. So alive, I have to hurt to feel normal. It’s the ultimate ‘if he jumped off a cliff, would you?’, because, yes, I would if it meant we would break in the same places and heal in the same places with the same bandages and skin and blood as each other.
It’s Wednesday. 9:13 am. Creekside Inn, 45 minutes from home. You’re soaking in the bath, a squeaking, crunch of ice resounding every time you breathe deeply. I’m lying on the bed, naked except for the bandage slung around my arm. The hotel room is warm, but you’re still freezing me out and this cheap, seedy, CorningWare Visions place is seeping through me. The walls are thin but the air is thick and even though I can hear the television next door blurring on about important world issues, I only want to hear your voice because they don’t matter to us in the long run. I hear about someone being shot. Someone arrested. But we’ve got a long trip ahead and, I’m resting so we can stay up all night and do reckless things with each other. Maybe find a cliff, it doesn’t matter, we always land on our feet.
When you’re wrinkled to the state of a peach pip, you groan out of the tub and hobble your way to the bed. The purple-red of your face is already brimming yellow at the edges - like a dirty sunrise or sickly sunset. Today we end ourselves and begin anew. We become men and travel to the East Coast, home for one of us. We’ve planned this for weeks and finally we can be ourselves with each other.
Your icy body rolls down onto mine, flattening into the shape of me. You press your fingers into my skin. White. Red. Normal. Then again: white, red, normal. Like the touch of an angel, or maybe an alien. We lay together for too long. We’re sweating a pool on the bed by the time we peel off each other, and the heating is too high. Too high for us and for our burning skin, but when the window opens it’s a piercing cold which shoots down my spine.
“Fuck, it‘s late”, and by the time I look around you’re dressed and pulling a jumper on.
“We should get going then?”
“About that. I’ve got to work. Maybe some other time, eh?”
There is a sickening pause where you look through my eyes before ripping back the door and leaving. I follow you outside as you begin to get into your car, sliding into the seat and staring stony ahead.
“Don’t you want me?”, which everyone stares at. The strangers examine my raw red naked body pinched pink by the nipping cool. “Don’t you fucking want me anymore?”
The only person I want looking at me is you, but you‘re the only one who isn‘t.
There are no words which come from your moving lips, so I wrap my arms around your neck. Wrenching away you spit a callous “No”, where I feel there should be a choked sob. As you fumble with the keys and the ignition I grapple them away and scrape an angry Fag into the side of your door. But you’ve won, so I stand and watch as you drive away, leaving me standing naked in the grey-blue morning mist. The knot in my stomach twists tighter as you become a speck along the asphalt road.
Pressing into the rough ground across the road from where we crashed and swallowed together the night before, I can feel the indents on my skin and I wonder why they aren’t scrapes from your fingernails. You won’t get to keep my skin there so it can heal you, like yours heals me. You’re alone and I’m scared for you, and what you’ll become without me.
You make me cry - maybe that’s just the cold, or maybe that’s just what I tell myself.
Sometimes, it’s hard to understand you. Sometimes, you lock me away and leave me alone, calling it ‘personal space’. But today you left me with nothing but the cliff edge of a mini-mart roof and no one to break with but my self.
The shivering body on the ground is too large to be a boy, but it moves and wails like a child. The people glance and shift as if he isn’t there. As if there isn’t a grotesqueness to the sight of a grown man flailing in his bleak, bleeding, crude, tender body. His angry bundle of private skin retracting in the cold, and away from the man who rejected him.
They don’t watch as he curls into himself, balling up and bawling.
They don’t watch as he looses breath and stiffens in the cold.
They don’t watch as he wearily crawls to the road and scrabbles his way toward the other side.
They don’t watch as he climbs to the roof of the mini-mart and stands in the whipping wind, naked and repugnant as ever.
They quietly watch as he jumps, like many times before. But today - he doesn’t land on his feet.
Author:
soulsdisband
Pairing: Bert/Gerard
Rating: PG
POV: First. Bert's
Summary: Recklessness, these days, seems to be contagious. I only really noticed as I found myself standing on the roof of the mini-mart, looking down at the ominous car park.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Not true.
Author Notes: Please, just tell me what you think. I need validation!! Validation! Or a least someone to tell me where I fucked up. My first one based around plot and not sweeping metaphors.
Oh and look up corningware visions on google if you don't know.
Recklessness, these days, seems to be contagious. I only really noticed as I found myself standing on the roof of the mini-mart, looking down at the ominous car park. I could feel the prickle of my nerves as you squeezed tighter and tighter around my hand. We count in time with deep breaths, syncopating our fear and excitement. On three we’re flying toward the darkness, but all I can feel is you holding tight around me before there is a dull hardness that I sink into as you float away.
It’s the second time in as many weeks that we’re found bleeding and broken next to the rows of shopping carts. They ask us why, but all I can say is that I feel alive when you’re there. So alive, I have to hurt to feel normal. It’s the ultimate ‘if he jumped off a cliff, would you?’, because, yes, I would if it meant we would break in the same places and heal in the same places with the same bandages and skin and blood as each other.
It’s Wednesday. 9:13 am. Creekside Inn, 45 minutes from home. You’re soaking in the bath, a squeaking, crunch of ice resounding every time you breathe deeply. I’m lying on the bed, naked except for the bandage slung around my arm. The hotel room is warm, but you’re still freezing me out and this cheap, seedy, CorningWare Visions place is seeping through me. The walls are thin but the air is thick and even though I can hear the television next door blurring on about important world issues, I only want to hear your voice because they don’t matter to us in the long run. I hear about someone being shot. Someone arrested. But we’ve got a long trip ahead and, I’m resting so we can stay up all night and do reckless things with each other. Maybe find a cliff, it doesn’t matter, we always land on our feet.
When you’re wrinkled to the state of a peach pip, you groan out of the tub and hobble your way to the bed. The purple-red of your face is already brimming yellow at the edges - like a dirty sunrise or sickly sunset. Today we end ourselves and begin anew. We become men and travel to the East Coast, home for one of us. We’ve planned this for weeks and finally we can be ourselves with each other.
Your icy body rolls down onto mine, flattening into the shape of me. You press your fingers into my skin. White. Red. Normal. Then again: white, red, normal. Like the touch of an angel, or maybe an alien. We lay together for too long. We’re sweating a pool on the bed by the time we peel off each other, and the heating is too high. Too high for us and for our burning skin, but when the window opens it’s a piercing cold which shoots down my spine.
“Fuck, it‘s late”, and by the time I look around you’re dressed and pulling a jumper on.
“We should get going then?”
“About that. I’ve got to work. Maybe some other time, eh?”
There is a sickening pause where you look through my eyes before ripping back the door and leaving. I follow you outside as you begin to get into your car, sliding into the seat and staring stony ahead.
“Don’t you want me?”, which everyone stares at. The strangers examine my raw red naked body pinched pink by the nipping cool. “Don’t you fucking want me anymore?”
The only person I want looking at me is you, but you‘re the only one who isn‘t.
There are no words which come from your moving lips, so I wrap my arms around your neck. Wrenching away you spit a callous “No”, where I feel there should be a choked sob. As you fumble with the keys and the ignition I grapple them away and scrape an angry Fag into the side of your door. But you’ve won, so I stand and watch as you drive away, leaving me standing naked in the grey-blue morning mist. The knot in my stomach twists tighter as you become a speck along the asphalt road.
Pressing into the rough ground across the road from where we crashed and swallowed together the night before, I can feel the indents on my skin and I wonder why they aren’t scrapes from your fingernails. You won’t get to keep my skin there so it can heal you, like yours heals me. You’re alone and I’m scared for you, and what you’ll become without me.
You make me cry - maybe that’s just the cold, or maybe that’s just what I tell myself.
Sometimes, it’s hard to understand you. Sometimes, you lock me away and leave me alone, calling it ‘personal space’. But today you left me with nothing but the cliff edge of a mini-mart roof and no one to break with but my self.
The shivering body on the ground is too large to be a boy, but it moves and wails like a child. The people glance and shift as if he isn’t there. As if there isn’t a grotesqueness to the sight of a grown man flailing in his bleak, bleeding, crude, tender body. His angry bundle of private skin retracting in the cold, and away from the man who rejected him.
They don’t watch as he curls into himself, balling up and bawling.
They don’t watch as he looses breath and stiffens in the cold.
They don’t watch as he wearily crawls to the road and scrabbles his way toward the other side.
They don’t watch as he climbs to the roof of the mini-mart and stands in the whipping wind, naked and repugnant as ever.
They quietly watch as he jumps, like many times before. But today - he doesn’t land on his feet.