FIC: nobody saves you [1/1]
nobody saves you
jasperfrost
{ r }{ 395 words }{ young ryan or mikey or anyone really }
inspired by feb 10 09, jan 10 09 and april 05 08
)
you're the type that is effortlessly artsy, as if you were born with tangled, unwashed-looking hair, hip jutting out as you lean against the doorframe and smoke. you exhale smoke like it's getting you off, mouth open in some sort of silent, cancerous moan. you are too thin and you are 16 and you will never get older because you have already grown up. you are never very interested in anything unless you're on your own. maybe not even then. you have a practiced scoff and people only do and say certain things around you so you won't think ill of them. you think ill of them for it. every move you make is carefully planned and designed to look like it isn't. no one (yourself included) knows if you are gay or straight or somewhere in between and you like to keep it that way. you are technically male, but your high cheekbones, slim wrists, soft skin and sharp hipbones say otherwise. you have on a worn hemp anklet and you're barefoot in the cold december air.
someone comes up behind you, slides a chapped hand across your stomach. you turn and breathe smoke into the boy's mouth. you taste alcohol on his tongue like lysol and drink in the nauseating rush it gives you. his body is cold everywhere you touch it with your nicotine-stained fingertips. your mind starts wandering when the boy starts panting. he's boring, the same as all the other random innocents who've been too drunk to remember they're not into boys. you lick a wet trail up the boy's neck absentmindedly. the boy shudders and finishes in your hand. stumbles away inside to drink more and eventually pass out, hopefully to forget this whole night. you look blankly at the pile of ashes by your feet. you reach into your pocket for another cigarette and light it. you exhale smoke like it's getting you off. you cough. you cry silently until the cigarette is done. you grind the butt under your numb heel as the tears freeze on your numb face. nobody saves you. you go back inside.
A/N: thank you WAC. you're so fucking gorgeous.
jasperfrost
{ r }{ 395 words }{ young ryan or mikey or anyone really }
inspired by feb 10 09, jan 10 09 and april 05 08
)
you're the type that is effortlessly artsy, as if you were born with tangled, unwashed-looking hair, hip jutting out as you lean against the doorframe and smoke. you exhale smoke like it's getting you off, mouth open in some sort of silent, cancerous moan. you are too thin and you are 16 and you will never get older because you have already grown up. you are never very interested in anything unless you're on your own. maybe not even then. you have a practiced scoff and people only do and say certain things around you so you won't think ill of them. you think ill of them for it. every move you make is carefully planned and designed to look like it isn't. no one (yourself included) knows if you are gay or straight or somewhere in between and you like to keep it that way. you are technically male, but your high cheekbones, slim wrists, soft skin and sharp hipbones say otherwise. you have on a worn hemp anklet and you're barefoot in the cold december air.
someone comes up behind you, slides a chapped hand across your stomach. you turn and breathe smoke into the boy's mouth. you taste alcohol on his tongue like lysol and drink in the nauseating rush it gives you. his body is cold everywhere you touch it with your nicotine-stained fingertips. your mind starts wandering when the boy starts panting. he's boring, the same as all the other random innocents who've been too drunk to remember they're not into boys. you lick a wet trail up the boy's neck absentmindedly. the boy shudders and finishes in your hand. stumbles away inside to drink more and eventually pass out, hopefully to forget this whole night. you look blankly at the pile of ashes by your feet. you reach into your pocket for another cigarette and light it. you exhale smoke like it's getting you off. you cough. you cry silently until the cigarette is done. you grind the butt under your numb heel as the tears freeze on your numb face. nobody saves you. you go back inside.
A/N: thank you WAC. you're so fucking gorgeous.