Shards of the Mirror
Angel awoke to a freezing room, dimly lit by a slew of candles. It took him a moment to shake away the washy look to everything around him, and his glassy gaze ended on Collins, who lay slumped halfway on the couch. He had obviously fallen asleep in his watch. Angel's thin fingers absently touched the dark cheek, as he recalled what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
--------------------------------------------------------
"Everyone was there, we had a lot of fun. Why didn't you come?"
"I was just tired."
"You've been tired for a while now. I can't help but get the feeling that it's more than tired."
"It isn't, okay? So just get off my back about it."
"Angel, what's wrong?"
Anger. The extreme angel that had built up in him. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he have seen that he didn't want to talk about it?
"Nothing! Just leave me the hell alone! I've-I've just, oh God, I have to get out."
Running down the steps, almost tripping on the stoop, throwing himself against the drum with fervent angst. Collins calling his name.
"Angel! Angel!"
Crying. The tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks. Spinning, dizzy, falling, gone.
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"Collins."
Angel whispered close to his lover's ear, trying to wake the dark skinned man up gently.
"Collins, wake up baby."
He needed to apologize. Did Collins know? He couldn't, not unless Mark had squealed. But even still, he wanted to tell. He wanted to spill everything out against the warm chest and shower of kisses. Collins stirred, and lifted his head.
"Angel? You're awake!"
"Yeah. Where is everybody?"
"They went to bed. It's late."
Angel stared out the dirty window, and nodded at the sparkle of stars against the ebony background.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Collins-" A lump formed in the drag queen's throat. Brown eyes were locked on his, and pale lips quivered with indecision. "Collins, can I talk to you?"
"Of course, what's the matter?"
Collins slid onto the couch next to Angel, and looked at him with keen interest. In the manner of a young child, the transvestite nestled against the broad frame, and leaned his head against the chest.
In an instant, a flow of both tears and words erupted from the pacifist, and he had to pause several times in order to ease the heavy sobs. Collins rubbed his back, and pressed the thin body against his.
"I'm sorry. I know I should've told you. But I was so fuckin' /scared/! I just couldn't-I didn't-I-" Another eruption of sobs.
"I know Angel, I know."
"How could you have?"
"A little bird told me."
"Mark?"
"Yeah, but he didn't want me to say anything. I wish you had told me though, before this-"
Angel raised a tear blotched face, and took a deep breath.
"Collins, I don't think I'm going to get better..."
Mark stumbled out of bed, and blinked bleary eyes. For a moment, he wasn't able to remember anything of last night's events, but they soon came tumbling back at his head in a wash of dizzyness. With a grunt of weariness, he walked through the bedroom door and into the living room/kitchen. The first thought that came to his mind was breakfast, then Angel.
'Please let him be okay. Please let him be awake. Please oh please God, just this once grant me a little slack.'
The filmmaker looked towards the couch, to see Angel rested up against Collins, wrapped in a warm embrace. Both were asleep. Mark breathed a sigh of relief, for Angel's position clearly told that he had in fact woken up during the night.
'It must be nice,' he thought, 'to have someone like Collins.'
He decided against waking the two up, and looked in the small cupboards for anything that looked remotely like food and wasn't turning a drastic green. 'Although,' he though again at the sound of his stomach growling, 'right now that doesn't seem so bad...'
Roger and Mimi were still sleeping also. The dancer had spent the night in the loft, taking care of Angel for a reasonable amount of time before trying to convince Collins to go to bed. Naturally, her pleas had no effect on him, and he had remained by the couch's side.
"Aha!" He cried out, a bit too loudly.
"'Aha' what Mark?"
Angel looked up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at him with slightly drowsy interest.
"Nothing. I just think I've found something to eat."
"Good for you."
"You look better."
"I feel worse." Angel laughed weakly, and sat up a little.
"Are you up to eating anything?"
"Naw. You'd better save it for Roger and them."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." Angel smiled wanly, and shivered. "My Gawd it's cold in here. Don't you think so?"
"It's the warmest it's been all week."
"Really? I'm freezing!"
"I'll go get you another blanket."
Mark disappeared for a moment, and came back with an old quilt that had previously been lying on his bed.
"This oughta' warm you right up."
"Thanks." Angel wrapped it around his shaking shoulders, and fell into a short coughing fit. When he finished and opened his eyes, he found not only Mark looking on in concern, but a disheveled Roger and Mimi starting towards him.
"Good morning Angel."
"Good morning."
"Are you feeling better?"
"A little, I guess." He stopped, and stared at the onslaught of sympathetic faces. "I'm fine. Stop staring at me like I'm sitting in my deathbed. It's probably just a little bug, gone in a few days, then I'll be as well as I ever was."
'Yeah,' the voice in Angel's head chided, 'coughing and throwing up just like before. You'll be as well as you ever were.'
"Shut up." Came a low response through Angel's clenched teeth, thankfully soft enough as to not be heard by any other resident of the room.
"So what's for breakfast Marky?" Mimi said, trying to lighten to mood a bit.
"I think I found some Cheerios that aren't going bad."
"Do Cheerios go bad?"
"I just found a box with green stuff growing off of it."
"I'm not eating those Cheerios."
"No, I found another box that isn't rotting...yet..."
"Pancakes..." A bass voice from beside Angel came, drenched in the warmth of a half awake state.
"Pancakes?"
Collins sat up, scratched his side absently, and yawned. "Yes. I was having a dream about pancakes."
"Must've been a nice dream."
"Yeah...pancakes, and butter, and strawberry jelly..."
Angel scrunched up his nose a bit. "Strawberry jelly? On pancakes?"
"Yes. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I just never eat pancakes with strawberry jelly."
"It's delicious. You should try it."
"Sure."
Collins looked at his lover, and hooked an arm around his waist. "Feeling better?"
"Eh. Sure."
"Sure..." Collins muttered, before kissing Angel, then sitting up completely with a groan.
"I feel like I've been sleeping with a rock for a pillow."
"Worse, you've been sleeping on our couch."
This ending in a few chuckles, but stopped with a harsh bang as Angel doubled over on the couch, vomiting in heavy heaves on the cold floor. Once again the room swam, and the familiar voices around him sounded distant, and strange.
"Get him another blanket."
"Somebody go light sommore candles."
"Where's a mop?"
"Does it look like we have one?"
"Don't yell at me!"
He could vaguely feel a cool hand being pressed against his forehead.
"He's burning up!"
"Call a doctor!"
"Didn't we already try that?"
"Try it again!"
Angel rocked back and forth, quivering more violently than ever. He felt frighteningly out of balance, swaying to and fro, unable to catch his breath. A deep voice penetrated his wall of fright, and he could sense something warm being pressed against his frail body.
"Come on Angel girl, just calm down, it's okay, it's okay, shhhh...."
And with a dizzying jolt, blackness slipped over him, and he fell into heavy unconscious.
Angel awoke to a freezing room, dimly lit by a slew of candles. It took him a moment to shake away the washy look to everything around him, and his glassy gaze ended on Collins, who lay slumped halfway on the couch. He had obviously fallen asleep in his watch. Angel's thin fingers absently touched the dark cheek, as he recalled what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
--------------------------------------------------------
"Everyone was there, we had a lot of fun. Why didn't you come?"
"I was just tired."
"You've been tired for a while now. I can't help but get the feeling that it's more than tired."
"It isn't, okay? So just get off my back about it."
"Angel, what's wrong?"
Anger. The extreme angel that had built up in him. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he have seen that he didn't want to talk about it?
"Nothing! Just leave me the hell alone! I've-I've just, oh God, I have to get out."
Running down the steps, almost tripping on the stoop, throwing himself against the drum with fervent angst. Collins calling his name.
"Angel! Angel!"
Crying. The tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks. Spinning, dizzy, falling, gone.
---------------------------------------------------------
"Collins."
Angel whispered close to his lover's ear, trying to wake the dark skinned man up gently.
"Collins, wake up baby."
He needed to apologize. Did Collins know? He couldn't, not unless Mark had squealed. But even still, he wanted to tell. He wanted to spill everything out against the warm chest and shower of kisses. Collins stirred, and lifted his head.
"Angel? You're awake!"
"Yeah. Where is everybody?"
"They went to bed. It's late."
Angel stared out the dirty window, and nodded at the sparkle of stars against the ebony background.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Collins-" A lump formed in the drag queen's throat. Brown eyes were locked on his, and pale lips quivered with indecision. "Collins, can I talk to you?"
"Of course, what's the matter?"
Collins slid onto the couch next to Angel, and looked at him with keen interest. In the manner of a young child, the transvestite nestled against the broad frame, and leaned his head against the chest.
In an instant, a flow of both tears and words erupted from the pacifist, and he had to pause several times in order to ease the heavy sobs. Collins rubbed his back, and pressed the thin body against his.
"I'm sorry. I know I should've told you. But I was so fuckin' /scared/! I just couldn't-I didn't-I-" Another eruption of sobs.
"I know Angel, I know."
"How could you have?"
"A little bird told me."
"Mark?"
"Yeah, but he didn't want me to say anything. I wish you had told me though, before this-"
Angel raised a tear blotched face, and took a deep breath.
"Collins, I don't think I'm going to get better..."
Mark stumbled out of bed, and blinked bleary eyes. For a moment, he wasn't able to remember anything of last night's events, but they soon came tumbling back at his head in a wash of dizzyness. With a grunt of weariness, he walked through the bedroom door and into the living room/kitchen. The first thought that came to his mind was breakfast, then Angel.
'Please let him be okay. Please let him be awake. Please oh please God, just this once grant me a little slack.'
The filmmaker looked towards the couch, to see Angel rested up against Collins, wrapped in a warm embrace. Both were asleep. Mark breathed a sigh of relief, for Angel's position clearly told that he had in fact woken up during the night.
'It must be nice,' he thought, 'to have someone like Collins.'
He decided against waking the two up, and looked in the small cupboards for anything that looked remotely like food and wasn't turning a drastic green. 'Although,' he though again at the sound of his stomach growling, 'right now that doesn't seem so bad...'
Roger and Mimi were still sleeping also. The dancer had spent the night in the loft, taking care of Angel for a reasonable amount of time before trying to convince Collins to go to bed. Naturally, her pleas had no effect on him, and he had remained by the couch's side.
"Aha!" He cried out, a bit too loudly.
"'Aha' what Mark?"
Angel looked up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at him with slightly drowsy interest.
"Nothing. I just think I've found something to eat."
"Good for you."
"You look better."
"I feel worse." Angel laughed weakly, and sat up a little.
"Are you up to eating anything?"
"Naw. You'd better save it for Roger and them."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." Angel smiled wanly, and shivered. "My Gawd it's cold in here. Don't you think so?"
"It's the warmest it's been all week."
"Really? I'm freezing!"
"I'll go get you another blanket."
Mark disappeared for a moment, and came back with an old quilt that had previously been lying on his bed.
"This oughta' warm you right up."
"Thanks." Angel wrapped it around his shaking shoulders, and fell into a short coughing fit. When he finished and opened his eyes, he found not only Mark looking on in concern, but a disheveled Roger and Mimi starting towards him.
"Good morning Angel."
"Good morning."
"Are you feeling better?"
"A little, I guess." He stopped, and stared at the onslaught of sympathetic faces. "I'm fine. Stop staring at me like I'm sitting in my deathbed. It's probably just a little bug, gone in a few days, then I'll be as well as I ever was."
'Yeah,' the voice in Angel's head chided, 'coughing and throwing up just like before. You'll be as well as you ever were.'
"Shut up." Came a low response through Angel's clenched teeth, thankfully soft enough as to not be heard by any other resident of the room.
"So what's for breakfast Marky?" Mimi said, trying to lighten to mood a bit.
"I think I found some Cheerios that aren't going bad."
"Do Cheerios go bad?"
"I just found a box with green stuff growing off of it."
"I'm not eating those Cheerios."
"No, I found another box that isn't rotting...yet..."
"Pancakes..." A bass voice from beside Angel came, drenched in the warmth of a half awake state.
"Pancakes?"
Collins sat up, scratched his side absently, and yawned. "Yes. I was having a dream about pancakes."
"Must've been a nice dream."
"Yeah...pancakes, and butter, and strawberry jelly..."
Angel scrunched up his nose a bit. "Strawberry jelly? On pancakes?"
"Yes. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I just never eat pancakes with strawberry jelly."
"It's delicious. You should try it."
"Sure."
Collins looked at his lover, and hooked an arm around his waist. "Feeling better?"
"Eh. Sure."
"Sure..." Collins muttered, before kissing Angel, then sitting up completely with a groan.
"I feel like I've been sleeping with a rock for a pillow."
"Worse, you've been sleeping on our couch."
This ending in a few chuckles, but stopped with a harsh bang as Angel doubled over on the couch, vomiting in heavy heaves on the cold floor. Once again the room swam, and the familiar voices around him sounded distant, and strange.
"Get him another blanket."
"Somebody go light sommore candles."
"Where's a mop?"
"Does it look like we have one?"
"Don't yell at me!"
He could vaguely feel a cool hand being pressed against his forehead.
"He's burning up!"
"Call a doctor!"
"Didn't we already try that?"
"Try it again!"
Angel rocked back and forth, quivering more violently than ever. He felt frighteningly out of balance, swaying to and fro, unable to catch his breath. A deep voice penetrated his wall of fright, and he could sense something warm being pressed against his frail body.
"Come on Angel girl, just calm down, it's okay, it's okay, shhhh...."
And with a dizzying jolt, blackness slipped over him, and he fell into heavy unconscious.