Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends.
A/N: Ugh. This story is breaking my freaking heart.
Warning: PG-13 (adult situations and drug references)
Chapter 3
iii.)
he
has rock star colored dreams
high life – low morals
she
thrives on his tainted tears
suffering only adds to the
flavor
they leave mutual marks – some intended – some not
only
they knew which was what
He believes in living big and paying little. The markers which lent themselves to his artful mutilations proved true when there wasn't enough cash for a prettily rolled blunt. Most times there was enough money for the supplies because it is always cheaper to roll them yourself, but he never would. Somehow – he was above that (even if he was only a two dollar man-whore).
Girl Explicit found Boy Anachronism like this (more often than she'd like to admit): passed out on the bathroom floor or floating by on his delusions with a marker in one hand a blade in the other. You could tell he was high by the marks at the end of his nose where the felt-tip branded him. She'd touch him then and look at his glassy lips and painted eyes (he was never more lost or backwards than in these moments).
Caught in a dizzy fog he would talk of rubies, witches, and scarecrows. It was never her intention to follow him over the rainbow, but sometimes it just happened (tornados are very persuasive). Tumbling wildly from the sky with Dorothy red slippers and landing on golden bricks – he always made sure to include the gold, rubies, and emeralds because he had expensive taste. They laughed in poppy fields on the way to the Emerald City (he wanted to see how mighty Oz could be and if the Emeralds had any worth) and nibbled on corn stolen from said scarecrow. The corn too was gold but the flavor wasn't as rich as they'd hoped.
Then – tap tap tap – they were home and no better for it. Here there was no golden road or cities painted envy green to hide their flaws. Here every imperfection was painfully visible. Here life wasn't bright in its over saturated Technicolor glory (life hurts more in black&white). Here they were dark and alone.
Glass like orbs slid down a mascara stained cheek. The Atlantic was overflowing. Coming down always hit him hard. She caught every last remnant of his agony on an eager tongue. The drops lacked the bitter ocean salt that crusted like diamonds in his tear ducts, but were sweet. This wasn't the sugar and candy flavor but a mature nectar. With every new cut that appeared on his body the taste intensified (because suffering lends itself to flavor). Since kind words fell so rarely from those black twisted glitter lips – Girl Explicit absorbed this sweetness with childish exuberance. It was proof to him that the ability to love hadn't completely bled out from his body.
She wondered how long he would last in this torrent of tears. The Boy Anachronism cried like summer rain: brutal, hot, and unpredictable. In the back of her mind Girl Explicit hoped he would stay like this forever (or at least long enough to love her) but he never failed to remind her that all of this was temporary. Eventually he would fade away, just like his tears, and take his hidden sweetness with her.
"1ne more day." She'd bargain; he'd stay. "No one will love you like I do." Promises she thinks aren't empty.
"I hope not." He murmurs in disgust.
Her love repulses him because he doesn't understand it. How can he when he doesn't understand himself (or maybe he understands too well?).
It is Wednesday but the day calendar on his wall says Saturday. Maybe in Oz (or wherever the hell he is) it is Saturday, but that doesn't change the here and now (even though he would have killed to change it).
He's sprawled out on his belly on their bed and she straddles his back. With her own black felt-tipped marker (the same one she used in the bathroom) she works her own magic. Lines tickle their way down his skin in places he can't reach.
"NEVER LEAVE ME"
The bold black letters run down the familiar bumps of his protruding spine. He reads it in the mirror and looks at her.
"Promises fade faster than ink." He reminds of his philosophy, but later – with white knuckles clutching whiter sheets and sweat rolling down their bodies – he whispers in her ear: "Never leave me. Don't fade."
"I won't." She breathes.
When it is all over – he turns away.
A/N: Thanks to stress, xoborogrlox and Purple Rhapsody for reviewing. I love it.
I also love this story.
And I love Spot.
And Johnny Depp.
Not necessarily in that order, but who cares?
I also love reviews. coughhintcough