(Sorry the continuation of this story was delayed for so long...but I went on a two-week vacation and I also encountered a road block. Now that I know roughly where I'm going with this story, it should progress reasonably faster)
"I am every fucking thing and just a little more. I sold my soul but don't you dare call me a whore. And when I suck you off, not a drop will go to waste. It's really not so bad, you know, once you get past the taste."--NIN
-Chapter two-
The metal lid of the coffee can gave in to the can opener with a resigned sigh. The paper cup shivered between jittery hands as it was placed underneath the coffee maker. With the press of a button, Luke sat back and waited as his morning brew dribbled out from the filter into the disposable cup.
He had never liked coffee, but as the days crawled onward it became increasingly necessary to jerk him out of his comatose-like daze that took him from his bed to the shower, and from there to the small make-shift kitchen of his motel room. It always scalded his throat as he washed it down; sometimes throwing it back like one would a shot of vodka, but it was as if he had become numb to these pains, his tolerance to it had raised at least a degree or two since an ancient virus had ransacked his body.
And yet it was still sticking it out, Luke had to give his body credit for that. If it had been up to him, he would have long since cashed in his chips and checked into whatever motel held a vacancy for him, heaven or hell. He was quite sure he had no real purpose in staying around for these final days, or months, but at the same time he was equally sure he had no real eagerness to go, nothing to look forward to.
Of course there were always those persistent romantic dreams that sprouted up like fungus in the dying brain. Some smaller part of him -wanted- to believe that when he died he would join with his true love, Tran, that as soon as he rid his soul of the flesh shackles that bound him to his body, his soul would be bestowed with every luxury imaginable, even the previously unavailable state of contentment. But the more domineering part of his mind was always present, looming like a shadow over these mental pleasantries, prepared to drop like a two ton weight should he ever give these dreams any real consideration.
Then he was left with only bitterness, and a hollow filled his heart. There would be no contentment for him, not even in the afterlife; he knew that as surely as he knew he was about to die. Why would Tran, whose fear of him had turned into loathing and driven him into the arms of Jay, wish to spend an eternity with Luke? In some sick turn of perversion, perhaps Tran had -enjoyed- the pain Jay had dared bestow upon him. Maybe he loved the finality of Jay's decision to fuck his insides with a knife and drink his blood like it had been produced in some concluding orgasmic offering.
Luke's mind ticked over this possibility and he closed his eyes to savor the immense pain he felt jilt his heart. A masochist of the emotions, his remaining joy was ironically bestowing upon himself the worst his decrepit mind could pull together. Yes...it was always the sadistic, unhealthy pleasures that proved to be the hardest to rid yourself, but if a disease took advantage of every capability to snap the strings of life by which he clung to, was he then not allowed the ability to cast that torture on himself?
He held the flimsy cup between both his hands and poised the drink so the Styrofoam hovered not millimeters from his lips, letting the warmth of the coffee dissolve away some of the ice. Then he tilted it enough to let some of the liquid splash against his lips and scald his tongue, savoring the slow rush that caffeine gave him, before draining the rest of the contents of the cup. Licking his lips, he discarded the cup in the waste bin and pulled his ancient leather jacket off the back of one of the chairs. An old friend, he'd have to write a note before he died, expressing his wishes to be cremated in it.
There was a bite to the wind that stung Luke's face that demanded protection from the elements that his jacket just could not provide. As with the coffee, however, he barely noticed even as the wind burned his skin and gave his nose and his cheeks a dab of color, and quickly hustled himself down the sidewalk and two blocks away from the shabby motel, to a closet they called a café.
A bell on the door jingled as he stepped inside and shook himself of the uncharacteristic chill the weather had created, a rush of warm air meeting him and causing his face to tingle as it began to thaw. His dark blue eyes scanned the poorly lit café and finally spotted the man he was supposed to be meeting, the publisher who went by the name Jeff.
He slid into the booth opposite of the over eager looking young man he had met only once and had regretted it ever since. He was the high strung, nervous type, with the profile of a greyhound and a demeanor to match, and his hands were always moving. As Luke watched him now, they were fiddling with the plastic fork and knife provided courtesy of the café. Jeff managed a smile however, as he lifted his eyes to look at Luke "Glad ya could make it! I was starting to think I'd have to dine alone."
The faint Texas drawl didn't seem to suit the man, it sounded pinched when spoken in the rapid pace Jeff talked in, and it made Luke wonder, from time to time, if it was a fake accent to somehow mach the uptight man seem more...interesting. "Tell me again why you wanted to meet me?"
"Oh! Well...ya know, I've read some of your work. Sacred Alter, shocked me really...not normally my type of book you know, a bit too risqué, but it trapped me all the same!"
Luke guessed that if Jeff's reading interests ventured from magazines like Playboy and Sports illustrated, it was more than likely condemned to books of a juvenile interest that focused more on the out and out boundary-less realm of childish fantasy than thriving in the constraints of 'realism', where there were so many outlandish names for monsters that one could hardly keep them straight yet those with arrested development somehow had a knack for it. In a word, Harry Potter. It was a miracle the man had even -heard- of his stories, let alone read them cover-to-cover. "...And?"
"-And- it got my company interested...and we wondered if you had any works in progress right now? Or finished yet unpublished perhaps?"
Luke knew of only one story that he had worked on since his break up with Tran, the grotesque and yet richly flavored with poison story he had written, detailing their love and their demise, and Tran's obscure death. It was a horrid piece of literature, its lack of plot hidden only in the maze of beautiful phrases Luke was capable of creating to illustrate the simple message "You love them and they fuck you over, always." It was hardly worthy of being published, but Luke believed he could get his jollies by handing the thick stack of arranged papers and seeing the look on his face as he read through some of the more 'risqué' scenes. So against his better judgment, he nodded slowly. "I have...something near completion."
"Really? Well that's great! You think you might want to drop it by Ballantine Books sometime? I'd love to read it and I'm sure there's a market for your type of thing." Jeff folded his hands together, a grin spreading from ear to ear as if he had just reached payday.
He shrugged, and refrained from inquiring into what exactly the man must have thought his 'thing' was. When the waitress finally wandered by, he ordered a club sandwich and a root beer, and was surprised when Jeff got up to go to the bathroom, a familiar body slid into his seat.
"Luke! Remember me? I haven't seen you in ages."
Luke resisted the urge to scoff at such a ridiculous question as he laid his eyes on Soren. He wasn't the type of guy that would work with someone for months, screw, and then somehow miraculously forget the other had ever graced the face of the Earth.
"I thought you might have ran off with Tran or something..."
His innocent assumption of Luke's and Tran's fate almost made look want to cry. Almost. If tears hadn't long been lost to him as the comforts of humanity were shed from his withering body. "No...no, I haven't seen Tran around, and sorry for...uh, not getting into contact with you--"
"Don't worry about it." Soren waved his hand, sensing how uncomfortable it made Luke to actually feel the need to apologize. "I know you're a real busy guy."
"Hmph, busy...right...." Only if lying awake at night and staring at the ceiling counting the little grainy bumps counted as business, or staring at yourself in the mirror and watching your flesh melt away until a skull stared back blankly at you. But if Soren was none the wiser, Luke would do nothing to make him more so.
"It's good to see you..." Soren said shyly, and reached across the table to lightly grasp Luke's hand in his. Luke was taken aback by how timid Soren was acting, and how he found himself actually returning the statement, and meaning it. Perhaps he had underestimated the 'friendship' he and Soren had shared. It was a pleasant shock, but an unnerving one as well.
They began to talk to catch up on everything that had happened in the months following their rendezvous, and Luke would later only remember one time where he wondered if Jeff had fallen into the toilet, but he was too caught up in the moment to care. It was cheesy, he knew, but for that brief period of time he actually felt like he was acting on genuine emotion, not playing the shadow role he had adopted for so long.
Across the café, tucked into a dark corner where he was easily missed, a man watched the pair with an interest that bordered on obsessive. His fingers drummed the table lightly as he sipped at his tea in a mechanic manner, his eyes honing in specifically on the beautiful bleached blonde boy. Soren...the aloof tech-head that had turned him down for a date on the spot, in the politest manner possible. Soren...the pained child who hid his sorrows behind makeup. Yes, he was perfect, the man had always known that...but with each moment that passed, the need to have him as one of his own became increasingly more urgent. All of the personalities that rampaged through one body, Margaret, Johnny, Nate...all agreed that they needed him, but it was the personality occupying his mind at the moment that proved to be the most dangerous. Finally he set the cup down with a determined clack.
Soon Soren would be his and his alone, and he would have no need to be jealous.
"I am every fucking thing and just a little more. I sold my soul but don't you dare call me a whore. And when I suck you off, not a drop will go to waste. It's really not so bad, you know, once you get past the taste."--NIN
-Chapter two-
The metal lid of the coffee can gave in to the can opener with a resigned sigh. The paper cup shivered between jittery hands as it was placed underneath the coffee maker. With the press of a button, Luke sat back and waited as his morning brew dribbled out from the filter into the disposable cup.
He had never liked coffee, but as the days crawled onward it became increasingly necessary to jerk him out of his comatose-like daze that took him from his bed to the shower, and from there to the small make-shift kitchen of his motel room. It always scalded his throat as he washed it down; sometimes throwing it back like one would a shot of vodka, but it was as if he had become numb to these pains, his tolerance to it had raised at least a degree or two since an ancient virus had ransacked his body.
And yet it was still sticking it out, Luke had to give his body credit for that. If it had been up to him, he would have long since cashed in his chips and checked into whatever motel held a vacancy for him, heaven or hell. He was quite sure he had no real purpose in staying around for these final days, or months, but at the same time he was equally sure he had no real eagerness to go, nothing to look forward to.
Of course there were always those persistent romantic dreams that sprouted up like fungus in the dying brain. Some smaller part of him -wanted- to believe that when he died he would join with his true love, Tran, that as soon as he rid his soul of the flesh shackles that bound him to his body, his soul would be bestowed with every luxury imaginable, even the previously unavailable state of contentment. But the more domineering part of his mind was always present, looming like a shadow over these mental pleasantries, prepared to drop like a two ton weight should he ever give these dreams any real consideration.
Then he was left with only bitterness, and a hollow filled his heart. There would be no contentment for him, not even in the afterlife; he knew that as surely as he knew he was about to die. Why would Tran, whose fear of him had turned into loathing and driven him into the arms of Jay, wish to spend an eternity with Luke? In some sick turn of perversion, perhaps Tran had -enjoyed- the pain Jay had dared bestow upon him. Maybe he loved the finality of Jay's decision to fuck his insides with a knife and drink his blood like it had been produced in some concluding orgasmic offering.
Luke's mind ticked over this possibility and he closed his eyes to savor the immense pain he felt jilt his heart. A masochist of the emotions, his remaining joy was ironically bestowing upon himself the worst his decrepit mind could pull together. Yes...it was always the sadistic, unhealthy pleasures that proved to be the hardest to rid yourself, but if a disease took advantage of every capability to snap the strings of life by which he clung to, was he then not allowed the ability to cast that torture on himself?
He held the flimsy cup between both his hands and poised the drink so the Styrofoam hovered not millimeters from his lips, letting the warmth of the coffee dissolve away some of the ice. Then he tilted it enough to let some of the liquid splash against his lips and scald his tongue, savoring the slow rush that caffeine gave him, before draining the rest of the contents of the cup. Licking his lips, he discarded the cup in the waste bin and pulled his ancient leather jacket off the back of one of the chairs. An old friend, he'd have to write a note before he died, expressing his wishes to be cremated in it.
There was a bite to the wind that stung Luke's face that demanded protection from the elements that his jacket just could not provide. As with the coffee, however, he barely noticed even as the wind burned his skin and gave his nose and his cheeks a dab of color, and quickly hustled himself down the sidewalk and two blocks away from the shabby motel, to a closet they called a café.
A bell on the door jingled as he stepped inside and shook himself of the uncharacteristic chill the weather had created, a rush of warm air meeting him and causing his face to tingle as it began to thaw. His dark blue eyes scanned the poorly lit café and finally spotted the man he was supposed to be meeting, the publisher who went by the name Jeff.
He slid into the booth opposite of the over eager looking young man he had met only once and had regretted it ever since. He was the high strung, nervous type, with the profile of a greyhound and a demeanor to match, and his hands were always moving. As Luke watched him now, they were fiddling with the plastic fork and knife provided courtesy of the café. Jeff managed a smile however, as he lifted his eyes to look at Luke "Glad ya could make it! I was starting to think I'd have to dine alone."
The faint Texas drawl didn't seem to suit the man, it sounded pinched when spoken in the rapid pace Jeff talked in, and it made Luke wonder, from time to time, if it was a fake accent to somehow mach the uptight man seem more...interesting. "Tell me again why you wanted to meet me?"
"Oh! Well...ya know, I've read some of your work. Sacred Alter, shocked me really...not normally my type of book you know, a bit too risqué, but it trapped me all the same!"
Luke guessed that if Jeff's reading interests ventured from magazines like Playboy and Sports illustrated, it was more than likely condemned to books of a juvenile interest that focused more on the out and out boundary-less realm of childish fantasy than thriving in the constraints of 'realism', where there were so many outlandish names for monsters that one could hardly keep them straight yet those with arrested development somehow had a knack for it. In a word, Harry Potter. It was a miracle the man had even -heard- of his stories, let alone read them cover-to-cover. "...And?"
"-And- it got my company interested...and we wondered if you had any works in progress right now? Or finished yet unpublished perhaps?"
Luke knew of only one story that he had worked on since his break up with Tran, the grotesque and yet richly flavored with poison story he had written, detailing their love and their demise, and Tran's obscure death. It was a horrid piece of literature, its lack of plot hidden only in the maze of beautiful phrases Luke was capable of creating to illustrate the simple message "You love them and they fuck you over, always." It was hardly worthy of being published, but Luke believed he could get his jollies by handing the thick stack of arranged papers and seeing the look on his face as he read through some of the more 'risqué' scenes. So against his better judgment, he nodded slowly. "I have...something near completion."
"Really? Well that's great! You think you might want to drop it by Ballantine Books sometime? I'd love to read it and I'm sure there's a market for your type of thing." Jeff folded his hands together, a grin spreading from ear to ear as if he had just reached payday.
He shrugged, and refrained from inquiring into what exactly the man must have thought his 'thing' was. When the waitress finally wandered by, he ordered a club sandwich and a root beer, and was surprised when Jeff got up to go to the bathroom, a familiar body slid into his seat.
"Luke! Remember me? I haven't seen you in ages."
Luke resisted the urge to scoff at such a ridiculous question as he laid his eyes on Soren. He wasn't the type of guy that would work with someone for months, screw, and then somehow miraculously forget the other had ever graced the face of the Earth.
"I thought you might have ran off with Tran or something..."
His innocent assumption of Luke's and Tran's fate almost made look want to cry. Almost. If tears hadn't long been lost to him as the comforts of humanity were shed from his withering body. "No...no, I haven't seen Tran around, and sorry for...uh, not getting into contact with you--"
"Don't worry about it." Soren waved his hand, sensing how uncomfortable it made Luke to actually feel the need to apologize. "I know you're a real busy guy."
"Hmph, busy...right...." Only if lying awake at night and staring at the ceiling counting the little grainy bumps counted as business, or staring at yourself in the mirror and watching your flesh melt away until a skull stared back blankly at you. But if Soren was none the wiser, Luke would do nothing to make him more so.
"It's good to see you..." Soren said shyly, and reached across the table to lightly grasp Luke's hand in his. Luke was taken aback by how timid Soren was acting, and how he found himself actually returning the statement, and meaning it. Perhaps he had underestimated the 'friendship' he and Soren had shared. It was a pleasant shock, but an unnerving one as well.
They began to talk to catch up on everything that had happened in the months following their rendezvous, and Luke would later only remember one time where he wondered if Jeff had fallen into the toilet, but he was too caught up in the moment to care. It was cheesy, he knew, but for that brief period of time he actually felt like he was acting on genuine emotion, not playing the shadow role he had adopted for so long.
Across the café, tucked into a dark corner where he was easily missed, a man watched the pair with an interest that bordered on obsessive. His fingers drummed the table lightly as he sipped at his tea in a mechanic manner, his eyes honing in specifically on the beautiful bleached blonde boy. Soren...the aloof tech-head that had turned him down for a date on the spot, in the politest manner possible. Soren...the pained child who hid his sorrows behind makeup. Yes, he was perfect, the man had always known that...but with each moment that passed, the need to have him as one of his own became increasingly more urgent. All of the personalities that rampaged through one body, Margaret, Johnny, Nate...all agreed that they needed him, but it was the personality occupying his mind at the moment that proved to be the most dangerous. Finally he set the cup down with a determined clack.
Soon Soren would be his and his alone, and he would have no need to be jealous.