Silas And Lila.
But My Fears.
I.
I could have it but I wasn't sure I wanted it.
I stare at the blue sky and continue stroking and rubbing until my fingers turn moist -thinking of how warm it is. The sun is beaming down in bright shafts on the ground; I can see my knees peaking from under my skirt. Guess I could pass for some fairy on acid, withering from the heat with torn purple wings thrown to the side. I'd found them in some shop one day and Silas had proposed to pay half. We'd gotten in a fight shortly after, like we often did.
A bird flies by and I pause, taking a deep breath at the sight. I’m not really turned on but feel reluctant to give this up. It’s urgent now. Mind over matter, man. I have to prove I can win this war against my body; it’s ridiculous really. I will myself to regain control and coax pleasure into my wretched stomach. Thoughts flash by: trees and heavy fantasies, faces, alluring hips. I hear cars honking, children laughing. I feel angry. I need this.
And it goddamn bursts -rushing the night sky all over my mind, hushing the world. I exult, imagine I’ve just been shot and this is how dying feels like. I keep my eyes closed, draining the waves of pleasure. But it rapidly becomes a thing of the past; I sit up, rearrange my tulle and bra straps. Light a cigarette and lean against the back of the clinic's building, knitting my eyebrows as I recall how therapy had been difficult today. It doesn't matter anymore, though.
I can smell the self-rape with each drag and switch my smoke hands. Silas is late again; it isn’t in his nature to forget but it isn’t in mine to wait. Would’ve left if I had anything better to do, really. I think of his bony fingers and the freckle on his neck. How he could make illusions dance in front of your eyes and waltz into your ears but when you touched him, his skin was cold and dry and no kisses seemed to ever quench its thirst. I listlessly roll a joint and sigh.
How do hours like these still happen?
Strike a match and exhale. Everything seems pointless. Enjoy the quiet and try to capture the grass' whispers. Nothing makes sense. There are days that seem like they'll never end, time that refuses to pass. I silently think of tinfoil and enchanting smoke coiling to my lips -that peculiar taste of heaven. Fuck. I run my tongue along my teeth and hope Silas will hurry. He knows how to make these thoughts leave my head, how to be strong for both of us when I get sick of it all.
But he never seems to make it on time and I hate thinking he could save me.
II.
“Wake up, buttercup.”
I gingerly touch my limbs, making sure they’re still there. The ground is so cold, it feels wet but I stretch on my back and look at Silas through narrowed eyes, muttering: “’Bout time, fuckface.”
With a shrug, he picks up my wings and gestures for me to follow. I trail after him through the parking lot, catching up when he pauses to stare at the cherry blossom trees lining the street. With a derisive snort, I look to the sky and wonder if it’s going to rain. Dusk is settling like inkblots against the clouds and I can’t help feeling threatened. It oddly excites me, makes me want to do some stupid teenage thing like steal beer at the supermarket or run around laughing obnoxiously.
I glance at Silas, assessing his mood. He’s keeping quiet but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. The wind is picking up -blowing strands of hair, my skirt and petals every which way but neither of us moves. His chin is pointing towards the treetops as he distractedly leans against the air; hands shoved in his pockets, bangs darkening his eyes. I open my mouth to break through the poetry but a blossom sticks its way to my tongue and I have to pause so I can spit it out.
The sound still snaps Silas out of his little trance and he starts walking towards the centre. We turn into some alley where all the light of the city seems swallowed and it makes me feel cold. This is usually one of my favourite comfort spots but sometimes, things like these just don’t do it. A bit mournful, I trace some lines along the painting I’d sprayed on the wall. It’d been during autumn but now that it’s spring, well. I’m kind of scared of what’s hiding beneath all that rapidly melting snow.
“Let’s do something fun.” I say.
Silas looks at me swinging my arms about then sits on his usual wooden crate, flicking his lighter. I admire the way his hair parts at the base of his neck before squeezing next to him and stealing his smoke. He grunts, lights another. I scream a lung-cleansing “Fuck this!” and laugh when Silas roughly shoves me away. I shift my weight on his stomach, nestle my chin between his knees. There’s nothing better to do in this city anyway; we’re all roaming about like mad-eyed cattle.
I can barely notice Silas’ chest rise and fall. Night fell on us, I’m wide-awake. There’s a cat making some bastard noise but I can’t actually see the fucker; otherwise, I’d hunt it down and strangle it with Silas’ skinny tie. It’s disturbing our lack of meaning with its noise -our eternity, right. Minutes turn to slow silence; the air feels tight and irritating. I glare at nothing in particular until a hand reaches out and roughly fists my hair into a knot, tugging hard. “Be grateful for your aimless existence, Lila.”
His voice scratches and burns against my skin; here I am, ablaze.
III.
“You look so… precious.”
Silas ignores me and continues packing his pipe with slow, careful gestures. The contents of my messenger bag are strewn all over the ground; my sketchbook is balanced on his ribs. It’s difficult to see anything but shadows. The stars aren’t helping from where they are either and who knows how long my Zippo’s flame will last. I gloomily tap my pencil against my temple, thinking of all the grotesque visions in my head -how my hands will never be enough to strangle them all out.
Frowning, I turn to Silas as he lights up. I can’t help enjoying his ghostly features, the way his eyes burn when he sucks in his hit. He pulls me to him, covers my mouth with his. I breathe in the smoke he exhales; sit back and watch as he finishes the pipe before emptying and preparing another. Hazily, I stare at the cracks in the walls, the neon lights, the broken needles in the corners. The smell of weed is glowing like some wandering aura, wrapping its troubled bubble around us.
After giving me a light, Silas moves my body to the side so he can rummage through the pile of garbage next to him. He always thinks he’s going to find a treasure and I guess he already has; brings back maps and crinkled x-rays from his excursions, makes collages out of them. Maybe he’s just bored, though -I mean, his favourite pastime seems to be dying. I don’t know what’s keeping him here, his anchors or his chains. I sigh and glance at Silas, who’s holding something akin to a dead rat.
“That shit looks diseased.”
He shoots me a blank look. “Shut up, Lila.”
I don’t push it since he doesn’t get properly angry anymore. I remember this time, we were at a show; he had to yell so I could hear him over the music. It must’ve felt good -he wouldn’t stop. I just stayed rooted to the ground. Struck by all of our mistakes and experiences, his pain. I couldn’t decide between hiding my eyes or his, holding him tight or punching him in the mouth. It hurt so fucking much. His intensity was taking him, me -everyone down. No one was ever going to survive.
We fucked that night. It was blind and desperate, a divine intervention of sorts. His prayers were sticking to my skin, pouring from between my legs and into muffled gasps. I cried when I came. Silas couldn’t stop trembling but stayed inside of me; stroking, breathing words I could barely make out. He felt so small but invincible; I forgave him for all the errors he hadn’t even committed yet. When he left for months without warning, I thought: this incessant lack, my sunset heart -I guess I’m growing up.
I turn to face Silas and realise he hasn’t smiled since, his laughter’s been fake too.
IV.
A plane rumbles by, sounding like the end of the world.
Silas is tracing the lines of my palm, his head rising and sinking along my stomach tides. The walls are slowly trading grey with red; I can hear the birds from fucking everywhere above us. Guess another day is creeping up. I shift a little and Silas groans, placing his hand on the tuck of my waist -pleads: “Don’t move, don’t break this.” I can feel his cold through my clothes, how it warms me. I close my eyes; Silas is breathing hard and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
“Your body demands love, that’s why it was born.”
“Oh really.” I mumble. He nods and I sit up to find a cigarette. I’m used to Silas claiming things like that in the morning, when there’s not much to say about today but so much to say about tomorrow. It makes the future seem so far and good. I settle back; it takes a while to feel comfortable again and Silas glares at my ruining the moment, digs his skull into my sides for a bit. Smoke curls from my lips to his quiet face. I hiccup rings so he can poke his finger through them.
At times, I’ll be laying in the dark and hear someone else breathing. I’ll question the shadows and never get an actual answer; just the flickering of lights, ghosts in the mirror. All this weary energy -the city like some second-rate town, trapping and choking me with its bell towers. Maybe I wouldn’t be shaking if I’d known Silas my entire life; the person I could be would morph into who I will be, want to be. But nothing’s ever that simple. I wasn’t waiting for a knight and got fucked by a heroine on the way.
“We need to get away from here.” I say, unconvinced. Silas snaps his head up before slamming me into the wall, forcing my knees to my chest. He’s crushing me with his weight; I calm down my lungs and he doesn’t seem as heavy anymore. It’s strangely silent despite an odd buzzing in the air. I keep my eyes trained to the ground; try to ignore the tension vibrating between the telephone wires, the hunger at the back of my throat, the top button of Silas’ pants brushing against my thigh.
“Forget wishful thinking, Lila. Let’s do it. Get the fuck out of this hole. I don’t want it half-assed, though. I want you there, with me. It’s going to be hard. I’ll want to fuck you. I’ll want to make you furious. I’ll want all of you, at the same place at once.” His mouth is straight like a new horizon; he’s serious. I fumble through my cravings, my doubts, those red nights and the monsters hiding in the corners. I think of Silas and my putrid veins, what will continue haunting me wherever I go.
“There’s nothing holding you back.” Silas states more than argues.
I watch the neon sign above falter then fade out.
“Nothing but my fears.”
I.
I could have it but I wasn't sure I wanted it.
I stare at the blue sky and continue stroking and rubbing until my fingers turn moist -thinking of how warm it is. The sun is beaming down in bright shafts on the ground; I can see my knees peaking from under my skirt. Guess I could pass for some fairy on acid, withering from the heat with torn purple wings thrown to the side. I'd found them in some shop one day and Silas had proposed to pay half. We'd gotten in a fight shortly after, like we often did.
A bird flies by and I pause, taking a deep breath at the sight. I’m not really turned on but feel reluctant to give this up. It’s urgent now. Mind over matter, man. I have to prove I can win this war against my body; it’s ridiculous really. I will myself to regain control and coax pleasure into my wretched stomach. Thoughts flash by: trees and heavy fantasies, faces, alluring hips. I hear cars honking, children laughing. I feel angry. I need this.
And it goddamn bursts -rushing the night sky all over my mind, hushing the world. I exult, imagine I’ve just been shot and this is how dying feels like. I keep my eyes closed, draining the waves of pleasure. But it rapidly becomes a thing of the past; I sit up, rearrange my tulle and bra straps. Light a cigarette and lean against the back of the clinic's building, knitting my eyebrows as I recall how therapy had been difficult today. It doesn't matter anymore, though.
I can smell the self-rape with each drag and switch my smoke hands. Silas is late again; it isn’t in his nature to forget but it isn’t in mine to wait. Would’ve left if I had anything better to do, really. I think of his bony fingers and the freckle on his neck. How he could make illusions dance in front of your eyes and waltz into your ears but when you touched him, his skin was cold and dry and no kisses seemed to ever quench its thirst. I listlessly roll a joint and sigh.
How do hours like these still happen?
Strike a match and exhale. Everything seems pointless. Enjoy the quiet and try to capture the grass' whispers. Nothing makes sense. There are days that seem like they'll never end, time that refuses to pass. I silently think of tinfoil and enchanting smoke coiling to my lips -that peculiar taste of heaven. Fuck. I run my tongue along my teeth and hope Silas will hurry. He knows how to make these thoughts leave my head, how to be strong for both of us when I get sick of it all.
But he never seems to make it on time and I hate thinking he could save me.
II.
“Wake up, buttercup.”
I gingerly touch my limbs, making sure they’re still there. The ground is so cold, it feels wet but I stretch on my back and look at Silas through narrowed eyes, muttering: “’Bout time, fuckface.”
With a shrug, he picks up my wings and gestures for me to follow. I trail after him through the parking lot, catching up when he pauses to stare at the cherry blossom trees lining the street. With a derisive snort, I look to the sky and wonder if it’s going to rain. Dusk is settling like inkblots against the clouds and I can’t help feeling threatened. It oddly excites me, makes me want to do some stupid teenage thing like steal beer at the supermarket or run around laughing obnoxiously.
I glance at Silas, assessing his mood. He’s keeping quiet but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. The wind is picking up -blowing strands of hair, my skirt and petals every which way but neither of us moves. His chin is pointing towards the treetops as he distractedly leans against the air; hands shoved in his pockets, bangs darkening his eyes. I open my mouth to break through the poetry but a blossom sticks its way to my tongue and I have to pause so I can spit it out.
The sound still snaps Silas out of his little trance and he starts walking towards the centre. We turn into some alley where all the light of the city seems swallowed and it makes me feel cold. This is usually one of my favourite comfort spots but sometimes, things like these just don’t do it. A bit mournful, I trace some lines along the painting I’d sprayed on the wall. It’d been during autumn but now that it’s spring, well. I’m kind of scared of what’s hiding beneath all that rapidly melting snow.
“Let’s do something fun.” I say.
Silas looks at me swinging my arms about then sits on his usual wooden crate, flicking his lighter. I admire the way his hair parts at the base of his neck before squeezing next to him and stealing his smoke. He grunts, lights another. I scream a lung-cleansing “Fuck this!” and laugh when Silas roughly shoves me away. I shift my weight on his stomach, nestle my chin between his knees. There’s nothing better to do in this city anyway; we’re all roaming about like mad-eyed cattle.
I can barely notice Silas’ chest rise and fall. Night fell on us, I’m wide-awake. There’s a cat making some bastard noise but I can’t actually see the fucker; otherwise, I’d hunt it down and strangle it with Silas’ skinny tie. It’s disturbing our lack of meaning with its noise -our eternity, right. Minutes turn to slow silence; the air feels tight and irritating. I glare at nothing in particular until a hand reaches out and roughly fists my hair into a knot, tugging hard. “Be grateful for your aimless existence, Lila.”
His voice scratches and burns against my skin; here I am, ablaze.
III.
“You look so… precious.”
Silas ignores me and continues packing his pipe with slow, careful gestures. The contents of my messenger bag are strewn all over the ground; my sketchbook is balanced on his ribs. It’s difficult to see anything but shadows. The stars aren’t helping from where they are either and who knows how long my Zippo’s flame will last. I gloomily tap my pencil against my temple, thinking of all the grotesque visions in my head -how my hands will never be enough to strangle them all out.
Frowning, I turn to Silas as he lights up. I can’t help enjoying his ghostly features, the way his eyes burn when he sucks in his hit. He pulls me to him, covers my mouth with his. I breathe in the smoke he exhales; sit back and watch as he finishes the pipe before emptying and preparing another. Hazily, I stare at the cracks in the walls, the neon lights, the broken needles in the corners. The smell of weed is glowing like some wandering aura, wrapping its troubled bubble around us.
After giving me a light, Silas moves my body to the side so he can rummage through the pile of garbage next to him. He always thinks he’s going to find a treasure and I guess he already has; brings back maps and crinkled x-rays from his excursions, makes collages out of them. Maybe he’s just bored, though -I mean, his favourite pastime seems to be dying. I don’t know what’s keeping him here, his anchors or his chains. I sigh and glance at Silas, who’s holding something akin to a dead rat.
“That shit looks diseased.”
He shoots me a blank look. “Shut up, Lila.”
I don’t push it since he doesn’t get properly angry anymore. I remember this time, we were at a show; he had to yell so I could hear him over the music. It must’ve felt good -he wouldn’t stop. I just stayed rooted to the ground. Struck by all of our mistakes and experiences, his pain. I couldn’t decide between hiding my eyes or his, holding him tight or punching him in the mouth. It hurt so fucking much. His intensity was taking him, me -everyone down. No one was ever going to survive.
We fucked that night. It was blind and desperate, a divine intervention of sorts. His prayers were sticking to my skin, pouring from between my legs and into muffled gasps. I cried when I came. Silas couldn’t stop trembling but stayed inside of me; stroking, breathing words I could barely make out. He felt so small but invincible; I forgave him for all the errors he hadn’t even committed yet. When he left for months without warning, I thought: this incessant lack, my sunset heart -I guess I’m growing up.
I turn to face Silas and realise he hasn’t smiled since, his laughter’s been fake too.
IV.
A plane rumbles by, sounding like the end of the world.
Silas is tracing the lines of my palm, his head rising and sinking along my stomach tides. The walls are slowly trading grey with red; I can hear the birds from fucking everywhere above us. Guess another day is creeping up. I shift a little and Silas groans, placing his hand on the tuck of my waist -pleads: “Don’t move, don’t break this.” I can feel his cold through my clothes, how it warms me. I close my eyes; Silas is breathing hard and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
“Your body demands love, that’s why it was born.”
“Oh really.” I mumble. He nods and I sit up to find a cigarette. I’m used to Silas claiming things like that in the morning, when there’s not much to say about today but so much to say about tomorrow. It makes the future seem so far and good. I settle back; it takes a while to feel comfortable again and Silas glares at my ruining the moment, digs his skull into my sides for a bit. Smoke curls from my lips to his quiet face. I hiccup rings so he can poke his finger through them.
At times, I’ll be laying in the dark and hear someone else breathing. I’ll question the shadows and never get an actual answer; just the flickering of lights, ghosts in the mirror. All this weary energy -the city like some second-rate town, trapping and choking me with its bell towers. Maybe I wouldn’t be shaking if I’d known Silas my entire life; the person I could be would morph into who I will be, want to be. But nothing’s ever that simple. I wasn’t waiting for a knight and got fucked by a heroine on the way.
“We need to get away from here.” I say, unconvinced. Silas snaps his head up before slamming me into the wall, forcing my knees to my chest. He’s crushing me with his weight; I calm down my lungs and he doesn’t seem as heavy anymore. It’s strangely silent despite an odd buzzing in the air. I keep my eyes trained to the ground; try to ignore the tension vibrating between the telephone wires, the hunger at the back of my throat, the top button of Silas’ pants brushing against my thigh.
“Forget wishful thinking, Lila. Let’s do it. Get the fuck out of this hole. I don’t want it half-assed, though. I want you there, with me. It’s going to be hard. I’ll want to fuck you. I’ll want to make you furious. I’ll want all of you, at the same place at once.” His mouth is straight like a new horizon; he’s serious. I fumble through my cravings, my doubts, those red nights and the monsters hiding in the corners. I think of Silas and my putrid veins, what will continue haunting me wherever I go.
“There’s nothing holding you back.” Silas states more than argues.
I watch the neon sign above falter then fade out.
“Nothing but my fears.”