Ok, usually I try to avoid long notes before the story, but in this case I think it's important.
This is not my original plot.
This is my rewrite of a sensational story called Dirty Secrets by Crazyhumor, which I recommend you go and read! Through PM I've cleared creating a remake of Crazyhumor's original work since it's uncertain when Dirty Secrets will be updated. Why? I just couldn't see such a great plot go unused. The first few chapters will be based off the original content, from there it'll be my own ideas.
Lets go...
I'm fucking terminal.
I'm sick with desire, a fever that I know I'll never sweat out no matter how many nights I lose. I'm lost in the fog of a passion so deep that I'll wander inside of it forever, no matter how many times I wake up alone. I'm stuck in a cycle so vicious that I know the wounds will never heal, yet I'll pick up my phone without hesitation. I'm the shriveled, blacked heart just barely beating beneath the floorboard. The secret she'll never let slip, no matter how loudly the guilt rings in her ears.
This isn't love, it's an illness that's slowly dragging my heart to a standstill. A few more months and I wonder it if will even beat at all. This isn't healthy, I know it's not. We're a couple doused in gasoline, just waiting for the day that we walk close enough to an open flame. The web of lies that we're weaving is only drawing us ever closer. Some day soon we'll ignite.
She's still not here and I'm breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe that shadow won't drag against my bed and that voice won't filter through the air tonight. I lay on the crumpled covers of my bed staring around my room; I've long since given up on trying to wash away the guilt that stains it. The hands crawl past the numbers of my clock, dragging me ever closer to her. This isn't healthy.
In my dreams I never met her.
The harsh rattle of my door smashing against the doorframe wrenches me from bliss and drops me in the middle of a nightmare. Three knocks and she'll pass through the door, a new strain of this virus in her wake. I drag a pair of headphones from the floor, watching as they swing from their cord and wondering what it would be like to dangle in such a way. The music fills my ears, shrapnel vocals and chainsaw guitars drowning out my own anguish.
"I like this song, something about the lyrics speaks to me." She's sitting next to me, an uninvited plague spreading through my consciousness as well as my mind. I hate when she speaks softly, like her words aren't the razors I know they are. Her midnight black hair cascades over her shoulders like an oil spill, and so fitting. It's as thought she's so toxic even her hair has been poisoned; I never was one to let the truth get in the way of a good story. I drag a long breath into my lungs, peering at her as she holds my Pear Phone loosely in her fingers.
"You alright?" The words pass through her lips, like there's been a slip in security and a genuine emotion found it's way into the empty husk of a girl before me. I cringe as I notice the crease on her forehead and the tightening of her lips. Concern lingers on her face and I used to think it was a good thing, but now it only feels worse than when she ignores me. Like the warmth of the sun is enough to ice over her heart, I hate how easily she can forget me.
"I'm fine, just tired." I mumble, tossing the words into the air. I catch sight of her eyes and wish that I hadn't They're darkened pools of emerald, the concern swimming within their depths will keep me awake for days, like the memories I've already got aren't enough. She's burnt into my eyelids anyway; I couldn't forget her for even a moment of peace.
"It's almost 3am and I've got to perform tomorrow." I announce, wrenching my arm into the air and sneering at the four illuminated numbers on my watch. I've come to despise this time of night. She's always here, haunting this hour like a malignant specter. I feel her shift next to me, slinging on leg over the other.
"We could just talk tonight if you want?" She states after a moment, brushing a lock of hair behind her ears and peering over at me. Her eyebrows are upturned and I could even let myself forget for a second that this is the girl that took away my innocence, the girl that turned me into a fucking whore. I wish she'd just walk out that door before another part of my soul withers away. It's easier to forget who she is when we don't speak. Sometimes I can even trick my mind into believing that I'm making love to my girlfriend and not defiling myself to make rent or pay another bill.
"We used to talk all the time…" She mumbles, shattering the silence that had allowed me to slip into my delusions. I open my eyes and confront the reality before me, it's been almost three years. A humorless laugh shudders through my lips as my mind slips back to a time when everything had been in Technicolor and all of the animals would sing. We were fourteen and curious, I used to ask her about everything, thinking that if I could remember it all, she might be able to find a place in her heart for me. Now we're both nearing our seventeenth birthdays, it's been months since I've seen anything but shades of grey and the smell of rotten carcasses is the only reminder of those songs gone by.
"You're not paying me for conversation." I spit the words out like they're toxic. I wish that they were, and then she'd know what it is to be infected. The words leave my lips and sail towards her, and from the look in her eyes I know they hurt. Sorrow tugs at my heartstrings, not for her pain, but mourning the loss of my own humanity. There was a time that I'd have moved heaven and hell to take back those words, but now I can't even drag two empty words from my lips.
I wrench myself upwards, lurching from the dead but leaving my heart behind. I drag myself towards her, sweeping her into a kiss and feeling the bile rise within me. I kiss her in the way that I know she likes, nipping at her bottom lip and waltzing in a dance of the damned with her tongue. I skate my fingers over the soft skin of her collarbone before shoving her backwards, so that she's laying on my bed.
Screwing my eyes shut, I close the distance between us once more, peppering her neck with kisses, but never lingering for long enough to leave a mark. I almost slip and do it anyway and the memory her taking it out of my payment slithers through my mind. My fingers skitter over her skin, I'm only dimly aware that they're popping the buttons of her shirt free, my mind retreating away from the betrayal of my body. It's not like I need it anyway, I know every inch of her by instinct, I know I've touched her in places Beck's never even thought of.
"What happened to being tired?" I feel my throat tighten as her words pull me back into reality and I remember why I hate myself. My heart clenches as I remember the first time she spoke to me in that breathless tone. We were alone at Jade's house and working on some stupid fucking assignment on The American Revolution, and Jade's shitty parents had gone to a party. The morons left a bottle of wine in the kitchen, so of course we had the bright idea to open it. The next thing I remember is waking up in Jade's bed and not being able to tell where she ended and I began.
Below me, she's stripping her blouse away, but I'm lost in the memories of the reverse. In my mind I reign in the image of Jade slipping her head though a black singlet. It flickers before my eyes, the details are so vivid, but I can scarcely remember the happiness I felt that morning. I'm so disconnected from it, that I almost feel like I'm watching somebody else's memories, I've forgotten how it felt to be that naïve. I watch on as the words that threw us into this whole mess pass her lips, she tells me that we're both as lonely as each other. Then I told her how sick my Mom was. As I lay crying into the crook of her neck, she told me that she had the solution.
It all flies past my eyes, paying for Mom's treatment with crumpled 20 dollar notes, faking my fathers signature and handing over an envelope of my own money to the Dean of Admissions at Hollywood Arts.
Jade's hips roll against me and I'm uprooted from my memories and pulled into the depths of reality. She's peering up at me, a softness in her eyes that's never there when the sunrises and we have to pull on our skins. My heart can't even find the will to miss a beat, if this isn't a lie than it's something even worse.
I pop the button of her jeans and she arcs her back, allowing me to slide them down her legs. My name passes her lips as my fingers slip between her panties and the bare skin beneath, every movement a betrayal, every caress another weight on my conscience. I'm lost in memories again, sinking deeper into my regrets.
I remember the day Beck finally got Jade to agree to date him. I remember the smile on his face, genuine adoration as Jade folded her arms and barely restrained her contempt. I remember weeks later, when the contempt began to fade from her eyes and the hard lines in her face began to soften. My phone didn't ring once that week so when the final bell at Hollywood Arts did, I skipped home. The rays of the sun bounced off the pavement, hiding the glint of metal and the tweets of birds sailing through the air muffled the rattle of a chain.
Night fell and shattered the illusion, my phone lighting up with a familiar caller and reminding me of the chain still wrapped around my ankle. Jade's a life sentence and I the fights leaving my body with every passing call.
My fingers run through the motions, skipping and fluttering at the places that make Jade call out my name. She calls my name out into the air and I cringe bitterly, like she's a soprano hitting a sour note on opening night. I drag myself closer to her, our hips rolling in sync. I hate the way I drown in her eyes and all of my objections fall away as the flames of lust envelop us. I hate the way she tenses up as she reaches a crescendo, the way her eyes fly open before sealing shut as she drifts into an ocean of bliss. I hate the way that I drag my hips back and forth and lament the lack of a positive connection to something that was once so personal.
A fuck. It's just a fuck.
My head hits the pillow and I roll away from her, ignoring the whimper that flies through her lips as I leave her feeling cold. Frost settles over my heart and I'm finally at peace as my body numbs and the chill seeps into my bones.
I'm thawed out by the harsh glare of the sun and the sound of my alarm bludgeoning the air around me. The remnants of my dreams shatter before me and I fall into the hell of my existence. I don't have to look around to know that she's gone. The sensation of the cold sheets beneath my fingers as I parse the area she had inhabited reminds me of what it was to swim within unconsciousness.
Shivering as I remember dreams do not equate to real life, I throw myself out of bed and drag some clean clothes from my dresser. A harsh cackle slices through my lips as I notice a stack of notes resting on it, I don't even know the meaning of what it is to be clean anymore. I trudge towards the shower, not hoping to feel cleansed when I return, just a little less dirty.
I linger beneath the cold water for a long time, I've long since abandoned trying to wash away the filth that's seeped into my pores, but the solitude of the bathroom provides an escape. To my side, the sounds of children shuffling towards school ring through the window. Peering through the small opening next to me, I wonder what kind of person thinks that putting a window in the side of a shower is a good idea. At least it's only a small opening in line with my head and in a place that would rob me of what little modesty I retain.
I circle my fingers around roughly wrapped paper, ducking away from the water and taking a deep drag. As the smoke fills my lungs and I halt my breathe, I remember when this window used to terrify me. Shaking my head, I release the smoke into the air. Ever since Cat abandoned me with her brother for a whole afternoon, that window has meant freedom. With a chemical imbalance I can delude myself a little easier, I can pick Rex up and convince everybody at school that my worst problems are puppet related.
As the last fibers of my release burn away, I take care to brush the ashes from the window ledge and make sure no evidence of my indiscretion remains. Stepping out of the shower, I spray some deodorant into the air before throwing back my head and dropping some clear eyes into my brown orbs. The last thing I need is my mom catching me and sending me to rehab. I effects of my morning routine kick in and the rest of the morning passes in a blur. Before I know it, I'm bidding my mother farewell at the door. I halt on the spot, handing her the money from my "burger flipping" job. I even throw Rex's voice into the air, suppressing the shudder the rattles through my body as mom tells me how proud of her son she is.
If only she knew the truth.
There it is. The tone's pretty different from my usual stuff, but leave me a review and let me know what you think. Especially fans of the original!
...btw updates to the other fics I'm working on will be up within a few days.