Short Story
Thank you, Kaye, for the title. WARNINGS:Angst, slash.
A rare breeze whispered through the curtains, carrying the sounds of traffic and mayhem that reached a man from the street below. His silhouette was lost amongst the deepening shadows that grew from the objects in the apartment’s living room. The lack of light, aside from the glowing of appliance panels and the streetlights and traffic on the street below added to the gloomy atmosphere that seemed to emanate from the figure slumped on the couch.
He shifted, looking at the canvas across the room between his cupped hands. In an instant, he wished he hadn’t as it caused a wave of mixed guilt and some emotion akin to fear to wash over him. The still fresh paint caused an odd odor to linger in the room that still just drove the guilt home for Misery. He was not used to guilt. Guilt was what happened to the other person, not Misery. It wasn’t like Troy was different, aside from the vampire thing; well, he wasn’t in love with Misery. It was just that he was usually the one leaving the other person, not the other person leaving him. Usually they felt at fault for Misery leaving them, and Misery didn’t feel a thing besides some kind of pleasure from being able to twist and control people.
“Are you sure it won’t hurt?” Troy had asked him as Misery drove him to their destination. Misery made a tisking noise in response to the question as if to say, ‘Don’t worry. If it does hurt, the pain won’t kill you.’ Troy shifted in the passenger side seat and watched the people walk past the car as they waited at a red light. Misery wasn’t making Troy do this, but just kind of helping him.
The lights for the piercing and tattooing parlor shone in the car as Troy stepped out while Misery locked it up. A knot of apprehension was in Troy’s stomach as he timidly followed Misery into the place. Instantly, the female worker there saw Misery and knew that she had someone that knew what he was doing there. Misery flashed her a grin while Troy looked around, kind of worried.
The place wasn’t just a hole in the wall; it was a clean, almost stark environment with pictures on the walls of custom tattoos and different piercings. There were several chairs in the waiting room, and a few of the chairs were occupied by, it seemed, significant others and friends of customers in the back. A sign on the wall stated that only one other person was allowed with a customer in the back at a time. One group seemed to be taking shifts with one man in the back who was getting a very large tattoo done in one very long session.
As Troy looked in a glass case of some of the body jewelry, he was tapped on the shoulder. He turned around to see Misery waiting for him. Troy took a deep breath and followed Misery into the back where the employee waited.
Thirty minutes later Troy walked out with Misery, his tongue feeling sore. “Ow,” Troy simply stated, the barbell clicking against the back of his teeth. Misery smiled at him, remembering the first few days after he had gotten his tongue pierced. In the long he was glad, and he hoped Troy would be as well.
Several taxicabs sounded their horns on the street below, bringing Misery back to the present. In the dim light the canvas was almost completely in shadow with patches of color almost glowing and cutting through the gloom.
Last night had been a fight. A fight about futile attempts for a life that couldn’t happen. Troy had been watching his twin children, Maggie and Nicholas, when Misery had tried to address that he couldn’t possibly stay in their lives and expect them to turn out to be well-adjusted and normal human beings. There also was the factor of their mother, Aidan. She would easily figure out what was so different about Troy and quickly cut off all contact with him. Troy had argued that it was his duty to at least have some hand in raising his own children, even if he, their father, wasn’t exactly human anymore. Misery had stood by his previous statement and added that, as they grew older, wouldn’t they notice that Troy never aged? Never grew old? Troy still refused to see the issue Misery’s way, and he stormed out. When Troy came back to the apartment, it was only to pack.
He packed quickly even though he wished he could stay, more out of a logical need to stay somewhere than anything else. As Troy threw his last book into the box, a pair of arms encircled him from behind. He knew those black nailed hands, the feel of the body behind him anywhere. He stopped; wishing he didn’t have to be so confused anymore.
The next morning Troy woke up in Misery’s arms in the apartment, but he was far from content. Last night he had no idea why Misery had even dared touched him, or why Troy let him do so, but it dawned on him as he stared at the content and oddly smug look on Misery’s face. He had simply wanted control. Wanted to see if Troy would leave if Misery had offered him another night. After that, Misery had reasoned, Troy would stay and forget about the fight and his stupid duty. He was wrong.
By the time that Misery had gotten up, Troy was gone. All of his few belongings were gone, aside from one thing. Two days before, Troy had done an oil painting of Misery, which was now sitting by the door with a note attached to it. It wasn’t a normal pin or friendly good-bye note. The words read almost as if someone else wrote them, written with a warning in bitter words. And it was pinned by a large gauge barbell that was jabbed through the canvas.
A rare breeze whispered through the curtains, carrying the sounds of traffic and mayhem that reached a man from the street below. His silhouette was lost amongst the deepening shadows that grew from the objects in the apartment’s living room. The lack of light, aside from the glowing of appliance panels and the streetlights and traffic on the street below added to the gloomy atmosphere that seemed to emanate from the figure slumped on the couch.
He shifted, looking at the canvas across the room between his cupped hands. In an instant, he wished he hadn’t as it caused a wave of mixed guilt and some emotion akin to fear to wash over him. The still fresh paint caused an odd odor to linger in the room that still just drove the guilt home for Misery. He was not used to guilt. Guilt was what happened to the other person, not Misery. It wasn’t like Troy was different, aside from the vampire thing; well, he wasn’t in love with Misery. It was just that he was usually the one leaving the other person, not the other person leaving him. Usually they felt at fault for Misery leaving them, and Misery didn’t feel a thing besides some kind of pleasure from being able to twist and control people.
“Are you sure it won’t hurt?” Troy had asked him as Misery drove him to their destination. Misery made a tisking noise in response to the question as if to say, ‘Don’t worry. If it does hurt, the pain won’t kill you.’ Troy shifted in the passenger side seat and watched the people walk past the car as they waited at a red light. Misery wasn’t making Troy do this, but just kind of helping him.
The lights for the piercing and tattooing parlor shone in the car as Troy stepped out while Misery locked it up. A knot of apprehension was in Troy’s stomach as he timidly followed Misery into the place. Instantly, the female worker there saw Misery and knew that she had someone that knew what he was doing there. Misery flashed her a grin while Troy looked around, kind of worried.
The place wasn’t just a hole in the wall; it was a clean, almost stark environment with pictures on the walls of custom tattoos and different piercings. There were several chairs in the waiting room, and a few of the chairs were occupied by, it seemed, significant others and friends of customers in the back. A sign on the wall stated that only one other person was allowed with a customer in the back at a time. One group seemed to be taking shifts with one man in the back who was getting a very large tattoo done in one very long session.
As Troy looked in a glass case of some of the body jewelry, he was tapped on the shoulder. He turned around to see Misery waiting for him. Troy took a deep breath and followed Misery into the back where the employee waited.
Thirty minutes later Troy walked out with Misery, his tongue feeling sore. “Ow,” Troy simply stated, the barbell clicking against the back of his teeth. Misery smiled at him, remembering the first few days after he had gotten his tongue pierced. In the long he was glad, and he hoped Troy would be as well.
Several taxicabs sounded their horns on the street below, bringing Misery back to the present. In the dim light the canvas was almost completely in shadow with patches of color almost glowing and cutting through the gloom.
Last night had been a fight. A fight about futile attempts for a life that couldn’t happen. Troy had been watching his twin children, Maggie and Nicholas, when Misery had tried to address that he couldn’t possibly stay in their lives and expect them to turn out to be well-adjusted and normal human beings. There also was the factor of their mother, Aidan. She would easily figure out what was so different about Troy and quickly cut off all contact with him. Troy had argued that it was his duty to at least have some hand in raising his own children, even if he, their father, wasn’t exactly human anymore. Misery had stood by his previous statement and added that, as they grew older, wouldn’t they notice that Troy never aged? Never grew old? Troy still refused to see the issue Misery’s way, and he stormed out. When Troy came back to the apartment, it was only to pack.
He packed quickly even though he wished he could stay, more out of a logical need to stay somewhere than anything else. As Troy threw his last book into the box, a pair of arms encircled him from behind. He knew those black nailed hands, the feel of the body behind him anywhere. He stopped; wishing he didn’t have to be so confused anymore.
The next morning Troy woke up in Misery’s arms in the apartment, but he was far from content. Last night he had no idea why Misery had even dared touched him, or why Troy let him do so, but it dawned on him as he stared at the content and oddly smug look on Misery’s face. He had simply wanted control. Wanted to see if Troy would leave if Misery had offered him another night. After that, Misery had reasoned, Troy would stay and forget about the fight and his stupid duty. He was wrong.
By the time that Misery had gotten up, Troy was gone. All of his few belongings were gone, aside from one thing. Two days before, Troy had done an oil painting of Misery, which was now sitting by the door with a note attached to it. It wasn’t a normal pin or friendly good-bye note. The words read almost as if someone else wrote them, written with a warning in bitter words. And it was pinned by a large gauge barbell that was jabbed through the canvas.