Wednesday
8:14 PM
home
He throws me onto my own bed. His hands feel like ice cubes. His kiss tastes like cigarettes. More than William's. It's so strong that my lungs start to burn when his tongue runs over my teeth, like he has smoke stored in his own throat. His name is Jack Marin. And I can already tell, he will be the death of me.
What's not to love? The way he automatically raced me to my own bedroom like he could predict where it was located. And how he pinned me onto my bed without question nor answer, leaving Pete and Patrick behind, laughing at our lust.
Now, Jack rolls around with me on my unmade bed as Pete and Patrick play a game of cards next to us. I lick Jack's neck, causing him to shudder at my sudden slow movements. I feel slightly guilty about all of this, and I don't know why. I just know Jack's kisses down my stomach would feel a lot better if my stomach weren't in knots. I try to ignore it. I try to ignore everything. I try to focus on what my tongue is doing and how the sheets are moving.
"Isn't there a football game tonight?" I hear Patrick ask.
"How the hell would I know," Pete says.
"There is," Jack mutters to them before biting hard on my lip, making me groan.
"Screw that," Pete says. And I can faintly hear the familiar sound of Pete's casual plastic bag of cocaine being removed from his pockets. He offers everytime, and I always say no, and he's always really okay with it. But it still makes me nervous. Not that my dad ever comes in my room, but I always wonder what would happen if Pete doesn't pick up after himself. I can see myself just going and snorting it away myself, just to make sure my dad doesn't find it.
Jack becomes interested in what Pete is doing and he lifts his lips off of mine and looks over at him in interest. I try to pull him back to me but Jack is enthralled. He gets up off the bed and watches Pete in amazement. I've only known Jack for a while. Okay, about a week. But he's been a really good person for this week. He's really been incredibly sweet, genuine. Or has it all just been an act? Why would he lie? What does he have to lie to me for?
For this.
My body, my bed.
As usual, I'd rather be anywhere than here in my own home.
I study Pete's routine of rolling up the dollar bill and placing it perpendicular to the line of white powder. He does it so gracefully, almost making it look not as awful or illegal. I see Jack smirk as he takes the white powder over to me and I look at him confused. "What are you doing?"
And his smirk just turns into a devillish grin and he gently pushes me down onto my back, then pulling my shirt up to the middle of my chest. "God knows your stomach's flat enough," he says quietly and he spreads the drug onto my stomach, using a pen to shape it into a line rather than a razorblade. I feel my breathing increase.
"Jack-" I start warningly but soon I feel the dollar bill sucking the powder off of my skin. It only lasts a few seconds and he's done. I breathe a sigh of relief, looking down at my stomach to make sure it's all gone. I just had cocaine snorted off my stomach. How...sexy?
No, it's not sexy. Maybe that's what Jack was going for but this queasy feeling in my knees, my stomach, my mouth... it's not sexy. And then how my eyes start to water, that's not very sexy either. No. None of it is sexy.
It's all actually pretty pathetic.
"Hey, hey," Jack says sympathetically as he notices my white eyes turned to red. He flops down next to me on my bed and hugs me gently. He slowly sweeps my dark hair out of my eyes and smiles. Then he kisses me, and it's the same kiss I've felt from everyone I've ever kissed for the past two years. It's not real. It's not sensual nor intimate nor loving. It's barely even friendly. It's just the kiss that reminds me that no kiss will ever taste the same, unless it's from the lips of Brendon Urie.
Those thick, clean, pure lips. Never having graced the lips of another's or the end of a cigarette. We were both our firsts and we should've been our lasts. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. And that's why I can't kiss Jack Marin. I can't kiss William Beckett or any beautiful boy you throw at me. Because they won't have that warm, protective taste of Brendon's lips. He had the lips of an angel.
But does it matter what I want? Does it matter that my so-called "friends" can snort cocaine off my stomach and then leave me here to cry? Does it matter that I'd give everything I have to hold Brendon in my arms one more time and be able to tell him I love him? Does it matter how Jack licks the tears off my cheeks, not because he hates to see me cry...but to make himself feel better? Brendon always hated to see me cry.
Good thing though, because when I was with Brendon... all I did was smile.
Is it so much to ask to want to be able to smile that way again?
Pete coughs. "I have to go make some deals," he says plainly. "You guys coming?"
Jack kisses my cheek once more without looking in my eyes and says, "Yeah. I'll come."
I can see Patrick looking at me sadly when Jack gets off of me. He raises his eyebrows, asking if I'd like to come as well. I shake my head slightly, and they take off. My house doesn't feel any less empty.
I soon as I hear the front door shut, I slowly lay back down onto my bed, curling into a position that a small infant might sleep in. And I cry like a grown man that's lost everything. I cry like my dad did when my mom left. Like I did the night after I said goodbye to Brendon.
His words are still a videotape in my head that I revisit every now and then. He hugged me outside of his house while the rest of his large family packed a few last things into the moving truck. I tried so hard not to cry, I really did. But he took my face in his hands and said, "I've taught you everything you ever needed, Ryan. You're so strong and I want you to prove that. Don't miss me; you don't need me anymore. Live your beautiful life the way you've dreamed of. Fall in love again." And he pressed his forehead to mine and placed the smallest kiss I have ever felt on my neck when he wrapped his arms around me for the last time.
Maybe that's why he hates me. I can only hope that's why Brendon hates me. I didn't listen to him. I've been nothing but miserable since he left but I can't help it. I can't help loving him. I miss loving him. I loved loving him.
I need him back in my arms. Even if we don't look back again.
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?
so.
RATE/pick/cbox/message!
