I sip on that last beer softly, sitting in front of the television. I think back to that moment. To that moment of happiness, that moment of utter exhilaration and joy, when they were the bitches, not me. It all started when I was working for the police. I was always a great officer, with muscles of steel and thigh as hard as a pipe. I lived my life soundly. Had some bud with the guys, while watching the big game. The bitches piled onto me. I had so many pleasures, so much happiness, and then L and fatty came. My life changed.
I gaze
out my window as the sun sets on another barren day. Leafless trees
stretch out into the sky, their branches resembling the shriveled
hands of witches. How similar they look to the dendrites inhabiting
the neurons of our own peripheral nervous systems. If only -he- was
here, I knew he would say something more poetic, more beautiful, and
more brilliant than I could ever hope to think... everything he said
was brilliant. I was a fool to think that he would need my
protection... that I even could protect him. His pale skin and large
eyes, the largest and darkest eyes I ever saw... eyes that could make
a manly man like me bow to his every wish...
Another sip of beer.
Another memory.
I did everything for his tender love. Ah, how well I remember trudging into the ice locker, delivering that cake that fed the beast as well as my heart. The sweet frosting of his lips; the rich chocolate of his beautiful, brown eyes; and the strawberry crown of his beautiful, black hair. As I sip away at this beer, I sip down the happiness of the past.
"Where went
wrong?" This question has haunted me through the years. And as
the days go by, I can't shake his face from my memory. Here he is,
daintily bringing a tea cup to his small, adorable mouth. Here he is
looking downward, the dark bangs falling into his pallid face and
concealing his dark eyes from my vision. I have had one beer too many
now, and uttered confessions never meant to leave my mind, and it's
too late to shovel the words back into my mouth. Now his eyes are
impossibly wide, as I bring one large hand to his chin, forcing his
irises to meet my own. My body moves, an automaton acting on its own
accord, paying no mind to the shrieking doubts reverberating through
the walls of my mind, and suddenly my lips are on his.
He looks at
me with hatred. I am demoted.
Now, look at where I lie. I sit on the couch, crippled by my own addictions. When your addictions are all you have left, they become your only treasures. I wrap a t-shirt around my arm, tightening it to a vicegrip. I pick up the syringe and push it into the engorged vein, exhaling euphorically as the endorphins tickle my brain. I lie down, the bloody syringe still in my arm, as I take the last sip of beer. I loved him so much. It wasn't about the massages, or the ears, it was about the passionate embrace of my forlorn heart.
"It's a fuckin Ukita party, bitches!" The gruff voice sounds pathetic, even to my own ears. The words are a shallow hologram to conceal the broken man behind the curtain.A washed up cop with a needle in my arm and a beer can at my side, masquerading as a man. If only i had been man enough to care for him... the way he deserved to be cared for.