Mysterious Skin - I Wish I Was (11/15)
Title: I Wish I Was (11/15)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Pairings/Characters: Eric, Brian, Neil, OC Julian, Wendy, OC Jay, EricxBrian, WendyxOCJay
Rating: light R
Warnings:language, mentions of abuse, drug abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Brian's not through with Neil. Neil's not through destroying himself.
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Chapter 11
(Eric Preston)
We barely stopped driving. We only made detours to grab food we could eat on the way or to take a piss or to get gasoline. Most of the time we'd stop at a gas station so we could get all three at the same time. Brian had been eerily silent through the hours and hours, though I figured he must have just run out of things to talk about. I didn't mind because I was still floating on air from the night before.
I did feel a little bad for taking that kiss when he'd been so drunk and unaware, but he had given it to me, and I couldn't help but be pleased.
After a while we both grew tired of the same cassette tapes, so Brian started shifting through radio stations, hoping to pick up on something. There wasn't much to choose from in the middle of nowhere, so after some effort, we decided to listen to silence.
Silence didn't last too long because Brian started humming. I recognized the tune and cut in singing, horribly off-key, "Oh, life is bigger, it's bigger than you and you are not me…"
Brian smirked a little at that and joined in, though he muddled the beginning since he couldn't remember all the words. "…that I will go, the distance in your eyes… Oh, no I've said too much… I set it up."
If I remembered correctly, the song was a love song. "That's me in the corner. That's me in the spotlight, losing my religion." Yeah, it was definitely a love song… about a love I didn't quite have, so it was no wonder I knew every word. "Trying to keep up with you, and I don't know if I can do it…"
He chimed in, seeming to remember, "Oh, no, I've said too much. I haven't said enough."
"I thought that I heard you laughing. I thought that I heard you sing…"
"I uh-think I thought I saw you try."
It was unfortunate that he didn't really know the words because he was a much better singer than I was. Neither of us were great, but I was just hilariously bad. "Every whisper of every waking hour, I'm choosing my confessions. Trying to keep an eye on you, like a hurt, lost, and blinded fool… Oh, no, I've said too much. I've set it up."
"Consider this, consider this the… hint of the century, consider this the slip that brought me to my knees, failed," he wasn't paying attention to the words unless they were the ones he could barely remember, peppering on his best impression of Michael Stipe, which was absolutely adorable. Brian was so innocent; he probably didn't even know what it felt like to have a crush on anyone. He didn't know what it felt like to be absolutely maddeningly crazy about someone. It was a little bit of a shame, though admittedly for me it seemed to be more of hindrance than anything…
But, hey, I'd gotten that kiss…
I sang, "Oh, no, I've said too much."
"That's not where that goes."
"Oh, my mistake."
(Neil McCormick)
"I don't like you," I said.
"Yeah, figured that out pretty quickly," Sid Vicious-wannabe said, biting down on his cigarette and twirling a line of bandages around my arm. "I don't know if it was the 'fuck off' in the café or the way you screamed at me the other day, but hey, maybe I'm just good at reading people."
I grunted, trying to squirm away from him. I didn't like being in the bathroom. It reminded me too much of that night in Brighton Beach.
"So, what's the significance of the word anyway? Not what I would have carved into my arm."
"None of your fucking business."
He shrugged, stepping back to observe his handiwork, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "You know, Wendy told me to call her and tell her if anything happened. I'm pretty sure this qualifies as anything."
"Fuck you."
Julian… was that his name?... shrugged again. "You can't stop me from calling her. Do you need me to get all the knives and shit out of the house so you don't go killing yourself? I may have to take the bed sheets too."
I glared him down with as much strength as I could muster.
"Ooh, the angry eyes. Now I feel threatened," he said sarcastically. "Hate to break it to you, McCormick, but a faggot suffering from withdrawal isn't really high on my list of fears."
I jumped to my feet then and slammed him against the wall. I was seeing red again, only this time it was all in my head, and I was so pissed I was ready to kill him. "I don't need your fucking help, but even more I don't need your fucking attitude! If you want to talk shit to me, you'd better be higher on the list of people I give a fuck about! You say another goddamned word, and I'll make sure you remember that much, and God damn it, you'd better feel threatened!"
He stammered a little, and I realized he couldn't talk back because I'd pressed my arm across his throat. I stepped back, breathing heavily through my nose, and I felt somewhat lightheaded and sat back down on the toilet.
He coughed a little, rubbing his throat. "Okay. I get it," he sputtered through coughs and gasps for air. "You mean business. Sorry. Jesus, what made you so fucking defensive?"
"Just go. Call Wendy or don't. I don't fucking care." I was exhausted. I'd used up all my energy on that jackass…
"I really don't know if I should leave you here by yourself right now."
"Get out. We're not friends. What happens to me is none of your business."
"Yeah, but I actually kind of like Wendy, and I really like that Jay lets me live with him, so I have to kind of really like Wendy… So, what happens to you is, very unfortunately, my business. Jay volunteered us both to come make sure you were still alive every hour or so, and that's why I'm here. No, we're not friends. In fact, I think you're annoying as fuck, and I don't even know why she's friends with you or why anyone would be."
"I don't know either."
And I was back to that again, apparently.
He didn't get silent and wary and worried like Wendy did. He rolled his eyes. "Don't know why you think you can drag me into your pity party, but you can't. I'm not gonna feel sorry for you, and I'm not gonna buy you coke. Deal with it yourself. This is retarded. I'm done."
He left me standing in the bathroom doorway, staring after him, and I had that weird feeling I'd had that day Brian left my room. I kind of wished he would come back.
Surprisingly enough, he did, a couple of hours later, muttering curse words under his breath while he placed his palm against my forehead to check for fever while I pretended to be asleep.
(Brian Lackey)
We were both wiped out by the time we reached Harrisburg. Eric almost fell asleep in the spaghetti he'd ordered from the cheap faux-Italian restaurant we were at, and I could have shared the same sentiment if I hadn't dozed in the car a couple of times.
"Holding up okay?" I asked him after his head momentarily tilted forward to touch his chin to his chest.
"Uh… yeah, yeah, I'm just… yeah, I'm fine," he said, voice already dreamy.
"I can drive to the hotel."
He extended his arm to me. "Here, twist my arm," he joked, and I did. "Okay, you can drive."
I chuckled, and he gave a sleepy impersonation of a laugh. "So…" I said, picking at the little bit of food left on my plate. "New York tomorrow, huh…"
"Yep," he nodded, leaning his cheek on his fist. "You ready?"
"…I don't know…" I admitted. "I have to be honest with you; I still don't really know what to say. I thought I was so sure about it that night I decided to go, but… everything… It's so different now."
"Well, what did you want to say to him before?"
I shrugged. "I don't really remember… I was really angry then. I guess I just wanted to… understand."
"Understand what exactly?"
"Why he's such a jerk and how he can possibly not care about what happened…" I didn't mean to sound so bitter, but I couldn't help it. Maybe I was still a little angry at him after all… Maybe I just hated him. Both seemed likely.
"Neil's always been like that, at least as long as I've known him. Wendy says he has a big black hole where his heart's supposed to be, and I think that she's totally right. Neil is pretty much incapable of feeling anything for anyone but himself. I guess it comes with the job."
"He wasn't always a… you know…" I looked around at the other restaurant patrons. They didn't notice. "I mean, I can't say I knew him really well or anything when he was a kid, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't much different… I mean, he- he…" I felt all of the badness come bubbling back up, so I stopped myself midsentence.
Eric grasped my hand and squeezed it to give me self-assurance. "Just speak from your heart. If he doesn't listen, then he doesn't listen. All that you can do is try."
"I'd hate to think we wasted all this time and money just because-"
"Not a single second of this trip was wasted!" he exclaimed, seeming to find some energy reserve from somewhere inside of him. "You're healing, and I don't think this would have been able to happen if you'd been back at home. I'm so grateful for this trip. I don't regret one single moment."
I paused, glancing down at the hand that was still there on top of mine, unabashedly lingering… and I found that I didn't mind in the slightest because it was so innocent, just like grade-schoolers on the playground. Eric had long fingers, and he took care of his nails. He had pretty hands, not like my nail-bitten, pale fingers.
"You're right," I said then, adjusting my glasses. "I don't regret any of it either… except for maybe all that wine. I probably shouldn't have drunk so much. I don't remember anything about that."
"We danced like fools, and you threw up on my boots," he said too quickly for it to be the whole truth, and for some reason, he blushed.
"Sorry about that," was all I said in response.
When we got back to the hotel, we collapsed into the mattress. Somehow during the night, we got tangled together in some sort of haphazard embrace, his nose buried in my hair, and it was just… nice. I was content with sleeping like that for hours, or at least until his arm went numb underneath my pillow and he mumbled and moved it.
(Wendy Peterson)
Julian came into my work looking worn out, and I saw a slight bruise on his throat where his usual collar had been.
I didn't have to ask because he came right to me and said, "Your friend is a fucking psychopath. You're aware of this, aren't you?"
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Well, I didn't give this bruise to myself," he grumbled, slumping into a stool. "When I went by there a couple hours ago, I found him with a piece of glass to his arm. I bandaged him up, and then he threw me against the wall and tried to choke me."
I stared at him for a long moment, and after that he averted his gaze. "I… may have provoked him… a little… but not enough for him to fucking strangle me!"
Jay had warned me that Julian was a bit of a hot-head. I didn't care about that. "He was cutting himself?" I asked, horrified.
"S-sorta… I mean, he wasn't going in deep or anything, just kind of running over the surface. I doubt it'll scar. I bandaged him up, and when I checked on him again he was asleep, so he's… fine's not the right word. I got rid of all the glass though, and Jay said he'd check on him in about an hour. Sucks that you can't just get a second off to go check on him yourself."
"I've been working double shifts just to cover rent, with his lack of input." I rubbed the bridge of my nose, sighing. "Also, you're rambling. As long as he's okay, I'm okay. You got rid of anything sharp?"
"Took it all back to my place. That doesn't mean the prick won't find some other way to…" he trailed off when he saw the look on my face. "Sorry."
I poured him a cup of coffee and handed it over. "I appreciate the help. I just can't do it all on my own, but he refused to go to a clinic. Said he could do it himself."
"You need to stop listening to that dirt bag. What's the significance of the word 'slut'?"
His question caught me off guard, so I was left stammering for a second. After that second, all I could say was, "What?"
He wet his lips and averted his eyes the way he always did when he didn't want to admit something, sipping on the coffee. "He carved it into his arm."
"I… I don't know what it means…" I managed to say, and the worst part was that it was the truth. Sure, Neil was a hustler, a prostitute, a glorified (or maybe not) whore. He'd never seemed to have a problem with it before. It was nearly possible that the mark he'd carved into his arm was in some warped sense of glory… but the sick feeling that pooled in my gut led me to believe that my intuition knew otherwise. Why that version of the word? Why in scratches and not in ink? Why at all, mostly, but I couldn't figure it out.
I realized I'd been staring into space for a good thirty seconds and dropped my eyes to prevent it from continuing. "Listen…" I told him quietly so that no one else in the place could hear. "Neil… he… he's a hustler, or he was in the past."
"Yeah. Figured that out when you yelled at him about 'hustling again' after he told you he sucked some guy's cock in the parking lot."
Subtle, Julian was not.
I formed my mouth into a hard line, hesitating. "Well, he was never ashamed of his line of work. In fact, he was sickeningly proud of it."
"In Neil McCormick's head, Neil McCormick can only do great things," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Why are you friends with him? Even he doesn't know."
I tried to shake off the memory of that 'I don't know' and continued. "You're not listening to me. Why would he put that word in his arm if he wasn't bothered by it?"
He shrugged. "Ask him. I doubt he'll tell you though."
I sagged, feeling lost. I wished Jay was there instead of Julian because at least Jay attempted to support me.
Julian noticed this and offered weakly, "maybe he just realized how fucked up it is."
"As fucked up as he is on the inside, hustling looks pretty tame," I replied bitterly. "Drink your damn coffee."
"Yes, ma'am," he teased, grinning all of his teeth at me.
I met up with Jay at the door to the apartment. "How is he?" I asked.
He stepped aside to let me in, and I found Neil watching television with his knees up to his chest. He looked like a ghost in the blue light of the television, especially with the tales-from-the-crypt look on his face.
"He's been eating," Jay offered, but then added, "but he's been throwing it all up." I looked back at him and noticed the tremors.
I sat down next to him and placed a hand against his back. I was almost surprised that he turned to look at me. "It's about time someone I actually like got here," he mumbled. "Stop sending your boyfriend and his fuck-buddy to check on me. I hate them." He laid his head on my shoulder and sighed through his nose.
"Thanks," I said to Jay who shrugged and kissed my forehead.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Neil made a gross noise in his throat, even though Jay's statement had been directed at me. After the door shut, I grumbled, "Did you have to do that?"
"Not really," he replied. "I don't hate him so bad. At least he's fucking quiet… except he's always asking if I'm okay. Do I look like I'm fucking okay?"
"Julian told me that your cut yourself," I said instead of answering his question because it was a stupid one. Of course he didn't look okay. "Why?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to focus on something other than the fact that I don't have any fucking coke."
"Why did you carve that word into your arm?"
"It seemed appropriate."
"Why?"
"Because it's what I am, and I deserve it."
I asked him what he meant by that, but he had zoned out. They were playing an old black and white movie on the television… Casablanca. I had never been much for the old style of films, preferring something bloody and exciting, but…
"Play it, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By'," said the girl on screen.
"Why, I can't remember it, Miss Ilsa. I'm a little rusty on it," said the man, apparently Sam.
"I'll hum it for you," apparently Ilsa said and did so.
Eventually he started singing it. "You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, the fundamental things apply… as time goes by… and when two lovers woo, they still say, 'I love you', on that you can't rely… No matter what the future brings… as time goes by…"
Neil hated himself. He didn't know how to love.
I cried silently and hoped he didn't notice.
Of course he didn't. He was barely awake against my shoulder, mumbling to himself.
The worst part was… that there was nothing that I could do to fix it.
Maybe he really was better off dead...
I cursed myself for thinking that.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Pairings/Characters: Eric, Brian, Neil, OC Julian, Wendy, OC Jay, EricxBrian, WendyxOCJay
Rating: light R
Warnings:language, mentions of abuse, drug abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Brian's not through with Neil. Neil's not through destroying himself.
Read
Chapter 11
(Eric Preston)
We barely stopped driving. We only made detours to grab food we could eat on the way or to take a piss or to get gasoline. Most of the time we'd stop at a gas station so we could get all three at the same time. Brian had been eerily silent through the hours and hours, though I figured he must have just run out of things to talk about. I didn't mind because I was still floating on air from the night before.
I did feel a little bad for taking that kiss when he'd been so drunk and unaware, but he had given it to me, and I couldn't help but be pleased.
After a while we both grew tired of the same cassette tapes, so Brian started shifting through radio stations, hoping to pick up on something. There wasn't much to choose from in the middle of nowhere, so after some effort, we decided to listen to silence.
Silence didn't last too long because Brian started humming. I recognized the tune and cut in singing, horribly off-key, "Oh, life is bigger, it's bigger than you and you are not me…"
Brian smirked a little at that and joined in, though he muddled the beginning since he couldn't remember all the words. "…that I will go, the distance in your eyes… Oh, no I've said too much… I set it up."
If I remembered correctly, the song was a love song. "That's me in the corner. That's me in the spotlight, losing my religion." Yeah, it was definitely a love song… about a love I didn't quite have, so it was no wonder I knew every word. "Trying to keep up with you, and I don't know if I can do it…"
He chimed in, seeming to remember, "Oh, no, I've said too much. I haven't said enough."
"I thought that I heard you laughing. I thought that I heard you sing…"
"I uh-think I thought I saw you try."
It was unfortunate that he didn't really know the words because he was a much better singer than I was. Neither of us were great, but I was just hilariously bad. "Every whisper of every waking hour, I'm choosing my confessions. Trying to keep an eye on you, like a hurt, lost, and blinded fool… Oh, no, I've said too much. I've set it up."
"Consider this, consider this the… hint of the century, consider this the slip that brought me to my knees, failed," he wasn't paying attention to the words unless they were the ones he could barely remember, peppering on his best impression of Michael Stipe, which was absolutely adorable. Brian was so innocent; he probably didn't even know what it felt like to have a crush on anyone. He didn't know what it felt like to be absolutely maddeningly crazy about someone. It was a little bit of a shame, though admittedly for me it seemed to be more of hindrance than anything…
But, hey, I'd gotten that kiss…
I sang, "Oh, no, I've said too much."
"That's not where that goes."
"Oh, my mistake."
(Neil McCormick)
"I don't like you," I said.
"Yeah, figured that out pretty quickly," Sid Vicious-wannabe said, biting down on his cigarette and twirling a line of bandages around my arm. "I don't know if it was the 'fuck off' in the café or the way you screamed at me the other day, but hey, maybe I'm just good at reading people."
I grunted, trying to squirm away from him. I didn't like being in the bathroom. It reminded me too much of that night in Brighton Beach.
"So, what's the significance of the word anyway? Not what I would have carved into my arm."
"None of your fucking business."
He shrugged, stepping back to observe his handiwork, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "You know, Wendy told me to call her and tell her if anything happened. I'm pretty sure this qualifies as anything."
"Fuck you."
Julian… was that his name?... shrugged again. "You can't stop me from calling her. Do you need me to get all the knives and shit out of the house so you don't go killing yourself? I may have to take the bed sheets too."
I glared him down with as much strength as I could muster.
"Ooh, the angry eyes. Now I feel threatened," he said sarcastically. "Hate to break it to you, McCormick, but a faggot suffering from withdrawal isn't really high on my list of fears."
I jumped to my feet then and slammed him against the wall. I was seeing red again, only this time it was all in my head, and I was so pissed I was ready to kill him. "I don't need your fucking help, but even more I don't need your fucking attitude! If you want to talk shit to me, you'd better be higher on the list of people I give a fuck about! You say another goddamned word, and I'll make sure you remember that much, and God damn it, you'd better feel threatened!"
He stammered a little, and I realized he couldn't talk back because I'd pressed my arm across his throat. I stepped back, breathing heavily through my nose, and I felt somewhat lightheaded and sat back down on the toilet.
He coughed a little, rubbing his throat. "Okay. I get it," he sputtered through coughs and gasps for air. "You mean business. Sorry. Jesus, what made you so fucking defensive?"
"Just go. Call Wendy or don't. I don't fucking care." I was exhausted. I'd used up all my energy on that jackass…
"I really don't know if I should leave you here by yourself right now."
"Get out. We're not friends. What happens to me is none of your business."
"Yeah, but I actually kind of like Wendy, and I really like that Jay lets me live with him, so I have to kind of really like Wendy… So, what happens to you is, very unfortunately, my business. Jay volunteered us both to come make sure you were still alive every hour or so, and that's why I'm here. No, we're not friends. In fact, I think you're annoying as fuck, and I don't even know why she's friends with you or why anyone would be."
"I don't know either."
And I was back to that again, apparently.
He didn't get silent and wary and worried like Wendy did. He rolled his eyes. "Don't know why you think you can drag me into your pity party, but you can't. I'm not gonna feel sorry for you, and I'm not gonna buy you coke. Deal with it yourself. This is retarded. I'm done."
He left me standing in the bathroom doorway, staring after him, and I had that weird feeling I'd had that day Brian left my room. I kind of wished he would come back.
Surprisingly enough, he did, a couple of hours later, muttering curse words under his breath while he placed his palm against my forehead to check for fever while I pretended to be asleep.
(Brian Lackey)
We were both wiped out by the time we reached Harrisburg. Eric almost fell asleep in the spaghetti he'd ordered from the cheap faux-Italian restaurant we were at, and I could have shared the same sentiment if I hadn't dozed in the car a couple of times.
"Holding up okay?" I asked him after his head momentarily tilted forward to touch his chin to his chest.
"Uh… yeah, yeah, I'm just… yeah, I'm fine," he said, voice already dreamy.
"I can drive to the hotel."
He extended his arm to me. "Here, twist my arm," he joked, and I did. "Okay, you can drive."
I chuckled, and he gave a sleepy impersonation of a laugh. "So…" I said, picking at the little bit of food left on my plate. "New York tomorrow, huh…"
"Yep," he nodded, leaning his cheek on his fist. "You ready?"
"…I don't know…" I admitted. "I have to be honest with you; I still don't really know what to say. I thought I was so sure about it that night I decided to go, but… everything… It's so different now."
"Well, what did you want to say to him before?"
I shrugged. "I don't really remember… I was really angry then. I guess I just wanted to… understand."
"Understand what exactly?"
"Why he's such a jerk and how he can possibly not care about what happened…" I didn't mean to sound so bitter, but I couldn't help it. Maybe I was still a little angry at him after all… Maybe I just hated him. Both seemed likely.
"Neil's always been like that, at least as long as I've known him. Wendy says he has a big black hole where his heart's supposed to be, and I think that she's totally right. Neil is pretty much incapable of feeling anything for anyone but himself. I guess it comes with the job."
"He wasn't always a… you know…" I looked around at the other restaurant patrons. They didn't notice. "I mean, I can't say I knew him really well or anything when he was a kid, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't much different… I mean, he- he…" I felt all of the badness come bubbling back up, so I stopped myself midsentence.
Eric grasped my hand and squeezed it to give me self-assurance. "Just speak from your heart. If he doesn't listen, then he doesn't listen. All that you can do is try."
"I'd hate to think we wasted all this time and money just because-"
"Not a single second of this trip was wasted!" he exclaimed, seeming to find some energy reserve from somewhere inside of him. "You're healing, and I don't think this would have been able to happen if you'd been back at home. I'm so grateful for this trip. I don't regret one single moment."
I paused, glancing down at the hand that was still there on top of mine, unabashedly lingering… and I found that I didn't mind in the slightest because it was so innocent, just like grade-schoolers on the playground. Eric had long fingers, and he took care of his nails. He had pretty hands, not like my nail-bitten, pale fingers.
"You're right," I said then, adjusting my glasses. "I don't regret any of it either… except for maybe all that wine. I probably shouldn't have drunk so much. I don't remember anything about that."
"We danced like fools, and you threw up on my boots," he said too quickly for it to be the whole truth, and for some reason, he blushed.
"Sorry about that," was all I said in response.
When we got back to the hotel, we collapsed into the mattress. Somehow during the night, we got tangled together in some sort of haphazard embrace, his nose buried in my hair, and it was just… nice. I was content with sleeping like that for hours, or at least until his arm went numb underneath my pillow and he mumbled and moved it.
(Wendy Peterson)
Julian came into my work looking worn out, and I saw a slight bruise on his throat where his usual collar had been.
I didn't have to ask because he came right to me and said, "Your friend is a fucking psychopath. You're aware of this, aren't you?"
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Well, I didn't give this bruise to myself," he grumbled, slumping into a stool. "When I went by there a couple hours ago, I found him with a piece of glass to his arm. I bandaged him up, and then he threw me against the wall and tried to choke me."
I stared at him for a long moment, and after that he averted his gaze. "I… may have provoked him… a little… but not enough for him to fucking strangle me!"
Jay had warned me that Julian was a bit of a hot-head. I didn't care about that. "He was cutting himself?" I asked, horrified.
"S-sorta… I mean, he wasn't going in deep or anything, just kind of running over the surface. I doubt it'll scar. I bandaged him up, and when I checked on him again he was asleep, so he's… fine's not the right word. I got rid of all the glass though, and Jay said he'd check on him in about an hour. Sucks that you can't just get a second off to go check on him yourself."
"I've been working double shifts just to cover rent, with his lack of input." I rubbed the bridge of my nose, sighing. "Also, you're rambling. As long as he's okay, I'm okay. You got rid of anything sharp?"
"Took it all back to my place. That doesn't mean the prick won't find some other way to…" he trailed off when he saw the look on my face. "Sorry."
I poured him a cup of coffee and handed it over. "I appreciate the help. I just can't do it all on my own, but he refused to go to a clinic. Said he could do it himself."
"You need to stop listening to that dirt bag. What's the significance of the word 'slut'?"
His question caught me off guard, so I was left stammering for a second. After that second, all I could say was, "What?"
He wet his lips and averted his eyes the way he always did when he didn't want to admit something, sipping on the coffee. "He carved it into his arm."
"I… I don't know what it means…" I managed to say, and the worst part was that it was the truth. Sure, Neil was a hustler, a prostitute, a glorified (or maybe not) whore. He'd never seemed to have a problem with it before. It was nearly possible that the mark he'd carved into his arm was in some warped sense of glory… but the sick feeling that pooled in my gut led me to believe that my intuition knew otherwise. Why that version of the word? Why in scratches and not in ink? Why at all, mostly, but I couldn't figure it out.
I realized I'd been staring into space for a good thirty seconds and dropped my eyes to prevent it from continuing. "Listen…" I told him quietly so that no one else in the place could hear. "Neil… he… he's a hustler, or he was in the past."
"Yeah. Figured that out when you yelled at him about 'hustling again' after he told you he sucked some guy's cock in the parking lot."
Subtle, Julian was not.
I formed my mouth into a hard line, hesitating. "Well, he was never ashamed of his line of work. In fact, he was sickeningly proud of it."
"In Neil McCormick's head, Neil McCormick can only do great things," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Why are you friends with him? Even he doesn't know."
I tried to shake off the memory of that 'I don't know' and continued. "You're not listening to me. Why would he put that word in his arm if he wasn't bothered by it?"
He shrugged. "Ask him. I doubt he'll tell you though."
I sagged, feeling lost. I wished Jay was there instead of Julian because at least Jay attempted to support me.
Julian noticed this and offered weakly, "maybe he just realized how fucked up it is."
"As fucked up as he is on the inside, hustling looks pretty tame," I replied bitterly. "Drink your damn coffee."
"Yes, ma'am," he teased, grinning all of his teeth at me.
I met up with Jay at the door to the apartment. "How is he?" I asked.
He stepped aside to let me in, and I found Neil watching television with his knees up to his chest. He looked like a ghost in the blue light of the television, especially with the tales-from-the-crypt look on his face.
"He's been eating," Jay offered, but then added, "but he's been throwing it all up." I looked back at him and noticed the tremors.
I sat down next to him and placed a hand against his back. I was almost surprised that he turned to look at me. "It's about time someone I actually like got here," he mumbled. "Stop sending your boyfriend and his fuck-buddy to check on me. I hate them." He laid his head on my shoulder and sighed through his nose.
"Thanks," I said to Jay who shrugged and kissed my forehead.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Neil made a gross noise in his throat, even though Jay's statement had been directed at me. After the door shut, I grumbled, "Did you have to do that?"
"Not really," he replied. "I don't hate him so bad. At least he's fucking quiet… except he's always asking if I'm okay. Do I look like I'm fucking okay?"
"Julian told me that your cut yourself," I said instead of answering his question because it was a stupid one. Of course he didn't look okay. "Why?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to focus on something other than the fact that I don't have any fucking coke."
"Why did you carve that word into your arm?"
"It seemed appropriate."
"Why?"
"Because it's what I am, and I deserve it."
I asked him what he meant by that, but he had zoned out. They were playing an old black and white movie on the television… Casablanca. I had never been much for the old style of films, preferring something bloody and exciting, but…
"Play it, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By'," said the girl on screen.
"Why, I can't remember it, Miss Ilsa. I'm a little rusty on it," said the man, apparently Sam.
"I'll hum it for you," apparently Ilsa said and did so.
Eventually he started singing it. "You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, the fundamental things apply… as time goes by… and when two lovers woo, they still say, 'I love you', on that you can't rely… No matter what the future brings… as time goes by…"
Neil hated himself. He didn't know how to love.
I cried silently and hoped he didn't notice.
Of course he didn't. He was barely awake against my shoulder, mumbling to himself.
The worst part was… that there was nothing that I could do to fix it.
Maybe he really was better off dead...
I cursed myself for thinking that.