Brian's footsteps continued to grace the street. Each tap of his heel felt like it was in sync with each of his heartbeats. Until now, his mind had been free of thoughts.
His thoughts were of Curt. Everything else that passed his mind were just unwanted images, impulses. He realized now that the only thing harder than thinking was not thinking. Then he realized another thing shortly after. It was impossible.
He drew his eyes up and off the ground. He looked around; at a tree, a bum digging in the trash, anything to keep his mind away from his "thoughts."
From a distance, something struck at him. He saw a girl. She had her back leaned against the side of a building, along with her left leg, in a teasing pose. In her right hand, she held a cigarette, and in her left, a match. She was striking it tirelessly against the building. When it finally lit up, she touched it to the tip of her cigarette.
And when it lit up, Brian lost consciousness of his present surroundings. All he could see was Curt.
"Kiss me." Curt said.
"What? Is that a command?" he asked in return.
"Yeah. Yes it is."
"What if I don't want to?" he asked playfully.
"Then, I'll make you want to."
"What if that doesn't work?" he persisted.
"Then I'm afraid I'll have to be more…persuasive." Curt said, pulling a cigarette and a box of matches out of his pockets.
"What're you gonna do, huh?"
"Kiss me, or else."
"Or else, what?" he asked, giggling.
"Or else I'll burn my tongue and you'll have that on your conscience forever!"
"You'll have to try harder." he said.
"You're right." Curt agreed, putting the cigarette in his mouth and striking a match on the side of the box.
"You're not gonna do it, you pansy."
"Pansy? You should be talking." Curt lit the cigarette. "Kiss me. Now."
"No." he said firmly, trying to see how far the other would go.
Incapable of waiting another second, Curt took the cigarette and dug it down the tip of his tongue, searing it.
"The fuck did you do that for!" he asked in alarm.
"Oo dinint thig that I'd oo id, tid you?" Curt asked, wincing in pain.
"Oh come here, you sick son of a bastard." he said lovingly. "You want a bloody kiss?" He pulled Curt and kissed him, almost sucked him dry.
"Ah, shit! That fuggin hurt like hell!" Curt yelled.
"But my kiss tastes like heaven." he said.
He kissed Curt again, touching his own tongue to Curt's singed one. Then he bit Curt's lower lip tenderly.
"Are oo attempting to further mutilate me?"
"Such a drama king. Come on, let's go." He snatched Curt's hand. "Maybe a quick fuck will cure your speech impediment."
Together they laughed, and left.
Brian was now just a few steps from the girl, who was looking straight ahead in a different direction. She turned her head as he came nearer.
"Looking for a fast fix, doll?" she asked him, with a grin on her face.
He stopped and gazed at the cigarette between her fingers, which was substantially shorter.
"You just gonna stand there?" she asked again.
He turned around and started walking back, treading down the same way he came up.
"What's his deal?" the girl mumbled.
Brian closed his eyes while he walked. He was surprised, as tears dropped when he opened them.
He started singing to appease himself.
Take a look
At what I took
A leaf out of everybody's book
We see
what you, can't see
I'm caught in a trap of my own, tears filled his eyes again.
Like everybody I know, he clutched his arms tightly, as if he would disintegrate if he let go.
This won't be played, on your radio
tonight
This won't be played, on your radio
tonight
Do you all know, his lips trembled.
Of the emperor's clothes
Walking down an empty road
We see
what you, can't see
That's not how I wanna be, he sniffed. His head felt like it was going to explode.
Anyhow, every time, the same dream, he broke down. He rushed to wipe his tears, looking at them with disgust as they pooled on his hands.
When he recovered, he returned to singing.
This won't be played, on your radio
tonight, he gasped, almost choking on his sobs.
This won't be played, on your radio
tonight
He stopped by the mouth of an alley and let himself plop on the ground. He cradled his knees in.
This won't be played, on your radio
show
This won't be played, on your radio
tonight
Oh no
Disclaimer: I don't own "Radio Song." It belongs to Jet.