Summer Days - Day 4
Title: Summer Days - Day 4
Rating: R (for topic, see warnings)
Genre: AU, H/C
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: angst, slight voyeurism, Mentions of: prostitution, past drugs
Word Count: ~ 3700
Disclaimer: The events described in this story are purely fictional.
A/N: Part of Summer Days
Summary: Going from one extreme to another isn't always easy, even if you think you're trading it in for something better.
Summer Days
"If you are going through hell, keep going."
~ Winston Churchill
Day 4
Jensen
Cicadas cry loudly into the night. Chirr… chirr… chirr… endless, repetitive noises. Right fucking outside his window. He stares at it, wearily. Restless. He’s hot, feeling feverish. It’s one of these nights. When something inside him remembers. Aches for a hit for no reason. He sighs, kicks at his covers, but they’re gone already. Kicked to the floor hours before. Forcing his aching body to move, he rolls onto his back. Stares into the blurry darkness around him.
Over the door his clock reads 3 something. Past 30 or so. It’s a glow in the dark skull. Kinda fitting, Jensen thinks. Jared doesn’t, but he bought it for him, anyway. Said it’s his decision.
In its eyes, the date blinks red. It’s Friday, already. His eigth day at Jared’s. In this time, he’s had five of these bad nights. He thought it’d be better, here. He’d be better, now that he’s clean. As clean as he can be. But everything’s just washing over him in waves. Good times, bad times. Emotions he’s not sure where to put.
He looks out into the night. Drums his fingers on his bare torso. Traces his fingers over track marks and scars. No more bruises from too tight grips, from beating, brutal hands, though. At least. No more of that pain. Never again, is what Jared’s promising him.
He trails his hand down. His thumb over the waistband of his boxers. It says Calvin Klein in grey writing on the black elastic band. Size M, but they’re loose. Jared said he’s gonna need that size, though, for when he gets back to a healthy weight. He guesses his stomach is kinda sunken. Concave, Jared and the doctors called it.
Sighing he rolls back onto his side. Faces the wall. Jared’s on the other side. He wonders if he’s sleeping. Hopes he is. He’s gotta get up for work in a few hours. Just like he had to yesterday and the day before and the day before that.
A knot in his gut tightens. Jensen grits his teeth. Curls in on himself, but it doesn’t go away. Cursing under his breath, he swings his feet off the bed and sits up. Shoves his glasses onto his nose. Maybe a glass of water… Maybe… In the darkness, his hands find the black velvet shirt. He always keeps it out on a hanger. It’s too hot for it, but he puts it on anyway. Feels better when it brushes over his skin. He brings the sleeves up to his face. It doesn’t smell of Jared anymore. But it helps him remember how Jared smells. Helps him remember something good. Something better than… than everything.
He exits his room. Tells himself he’s going for the kitchen. But he stops at Jared’s room. Finds the door is open. He steps into the doorway. Looks inside. The room isn’t much different than his. But it’s still much nicer here. The breeze that goes through the window is cool. The cicadas are singing quietly. Moonlight tints the furniture a pretty blue instead of a dull grey. Jared’s sleeping on his belly. The light, white linen has skidded down to his knees. The color of milk against his cocoa tan. He’s naked.
Jensen’s fingers claw at his elbows. He gnaws at his lip. His feet twitch. He likes what he sees. Likes where the moonlight bounces off of Jared’s body.
“Uhm…” he mumbles. Then takes a step into the room. Then another. Jared doesn’t stir. His face is relaxed. His hair fans out softly where it reaches the pillow.
Slowly, Jensen inches to the bench press. Sits down. Plays with the seam of his shirt. Presses one end of the collar over his nose and mouth. But keeps his eyes firmly on Jared. Trails them over his arms and shoulders. Down the curve of his back, to where the moonlight cups the rounded hill of his butt. It looks smooth and taut. And tight.
He bites down into the fabric of his shirt when his dick starts to harden. It’s a bit weird to have it happen without someone probing him. But he feels good with it for once. Tentatively, he lets go of his black velvet shirt with one hand. Bends forward slightly and cups himself through his boxers. Spreads his legs a little further until his hand palms his cock entirely. He rubs himself for a bit. Enjoys the moment. But he stops before he comes. He doesn’t wanna risk getting some of the AIDS on Jared’s floor.
Breathing deeply into his shirt, he remains seated until Jared suddenly shifts. It startles him so badly he’s out the room on shaky knees before he realizes it.
Jared
The laminate floor creaks under his sock clad feet. Lived in and familiar. The world still quiet, Jared feels like everything’s only slowly waking up around him. He stops in the hallway. Takes a look at the pictures lining one side of the wall. Over half a dozen framed photographs of his family, his friends and him. But there’s one empty spot left. A spot that’ll remain empty forever. His brother used to say that to tease him when he hung those pictures. By now Josh’s just mocking him with it.
Jared sighs. Using his reflection in one of the frames, he straightens his tie. Glances at his watch. He’s got time for a quiet cup of coffee before he has to leave. One last glimpse into Jensen’s room, beforehand though. Just to check in on him. Or so he tells himself.
As quiet as he can be, he steps through the open door. Everything is still in Jensen’s room. Even the air. His window is closed, the curtains drawn. Only that creepy clock is awake, ticking away steadily over the doorway.
Slowly Jared makes his way towards the bed. Jensen’s curled up on his side. Blanket pulled up to his chin. His eyes are closed, his mouth is slightly agape. Soft puffs of air dent his pillow cover on every exhale. But he doesn’t seem to have the benefit of a restorative rest. His features are drawn. Lines have formed around his eyes, across his forehead. White knuckled fingers form a tight grip on the bed cover.
Gingerly, Jared sits down on the edge. “Can’t catch a break, huh?” He mumbles. Softly brushes the back of his fingers over Jensen’s temple. Little by little, the tension eases from Jensen’s sleeping face. Then his eyelids flutter. Jensen’s long lashes softly tickle Jared’s fingers, before he pulls his hand back.
“Huh?” Jensen breathes. Blinks sleepily up at him.
Jared smiles, lopsided. “Hey,” he whispers. “You looked like you had a bad dream. How are you feeling?”
“Uhm…” Jensen mumbles. “Dunno…”
Worried, he feels Jensen’s forehead. “Do you want me to stay?”
At that Jensen smiles, leans into the touch. “Yeah,” he mumbles. But then he sighs, turns his face into the pillow. “But jus’ cause…” he mumbles.
A lump forms in Jared’s throat. He closes his eyes for a moment, nods slowly. Wishes he could have taken some more time off. But live has to go on. He squeezes Jensen’s shoulder through the cover. “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”
A faint nod. Then, “When do ya’ gotta leave?”
“In about twenty minutes,” he says. “Why?”
But Jensen doesn’t respond. Just sneaks one hand from his cocoon. Jared spots the cuff of his black velvet shirt, as bony fingers wrap in a tight grip around his wrist.
“Jus’ for a little while,” Jensen mumbles. His eyes have slipped shut again.
Jared smiles softly. At first. Then his breath catches. Jensen isn’t just holding on. He’s feeling his pulse.
Jensen
There’s not much to do with Jared at work. So he does what he always does when four empty walls just become too much. He goes out.
Earplugs in his ears, his mp3 player on a loop. Same song for the better part of the week. The display reads Dead Memories but it doesn’t say from which band. He’s been meaning to check it on the internet but keeps forgetting. His mind’s not always with him. Not always the one calling the shots.
Like right now. With Harley and Sadie back at the house, he leaves it to his feet to show the way. He waves hello to a grandma four houses down. He’s seen her before. She’s out every morning, watching the grass grow. She never waves back. But he knows she’s not blind. He saw her greet Jared once. At the corner he spots Mr. Eichberg. Knobby legs in faded shorts. Broad, leather skinned arms crossed over a barrel-like torso. He’s working on his house again. ‘s what Jared says he’s doing. Jensen’s only ever seen him watch the paint dry. If ya’ ask him, it’s been dry for a very, very long time. It’s looking like the last few day’s ‘ve been feeling. Cracked and sun bleached. No drop of fluid left.
He touches his lips as he watches Eichberg light himself a cigarette. Behind him, a honk. He flinches, throws a glance over his shoulder. There’s a bus, swerving past a mini-van that’s unloading furniture. Jensen’s feet start running. The bus drives past him, but he catches up at the bus stop. Breathless, he tosses out some change, gets a ticket and drops into an empty bench. Slides up to the window, rests his head against it. Lips parted, eyes closed, he waits for his heart to calm down.
As the bus fills, he sticks to the wall. Makes sure there’s enough room for someone else on the bench. But no one takes the seat next to his.
***
He stops by the mall. He‘s been here with Jared last Saturday. The day after he got out of the hospital. Jared got him a bunch of new stuff. Shirts and jeans and whatever, more than he ever had. Jared still says it’s just the basics. He doesn’t complain. In his wallet, he’s got a hundred bucks. Jared gave him the money to spend on anything he wants. ‘Cept drugs. And smokes. The smoking ban sucks a lot more than getting off of H. Might be due to the suboxone or whatsitcalled. It’s like he just switched drugs, but supposedly there’s a point to it. He’ll just have to wait and see if the subox detox will be easier.
Slowly he walks through the halls. He’s nearly alone. Only elders and housewives are out and about. A few of ‘em he saw on the bus.
He stops people watching when a shop window catches his attention. It’s all black. Spotlights on the mannequins. They’re wearing a bunch of cool stuff, lots of plaid shirts like Jared wears ‘em. He wonders if the olive one would suit him. Focuses his eyes on his reflection. Washed out jeans, slung low and held up by a belt. His velvet shirt, sleeves messily hiked up to his elbows. Black and white Chucks on his feet.
In the reflection he also spots a woman. Feels her gaze crawl over him. She scrunches up her nose and he throws a look over his shoulder. For a moment their eyes meet, before hers slam to the ground and she crosses the hall, away from him.
He sighs. Trails his eyes back over his own reflection. Some of the track marks are fading, but lots of ‘em have turned into scars. He brushes one of his marred hands over his head. Through his hair that’s growing back wildly. Across three day stubble on his jaw. He’s skinny, pale. His cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken. He looks like a junkie more than ever. Sighing he turns away from the store. No longer in the mood for clothes shopping. His reflection’s the only person that doesn’t stare at him. But it’s also the only person not going away either. Together with his involuntary companion Jensen heads past glass fronts, bright colors, man-made sunlight and away from wary eyes. Together they reach the first floor. It’s cooler there, more private. He finds the music store that caught his eye the other day. The black Epiphone in the window. It doesn’t care about his past, makes his reflection vanish when he steps closer. The strings look smooth. He can practically feel them against his fingertips, even after all those years. His eyes trail down to the price tag. $399. He sighs. It’s too much. But he enters the store anyway. Picks it up and tries it out. Pretends like he can afford it. He fools no one, though. In the end he spends most of his money on a discounted acoustic guitar and a band shirt.
Jared
He steps into a pile of dog shit. In his own hallway. There’s no greeting. Harley and Sadie are cowering beneath the staircase. Looking ashamed and guilty.
“Jensen?” He calls. Sets down his keys and steps out of his soiled shoes, mindful to not step into the smeared pile again. A wet spot shimmers near by. Another one in the doorway to the kitchen. The excrements smell like they’ve already been breathing air for a while.
“Jensen!” He shouts again. No answer. “Damn it,” he calls. Then, suddenly, faint music notes. From the living room.
“Jensen?!” He calls again. The door is closed. He turns the knob and pushes it open. The smell of cigarette smoke immediately creeps into his nose. On the table he spots the source. A glimmering smoke lies across the rim of a glass. At the bottom several buds are swimming in a left over sip of coke. Jensen still hasn’t noticed him. He’s curled forward. A guitar on his lap. Eyes closed, completely immersed as his fingers dance over the six-string. It takes Jared a moment before he recognizes the song. An acoustic cover of the Metal song Jensen’s been listening to a lot lately. It’s more the lyrics that give it away than anything else. Stunned, he listens to Jensen’s voice.
“…you asked me to love you and I did.
Traded my emotions for a contract to commit.
And when I got away I only got so far.
The other me is dead, I hear his voice inside my head
And we were never alive and we won't be born again.
But I'll never survive with dead memories in my heart…”
A little hoarse, but on key. Filled with emotions that make Jared choke up. But then a hit on the strings goes awry. The note comes out shredded.
“Fuck!” Jensen shouts and curls forward. As he straightens back up, he picks up the smoke. Jared notices his fingers are trembling as Jensen brings it to his lips. His cheeks hollow out into tiny dark abysses as he takes a greedy drag.
A wild mixture of worry, irritation and confusion boils up in Jared’s gut. He sucks in a breath, opens his mouth to speak up, but Jensen beats him to it. With an easy smile, Jensen looks up at him, says, “Oh, hey.” Another drag on the smoke. “You’re back already?”
“I’m actually late,” Jared mumbles, distracted. There’re bloody smudges across Jensen’s lips. A new one is added, when Jensen plucks the cigarette from his lips. Jensen’s fingertips have ripped open. The entire guitar is smeared with bloody prints.
Jared swallows hard. “How long have you been playing?”
“Uh… since I got back from the mall. Like 10 am or so.” He’s still grinning as he drops the stub of his smoke in the glass. Jared watches as it drowns in the mess of coke and ash like at least half a dozen before it.
“The electric guitar was way too expensive,” Jensen says. Drags Jared’s attention back to him. Jensen’s expression is excited. “But Dead Memories still sounds good acoustic. It’s from Slipknot. The store clerk told me. Sold me one of their shirts, too.” He tugs at it, proudly.
Jared stares at the shirt. Nine guys stare back at him, wearing masks one creepier than the other. Now that he sees it, he distantly remembers the band. Never really was his kind of music.
As Jensen lets go of the shirt, a bloody smudge crosses out the singer’s white, faceless mask. “Uhm…” Jensen mumbles. He holds his hands up, inspects them. Jared can see in his eyes when realization hits. “Ow,” Jensen whispers. Trails his eyes over the stained guitar. There’re bloody prints on his pack of smoke, too. Drops and smears on the table, the floor, the couch and his jeans. His blood is everywhere. “Uhm…”
Jared cards a hand through his hair, sighs. Then softly says, “You’ve been playing for 7 hours straight…” He sits down and reaches out for Jensen. But Jensen flinches back, hard. Curls his fingers into tight fists. “No,” he gasps. Eyes wide with panic. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch-” The guitar clatters to the ground, startling Jensen. Jared seizes the moment. He launches forward, wraps an arm around Jensen. Cups the back of his head with the other and pulls him in. Jensen is trembling violently, but he follows. Gingerly, Jared hugs him closer until Jensen’s forehead bumps against his shoulder. Curled up, with his bloody fists pressed tight against his chest, Jensen leans into him. “I… I’m… It…” He rambles, voice hitching. Jared doubts he’s got any idea what he wants to say. But it doesn’t matter. Soothingly, he strokes the back of Jensen’s head. “Don’t worry. We’ll clean this up. It’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.” He hopes he’s not lying.
***
Two hours later Jared’s got his home cleaned of the blood and dog feces. Has walked and fed his dogs. Has patched Jensen’s finger tips and cooked up a quick dinner. Neither of them ate much, though. Too wound up at first, before exhaustion came crashing down on them.
The sun is still shining bright and warm outside. Jared can hear the neighbor kids on their bikes, riding down the street. Carefree, on their way back home. Hungry but happy.
He sighs. Thumbs his head back against the couch. Wishes for life to be that easy again. Jensen shifts between his legs. His elbow digs into Jared’s gut, briefly but hard enough to make him grunt. “Sorry,” Jensen mumbles. Glances up at him. “And ‘m sorry about the dogs, too.”
“I know,” he mumbles. Jensen has said it about a dozen times by now. He looks past him at the TV. They’ve been watching the same program for a while, but Jared couldn’t for the life of him say which show is on. He exhales a deep breath, wraps one arm loosely around Jensen. Curls his hand in Jensen’s black velvet shirt, glad the Slipknot shirt found its way to the wash. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts.
Jensen swallows hard. Averts his face and turns back around in his arms. Rests his back against Jared’s chest, again. “Yeah?” He says, quietly. “Watcha’ been thinking about?”
“You know I have to go to work everyday.”
A beat. Then, faintly, “I know.”
“And I won’t always make it home for lunch, so-”
“’s why I forgot the time, ya’ know?” Jensen suddenly chimes in. “I waited for you.”
“I texted you I wouldn’t make it,” he retorts.
“My phone’s in my room,” Jensen mumbles.
“I figured,” Jared says. He squeezes Jensen tenderly. “I should have called on the land line.” More than that, he should have gotten a hang of how much he can trust Jensen with, by now. But sometimes it’s hard to tell. And sometimes he just forgets Jensen’s not used to the mundane responsibilities of a normal life.
“I didn’t mean to play that long, anyway…” Jensen says. “But I jus’ got really into it. ‘t was fun…”
“I guess it must be pretty boring for you being home alone, then.”
A shrug. Then, “Dunno what to do. ‘ve never lived alone…”
Jared takes a deep breath. This is the point he’s been aiming for. “Then maybe,” he starts, slowly. “Maybe we should find you a group you can go to. Meet other people, who-”
A harsh ‘no’ interrupts him. “I don’t want that.” Jensen curls on his side. Stares at the couch. “Don’t wanna have to talk about Roy and Johnny and all the fuckin’ Johns. Don’t wanna talk about shooting up.” A weary breath. Then Jensen’s eyes crunch up. “Don’t wanna think about it.”
“Jensen-”
“No!”
Jared sighs. “You said it yourself, being home alone is boring.”
“I got a guitar now.”
“Is that all you want to do?”
A snort. “’s not like I can do anything else. I don’t have a job like you.”
“You could go back to school.”
“What for?” Jensen huffs. “At most I finish elementary school before I bite the dust.”
A pang shoots through Jared’s heart. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
Jared swallows hard around a lump. “Like your life’s got no point.”
A dry chuckle. But then Jensen shifts again, turns until they’re front to front. Buries his face against Jared’s chest and asks, “Well, does it?”
“It has a point to me,” Jared says, softly. Squeezes Jensen tightly to him. “I owe you everything. My life, who I’ve become.”
Jensen’s grip around him tightens. Another chuckle, but much lighter this time. “Yeah, right, like I’m some superhero who saved your from a burning building or something.”
“Maybe not a burning building, but from a boring, not to say pointless job and successive a boring, meaningless existence.”
“Still with the fancy words…” Jensen laughs. “Like ten years ago.”
“And you still patiently put up with it,” Jared laughs.
Jensen releases a soft sigh. “We gotta go to a pool sometime again.”
“Definitely.” He curls his fingers around Jensen’s patched up fingertips. “As soon as these are healed up.”
Jensen nods. “But do we haveta stay at home this weekend?”
“No, of course not,” he says. “What do you wanna do? Go watch a movie? Or meet up with Keller or Johansson if they got time?”
“Uhm… I heard you talk to your family on the phone. About how it’s not the right time, yet and all… but… I haven’t even said thank you for the cookies, yet.”
Jared’s stomach drops. He’s got a pretty good idea where this is going. And truly, Jensen says, “maybe we can visit your sister, at least?”
Day 5
Rating: R (for topic, see warnings)
Genre: AU, H/C
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: angst, slight voyeurism, Mentions of: prostitution, past drugs
Word Count: ~ 3700
Disclaimer: The events described in this story are purely fictional.
A/N: Part of Summer Days
Summary: Going from one extreme to another isn't always easy, even if you think you're trading it in for something better.
Summer Days
"If you are going through hell, keep going."
~ Winston Churchill
Day 4
Jensen
Cicadas cry loudly into the night. Chirr… chirr… chirr… endless, repetitive noises. Right fucking outside his window. He stares at it, wearily. Restless. He’s hot, feeling feverish. It’s one of these nights. When something inside him remembers. Aches for a hit for no reason. He sighs, kicks at his covers, but they’re gone already. Kicked to the floor hours before. Forcing his aching body to move, he rolls onto his back. Stares into the blurry darkness around him.
Over the door his clock reads 3 something. Past 30 or so. It’s a glow in the dark skull. Kinda fitting, Jensen thinks. Jared doesn’t, but he bought it for him, anyway. Said it’s his decision.
In its eyes, the date blinks red. It’s Friday, already. His eigth day at Jared’s. In this time, he’s had five of these bad nights. He thought it’d be better, here. He’d be better, now that he’s clean. As clean as he can be. But everything’s just washing over him in waves. Good times, bad times. Emotions he’s not sure where to put.
He looks out into the night. Drums his fingers on his bare torso. Traces his fingers over track marks and scars. No more bruises from too tight grips, from beating, brutal hands, though. At least. No more of that pain. Never again, is what Jared’s promising him.
He trails his hand down. His thumb over the waistband of his boxers. It says Calvin Klein in grey writing on the black elastic band. Size M, but they’re loose. Jared said he’s gonna need that size, though, for when he gets back to a healthy weight. He guesses his stomach is kinda sunken. Concave, Jared and the doctors called it.
Sighing he rolls back onto his side. Faces the wall. Jared’s on the other side. He wonders if he’s sleeping. Hopes he is. He’s gotta get up for work in a few hours. Just like he had to yesterday and the day before and the day before that.
A knot in his gut tightens. Jensen grits his teeth. Curls in on himself, but it doesn’t go away. Cursing under his breath, he swings his feet off the bed and sits up. Shoves his glasses onto his nose. Maybe a glass of water… Maybe… In the darkness, his hands find the black velvet shirt. He always keeps it out on a hanger. It’s too hot for it, but he puts it on anyway. Feels better when it brushes over his skin. He brings the sleeves up to his face. It doesn’t smell of Jared anymore. But it helps him remember how Jared smells. Helps him remember something good. Something better than… than everything.
He exits his room. Tells himself he’s going for the kitchen. But he stops at Jared’s room. Finds the door is open. He steps into the doorway. Looks inside. The room isn’t much different than his. But it’s still much nicer here. The breeze that goes through the window is cool. The cicadas are singing quietly. Moonlight tints the furniture a pretty blue instead of a dull grey. Jared’s sleeping on his belly. The light, white linen has skidded down to his knees. The color of milk against his cocoa tan. He’s naked.
Jensen’s fingers claw at his elbows. He gnaws at his lip. His feet twitch. He likes what he sees. Likes where the moonlight bounces off of Jared’s body.
“Uhm…” he mumbles. Then takes a step into the room. Then another. Jared doesn’t stir. His face is relaxed. His hair fans out softly where it reaches the pillow.
Slowly, Jensen inches to the bench press. Sits down. Plays with the seam of his shirt. Presses one end of the collar over his nose and mouth. But keeps his eyes firmly on Jared. Trails them over his arms and shoulders. Down the curve of his back, to where the moonlight cups the rounded hill of his butt. It looks smooth and taut. And tight.
He bites down into the fabric of his shirt when his dick starts to harden. It’s a bit weird to have it happen without someone probing him. But he feels good with it for once. Tentatively, he lets go of his black velvet shirt with one hand. Bends forward slightly and cups himself through his boxers. Spreads his legs a little further until his hand palms his cock entirely. He rubs himself for a bit. Enjoys the moment. But he stops before he comes. He doesn’t wanna risk getting some of the AIDS on Jared’s floor.
Breathing deeply into his shirt, he remains seated until Jared suddenly shifts. It startles him so badly he’s out the room on shaky knees before he realizes it.
Jared
The laminate floor creaks under his sock clad feet. Lived in and familiar. The world still quiet, Jared feels like everything’s only slowly waking up around him. He stops in the hallway. Takes a look at the pictures lining one side of the wall. Over half a dozen framed photographs of his family, his friends and him. But there’s one empty spot left. A spot that’ll remain empty forever. His brother used to say that to tease him when he hung those pictures. By now Josh’s just mocking him with it.
Jared sighs. Using his reflection in one of the frames, he straightens his tie. Glances at his watch. He’s got time for a quiet cup of coffee before he has to leave. One last glimpse into Jensen’s room, beforehand though. Just to check in on him. Or so he tells himself.
As quiet as he can be, he steps through the open door. Everything is still in Jensen’s room. Even the air. His window is closed, the curtains drawn. Only that creepy clock is awake, ticking away steadily over the doorway.
Slowly Jared makes his way towards the bed. Jensen’s curled up on his side. Blanket pulled up to his chin. His eyes are closed, his mouth is slightly agape. Soft puffs of air dent his pillow cover on every exhale. But he doesn’t seem to have the benefit of a restorative rest. His features are drawn. Lines have formed around his eyes, across his forehead. White knuckled fingers form a tight grip on the bed cover.
Gingerly, Jared sits down on the edge. “Can’t catch a break, huh?” He mumbles. Softly brushes the back of his fingers over Jensen’s temple. Little by little, the tension eases from Jensen’s sleeping face. Then his eyelids flutter. Jensen’s long lashes softly tickle Jared’s fingers, before he pulls his hand back.
“Huh?” Jensen breathes. Blinks sleepily up at him.
Jared smiles, lopsided. “Hey,” he whispers. “You looked like you had a bad dream. How are you feeling?”
“Uhm…” Jensen mumbles. “Dunno…”
Worried, he feels Jensen’s forehead. “Do you want me to stay?”
At that Jensen smiles, leans into the touch. “Yeah,” he mumbles. But then he sighs, turns his face into the pillow. “But jus’ cause…” he mumbles.
A lump forms in Jared’s throat. He closes his eyes for a moment, nods slowly. Wishes he could have taken some more time off. But live has to go on. He squeezes Jensen’s shoulder through the cover. “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”
A faint nod. Then, “When do ya’ gotta leave?”
“In about twenty minutes,” he says. “Why?”
But Jensen doesn’t respond. Just sneaks one hand from his cocoon. Jared spots the cuff of his black velvet shirt, as bony fingers wrap in a tight grip around his wrist.
“Jus’ for a little while,” Jensen mumbles. His eyes have slipped shut again.
Jared smiles softly. At first. Then his breath catches. Jensen isn’t just holding on. He’s feeling his pulse.
Jensen
There’s not much to do with Jared at work. So he does what he always does when four empty walls just become too much. He goes out.
Earplugs in his ears, his mp3 player on a loop. Same song for the better part of the week. The display reads Dead Memories but it doesn’t say from which band. He’s been meaning to check it on the internet but keeps forgetting. His mind’s not always with him. Not always the one calling the shots.
Like right now. With Harley and Sadie back at the house, he leaves it to his feet to show the way. He waves hello to a grandma four houses down. He’s seen her before. She’s out every morning, watching the grass grow. She never waves back. But he knows she’s not blind. He saw her greet Jared once. At the corner he spots Mr. Eichberg. Knobby legs in faded shorts. Broad, leather skinned arms crossed over a barrel-like torso. He’s working on his house again. ‘s what Jared says he’s doing. Jensen’s only ever seen him watch the paint dry. If ya’ ask him, it’s been dry for a very, very long time. It’s looking like the last few day’s ‘ve been feeling. Cracked and sun bleached. No drop of fluid left.
He touches his lips as he watches Eichberg light himself a cigarette. Behind him, a honk. He flinches, throws a glance over his shoulder. There’s a bus, swerving past a mini-van that’s unloading furniture. Jensen’s feet start running. The bus drives past him, but he catches up at the bus stop. Breathless, he tosses out some change, gets a ticket and drops into an empty bench. Slides up to the window, rests his head against it. Lips parted, eyes closed, he waits for his heart to calm down.
As the bus fills, he sticks to the wall. Makes sure there’s enough room for someone else on the bench. But no one takes the seat next to his.
***
He stops by the mall. He‘s been here with Jared last Saturday. The day after he got out of the hospital. Jared got him a bunch of new stuff. Shirts and jeans and whatever, more than he ever had. Jared still says it’s just the basics. He doesn’t complain. In his wallet, he’s got a hundred bucks. Jared gave him the money to spend on anything he wants. ‘Cept drugs. And smokes. The smoking ban sucks a lot more than getting off of H. Might be due to the suboxone or whatsitcalled. It’s like he just switched drugs, but supposedly there’s a point to it. He’ll just have to wait and see if the subox detox will be easier.
Slowly he walks through the halls. He’s nearly alone. Only elders and housewives are out and about. A few of ‘em he saw on the bus.
He stops people watching when a shop window catches his attention. It’s all black. Spotlights on the mannequins. They’re wearing a bunch of cool stuff, lots of plaid shirts like Jared wears ‘em. He wonders if the olive one would suit him. Focuses his eyes on his reflection. Washed out jeans, slung low and held up by a belt. His velvet shirt, sleeves messily hiked up to his elbows. Black and white Chucks on his feet.
In the reflection he also spots a woman. Feels her gaze crawl over him. She scrunches up her nose and he throws a look over his shoulder. For a moment their eyes meet, before hers slam to the ground and she crosses the hall, away from him.
He sighs. Trails his eyes back over his own reflection. Some of the track marks are fading, but lots of ‘em have turned into scars. He brushes one of his marred hands over his head. Through his hair that’s growing back wildly. Across three day stubble on his jaw. He’s skinny, pale. His cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken. He looks like a junkie more than ever. Sighing he turns away from the store. No longer in the mood for clothes shopping. His reflection’s the only person that doesn’t stare at him. But it’s also the only person not going away either. Together with his involuntary companion Jensen heads past glass fronts, bright colors, man-made sunlight and away from wary eyes. Together they reach the first floor. It’s cooler there, more private. He finds the music store that caught his eye the other day. The black Epiphone in the window. It doesn’t care about his past, makes his reflection vanish when he steps closer. The strings look smooth. He can practically feel them against his fingertips, even after all those years. His eyes trail down to the price tag. $399. He sighs. It’s too much. But he enters the store anyway. Picks it up and tries it out. Pretends like he can afford it. He fools no one, though. In the end he spends most of his money on a discounted acoustic guitar and a band shirt.
Jared
He steps into a pile of dog shit. In his own hallway. There’s no greeting. Harley and Sadie are cowering beneath the staircase. Looking ashamed and guilty.
“Jensen?” He calls. Sets down his keys and steps out of his soiled shoes, mindful to not step into the smeared pile again. A wet spot shimmers near by. Another one in the doorway to the kitchen. The excrements smell like they’ve already been breathing air for a while.
“Jensen!” He shouts again. No answer. “Damn it,” he calls. Then, suddenly, faint music notes. From the living room.
“Jensen?!” He calls again. The door is closed. He turns the knob and pushes it open. The smell of cigarette smoke immediately creeps into his nose. On the table he spots the source. A glimmering smoke lies across the rim of a glass. At the bottom several buds are swimming in a left over sip of coke. Jensen still hasn’t noticed him. He’s curled forward. A guitar on his lap. Eyes closed, completely immersed as his fingers dance over the six-string. It takes Jared a moment before he recognizes the song. An acoustic cover of the Metal song Jensen’s been listening to a lot lately. It’s more the lyrics that give it away than anything else. Stunned, he listens to Jensen’s voice.
“…you asked me to love you and I did.
Traded my emotions for a contract to commit.
And when I got away I only got so far.
The other me is dead, I hear his voice inside my head
And we were never alive and we won't be born again.
But I'll never survive with dead memories in my heart…”
A little hoarse, but on key. Filled with emotions that make Jared choke up. But then a hit on the strings goes awry. The note comes out shredded.
“Fuck!” Jensen shouts and curls forward. As he straightens back up, he picks up the smoke. Jared notices his fingers are trembling as Jensen brings it to his lips. His cheeks hollow out into tiny dark abysses as he takes a greedy drag.
A wild mixture of worry, irritation and confusion boils up in Jared’s gut. He sucks in a breath, opens his mouth to speak up, but Jensen beats him to it. With an easy smile, Jensen looks up at him, says, “Oh, hey.” Another drag on the smoke. “You’re back already?”
“I’m actually late,” Jared mumbles, distracted. There’re bloody smudges across Jensen’s lips. A new one is added, when Jensen plucks the cigarette from his lips. Jensen’s fingertips have ripped open. The entire guitar is smeared with bloody prints.
Jared swallows hard. “How long have you been playing?”
“Uh… since I got back from the mall. Like 10 am or so.” He’s still grinning as he drops the stub of his smoke in the glass. Jared watches as it drowns in the mess of coke and ash like at least half a dozen before it.
“The electric guitar was way too expensive,” Jensen says. Drags Jared’s attention back to him. Jensen’s expression is excited. “But Dead Memories still sounds good acoustic. It’s from Slipknot. The store clerk told me. Sold me one of their shirts, too.” He tugs at it, proudly.
Jared stares at the shirt. Nine guys stare back at him, wearing masks one creepier than the other. Now that he sees it, he distantly remembers the band. Never really was his kind of music.
As Jensen lets go of the shirt, a bloody smudge crosses out the singer’s white, faceless mask. “Uhm…” Jensen mumbles. He holds his hands up, inspects them. Jared can see in his eyes when realization hits. “Ow,” Jensen whispers. Trails his eyes over the stained guitar. There’re bloody prints on his pack of smoke, too. Drops and smears on the table, the floor, the couch and his jeans. His blood is everywhere. “Uhm…”
Jared cards a hand through his hair, sighs. Then softly says, “You’ve been playing for 7 hours straight…” He sits down and reaches out for Jensen. But Jensen flinches back, hard. Curls his fingers into tight fists. “No,” he gasps. Eyes wide with panic. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch-” The guitar clatters to the ground, startling Jensen. Jared seizes the moment. He launches forward, wraps an arm around Jensen. Cups the back of his head with the other and pulls him in. Jensen is trembling violently, but he follows. Gingerly, Jared hugs him closer until Jensen’s forehead bumps against his shoulder. Curled up, with his bloody fists pressed tight against his chest, Jensen leans into him. “I… I’m… It…” He rambles, voice hitching. Jared doubts he’s got any idea what he wants to say. But it doesn’t matter. Soothingly, he strokes the back of Jensen’s head. “Don’t worry. We’ll clean this up. It’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.” He hopes he’s not lying.
***
Two hours later Jared’s got his home cleaned of the blood and dog feces. Has walked and fed his dogs. Has patched Jensen’s finger tips and cooked up a quick dinner. Neither of them ate much, though. Too wound up at first, before exhaustion came crashing down on them.
The sun is still shining bright and warm outside. Jared can hear the neighbor kids on their bikes, riding down the street. Carefree, on their way back home. Hungry but happy.
He sighs. Thumbs his head back against the couch. Wishes for life to be that easy again. Jensen shifts between his legs. His elbow digs into Jared’s gut, briefly but hard enough to make him grunt. “Sorry,” Jensen mumbles. Glances up at him. “And ‘m sorry about the dogs, too.”
“I know,” he mumbles. Jensen has said it about a dozen times by now. He looks past him at the TV. They’ve been watching the same program for a while, but Jared couldn’t for the life of him say which show is on. He exhales a deep breath, wraps one arm loosely around Jensen. Curls his hand in Jensen’s black velvet shirt, glad the Slipknot shirt found its way to the wash. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts.
Jensen swallows hard. Averts his face and turns back around in his arms. Rests his back against Jared’s chest, again. “Yeah?” He says, quietly. “Watcha’ been thinking about?”
“You know I have to go to work everyday.”
A beat. Then, faintly, “I know.”
“And I won’t always make it home for lunch, so-”
“’s why I forgot the time, ya’ know?” Jensen suddenly chimes in. “I waited for you.”
“I texted you I wouldn’t make it,” he retorts.
“My phone’s in my room,” Jensen mumbles.
“I figured,” Jared says. He squeezes Jensen tenderly. “I should have called on the land line.” More than that, he should have gotten a hang of how much he can trust Jensen with, by now. But sometimes it’s hard to tell. And sometimes he just forgets Jensen’s not used to the mundane responsibilities of a normal life.
“I didn’t mean to play that long, anyway…” Jensen says. “But I jus’ got really into it. ‘t was fun…”
“I guess it must be pretty boring for you being home alone, then.”
A shrug. Then, “Dunno what to do. ‘ve never lived alone…”
Jared takes a deep breath. This is the point he’s been aiming for. “Then maybe,” he starts, slowly. “Maybe we should find you a group you can go to. Meet other people, who-”
A harsh ‘no’ interrupts him. “I don’t want that.” Jensen curls on his side. Stares at the couch. “Don’t wanna have to talk about Roy and Johnny and all the fuckin’ Johns. Don’t wanna talk about shooting up.” A weary breath. Then Jensen’s eyes crunch up. “Don’t wanna think about it.”
“Jensen-”
“No!”
Jared sighs. “You said it yourself, being home alone is boring.”
“I got a guitar now.”
“Is that all you want to do?”
A snort. “’s not like I can do anything else. I don’t have a job like you.”
“You could go back to school.”
“What for?” Jensen huffs. “At most I finish elementary school before I bite the dust.”
A pang shoots through Jared’s heart. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
Jared swallows hard around a lump. “Like your life’s got no point.”
A dry chuckle. But then Jensen shifts again, turns until they’re front to front. Buries his face against Jared’s chest and asks, “Well, does it?”
“It has a point to me,” Jared says, softly. Squeezes Jensen tightly to him. “I owe you everything. My life, who I’ve become.”
Jensen’s grip around him tightens. Another chuckle, but much lighter this time. “Yeah, right, like I’m some superhero who saved your from a burning building or something.”
“Maybe not a burning building, but from a boring, not to say pointless job and successive a boring, meaningless existence.”
“Still with the fancy words…” Jensen laughs. “Like ten years ago.”
“And you still patiently put up with it,” Jared laughs.
Jensen releases a soft sigh. “We gotta go to a pool sometime again.”
“Definitely.” He curls his fingers around Jensen’s patched up fingertips. “As soon as these are healed up.”
Jensen nods. “But do we haveta stay at home this weekend?”
“No, of course not,” he says. “What do you wanna do? Go watch a movie? Or meet up with Keller or Johansson if they got time?”
“Uhm… I heard you talk to your family on the phone. About how it’s not the right time, yet and all… but… I haven’t even said thank you for the cookies, yet.”
Jared’s stomach drops. He’s got a pretty good idea where this is going. And truly, Jensen says, “maybe we can visit your sister, at least?”
Day 5