The Hills
He just left him, and the messy bed next to him was the only sign he'd spent the night here. He was standing in the scattered radiation of dawn, a dead cigarette trapped between his fingers, naked. In his eyes, there was no faith in the room, emptiness. Only the sun was willing to stay on and beside him.
His body's had enough, it cried and cried and begged for more and that was it, the breaking point. Or was it ? He knew well enough that the next time he would call him in the middle of the night asking to come, he would say yes. He had that kind of mysterious power on him that made his inner rational voice shut and his heart bounce at once.
He was broken. From his bruised back to his shaking legs from the dark shadows under his eyes to the half ripped off nails on his toes. He no longer knew the sweet sound of love words, the smell of home-made breakfast in the morning or the warmth of sombody else's hand clutching his under the sheets.
He sat down on the bed, carrying his cigarette stub to his dry lips, letting it hang sluggishly.
He let his head go down to look at the monster lurking under the bed. He was there, curled up on himself, his eyes shining out of the darkness and looking straight at him. He gasped and threw the cigarette's ashes at him. He disappeared in the simile of a smile and an ashes' rain and he was left alone again.
He got up and sit on the windowsill for a moment. The hills were enlighted by the sunrise in the same way his back did a minute ago. A vivid wind caressed his chest as his hands used to he shivered.
As he stared at the awaking sky, he thought : « I gave you a bit of love, for I saw you weren't used to it. I knew you were in need, and I am a kind ignorant. I offered you my affection, I shared my soul to you for a moment. Now I'd like you to give it back to me, I might need it to get back up, later. Maybe you think it will be easy for me to recover maybe you think I will just walk away and go back to my before-life. Maybe you didn't even think about how I will endure it. Did you ever consider me as something real ? I would have said someone, but it would be too much to ask. I was never someone for you a body, more the less. I can understand, though : who can hurt a mindless body ? Suffering is not a thing if it's only physical objects don't feel. I was certainly some kind of moving object to you. » and he lighted another cigarette.