Smoother than Silk

Ahh I really shouldn't be starting anything new, as I can't keep up with what I have already started.  But well, I already wrote this so.  Why not.  I've never written anything like this before (uh oh bad words and erm other stuff *blush) so here goes.  It is again, very very unedited and I am until now the only one who has read it for coherence meaning it may make no sense.  I hope it does, and I hope you like reading it.

so without further adu Smoother than Silk:

“Look, they got her a little.” I leaned forward in my seat.  Even though Trixie was a huge dog, the bulls dwarfed her.  The single horn on each of their heads was slender, but looked wickedly sharp.

           

“That's old.” Carol whispered, leaning back in her chair. “Hush, and watch.” Trixie barked and herded and pushed and nudged at the bulls.  I hadn’t been excited before, but this was amazing.  A small giggle passed my lips, and one of the bulls' huge heads swung around to look at me, it was the leader.  It paused, the bellowed, whipping its huge head back around toward Trixie scratching a deep red line into her golden fur.  All four of us watching gasped, and chaos ensued.  

           

The bulls bellowed together and thrashed, throwing Trixie against the stalls walls and doors. She was gored more times and scratched.  It was a miracle she wasn’t trampled.  We all sat stunned.  The sounds she made were the worst.  I wanted to go grab her but I couldn’t move.  I could barely follow Trixie's movement with my eyes.

           

Suddenly Carol stood and did what I wish I could have.  She opened the stall and called to Trixie who shot out of the stall like a bullet from a gun.  Cliché, but true.  Trixie went straight to a crate, which looked to be made of some sort of reinforced metal bars.  I wondered why she would do something like that, but when the bulls tried to follow her I wished I could have fit in the box with her.  But somehow Carol managed to keep them inside.  She had to be some kind of superhero.

           

The next moments were a blur.  I heard a mix of sounds, and saw a mix of colors, but the next things I was really aware of were Trixie's whimpers next to my cheek and Carol's hand on my shoulder blade.  The other two were gone.  I didn't mind.  I didn't really know them some random cousins of Grey. 

           

The bulls were quiet; Carol had somehow gotten them into their separate corrals.

“You okay?” She asked, I nodded.  Trixie licked the fingers I draped through the bars of the crate. “You want to help me with the next bit?” I shrugged and stood.  I wiped my hands on my pants.  I was a bit dazed.  I really hoped Trixie would be okay, but Carol didn’t seem too worried.

           

Carol pulled another large crate from the stall we were sitting in.  It held small black and red rocks.  She nodded to another crate further back covered with a dark cloth.

           

“Those are fire iguanas, very poisonous, but they like to help us.  They put a leg in the box and release some venom, we put the bull's leg in the box and they get punished.  Con on we've got to do it fast or it doesn't work as well.”

           

The iguanas were huge and stocky, but very complacent.  One by one thy placed their right front foot into the box then filed back into their crate.  It was very uncanny, but then again lots of things about this now life were strange and uncanny, like unicorn bulls, and well, everything else.  The worst thing about the iguanas, though, was their eyes, there were almost human, but that wasn’t it, it was more than that.  There was definitely someone home, and yet they were going to sit in that crate for who knew how long. 

           

Carol turned to take the box of poison to the bulls and I discretely brushed my hand over the head of the last iguana.  It was warm to the touch.  On of the warmest and softest things I had ever touched, nothing like the scaly cool skin I had been expecting.  So so soft.  I touched my hand to my lips trying to preserve the feeling. Softer than velvet.  It was how Haley had described first touching her boyfriends dick.  Softer than velvet.  I shook my head.  Gross.  That’s how I had ended up at the barn at 7:30 am on a Saturday morning anyway.  To avoid Grey's penis.  What a douche- what a gorgeous douche.  But was he really, a douche, he had been pretty nice to me, and he was so pretty-

           

“Alex! What are you doing, come here and help me carry!” I turned my head, oops.  I stood, my fingers still against my lips, tingling slightly

Softer than velvet.

The tingle didn’t fade.  In fact it seemed to get stronger.  I couldn’t seem to sit still at breakfast, I tore my croissant into tiny pieces and picked at the pulp in my orange juice, but worst of all, each time I crossed and uncrossed my legs I somehow brushed against Grey's legs.  Each time his eyes would seek mine until he caught them.

           

Grey's eyes were his most dangerous features.  They were the one that made me most want to give in to temptation.  The one I pictured looking up into as he thrust into me from above, my nails digging into his sweat slicked back as I gasped for breath- wait, what, I'd never thought that before, what was going on? I focused on separating my croissant pieces into layers, and then crossed my legs, this time to fidgety and to readjust the suddenly hard flesh between my legs.

           

“Alex, you seem flushed, are you okay?” I blushed more and eagerly assured my soon to be mother in law I was quite alright.  Carol looked at me suspiciously.  I tore another bit of my croissant and pulled my legs under me on my chair. No chance of accidental footsie now.

           

I made my self eat, and be still.  I avoided looks from all at the table and got lost in my thoughts:

Trixie running from the stall, blood dripping through her golden fur.

           

The bulls with single horns, their horns making their shadows look like fat unicorns. They looked magic, especially at night, everything here seemed magical at night.  The rose garden, the bulls, even Grey and all his family, the house, especially when I wandered through waiting for everyone to fall asleep.

           

Haley.  How much I missed her.

           

Softer than velvet, smoother than silk.

           

How fast everything had changed

           

Grey

           

How bad would it be to give in? To let him- take me, would it hurt? Well I knew it would hurt, how bad would it hurt, would I still be me?

           

Would I ever be able to go home?

           

Would home ever be home again?

           

Chocolate brown eyes flecked with gold, darkened with lust, no love, looking down at me-

           

That first night, how Grey had lit all those candles, had made up the bed with white silk sheets, the champagne and chocolate.  How he knew sour patch kids were my favorite candy and how he had them there in a cut glass bowl on the nightstand.  How I had cried. All the names I had called him, how patient he had been with me, how patient he was still being. Four weeks he had slept on the floor, three weeks I had built a pillow wall between us and now, with me slipping in and out of bed when he was asleep, the names I still called him.

           

How I wanted this to be over.

           

How afraid I was to give up.

           

“Alex” I looked up.  Everyone had left the table, only Grey and I remained.  “I don’t want to pressure you, I’ve tried to be patient-” he looked pained, his pupils were huge.  I was still hard.  I realized I really really wanted something inside me.  Odd, I'd never felt that way before.  Hell a little over three months ago I'd thought I was straighter than a ruler. “But the elders want a date, one before the end of the month.”

           

The feeling faded, I didn’t like being scheduled.

           

“But that's in like 10 days.”  Articulate as always.

           

“Yes I know,” Of course he knew “But, Alex, it's been months, that's unheard of.” he leaned forward across the table.

           

“But 10 days is really short! I really don't-”

           

“Alex, I can feel how much you want me, smell it,” he blinked “what have you been doing? I’ve never felt that from you before-” His voice got lower, almost a growl.  His hand brushed my knee, I was sitting on my heels and couldn’t move, I felt trapped.

           

“Watching the unicorn bulls,” I breathed, completely entranced “they almost killed Trixie, I think it was my fault.” One of my hands slipped to palm my hardness, the other reached for Grey's cheek.   I swallowed hard.  How was this happening all the sudden, so fast.  I had held out for weeks now over breakfast I suddenly didn’t have any control? I didn’t even like Grey.  I didn’t even know him. 

           

“I want to be ready.” I whispered, “but I don’t want, I don’t want, I don’t want people to know when- that I've-” I pause not sure what I am trying to say.  “This is like an arranged marriage you know, actually this is exactly what this is.  I didn’t even know you, then I’m told I was promised- I’m 22, I thought I got to make my own choices you know?”  I don’t know what I am saying, He knows more about what is going on than I do.  I wish I had just gone through with it on the first night.  Now that I’ve waited it's become this big issue around the house, and even in this, whatever it is, secret creepy society, alternative reality whatever.  The Kid that Won't Put Out.  I bet that will be in the papers when I finally give it up. And that's exactly what I don’t want.  That why I’m still a fucking virgin.  Because I just ever wanted anyone to know anything about my sex life, solution, don’t have one.

           

I sniffle.  Like a little bitch I’m going to cry.  Even worse would be if dad could see “his little fag” now.  That's what he'd said when I’d been dragged off.  When they'd told him about Grey.

           

“Always knew he'd turn out to b e a fairy.  Goodbye little fag.” I'd always thought he'd liked me.  Never knew he was a homophone either.  But then again I'd never thought of myself as gay so, guess I was guess I was clueless on all parts.

           

“Alex are you okay?” God, could I focus for 10 minutes today?

           

“I guess.  Wish I’d let you fuck me first thing's all.” I mumbled.  I didn’t think I could blush any more without passing out.  When I glance up Grey looked pissed.  Great.  Now what?

           

“I don’t want to do- that- to you.  You are to be mine forever.  You are a gift.  Something special.” He stood and left before I could object to being called a gift and being referred to as a 'something'.  As days went today was even more fucked than most I had spent in this huge house, and it was still before 10am.

           

I stood on legs that had long since fallen asleep and trudged to the bathroom to shower.

           

The warm water reminded me of the tingle that still spread through y body.  I gently stroked my hands down my body to the part of me that wanted their touch the most, it quickly became apparent a gentle touch was not going to be enough.  I slicked my fingers with rosemary mint shampoo and slid on into my hole.  The cold tingle was startling, but still not quite enough.  I groaned in frustration.  I knelt on the shower floor not wanting to slip on the suds and be found unconscious in such a compromising position and added a finger, better. I gasped, my hips thrust back against my hand involuntarily, but this forced my hand back too.  I needed something sturdier.  Someone sturdier.  I was almost crying with need.  I scraped my thighs with my other hand and tried to inch my finger into my channel to reach my hidden trigger point, but I couldn't I was too tight, the angle was too awkward.  I lay on the floor of the shower and sobbed, hips jerking spasmodically, one hand still fisting my shaft the other trying to find that magical button deep inside, nothing would scratch the itch.  Slowly the water began to cool.  Even a house this large had a limited supply of hot water.

           

I think I fell asleep, I think because I never would have imagined it would be possible to fall asleep while that uncomfortable, but somehow I found myself waking up freezing.  I shut off the water and wrapped myself in a microfiber robe.  I shivered and crawled into bed.  It smelled like Grey, but I was too tired and cold to care.  For the moment the tingle was banished, I hoped I could restart the day on a better note.

 

           

There was something deliciously warm against my cheek, against my chest, brushing against my hair, between my knees.  I felt safe and warm, cradled.  Rested.  I hadn't slept well in weeks and here I was-

           

My eyes snapped open.  Grey.  I was sleeping on Grey.  Drooling on him too.  I tried to discretely wipe my cheek and his shoulder.

           

“You were shivering.” Fuck, he was awake too.

           

“Mmm” I said, I usually woke suddenly, but Grey didn't have to know that.

           

“Alex, why were you in the shower for 2 hours?” Fuck, no such luck on the second waking thing.

           

“Mmm” I said again, and turned over.  Unfortunately Grey was not fooled.

           

“Alex, talk to me.  Something's up with you today, are you sick?” I sat up and pushed my hair back from my face, it was time for a cut.

           

“I think I maybe touched an iguana.”

           

“So?”

           

“One of Carol's special ones” I added.  I couldn’t look at him.  What sort of idiot touches something they know is poison? This one apparently.

           

“You think you touched one, or you did?” Great now he sounded concerned.  I had hoped for some reassurance that they weren’t really that bad for people, just unicorn cows.

           

“Well- I petted its head, but just for a sec.  And I feel fine now.”

           

“Alex, “ I looked away “Alex” he took my chin in his hand and make me look at him, “you really, really should ask Carol what you should do.”

           

Grey's eyes should have been illegal they were so beautifully perfect.  He smelled perfect too.  I leaned into his hand.

           

“Good idea.” Grey exhaled.  Even his breath smelled perfect.  I leaned in more and licked his bottom lip.  He tasted- perfect.  He gasped and let go of my face.  I crawled across his legs to straddle his hips ignoring the fact that I wore only and unbelted robe and he only wore some very brief silk boxers, even better.  I had to have more.  I sucked his bottom lip, nibbled the corners.  I tickled his sides and ground my bare skin against his silk covered length

           

Smoother than silk, softer than velvet.

           

I couldn’t wait.  I pushed him back against the headboard, he gasped and I licked the roof of his mouth.  More perfect.  I was filled with urgency.  I wanted everything now, worse than the shower.  I didn’t know if I would survive if he said no.  So he couldn’t talk.  I ground myself harder against him.  If felt good, almost too good, but I needed more.  I was whimpering half formed please.  Grey was saying something as I kissed my way from his mouth to his ear to his neck, but I couldn’t listen.  I was dripping, I would feel the slick liquid sliding down my thighs, my hole was twitching, I could feel the air trying to get in.  I had never wanted something as I wanted Grey inside me now.  I felt so open already, like he would slide right in, quiet the tingl8ing.  I didn’t even really want to cum, I just wanted to be calm.

           

I kissed my way down Grey's golden chest, down his perfect abs, flexing with every twirl of my tongue, again he was talking, but I was too focused on my goal to pay any attention to his words.

           

His hand threaded through my hair, sweat making them sticky.  He griped hard and some strands came out as I continued toward my prize.  If felt perfect.  My breathing was harsh, but every labored inhale brought with it the must of Grey's arousal; soon, soon I would be okay.

           

Grey's boxers were gray.  I smiled briefly in my head before I reached for my prize.  It was beautiful.  Red and angry, throbbing and hot.  It was bigger than what I had imagined, a lot bigger than me.  I had a sudden flash of fear, what if it broke me> But the need was too great for me to dwell too long, who cared if it did, I would still feel better, and it was beautiful, perfect. 

           

I licked it.  Sweet and salty and perfect and Grey.  A chill raced up my spine followed closely by a rush of heat I thought I was going to pass out.  It was too much; I took another lick, so perfect.  It really was smoother than silk, softer than velvet.  But so, so hard.  I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took it in.  I was lost.  How could anyone function in society after they had tried this? It was so-

           

Grey yelled something.  Forced my head up, away from him, shook me, made me focus.

           

Those eyes.

           

“Alex!” I panted at him.  One of his thumbs brushed over my lips, I licked it, almost as perfect as- he shook me again.  “Alex! You have to stop!” Stop? I knew that word.  I couldn’t stop, I had to, I couldn't the itch was still there- tears gathered in my eyes.

           

“Please please please it hurts please I have to let me please” I begged, I reached for him again.

           

“Alex! This isn't you, you'll hate me!” now Grey looked close to tears.  I didn’t want him to be sad but I couldn’t- I was so close, I had to- I choked on my sobs, when Grey let go of my hair I immediately went back to worshiping the beauty that was his cock.  I couldn’t let it go.  He couldn’t pull me away again though he tried.  But even as perfect as Grey tasted and felt in my mouth, the tingle still worsened.  I lifted my head.

           

“In me now.” I was amazed how calm I sounded.  How in control.  I didn’t feel either, my hips flexed, my thighs trembled, my hole twitched.  Grey looked conflicted.  “Please” I added.

           

“I don’t have any lube, Christ, Alex you're a virgin, I can't just-” I flipped onto my back and opened my legs.

           

“I need it, it hurts with you outside, please, please!” Tears were gathering in my eyes again, I was so close, he couldn’t say no now.  I closed my eyes so the brush of stubble and the smooth wet stroke of tongue on my tightly furled hole were a surprise.  I howled.  Grey held my hips in a vice grip and licked all around my ole.  I thought I was going to die.  I could feel tiny fibers in my hips tearing as I strained against Grey's hands to get closer.  Black spots danced in front of my eyes.  I would have screamed but I couldn’t breathe.  My lungs burned with the effort of getting enough air to keep from passing out.  When Grey finally entered me with his tongue my whole body bowed off the bed.  My nails were broken and bleeding from clawing at the bed and headboard but the sting was lost in the need to have Grey in me.

           

“Now now now!”  I chanted with each labored exhalation, and finally, finally Grey crawled over me and sank down onto elbows looking into my eyes. 

           

“A precious gift,” he whispered, and kissed me.  One hand disappeared to guide his formidable member into me but the other stroked my sweat soaked hair from my face. 

“Relax sweet Alex,” he whispered, “breathe out” when I did the head slipped in and every muscle in my body seized up.  Dear God it hurt.  Tears streamed from my face, but I already felt calmer.  When I could breathe I realized it was a good hurt and deep, deep stretch, but nothing was damaged.  I opened my eyes and saw Grey had tears in his own beautiful, perfect eyes.

           

“I promised myself I wouldn't hurt you.” He whispered when he saw the question in mine.  He trembled but did nothing to hide his tears from me.  Already the burn was fading.  I brushed water away from his cheeks leaving a steak of my blood on his cheek.

           

“It was worse before, this is relief,” a strange emotion flashed through his liquid eyes, but it was gone before I could identify it.

           

I wiggled a bit, it still hurt, but the tingle was worse than the pain.

           

“Deeper please.” Grey obliged me.  It felt like he was pushing my hips out of joint and my organs out my mouth, but it was the most perfect feeling in the world.  When he whispered he was all the way in, I felt like the most treasured thing in the whole world, so intense was the admiration in his voice.

           

“No one has ever done that for me before,” he whispered.

           

“Me either,” I whispered back.  He laughed and I blushed when I realized what I had said.  I always sounded more stupid out loud than I did in my head.  Why was that?

           

“I never want to leave your body,” Grey added, still whispering, I nodded.  It felt too perfect for more words.  Why had I waited 22 years for this?

           

Grey began to rock gently back and forth, cradling my head and back in his huge hands.  It would have been soothing if it hadn’t been the most stimulating, intense thing I had ever felt.  Every time he shifted he brushed every sensitive part inside and outside of me, sending sparks of pleasure all over my body.  It was too intense to feel good really, but all the same I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

           

I came suddenly.  I had forgotten completely about orgasms.  I was feeling safe and perfect and completely over stimulated and suddenly liquid heat broke over my me and drenched me, leaving our chest dotted with streams of my cum.  My orgasm lasted longer than any other I had experienced, and longer than my ejaculation, long after the streams of liquid stopped muscled in my whole body contracted in slow waves leaving me breathless and exhausted. 

           

I lay against the pillows, completely limp and sated as Grey's thrusts became erratic and he flooded me. The warm torrent caused one more long drawn out spasm in my channel, leaving me completely unable to move.  Grey sighed contentedly and rolled so I sprawled across his chest, still connected.  I embarrassed myself yet again by breaking into sobs.  Grey hummed and petted my hair.  For the third time I fell asleep to begin the day anew.

           

“I thought you might be hungry” the noodles and veggies on the trey looked and smelled delicious.  I'd eaten half before I’d stopped to think.  Oh my God.  What had I done?

           

“Grey-” I began.

           

“Alex there's nothing to be-

           

“Grey I was screaming! Everyone will have heard!” Never mind what I had done, oh my God, how was I supposed to eat when I'd had Grey's- well- in my mouth. I looked down at the noodles; they suddenly didn’t seem as good.  I became aware of the wicked assortment of ached and pains.  And worst of all the dull tickle deep inside-

           

“Alex, really they understand, its and natural part of life.  They will be happy for us-” I scrambled out of bed, my hips hurt, really hurt really hurt, almost as much as- I could feel my cheeks flaming. Flaming. I banged open the closet. The Closet.

           

I felt a trickle down my leg, milky white, just a bit viscous- ew ew ew ew.  I stood as still as I could and clenched my cheeks together as hard as I could.  Damn that hurt.  Everything hurt.

           

“Alex?” He sounded hurt.  Well I hurt.  I had to find some fucking clothes.  I pulled on some blue boxers that probably weren’t mine and some jeans, but I couldn’t do the zipper with my destroyed fingernails.  Why had he let me do that to myself? I threw them down and suppressed and shriek.  Now was not the time for a temper tantrum.  I grabbed some sweats and a tee and stomped out of the room.  Time to find Carol.  Maybe she could find some way to fix this.

Charcoal Pt. 4

Soul woke early the next morning, he was excited to show his art, even if the pieces weren’t what he was driven to create, he knew they were good. Even better he knew that Scott wouldn’t have anything to show, and if he did, it couldn’t be as good as what Soul had.

“Welcome to class, I hope you all checked the website and found your first assignment.”  Professor White walked into class talking.  It was early enough in the day that the students stopped talking quickly after he began speaking.  Soul was busily setting up his drawings.  Some of the earlier ones were stubbornly sticking to their rolled shapes and he was working on clipping them to his easel.  He was so attentive to his task that he missed Scott hurrying into class moments late, but with portfolio case in hand. 

“I know some of you had trouble drawing something on command last week- I am very interested how you incorporated that into your project.  While I walk around I would like you to sketch something that reminds you of home. It can be something that you have with you, or something from memory.”  The professor walked as he talked, so as he finished his pronouncement he smoothly transitioned into speaking with the first student. 

“How did you use your daisies in your pictures?” Soul looked up, startled.  Scott's cheeks were a bit flushed, but other than that he looked fine.  He didn’t look like he had been up all night trying to finish an impossible process, he didn’t even look stressed. 

“How did you even finish?” Soul retaliated.  He pushed his hair out of his face and began to think of the project.  Something that reminded him of home.  There was Michelle and David, but the longer he was away from them the less they seemed like friends, and the less his house seemed like home.  In fact the longer he was away from his house the less connected to anything he felt.  Home was safe, or he had thought it was, he had thought he had friends, but now- nothing was as certain.  Even the thing he was best at seemed to come and go.  He didn’t stand out, even as the awkward quiet kid. He was surrounded by talented people, talented people who had overcome things far worse than shyness.  Soul had lost his niche, and had no way to deal with it.

“Well, I did what I had to do.”  Soul rubbed his eyes.  He had gotten a good night sleep, even after Jon had made him question his hatred of Scott.  He hated him.  Scott was terrible.  Soul didn’t have to have a reason, the guy was basically a stalker, and he was a morning person.  “It wasn’t too bad.  I don’t like to draw from memory, but I found some photos.  They aren’t as good as they could have been of course, but I’m hoping Prof White will give me a break since it's the first project.”  Scott wouldn't be bad to draw either.  If he wasn’t such a terrible person.  Soul considered.  If he had to learn to draw things from observation the angles in Scott's face might be fun to play with, then he shook his head.  He must need more sleep if he was considering drawing such an obnoxious person. Immortalizing that infuriating face would be a sin for sure.

“Well boys, how did you fare?”  The boys had been quietly watching each other for longer than either realized.  Long enough for the professor to go through half the class to get to them.  “Soul, no sketch, I thought we went over this last week.  There will come a time when we will do projects entirely in class; you cannot just wait for the mood to strike you.  The life of an artist is especially hard.  The lucky ones often work on commission and that means deadlines.”  Soul blushed and looked for a sketchbook.  He had never followed directions well, or particularly cared to, but now, with this professor, and with Scott watching, he really didn’t want to look like an idiot.  And the more he didn’t want to look stupid the worse he seemed to act.

When Soul looked back Professor White was paging through his drawings with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“How did you feel when you were working on these?”  Soul shrugged and began digging for a pencil.

“I wanted to draw them at the time, then when I was done I didn’t feel strongly either way.  I know they aren’t bad pictures, but I don’t really feel a connection to them.  Most of the things I draw I feel almost- compelled to redraw, or rework in some way, these I was just done with.”

“Mmm” The professor nodded and ran a hand through his graying hair.  “How did you get the inspiration?”  His voice sounded flat.  It was such a contrast from the excitement and joy that was the flavored his rich tenor usually, that Soul felt that he had somehow disappointed him.  Suddenly Soul felt tears threatening.  He had worked hard to finish the assignment, to find some way to fit flowers into his usually angular dark style. 

“I don’t know.  I just really didn’t want to mess up the assignment.”  Soul had more to say, but his voice was threatening to crack and Scott was right there. 

“Yes, but, how did you get the idea to use them in these ways.” Professor White gestured to the various interpretations of petals.  Finally settling on one in which the petals were made of tangled eyelashes.  The center a tear filled eye. Soul wrapped his arms around his body and shrugged. 

“I don’t know.  I’m telling you.  I just drew what came into my mind.  Why does it even matter?”  The professor’s eyes grew colder.  He looked right into Soul's eyes. 

“It matters more than you know.  Maybe more than you will ever know.”  He then seemed to gather himself and turned to Scott's pictures. 

“I see you used some color.”  Scott nodded and smiled.  Soul frowned.  It didn’t seem like Scott could get a bad critique from anyone. 

“I used some color in some of the other ones too, I know it wasn’t required, but I though since we are doing a collection it would add some continuity.”  Professor White nodded again thoughtfully and began to page through the rest of Scott’s drawings.  Scott continued, “The light was so beautiful I couldn’t help it, the sun was setting through the trees and I knew without color I wouldn’t be able to do the scene justice.  I hope I didn’t overstep-” The professor shook his head and went on flipping through the pictures until Scott stopped him, pointing at one of the pieces. 

“This one’s my favorite.  I usually can’t draw without the subject in front of me, but I think this expression will stay with me for my whole life.”   The professor nodded in seeming sympathy. 

“This is really a good piece of work Scott.  Not what I would have expected going from your sketch last week.  I’m glad this is the direction you’ve taken.”  Scott blushed and nodded.  Soul couldn’t take it anymore.  He knew he was the subject of the drawings, and if he could see what it was, what was getting all the praise in the whole class maybe he could figure out what the professor wanted from him.

The picture was of Soul; it was of him sitting in the library, in the window seat.  It was as if a photo had been taken just as Soul discovered Scott sitting sketching him.  But what made the picture extraordinary was the expression on Soul’s face.  It was a mixture of surprise and indignation, relief and anxiety.   It was amazing that such a young artist was able to capture such an expression and render it so perfectly. 

Soul could not remember feeling anything but irritation when he discovered Scott sketching him, but the drawing was so perfect- there was no way that anyone could have worked that complex of an expression onto a face that had never worn it. 

“What are you doing?” Soul looked up into the cold eyes of his professor.

“I wanted to see what all the hype was about.  I figured if this miraculous picture was of me that I should get to see it.” It was the wrong thing to say, and Soul knew it the second the words were out of his mouth.  “So sorry.”  He hurried back to his side of the easels and picked up his pencil and sketchbook. 

The problem was he still didn’t know what to draw.  He didn’t know what home was.  The longer he was at school the more disconnected he felt from everything.  He had thought he had friends, but the more he was around school and people that were really friends; the more he realized that David and Michelle were never his friends.  He wondered what they really thought of him.  Soul had never been especially close with his parents.  Or with anything.  He was too worried about being a loner-tortured artist to be attached to anything but his art.  Nothing was home but drawing.  And that was just too much of a cliché for Soul to draw.

“Soul.”  He looked up.  Lost in his thoughts, but not enough to not regret his words, and be scared shitless of the professor looking down at him.  “Stay after class.”  Soul found that even though he was older, the words that were terrifying in middle school held just as much horror in college.  Fighting the butterflies and bats that threatened to climb from his mouth Soul forced him to draw something that could be interpreted as home.  He got as far as a kitchen with a faceless mother baking a birthday cake when the rest of the class began packing up their materials.

“Don’t forget to check my website” Professor White called from his own easel at the front of the room.  Soul shuddered.  This was supposed to be his safe class.  And instead it was turning out to be worse than math. 

“Hey, don’t worry so much.”  Scott was taking extra long to pack up.  “Do you want to get coffee or something later?”  Soul couldn’t believe his ears.  It was good he hadn’t eaten breakfast because the butterflies would have made themselves seen in ways that were not the regal colors of monarch and blue butterflies-

“I don’t know what you mean.”  Scott sighed, and Professor White, who had somehow snuck up on them laughed. 

“Silly boy, it couldn’t possibly be that easy.  Now go, we won’t be long.”  And with that Scott left and Professor White turned to Soul. 

“You must be feeling a bit lost right now.”  Soul opened his mouth to speak, but Professor cut off his words with a simple raised hand.  “None of what I tell you is going to make sense.  But I hope in time you will come to accept it.”  The professor leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles.  It was the most surreal thing Soul had ever experienced.  He sat up straighter on his stool and prepared to be told he was adopted, or that Scott was his long lost evil twin.  Or that White was his grandfather.  He was nowhere near the words that came out of the professor’s mouth.

***

Sorry for taking so long to write, I lost track of the weekends, traveled and generally didn't write anything.  But I have already begun writing the next part (no more cliffie horray) and I think I know now where I want this story to go, but that is subject to change.  Please commpent whatever!

Lilly

Energy

 Yay productivity! Another happy Easter thing I was inspired to write.  I think there are some tense issues, but, I am a bit terrible at editing my own work, and haven't found anyone to do it for me so- enjoy, sorry for any mistakes!

I thought we were going back to the the lab. I hoped we weren’t. The last few months had been the worst of my life. And the last few years hadn’t been great. I had thought, leaving high school, that I would go to college, hopefully get a degree then a decent job and go on to live my boring middle class life. Only to find that my whole life was a lie. My mom cried when she told me about my birth, about how she was in college when and with two older brothers she didn’t think she could support me. She said when the biology department came to her with the proposal she couldn’t think of another way. I could think of a few, but it was 18 years too late.

I couldn’t hear or see, speak or smell. I could hardly walk. It was a feeling I would never get used to. The doctors, or scientists always bound me when we went anywhere. I had never given them any reason to but I guess they thought with all they did to me there had to be a point where I would crack. There was a heavy blindfold over my eyes and headphones over my ears. At first they had only blocked sound, but now they always played and insistent infuriating white noise. Over my mouth and nose there was some sort of air filter that made the air dry and tasteless. I always though the air was tasteless until they first fitted this apparatus, it was pure nothing. I couldn’t even taste my own spit. They forced me to take tiny steps, I felt constantly on the verge of tripping. My heart pattered in my chest. I had never liked the dark, or silence. And this was the most helpless I ever felt, these trips down hallways I had never seen.

Finally we stopped, the covers were removed from my ears.

“Stay still, we are going to begin testing soon.” Begin testing? wasn’t that what they had been doing for all these months. If those weren’t tests this was going to truly be torture. “There will be others, pay them no mind. You will only be judged on your own results.” Was this a competition? I was always the last picked on sports teams. I had never been very athletic. Whatever they had done to me probably hadn’t helped that too much, if any. Maybe if I failed all the tests I would be able to leave.

The headphones were replaced and the breathing thing was removed. I took deep grateful breaths of the hospital smelling air. Antibacterial soap and bleach were infinitely better than nothing. I even rubbed my cheek against the hand that brushed my jaw when it came. I had the impression someone was speaking but I couldn’t hear. The hand tightened painfully forcing my mouth open and another apparatus slipped inside, a voice came through the headphones.

“This is to measure your oxygen uptake, don’t spit it out.” then a mask was fitted over that and my mouth. I wished I could speak ask questions. I couldn’t find the words.

Someone gripped my elbow and I was led to some other part of the room, “step up” came the voice and I was nudged sideways onto what felt like a treadmill. My hands were guided to a bar to help keep my balance. I wished I could see. I wished I could speak. The machine began to hum beneath my hands and I had to walk to keep from falling. It felt awkward to use my natural stride after all these months of small steps, I tripped several times. I felt hands on my body, sliding under the soft cotton shirt that had been my only option for these years. I felt cool gel on my chest down my sides, above my hipbones and heart. Just spots of cold. Then stinging clips. I jumped at each one. I guessed they were electrodes of some kind. Another test. I wondered why they didn’t think they should give me some sort of warning. I guess they didn’t really see me as a person, just as a part of their experiment.

After I began to feel a bit more comfortable the speed began to pick up. I jogged, then ran. It was hard to breathe, I could feel my heart pounding under the electrode, I could feel it pounding through my whole body. I was gasping around the tube in my mouth . I gripped in in my teeth. I wanted to spit it out but knew from experience that if I did I would most likely have to begin the test again. I felt the shirt fall off my body, someone must have cut it. I almost panicked, but didn’t have the energy, impossibly the machine moved faster and so did I. I lost track of time, all my focus on breathing and not falling or losing my grip on the bar that was the only thing orienting me in space. Then finally, finally the speed began to slow.

“Good job Willow, very good.” I jumped at the voice. My nerves were shot. Sweat was dripping down my chest, my legs, I could feel it soaking into the waistband of the soft cotton pants. I wished they would call me Will like everyone else did, but for the 2 plus years I had been here, I was Willow, another humiliation added to the hundreds of others.

“Just a few more minutes of cool down and we will take the mask off, okay?” This voice sounded kinder, I nodded, but I didn’t know if I was going to make it a few more minutes. My legs were shaking. My hands spasm around the bar, my eyelids flutter behind the mask. I was walking on the treadmill, but now every few steps one of my feet would drag and I would stumble, each time it was harder to keep my feet. Finally I didn’t. I expected my head to hit the bar, my knees to scrape the ground. I expected pain, instead I was lowered slowly to the freezing linoleum tiles.

“Willow?” I nodded, I guessed they couldn’t tell if I was awake. Plus I liked this new voice. It seemed to still think I was a person. “I'm going to take off the mask. I need you to relax and take slow breaths.” I nodded again. I wasn’t going to want slow breaths, I thought. The normal air felt amazing on my tongue. It was still dry, but it had texture, it was also cool, and I was so hot. My whole body was overheated, but covered in goosebumps from the cold tile against my back, my head, however, was cradled on some raised surface.

“Next I’m going to take off the headphones,” I nod, and off they come. I feel a bit dizzy, I realize I have gotten used to the white noise, and even the beeping of the lab machines don’t make up for it. I feel even more disorientated than before. “Okay Willow, you are going to want to close your eyes, I’m going to take off the blindfold and it a little bright in here.” The last thing I want to do is close my eyes. I’ve been in the dark for what seems like forever, even if it has only been a few hours.

“That isn’t a good idea.”

“The subject shouldn't connect us with-”

“The results have to remain-” Immediately the other voices begin to protest. I wish they wouldn’t. They know my name. I know they know. But still I am just an object.

“It really doesn’t matter he doesn’t know how to read the feeds.” And then there is light. So much light it burns like soap in my eyes. And I can't really see anything. But it's okay because I can see, if only for a little while. Someone smooths my hair back from my face. I remember how tired I am. The voices swirl around me as I drift. I don’t understand what they are saying, nice voice is right. I don’t notice the other subjects in the room, I don’t remember the faces of those who have been tormenting me. I only remember the soft stroking of a hand in my hair as I drift off to sleep.

**

I wake again in the small room that has become my home in the past few days. It is about the size of the dorm room I hoped to spend these years in, and serves the same purpose. A tiny place with a bed, a TV, and a mini fridge where I can be stored until I can be of use. I wake in the small room very confused. I am still shirtless, and more tired and sore than I can ever remember being. I wonder how I could wake up and still be this tired when my stomach lets out a defining growl. I moan. With all the other aches and pains I can almost ignore my hunger. But not quite. I roll out of bed and crawl to the fridge. It has a few pieces of fruit and a disgusting looking protein bar. I eat all and am still starving. I force myself to the door and try to open it. It is locked, as it usually is. I am not wanted at the moment. I look up at the corner of the room. A blinking red light looks back at me.

“Can I have some food?” I ask. I have never done anything to show I am dangerous. I have never tried to run or escape. And still I am treated like the most dangerous criminal. I always try to be as cooperative as possible and tell myself it helps. But with the minimal human contact I get, and none with any other “subjects” I really have no idea if I am helping myself at all. I lie back on the bed and wait. It is agonizing. No position I can find is comfortable. I settle how I slept as a baby, I think it is called child's pose in yoga. My knees are curled underneath me and I face the bed, my hands cradling my forehead, my feet cradling my hips. I feel like my stomach is crawling through my spine. I wish I could sleep, but I don’t think I will be able to until I eat.

An indeterminate amount of time later a chime comes and the door opens.

“You slept for 30 hours. That is quite unexpected.” it is the man with the nice voice. I turn to see if he has brought any food. It does not appear so. I turn back to my resting position. I hope gravity will stop my stomach from emerging through my back for a few more hours. “We need to do some scans to see how much damage was done to your muscles and other body tissues.” More tests? Not for the first time I wonder if this study is legal. Where they are getting their funding. “If you eat any more it will be harder to do the tests, or else I would give you something.” the man sounds genuinely sorry, but at this point I don’t really care. I am so tired. So sore. He walks over to me and pulls me up. I am kneeling, I hunch over, the change in position makes shifts the acid in my stomach and I feel like I am dying. He rubs my back and makes a sympathetic noise. I want to punch him but I don’t have the energy. Plus if I did they would probably find even more ways to treat me like a criminal. I don’t know how, but I really didn’t want to find out.

We sat for a few more minutes. When my stomach settled he pulled me up.

“The sooner you get the tests done the sooner you can eat.” Standing up was the hardest thing I had done so far. The room swam, the colors swirling brilliantly. I leaned heavily toward the man, surprised I didn’t topple him over. He wasn’t much taller than me, and just a bit broader through the shoulders, but I had a lot of dead weight. He pushed me forward, and I was sure I was going to hit the door frame. The room spun and so did the hallway. It wasn’t until we were halfway to the lab that I realized he hadn’t put on any of the usual hardware. I could actually see where I was going, well in a round about sense. We stopped suddenly outside the door.

“There aren’t any cameras here.” he whispered suddenly and handed me a cracker. It was plain and dry, a saltine. Still I eat it happily. When I was done he handed me another. When I had eaten five I felt a tiny bit better. He smiles. And brushes a few crumbs off my cheek. “Can't have you feinting can we?” I still wobble when we enter the room. But it doesn't spin nearly as badly.

The tests weren’t as bad as I expected. It was one mostly, like a MRI, I lay on a bed-like thing and was slowly slid through a large white tube. Several numbers with medical sounding acronyms and names were called out and I dozed off. After that there was a short survey. One of the techs had to read the questions to me because I couldn’t focus on the questions. The room had begun to spin again when I was finally done and I was wheeled back to my room in a wheelchair.

“Measure how much the subject eats.” said a white-haired bespectacled lab-coat wearing man that I guessed was in charge of the whole operation. I had identified his voice as the one that most commonly spoke through the headphones. He had thoroughly berated nice voice for letting me walk around “sensationally intact and fully able to physically or mentally destroy decades of cutting edge technology”. I wondered how I could mentally destroy technology, but I had stayed silent, as had Nice Voice. He had nodded, then pushed my wheelchair out of the room.

I ate a pizza, if it could be called that, it tasted rather like tomato paste on salty cardboard. Oatmeal, toast (without butter) peas, corn, orange jello, half a baguette, a jar of peanut butter, three hard boiled eggs, a bowl of pasta (with butter), brussel sprouts, two chicken breasts, and a piece of the driest chocolate cake I had ever seen. And I was still hungry. Unfortunately that was all that Nice Voice would give me. “You'll make yourself sick” he said “You'll throw up” he said. I just wanted to eat more. But after I brushed my teeth and flopped into bed I was asleep in an instant, still growling stomach forgotten.

I woke to the impression of being watched. I had gotten used to the feeling because of the constantly watching camera, but this was different. Without moving I opened my eyes. I was curled on my side facing the wall. Sighing I turned to face the room. Nice Voice was standing in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing the usual uniform of scrubs and a lab coat, or the leaders similar uniform of slacks, a button down and a lab coat. He was wearing relaxed jeans and a soft tee shirt that wasn’t so different than mine. He almost smiled when his eyes met mine, but it quickly faded.

“I'm so sorry.” he whispered, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, then he was gone. I wish I knew his name.

Charcoal Pt. 3

When Soul returned to the dorm, he drew, for the first time, a portrait. It wasn’t very realistic. It was a profile. Soul hadn’t meant to draw it. It was a picture of Scott, it was a picture of Scott sitting in the window Soul had been sitting in. After he finished it Soul looked at it for a long time. He thought of the project we were supposed to be doing. If what Scott said was the truth, Soul had to start working on a series of flowers. Soul didn’t think he could do something like what he had drawn in class today and get anything near a passing grade. That left him two choices. Either not follow the assignment and do a series of something not related, or figure out a way to turn daisies into something more my style. Soul smiled to himself, and began to draw.

Somehow seeing Scott was cleansing. Soul still didn’t like him. He felt vaguely dirty that Scott was drawing him, but it was nice that Scott needed him to do his project. It gave Soul power. If Soul really wanted to he could simply never sit still enough for Scott to draw him. Then he would fail the project and Soul would be ahead. Soul didn’t know when he had made a competition, but he felt like that was the only way to deal with someone like Scott. And now, by any rules Soul was winning.

Soul brushed his hair out of his eyes, it was getting a bit long now, and began to draw. He started out a bit ambitiously. He had a two by three piece of watercolor paper laid out on the floor and was sketching furiously when Jon came back. Jon had been out rehearsing and was quite surprised when he found Soul working. He tried to hide it, but his bright eyebrows were threatening his hairline when he carefully stepped over Soul's sketch to his bed.

Soul hadn’t been drawing much, but now the block seemed to have disappeared. It seemed all the frustration and Scott's appearance, and the new found competition was just what Soul needed for inspiration. He drew furiously. He had charcoal all the way up his arm and some on his face, and if his hair wasn't so dark, it would be in his hair. He incorporated flowers into the theme of the forest, it wasn’t anything like the original picture he had drawn years before, or even like the picture he had drawn on his first day at the art institute. It was a wholly new picture. The flowers were recognizable as daisies, but there was something wrong about them. When Jon looked at them he couldn’t help but shiver. He didn’t know what it was about Soul's pictures but they made his heart itch. He didn’t like to look at the for long.

The daisies were growing up a trellis made of something that Soul wouldn’t recognize until later as human bones, the petals of the flowers at the top of the trellis faded into the background that Soul was carefully shading. He made the sky into intricate braids. It looked like the sky was a photograph of someones hair.

By the time Soul was ready to be done drawing for the day, the light was definitely gone from the room. The floor he drew on was lit by his Ikea reading light. Jon had tried to go to sleep hours ago, but couldn’t knowing that picture was there. He didn’t think he could sleep without knowing what it looked like completely, but he knew once he knew what it was he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes without imagining it. He climbed down from his loft when Soul finally sat back from the paper and sat next to him on the ground.

“So what's the inspiration for this one.” He spoke quietly. Even though he knew the building was filled with other freshmen not unlike them, the quiet and the lighting made it seem like they were the only people in the world.

“I don’t know.” Soul looked down at what he drew with new eyes. He didn’t know where anything he drew came from. He never really thought about it too hard. He didn’t really want to know that much about himself. “I never really think about it, and I don’t really look back at what I draw once it's done.”

Jon nodded. I found the more time he spent around Soul the more time he spent thinking about what he said. Especially after he spent time in the theatre. He loved his new friends. But in class and in rehearsal he was finding there was more to playing a character than grand gestures and memorizing lines. There was more to being a person. He wanted to know more about everyone.

“Are the petals fingernails?” Jon gasped. First forests made of hands, now flowers of fingernails. He couldn’t believe the detail Soul had put into his sketch, a few of the petals had chips in the nail polish, lines form impact, a few looked like they might have hangnails. Soul looked again at the picture. He felt numb. Now that he was finished he felt disconnected from the image. He didn’t want to think about it, or look at it. He reconsidered doing a whole series based on this image. It didn’t draw him like the forest.

“I suppose they are. I didn’t think of that.” Soul leaned forward and quickly rolled the picture not bothering with fixative.

“Won't that smear?” Jon asked. Soul shrugged. He put a rubber band around the tube and threw it into a corner.

“It's past three, we should probably go to bed.” He then crawled into his bed and turned his back on Jon, who was still looking at the rolled up picture in the corner. It was over an hour before Jon could get the image of fingernails as petals to fade enough to fall asleep. And even then he dreamt of a world made of hands, hands that were always grasping, pinching and plucking. When his alarm went off in the morning Jon was relieved. In the daylight the dreams of the night retreated and he felt he could face his roommate without questioning how he could have come up with such an image.

Jon had always been a morning person, but he jumped out of bed and carefully checked that the roll of paper was still where it was supposed to be before getting dressed and fetching coffee for himself and Soul.

Soul almost woke when he heard Jon's alarm go off, but he had gotten used to it in the past few weeks. He had gotten used to his bubbly almost friend nudging him awake with coffee in hand. The next week passed in a haze. Soul went to class, or hung out with Jon, or went to some club meeting that sounded interesting during the day. Then he came home and finished any homework that needed to be done, then he began to draw. He drew, almost in a trance until the daylight was gone and the only light was from the book light. Jon had learned to ignore the pictures after the second night. The theme of flowers and hands had remained. Though each picture featured them differently. Each picture had a nightmarish theme, and Soul had no idea where the inspiration for each one came from. The pile of rolled up tubes in the corner grew until Tuesday morning when it was time for class.

Monday when Soul finished his writing class he found Scott waiting outside the door for him.

“I have tried to give you space, but I really need to do my project.” Scott smiled, blindingly as usual. But this time Soul smiled back. Comfortable with the upper hand he shrugged and pushed past.

“Sorry, I’m really busy, I have to finish my essay.” Soul didn’t even turn to address Scott, he figured it was his turn to be mean. His turn to be the one with all the power. It was something that he had never really had. Even with Michelle and David, his best friends, he had always been outvoted. With that thought Soul paused. He hadn’t thought of Michelle and David in over a week. And from what he could tell they hadn't thought of him either.

“Can't I draw you while you write, I didn’t bother you before did I?” Scott's voice was right behind Soul. Soul sighed. He didn’t think he would have much success getting rid of Scott, and he had planned on working outside, and he had finished his essay except for editing. There was no reason he shouldn’t let Scott draw him. Other than the fact he was a douche.

“How do I know you aren’t doing this to make fun of me?” Soul was remembering the first time he had seen Scott, the remarks he had made so easily, things that would have made that poor girl cry. Scott said things without thinking, destroyed people for amusement, if what Jon said could be trusted.

Scott looked stunned.

“Why would I do this as a joke. It's a pretty big project. I wouldn’t ruin that for a stupid joke.” Soul ran his hand through his hair. He thought about it. He would sit for one sketch. Then he would finish in the dorm. That was fair enough.

“Fine.”

When Scott flipped the page in his sketchbook Soul stood.

“Wait!” Scott sounded panicked.

“What?” Soul tried not to smile. He really liked this feeling of power. Scott was slow, Soul had been sitting for nearly three hours. “That should have been long enough. I’m not some professional model, and you aren’t paying me. You should have asked if you wanted me to sit still for that long. You should have taken some pictures if you need a still to draw from.” Soul couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He gathered his laptop and notes and headed inside. He couldn’t wait until class tomorrow. It would be quite interesting.

Jon was relieved when he came into the dorm to find Soul watching videos on his laptop.

“Done with the nightmare pictures?” The words slipped out before Jon thought. He didn’t think Soul would be a good person to be in an argument with. Luckily Soul didn’t take it badly, he was still flying high from his perceived upper hand in his competition with Scott.

“Yup all done. I hope that Professor White likes them. They are more like my portfolio. They definitely aren’t worse than what I drew in class.” Soul laughed. It wasn’t like what Jon remembered Soul's laugh being like before. It seemed more like something like the pictures. Something devoid of light and color. Jon shivered.

“So, did you know that Scott draws?” Soul asked suddenly. He sat up. The lights were off in the dorm, even the reading light. The blue glow on Soul's skin was disconcerting. It made his emphasized the darkness of his eyes and hair. Jon had to swallow twice before he could speak.

“I knew he liked to, but I didn’t know he was any good. Is he in one of your classes?” Soul smiled again. Jon curled under his covers. He really didn’t like this new side of Soul.

“He decided to draw me as his project. But he takes forever to draw. I think he has only two drawings. We need at least five.”

“Why do you hate him? He is kind of a jerk, but I don’t think he means it.” Jon sat up in bed. Even without the pictures he didn’t think he would be getting much sleep.

“He is terrible!” Soul's eyes flashed in the blue glow of the computer screen. “He made me look stupid, he thinks peoples faults, even those that aren’t their fault, are funny. He drew me without asking. He isn’t just a jerk.” Soul closed his computer, and the sudden darkness was worse than the blue glow. Jon wasn’t afraid of the dark. But this dark, the confined space, and the silence were certainly discomforting.

“Soul?” There was no answer.

**

Any feedback is very welcome! Happy Easter!

Picking Up the Pieces

 Here is something else I was suddenly inspired to start writing.  I apologize for any and all mistakes, I am rather terrible at self editing, especially comma usage.  As can be seen in the previous sentence. Again, I am very new at this so any feedback would be wonderful! and without further adu Picking Up the Pieces:

I HAVE a theory that every beautiful person has to have a friend, a less beautiful homely friend to always be there to assure them of their beauty and perfection. I, unfortunately, have been that friend for my whole life. I have gotten used to it over the years. But it doesn’t lessen the sting every time someone fawns and tells me how it must be wonderful to have such a beautiful man for a best friend. It hurts almost as much as it hurts to pick up the pieces each time he participates in his little experiments. And that’s how he always phrases it. No matter the gender, “I could be persuaded to participate in a little experiment.” He's that insecure. That screwed to hell. But I am always there to pick up the pieces.

I had missed the original proposition but I could imagine it. When Peter came laughing into our tiny student loft I knew it had happened again. He glowed, even more beautifully than usual.

“Oh Jax, his accent is perfection.” If it were a movie Peter would have twirled and fallen onto his four poster bed covered in decorative throw pillows. Fortunately this was not a movie, unfortunately it did not make Peter's false happiness any less sickening.

“I'm so glad for you.” My voice was flat, I knew it was and I knew I should try harder to be happy for him, but I couldn't even though this time could be the time it worked out. The time that the experiment didn’t end up with Peter falling in love and whoever realizing that the ball of energy and broken glass was so not worth the (supposedly) great sex.

“Why can't you be happy for me?” He's still smiling, but a bit less brilliantly. It's still better than any smile anyone normal would ever dream of having.

“I am, I just don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t think jumping into things has worked for you in the past so maybe taking it slow once wouldn't-”

“Just cause you're a little prude that can't ever let loose doesn't mean that I can't ever have a relationship!” Oh now he isn’t smiling. But even mad Peter looks pretty good. He doesn't get blotchy like most people, or cry like I do. It's really the worst thing that could happen.

“Sorry just saying.” Peter stomps across the loft and begins furiously texting. I can only imagine it is his new amazing love interest. I hope it doesn’t last too long. The longer it lasts the longer Peter is sad, and even though he can somehow sob and look good doing it, I cant stand it when he is miserable. Even if he is an idiot that should realize that he does the same thing each time.

It is amazing that Peter can still love with the wholeheartedly abandon that he does. His mother died a few years ago, well she killed herself. And ever since then his father blames him for everything. His little brother does everything his father does, and recently that has been ignoring Peter unless calling him a dirty whore or other worse things, always Peter shrugged it off. He still insisted on going home and sent his brother presents. He paid for his own college and half of the loft. He didn’t seem to mind that his family was completely alienated from him. But I knew that it bothers him. He had loved his mother with all his heart and he had been the one to find her, wrists slit in the bathtub. There had been no note.

I thought maybe that was why he had so many partners, but even before his mom died Peter had bed rather free with his affections. It had gotten worse, after, but a lot worse. I almost wrote it off as a part of his personality, but each time it ended he was so hurt.

**

“Jax, you cannot believe what Marc got me!” So that was his name. Over the past month I had learned that this new experiment was an exchange student from France, that he had a wicked accent. I had also learned many things about his anatomy that I had not needed or wanted to know, but up until this point I had not known his name. I hadn’t particularly wanted to know, and I don’t think Peter was a eager to share this Marc with me as he had been to share many of the others, until now at least.

“I have no idea.” Peter held up a necklace. It was really pretty, but looked like something you would most likely get a girl. Not that I had anything against pretty things, it was just that it was a very fine chain, and on it was a tiny fleur de lis with a tiny heart shaped red stone in the center.

“Very pretty.” Peter's face dropped.

“You don’t like it.”

“I told you, I think it's pretty. Plus it doesn’t matter what I think. It's yours from Marc. It has nothing to do with me.” Peter looked a bit pissed at me. I didn’t understand. What did he want me to say.

“Why do you hate Marc so much?”

“I don’t hate him.” Now I was getting upset, how was this my fault, all I was doing was writing my essay for English class that was due tomorrow, I still had a page and a half to write and the whole 20 to edit. “I don’t even know him, I didn’t know his name till two minutes ago. Why do you care so much what I think? You are going to date who you want, and I’m not going to interfere until you get dumped and come crawling back crying. That’s how it's always been what makes you think it will all change now? ” I could feel the tears tickling the back of my throat. Peter looked stunned.

“You really think that's going to happen?” He spoke softly. I shook my head and sniffed. I really didn’t want to do this right now.

“It's pretty. I’m happy for you.” I tried to go back to my essay but I could tell Peter was still looking at me. I wondered what he was thinking. If he was thinking.

“I've been stupid before. But Marc is different. Really, I think I love him.” I turned to look. Peter was back to glowing, “I think he loves me too. He is so nice to me, he makes me feel so safe and

looked after. He never makes me feel dumb or like a slut.” Peter's eyes focus on me and for a moment I feel like the worst scum that has ever walked the earth.

“Peter-” He doesn't let me finish.

“Not that you meant to. But, Jax, sometimes I wonder if you like people at all, you never date you don’t have any friends-”

“I like you-”

“And whenever I go out with someone you look at me each time I come home like you are trying to guess what we did, trying to see if I have some stray semen in my hair.” I flinch- ick, but then I cant help but look up at Peter's hair, luckily the only thinks I can see are perfectly sun gilded locks tousled by the wind. “Have you even been on a date? Are you straight? Gay? Asexual?” I stare at him. My supposed best friend.

“How can you not know?”

“Do you know?” Now he doesn’t seem angry. I’m not either, and I don’t know how to answer, so I don’t. I go back to my essay and hope that this is one of those things that fade into the places between memories never to be seen again.

The morning dawned all too early, I found that the essay I had unhappily finished was actually supposed to be 25 pages and had to stay up all night to finish it. Peter had also stayed up all night, but talking to Marc, though the conversation had, luckily, stayed in the pg-13 range, it had also been sickeningly sweet and very distracting. The good thing was that Peter did see to have forgiven me.

“Come have lunch with Marc and me!” he had exclaimed over breakfast. “Then you can see that it is different with him, then you can be happy again.” Peter was so happy about his perceived solution I couldn’t say no. Anyway what was an hour, when they broke up I would have days of Peter telling me how sorry he was and how he should have listened. I could stand one hour hearing how wonderful he was. Or so I thought. After English I headed to the cafe Peter had told me to meet them at and seated myself at one of the outside tables and sipped a juice. I was still tired from my all-nigher but coffee didn’t seem like the best idea before the coming ordeal.

“This is Marc!” Peter spoke from behind me. I jumped completely startled. I didn’t remember the daydream I had been having, but it had been a nice one.

“Bonjour!” said Marc. It seemed a bit forced to me. He spoke perfect English, I had heard it, and I knew that most people didn’t use such formal greetings with peers, even in France.

“Hi, I’m Jackson, I’ve heard lots about you.” I tried to smile. But I’m sure it came off as a bit fake. Whatever we could both be fake, just as long as Peter bought it.

“You are very pretty, you together are a pretty pair.” Marc stepped back and pushed Peter gently so our faces were close together.

“What do you mean?” I asked, no one had ever said I was pretty, it was ridiculous, especially next to Peter.

“Yes, together you are quite pretty.” Marc smiled. I think it is because your dark hair makes Peter's hair look more blond and less brown, yes. You are close in height and build. You would look good together, do you want to have a trois with us, Peter and I?” Marc asked.

“What?” I asked I was pretty sure I knew what he meant but-

“Three, three of us together, in bed, loving, menage? A threesome?”

“We could have out own little experiment,” laughed Peter “it would be like always, only you would be there.” His eyes lit up. I couldn’t imagine this was happening. I would think it was a nightmare, but I don’t think my mind could come up with something so twisted.

“You seem to be forgetting, that each time you have an experiment, I end up holding you when you cry.” It was a mean thing to say, and Peter looked devastated. But I was sick of this I wasn’t going to be pulled into one of these sick games. I couldn’t be one of the throw away notches, an experience to be remembered and recorded in The Journal. No, I couldn’t do this anymore.

“Peter, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I know it wouldn’t be a good idea.” Peter looked a bit sad, he was probably making excuses for me in his head. I would surely be hearing about this later. I pushed my chair back, I didn’t like the way Marc was still looking at me. “I still have a lot of work to do-” Peter was disappointed that I wasn't even willing to stay to lunch. But after that little conversation I didn’t think it would be that good of an idea. Plus I needed some sleep.

“I can't believe you didn’t even give him a chance. I really Jax, he was just being nice.” The door banged open and Peter swirled in, well walked. It just seemed like he swirled because of the mass of bags he carried. “We went shopping and he even made me pick you out things. You have to come look.” I didn’t want anything that Marc bought. Even if Peter picked it out.

“Peter, you know that really isn’t-”

“Jax, when are you going to stop being a dick?” I stared at him. Peter and I had been friends forever. We had never really fought but I could tell Peter wasn’t just irritated. He wasn’t just playing. He wasn’t going to pass this off later as tiredness. “Don’t look at me like that Jackson. You know you are being an idiot. Just because the stick up your ass is starting to hurt doesn’t have anything to do with me. I could care less that you are so far in the closet you might as well be in Narnia. It doesn’t mean I want to be. Just because you think anything other than straight missionary with the lights off is gross doesn’t mean the rest of the world is stuck on the Mayflower with you. Oh are you going to cry now? Might as well, maybe that should be your hint you aren’t as straight as the dry spaghetti you are so eager to impersonate.” I did feel like crying. This is what I got for trying to protect my best friend. What could I say to such an attack. Where could I go, what could I do?

“Standing there like a fish out of water really isn’t that attractive Jackson. You are always so bitter about your looks. You aren’t even ugly, you could get a date if you pulled out the stick and maybe smiled once in a while.” Peter didn’t seem angry anymore. He had turned to his bags and was digging through looking for something. He smiled cruelly and held up a small silver object. “Even Marc could tell how tightly wound you are, in the ten minutes he met you. Found something to loosen you up, even just a bit.” It must have been some sort of plug or vibrator. I couldn’t take it. How could Peter be so mean? Deliberately cruel? I picked up my keys and left the room. Walked down the stairs to the street and along the sidewalk. I didn’t know where I was going except away. Peter and I had never fought, at least not like this. What was it about Marc that made Peter so different? Was I wrong? Maybe this time really was different.

The tears hadn’t fallen, and for that I was grateful. I supposed their glassy redness made me look a bit high, but better high than the numb desolation I was feeling. Peter was the only friend I really had. It was the reason I was still friends with him, the reason I always waited for him to come back after his relationships, even if he ignored me for months. Honestly I was just as messed up as he was. I wandered up the third floor in the library. It was one of the most beautiful places on campus, a great place to think. I settled on one of the window seats and watched the trees outside the window, and finally the tears began to fall. 

***

I have also been thinking of maybe, maybe making a lit account, but haven't due to all the drama that seems to be going on- worth it or now? Opinions? 

Charcoal Pt. 2

Back in the dorm Soul got out his sketchbook, after staring at the page for an hour he began to draw, the strokes came to him slowly, and he didn’t have a finished image in mind, but the smooth crumble of the charcoal on the page soothed his heart and mind.

The sun had begun to set when Jon returned, his cheeks were flushed and he immediately began chatting about his plans with his new friends, Rose and Sarah had the day off too, and were going to begin running lines both for class and to audition for Romeo and Juliet. Soul hardly listened, and didn’t speak. Still he drew. The picture was done completely in negative space, but Soul wasn’t erasing. It was difficult to imagine the shapes that would bring the shadowed figures into the foreground, but he managed.

The image was one Soul had drawn before, but not in this way, there was a ring of people and monsters holding hands. It was a starry but moonless night in a forest of hands, the nails growing in spirals that faded into smoke. Sometimes the smoke mixed with smoke from a fire, sometimes the smoke formed words. This time it did neither, and the ambiguity somehow made the picture all the more frightening.

“Whatcha drawing?” Jon was pulled from his retelling of one of Scott's legendary critiques when he noticed Soul's activity. Soul didn’t reply. “That's kinda scary, where'd you get the idea to draw that? I don’t think I would want to be in that circle, wait, are those hands? God, dude, that's really freaky.” Jon took a step back.

“I don’t know, I’ve drawn it before.” Soul carefully shaded the space that would define a tendril of smoke from a star. “Some things you can't explain you know?” Jon nodded, and was, for a moment, speechless.

“I used to always ask my mother why, why everything was the way it was. She would always say just that. 'some things are the way they are, just because they can't be any other way.' You know I told her I wouldn't miss her, but I do?” he paused for another moment then Jon was back to his bubbly self, introspection forgotten. Soul nodded, but focused on his drawing, filing the knowledge of Jon's deeper side away for the future.

Soul found it was easiest for him to draw when he was either irritated with Jon or when he was out of he way. He found it irritating that he fit this other cliché. A tortured artist, he needed pain for his art. The other thing that inspired his art was Scott. Unfortunately Scott was in two of Soul's classes, one of them drawing.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Soul looked around the side of his easel into a pair of the most purely hazel eyes he could remember seeing, it was a little disconcerting, they were so uniform with almost no striation or variation in tone. “Don't you remember me? I’m Scott.” It was the class Soul looked forward to his whole life, a class freshmen almost never got to take, and now it was going to be ruined.

“I remember you.”

“Don't look so forlorn, I’m not that bad. Plus now you don’t have to get to know your easel buddy, cause you already know me.” Scott flashed a smile that was all teeth. He looked rather like a demented werewolf from a pre-CGI horror movie. Soul shuddered.

“I wouldn't mind meeting someone new-” but before he could finish the professor entered the room. He looked like he should be the curator of some prestigious museum. He was tall and slim, but with broad shoulders, his hair was a deep chestnut brown, just beginning to go gray around the temples though it was apparent that he had seen his share of years.

“Students, hello. Some of you hello again, to some of you welcome. I don’t like too much formality, especially as this is a studio environment. I want you to see me as more of a mentor, and my critiques as suggestions. This class is for you to develop your perspective as an artist, for you to be able to defend your art to a critic, and o be able to maintain your style through fads and changing tastes. You cannot do that if you are always trying to imitate your peers and please me. Today, since it is the first day and I do not know many of you I just want you to sketch, and I will walk around and chat with each of you, see what you have been working on over the summer that sort of thing.”

The professor reminded Soul of how a grandfather should be. Kind and warm. Distinguished, but not afraid to get dirty. Soul could feel himself settling in, even with Scott across from him. Soul crossed his legs and picked up his favorite graphite pencil. He wanted to start with something light, but all he could think of were forests of teeth. He drew lazy daises, trying to think of something, anything he could draw that would impress the professor without scaring him away. But as the professor meandered closer, Soul couldn’t think of anything and had nothing to show for his effort but a paper littered with artless tufts of grass and flowers.

“This is nice,” the professor said to Scott, “I can see your inspiration.” Soul could hear the smile in his voice, even if he couldn’t see what Scott had drawn. Scott was supposed to be a theatre major, but to be in this class as a freshman he would have had to have presented an impressive portfolio.

“Great right?” Scott laughed. Soul fumed, Scott should have been the one drawing the flowers. “I think that with this kind of beauty in front of them anyone would be able to draw.”

“Well,” began the professor, “good luck, I have the feeling you are going to need it in the next weeks, and you Soul is it? What have you drawn.” Soul blushed. He should have just drawn what he was thinking, he might have looked crazy, but better crazy than stupid.

“I couldn’t think. I’m sorry.”

“Well, it is the first day, you had quite the portfolio. You were the one with the unconventional forests weren’t you?” Soul nodded. “ I think that is the direction you should stick with. As nice as all these flowers are, they aren’t the kind of thing that got you into my class. I will expect better from you in the future.” The professor patted Soul on the arm and gave him a look that was worse than any punishment , and moved on to the next station.

“Flowers eh? Well better luck next time. I mean flowers are great, but that's the kind of thing my little sister draws for me.” Soul wished he was the fighting type so he could punch Scott. Why was he even talking?

“I don’t usually draw flowers.” Well that was a great comeback, Soul thought.

“I'm glad, neither do I, but this time I added a few. I think they add a nice touch.” Scott leaned back to admire his art. Soul wanted to know what he had drawn, but more than that he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking.

“That's nice. I’m sure it's lovely.” Soul had meant to sound sarcastic, but the words we just a bit too close to the truth to have the proper effect.

“It is. I like it.” Scott flashed a blinding smile then turned to perfect his picture.

Soul gave up on drawing for the day. He shaded in the grass and flowers and waited for the hour to end. And to think this was the class he was most excited for.

Later in the dorm Soul felt like drawing, but didn’t feel like he deserved to. He looked out the window and watched Jon practice expressions in the mirror. He was listening to Phantom of the Opera, it fit Soul's mood. Aching for quiet Soul went to find the library. He took the long way around, behind the dorm buildings and through the arts quad. The states and trees were calming. The still summer air felt like a blanket sweaty wool blanket, and by the time Soul reached the library, the air conditioning felt like heaven.

The building was new, but the architect was obviously inspired by Gothic European churches and cathedrals. The building was made of some smooth white stone, but it still gave the impression of being dark. The windows were large but narrow, filled with clear hand made glass that bent the light into soft waves on the stone floor. At this hour this early in the year the library was relatively empty, and on the third floor, where Soul headed, there was not a breath of sound. Very different from the dorm room Soul had left.

As he sat in one of the many window seats and watched the distorted trees through the unique glass, Soul realized he should have brought something with him to do. He did have some homework, even if it wasn't much, and he didn’t want to get behind this early in the year. But soon, all his thoughts drifted away, he drifted away and faded into the light.

“Damn, I wish the light didn’t fade so fast.” Soul jumped. The sun had set significantly since he had drifted. The waves of light were crimson and gold, and his arms and legs were stiff from sitting still for so long. Soul turned to see who the voice belonged to, he almost couldn’t believe his bad luck. Sitting at one of the long tables was Scott, with a large pad of watercolor paper. His hair was tousled and a light stubble graced his cheeks, glowing in the fading light. He had a smudge of charcoal on his cheek and a pencil behind his ear, another in his hand.

“Why are you here?” Soul stretched his legs slowly. He didn’t want to seem like he was running away. He got the impression running would make Scott chase.

“If you checked Professor White's web page you would know that we have a mini series of sketches due next week. Something that is based on what we drew today.” Scott ran his hand through his hair again. The one with the pencil in it. Somehow the streak of black the soft lead left looked avant garde and almost attractive. Soul debated not answering, but he was too curious, he had to know.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why do you have to be up here. I obviously wanted to be by myself.”

“I wasn’t bothering you, you didn’t notice me for nearly an hour, plus how am I supposed to draw you if I can't see you? ” And with another smile and what looked like a wink Scott gathered his drawing and jogged down the stone stairs. 

 ***

Transitions and dialogue are hard! So is writing in general, but really those are the hardest.  So is finishing things that I start, but that's a whole other story!  Again any feedback, comments, anything- is very, very welcome, happy Thursday :)