I have but a few things to say in this minimally adequate author's note.
Number one, it was sort of a white lie about the love part in the summary.
The true love doesn't come until chapter three. This is just some rather
obvious foreshadowing. Secondly if you think minor/adult slash is sick,
then don't read this chapter or even this story. Just go away. Last but
almost obscenely not least, you will notice there is drastic point of view
change. It's Squeegee now. In my fic, he's about fifteen.
Chapter Two
Foundations Blurred: This is my deep oblivion. -Johnny
I'm sitting on my front porch now. It's about one in the morning, Dad's inside. He's probably working or something. For a man who never leaves the house he works quite a bit. I don't know. I don't ask and he's not volunteering anything. God that ignorant fat woman's back. She has an entire heard of horrible little children, two about my age that look just like her. Apparently they've just broken parole; stupid drug addicts. She's screaming at them, one of them....the oldest: Billy seems to be enjoying it. Fuck his nose is bleeding and everything. No it must be the paint because if his mother had hit him than I would have been hit by a little piece of his skull right about now.
What am I doing? Really....what the hell am I doing out here? Homework-right; 'write a poem about your happy place'. My happy place used to be Johnny's house. I didn't know it then, I was what-eight? The frightening part is that he provided me more of a father than my own did. He was the only guy I knew who would dismember a ten year old, if you gave him a logical reason like he called me bug-eyes or something. Johnny told me at one point he thought I was cute. Now that was a little strange, but what did you expect? He gave me the kid's collarbone.
Thinking about him makes me incredibly sad. For two years I watched the news endlessly, but never if he did kill was he caught. I used to have horrible dreams about him getting the electric chair or how horrid it would be to watch him get a lethal injection and then I'd just wake up. I'd wake up and I'd wonder why I cared. He did nothing but land me in counseling.
As for those dreams, I think I'm just really tired and halfway to sleep because I see him right now. He's got a knife through his pants or something. The black fabric of his jeans serves as a sheath for that retched thing. His tall rickety form is caught in a streetlight for just a moment. Johnny's face is unmistakable. Strong-set jaw, defined high cheekbones and coal black eyes stare out from underneath a tattered edge of black hair. Johnny walks with purpose as he always has. I find myself, Todd Casil wanting to run over to him. But what would I do after that? Damn what if he sees me? He would be almost thirty by now....
Like an alpha wolf he surveys our neighborhood. It's funny, because his house was the crappiest on this street but after he left everything seemed to just deteriorate. He said something to me about being a waste lock before he left. Maybe when he was gone all the waste just sort of crept up on the rest of us. I hope he's back for good.
I'm still watching him. Johnny seems to have stopped under the streetlight for the moment. He's looking at me. Jesus he's looking at me. I suspect to see that knife flying at my throat any moment because the old fear's back. The sounds of saws and screams reverberate through my mind and I start to shake. I can feel those eyes of moonless night watching me. I just put my chin in my hands and sniffing; watch him walk over as graceful as Jack Skellington from The Nightmare before Christmas.
"Todd my god you're beautiful," was the first thing out of his mouth.
I watch him in disbelief. I guess it shows. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that," Johnny says as he sits next to me. He had said it loudly enough so that the fat woman berating her sons could hear. I feel my face turn red to the tips of my ears. She just gives me and Johnny an odd look and ushers her boys inside. Good. I hate them anyhow.
"Johnny it's all right. Who cares what people like that think?" I say to him. Johnny sort of half smiles. "What did you do the seven years you were gone?" I ask him softly.
"I don't know. Wandered and tried to be like Mr. Samsa," he replies, looking as though the thought was painful. I can tell by his suddenly vacant expression he's holding something back. I can tell now that I study him more closely that the inside of his arms and hands are streaked with blood. So is his neck-hell even his lips are encrusted with it. I know he had gone away to lose himself and release himself from such bloodlust. I suddenly feel sick that the first thing Johnny did after he returned was kill somebody. I want him clean of that blood.
"Todd-what're you doing?" Johnny asks as I come to nearer him, taking one his pale white hands in mine and running my thumb over his worn knuckles. I stick my tongue out first, just to taste him and see what another boy errrr, man is like. It's him who's yanking my head into such a violent position, kissing me deeply; a moan gathering in the back of his beleaguered throat. Quickly like a mountain lion snatching his cub back from the brink of a cliff, he slips his hand under my left thigh and pulled me onto his lap.
I have my arms wrapped around his neck, just resting my face his in hair. The glossy black strands smell like sex. His tongue traces my ear and determinedly Johnny draws a hickey on my neck. I run my hands up his shirt and our eyes meet. It's then that I remember he's killed hundreds if a thousand. It's then that I wonder if this physical passion with a man twice my age is worth my life and pain. Also I remember that the last time he loved he tried to kill her. But maybe it will be different with me.
"Johnny....I-I," I begin as I rest my head on his shoulder and he holds me gently around the waist. He looks at me and I can't read what he's thinking.
"You look hurt, like I finally shoved that knife up through your mattress," he muses and then looks serious, "You still don't think that was funny do you?"
I shake my head, "That's not the point. I....oh Jesus I can't do this...."
He smirked and slid the knife out of his pants. Smiling liquidly he holds it to my throat, "Now you can." Johnny now has some level of childish satisfaction glinting in his pallid drawn face.
"Do you love me?" I ask him, my eyes widening with fear. He just laughs and puts the knife away, "I could never hurt my little Squeegee. But I can't love you."
Seeing my confused look he just elaborates, "I can't. It's not a function in me. If I loved you it would make me happy; lying in bed with you all fucking day, hearing your voice instead of the....others. Dammit I would be so happy. We would be so happy, because I take you love me. And it wouldn't last. I would die before you did. It wouldn't be fair to leave you all alone in this world."
I am so scared of the look he's giving me. I just want to vomit his taste out of my mouth. The man had just murdered somebody, come to my doorstep and I was actually going along with this fantasy of being with him.
"But then again....you do seem rather infatuated with me. Devi was too," he says menacingly. "She wanted me and she got me. I know how crushed you would be if I left you here, after that performance." The knife is still in his hand. Somewhere distantly I hear his laughter. I'm stunned. In one quick movement Johnny has his boot on my chest and I am flat on my porch. That damn knife is lingering over my head. It clatters finally to the porch and a look of utter despair crosses Johnny's cold blank stare. He prostrates himself against me, digging his erection into my inner thigh and cradling my head on his right arm as his strokes my messy flyaway hair.
"Goddammit you're too fucking beautiful for this world. You're not like Devi. She didn't deserve to live. She was so damn phony hiding behind her easel and those ugly paintings. She really had no fucking taste," he whimpers into my chest finally. "But the world can't get to you. Tell me you won't let it get to you."
"I won't let it get to me," I murmur.
"Tell me again. Be strong when you say it. Don't break in tattered comments like me," Johnny cries more still to my T-shirt.
"I won't let it get to me," I say a little louder. He just smiles and kisses me again. I know it will be the last time I ever see him because Johnny kisses me as if trying to memorize every part of my mouth, from my tongue to the back of my throat. Johnny is about a centimeter from my face and looks at me with those pitch black eyes; ironically probably appraising my mental stability. "This is my deep oblivion. This is what I've been looking for. Thank you Todd."
He gets up after squeezing my hand and walks down our road again and leaves me to sit and wonder about myself and why I just made out with a thirty year old man who kills people.
Chapter Two
Foundations Blurred: This is my deep oblivion. -Johnny
I'm sitting on my front porch now. It's about one in the morning, Dad's inside. He's probably working or something. For a man who never leaves the house he works quite a bit. I don't know. I don't ask and he's not volunteering anything. God that ignorant fat woman's back. She has an entire heard of horrible little children, two about my age that look just like her. Apparently they've just broken parole; stupid drug addicts. She's screaming at them, one of them....the oldest: Billy seems to be enjoying it. Fuck his nose is bleeding and everything. No it must be the paint because if his mother had hit him than I would have been hit by a little piece of his skull right about now.
What am I doing? Really....what the hell am I doing out here? Homework-right; 'write a poem about your happy place'. My happy place used to be Johnny's house. I didn't know it then, I was what-eight? The frightening part is that he provided me more of a father than my own did. He was the only guy I knew who would dismember a ten year old, if you gave him a logical reason like he called me bug-eyes or something. Johnny told me at one point he thought I was cute. Now that was a little strange, but what did you expect? He gave me the kid's collarbone.
Thinking about him makes me incredibly sad. For two years I watched the news endlessly, but never if he did kill was he caught. I used to have horrible dreams about him getting the electric chair or how horrid it would be to watch him get a lethal injection and then I'd just wake up. I'd wake up and I'd wonder why I cared. He did nothing but land me in counseling.
As for those dreams, I think I'm just really tired and halfway to sleep because I see him right now. He's got a knife through his pants or something. The black fabric of his jeans serves as a sheath for that retched thing. His tall rickety form is caught in a streetlight for just a moment. Johnny's face is unmistakable. Strong-set jaw, defined high cheekbones and coal black eyes stare out from underneath a tattered edge of black hair. Johnny walks with purpose as he always has. I find myself, Todd Casil wanting to run over to him. But what would I do after that? Damn what if he sees me? He would be almost thirty by now....
Like an alpha wolf he surveys our neighborhood. It's funny, because his house was the crappiest on this street but after he left everything seemed to just deteriorate. He said something to me about being a waste lock before he left. Maybe when he was gone all the waste just sort of crept up on the rest of us. I hope he's back for good.
I'm still watching him. Johnny seems to have stopped under the streetlight for the moment. He's looking at me. Jesus he's looking at me. I suspect to see that knife flying at my throat any moment because the old fear's back. The sounds of saws and screams reverberate through my mind and I start to shake. I can feel those eyes of moonless night watching me. I just put my chin in my hands and sniffing; watch him walk over as graceful as Jack Skellington from The Nightmare before Christmas.
"Todd my god you're beautiful," was the first thing out of his mouth.
I watch him in disbelief. I guess it shows. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that," Johnny says as he sits next to me. He had said it loudly enough so that the fat woman berating her sons could hear. I feel my face turn red to the tips of my ears. She just gives me and Johnny an odd look and ushers her boys inside. Good. I hate them anyhow.
"Johnny it's all right. Who cares what people like that think?" I say to him. Johnny sort of half smiles. "What did you do the seven years you were gone?" I ask him softly.
"I don't know. Wandered and tried to be like Mr. Samsa," he replies, looking as though the thought was painful. I can tell by his suddenly vacant expression he's holding something back. I can tell now that I study him more closely that the inside of his arms and hands are streaked with blood. So is his neck-hell even his lips are encrusted with it. I know he had gone away to lose himself and release himself from such bloodlust. I suddenly feel sick that the first thing Johnny did after he returned was kill somebody. I want him clean of that blood.
"Todd-what're you doing?" Johnny asks as I come to nearer him, taking one his pale white hands in mine and running my thumb over his worn knuckles. I stick my tongue out first, just to taste him and see what another boy errrr, man is like. It's him who's yanking my head into such a violent position, kissing me deeply; a moan gathering in the back of his beleaguered throat. Quickly like a mountain lion snatching his cub back from the brink of a cliff, he slips his hand under my left thigh and pulled me onto his lap.
I have my arms wrapped around his neck, just resting my face his in hair. The glossy black strands smell like sex. His tongue traces my ear and determinedly Johnny draws a hickey on my neck. I run my hands up his shirt and our eyes meet. It's then that I remember he's killed hundreds if a thousand. It's then that I wonder if this physical passion with a man twice my age is worth my life and pain. Also I remember that the last time he loved he tried to kill her. But maybe it will be different with me.
"Johnny....I-I," I begin as I rest my head on his shoulder and he holds me gently around the waist. He looks at me and I can't read what he's thinking.
"You look hurt, like I finally shoved that knife up through your mattress," he muses and then looks serious, "You still don't think that was funny do you?"
I shake my head, "That's not the point. I....oh Jesus I can't do this...."
He smirked and slid the knife out of his pants. Smiling liquidly he holds it to my throat, "Now you can." Johnny now has some level of childish satisfaction glinting in his pallid drawn face.
"Do you love me?" I ask him, my eyes widening with fear. He just laughs and puts the knife away, "I could never hurt my little Squeegee. But I can't love you."
Seeing my confused look he just elaborates, "I can't. It's not a function in me. If I loved you it would make me happy; lying in bed with you all fucking day, hearing your voice instead of the....others. Dammit I would be so happy. We would be so happy, because I take you love me. And it wouldn't last. I would die before you did. It wouldn't be fair to leave you all alone in this world."
I am so scared of the look he's giving me. I just want to vomit his taste out of my mouth. The man had just murdered somebody, come to my doorstep and I was actually going along with this fantasy of being with him.
"But then again....you do seem rather infatuated with me. Devi was too," he says menacingly. "She wanted me and she got me. I know how crushed you would be if I left you here, after that performance." The knife is still in his hand. Somewhere distantly I hear his laughter. I'm stunned. In one quick movement Johnny has his boot on my chest and I am flat on my porch. That damn knife is lingering over my head. It clatters finally to the porch and a look of utter despair crosses Johnny's cold blank stare. He prostrates himself against me, digging his erection into my inner thigh and cradling my head on his right arm as his strokes my messy flyaway hair.
"Goddammit you're too fucking beautiful for this world. You're not like Devi. She didn't deserve to live. She was so damn phony hiding behind her easel and those ugly paintings. She really had no fucking taste," he whimpers into my chest finally. "But the world can't get to you. Tell me you won't let it get to you."
"I won't let it get to me," I murmur.
"Tell me again. Be strong when you say it. Don't break in tattered comments like me," Johnny cries more still to my T-shirt.
"I won't let it get to me," I say a little louder. He just smiles and kisses me again. I know it will be the last time I ever see him because Johnny kisses me as if trying to memorize every part of my mouth, from my tongue to the back of my throat. Johnny is about a centimeter from my face and looks at me with those pitch black eyes; ironically probably appraising my mental stability. "This is my deep oblivion. This is what I've been looking for. Thank you Todd."
He gets up after squeezing my hand and walks down our road again and leaves me to sit and wonder about myself and why I just made out with a thirty year old man who kills people.