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Every time I think of pushing you down the stairs, I lick my lips.
But don't be upset. It’s the only way I know how to show you that I really care.
The masked man woke with a start, his eyelashes pointed towards the dark, endless sky. A sour taste in his mouth sat heavy on his tongue as he licked his lips, desperate for some moisture. He wiggled his toes inside his thick boots, the blisters on the bottoms of his feet stinging.
“Hey,” a voice whispered. Something in his stomach lurched, like a parasite eating away at his insides - tearing away at the heat of his heart.
What did he want? Who was he now - Brian or Hoodie? The boy was like a vessel, carrying both identities of his best friend, Brian, and the fearsome hooded man whom he hated. One moment, he’d be the caring man that Tim always knew, and then he’d beat him senseless without a reason nor warning. “Hey,” he whispered again. “I’m talking to you, bastard.” He didn’t have to wonder anymore as he slowly sat up, his eyes searching for the hooded man. The night was silent and starless, the only light coming from a small sliver of moon hidden behind tall cedar trees.
At once, he felt fingers in his hair, whipping his head to face the cruel smile of Hoodie’s mask. His breath caught in his throat as he faced the man, his eyes large against the dark curtain of night. He could hardly see. “I hate being ignored, Tim.” He growled, the grip on his hair tightening, the skin of his scalp burning in irritation. When this Hoodie took control of his best friend’s body, he was usually there to hurt Tim. If he was lucky, it was just some verbal abuse - a couple words that would make him lose sleep for a couple nights. It usually hurt less than all the needless beatings. On his less fortunate days, the hooded man would throw however many punches or kicks it took to calm him down. He felt another yank at his hair and a small sound escaped from his mouth. “You know that.”
He made no move to block the punch that was sent towards his face, both rows of his teeth clacking together as his head was sent flying back towards the ground, sharp gravel digging into his scalp. His vision twirled around in dark circles of trees and the unforgiving dark sky. Hoodie wasn’t done, and the masked proxy could tell. He felt both hands grip the front of his shirt, his upper-half being lifted from the ground. Slowly, his eyes met the figure of Hoodie once again, his frame looking menacing in the darkness. He felt the man’s breath graze his face, the small amount of feeling left in his lips prickling at the skin. “Are you afraid?”
Tim should have defended himself from the punching and the kicking - the vile words that would leave his lips, always directed at the poor masked proxy. But he’d never lay his hands on Hoodie in a harmful manner, because every bit of him knew that it was Brian’s body too - that when he’d wake up, he’d see the scars on his body and know it was Tim who’d inflicted them upon him, and Brian would break.
Another punch and Tim felt his bottom lip burst, something warm dripping down his chin - whether it was blood or spit, he didn’t know. More hits, until he couldn’t see through his left eye anymore. Tim screamed and arched his back, whipping his head over to the side as he felt Hoodie’s weight upon him, pinning him down. No more, he thought at the same time he wished for another blow.
Beat me until you’re okay again.
Hoodie’s fingers curled around the masked man’s neck, a strong grip beginning to form. Tears leaked out of his eyes and down to his temples.
Hurt me.
He wheezed, his legs squirming as he gasped and coughed, desperate for air.
I love you.
Something like phlegm worked up in his throat, sitting heavily on the back of his tongue as he tried in futile attempts to gulp down air.
I love you, Brian.
I lie to you every chance I get,
and I make it just close enough to the truth, that you go for it every time.
But don't misunderstand.
I leave fingerprints outside your window in the shapes of positive messages.
A stream ran past his feet carrying branches and leaves, his toes digging into the silt that slowly worked through the water. He bent forward, leaning his head against his hands as he sat. It was only at these moments where he felt okay - at peace and away from the running; the chasing or escaping, whatever it may be. His eyes diverted towards the plastic mask he had set on the overgrown grass beside him, the long rye poking through the eye-holes. He felt naked without it upon his face, the feeling of air foreign against the skin of his cheeks. He had found that after a short while, the mask became something of comfort, a barrier against him and reality. The mask was a safe place.
He picked at a scab on his chin, soon feeling the sensation of sticky blood upon his fingertips. The slight sting that came with it was euphoric. He dug his hand into the grass beneath him, pulling out each blade until he had a fistful of the green, slowly dropping each piece into the rush of water until it was a flurry of rye. Through the water, which was the color of coffee with too much milk, was his reflection. It looked like another person staring back at him, something sinister residing behind his face of scarred skin and chapped lips. His eyes looked like puddles of mud, surrounded by dark circles and blue veins. It almost frightened him.
Tim flinched when he saw another reflection in the water, lurking behind him until the figure kneeled right beside him, warm breath tickling the nape of his neck. He shivered when he saw the familiar light eyes of his best friend, feeling a set of fingers trail up his spine. The strong arms embraced him from behind, tenderly, nuzzling his unmasked face into the crook of Tim’s neck. All at once, the tight muscles in his body relaxed, relieved that the monster of Hoodie had left his best friend’s body. Suddenly the image in the water didn’t look so broken anymore. With warm arms wrapped around his torso, fingers locked to clutch him tightly, he didn’t feel so hollow anymore. A small smile dared to creep onto his face.
The hot breaths from the hooded proxy trickled down his neck serenely, two cool lips quivering against his jaw. Tim allowed himself to close his eyes, a sigh escaping from his mouth. “You’re beautiful,” the prettiest voice whispered to him, little whisps of breath tickling the shell of his ear. It was only here and now, in this moment, where Tim felt like he had worth again. He felt those same strong fingers intertwine in his hair, playing with the dark locks, feeling the slope of his skull.
Tell me you love me, Brian.
Tim didn’t have enough time for his stomach to drop as the hand on his head, that once felt so soft, pushed his head down with such an unexpected force. His face broke the surface of the foul stream, a cry emitting from his lips, stealing the last bit of air that still resided in his lungs. Water invaded his mouth, the taste of mud working its way down his throat. But through the pain of dirty water in his nose was the hurt of the sweet lie that he wished he could believe. Through those sweet light eyes of his best friend was Hoodie, and Brian was merely a shell.
His hair was yanked upwards, granting him a sacred moment to gasp for air, coughing and wheezing. The sound of running water was overpowered by the thudding of his heart in his ears. Again, his head was forced into the stream, Tim not having enough time to hold his breath. The water felt colder and colder each time he went down, dirt climbing into the spaces of his eyes and caking onto his eyelashes.
At last, arms wrapped around his chest again and he was breathing air, taking selfish gulps of it as his hair dripped down his chin and onto his clothes. A low growl escaped his lips and he coughed, blinking wildly to rid his eyes of the silt that rested at the bottom of the stream. “Liar,” Tim snarled, clenching his teeth as those hands lay a threatening grip on his chest. “You liar.” He saw his reflection in the water once again, his eyes narrowing at the unrecognizable man. The man was broken.
I’ve got a present for you - it’s made from pieces of my skin;
Trailing slices of pale light , t hread and needle closing in.
Tim held an empty pill bottle, his tongue dancing behind his lips anxiously. How could he not notice that he ran out? His fingers shook and he dropped it to the ground, it making a squelching noise as it hit the moist forest floor. Head pounding, he tried to reach for it, falling forward onto his hands and knees. Mud soaked through his jeans and jacket sleeves, vision soaring dizzily. He needed more.
Brian, help me.
The thick evening air around him felt hot, seeping into his clothes - Tim felt like he was suffocating. Reaching for the bottle, he opened it and was graced by the small white capsules, spilling out onto his fingertips. The smooth feeling of the pills was orgasmic, filling his palms with countless doses of the drug he so desperately needed. Lifting the handful above his face, he attempted to drop them into his mouth, eager to feel the cool sensation on his tongue. But he only received air and the heavy disappointment that the euphoria he was seeing was only his delusional mind.
He cried out and grabbed handfuls of thick mud, stuffing it into his mouth, gagging at the taste. When he bit down, he could feel the grains crunch in his teeth, heavy lumps sliding down his throat. Still, he filled his mouth with the soggy dirt, thinking he could stuff himself with earth in order to fill the void. He couldn’t breathe.
The woods around him seemed to dance, laughing and shrieking at him, beckoning him to swallow the mouthful of filth. The weeds around him twisted into mounds of rose bushes, swaying and twirling for him tauntingly. Slowly they wilted, curling in on themselves, their color becoming that of dried blood. Their petals drifted from their stems and to Tim’s hands, teasing him.
“Swallow, Tim. Swallow.” The trees sang, raising their branches in his direction, smiles twisting onto their bark in forms of demonic faces. Slowly, the puddle of dirt in his mouth worked down his throat and a deep sound escaped from his mouth. The rose petals in between his fingers chanted at him, writhing at his hands. “Consume, consume, consume!” Tim was choking, the heat in his stomach rising into his face as he felt his eyes begin to water. This only encouraged the forest around him to scream.
The wine-colored sun in the trees began to race back up in the middle of the sky, pounding down onto Tim, hot enough to melt him, before sliding away through the air until the sky was black with night. The new cold that enveloped him was an eye-squinting type of frigidity that soaked into his clothes and clawed at his skin. Eyes rolling back into his head, he felt his arms give out underneath him, his face splashing into the mud.
The screams around him only grew louder, becoming deeper in his ears as he struggled for air. “Die. Die. Die.” His fingers fumbled through the wet dirt, reaching up to his throat in futile attempts to unlodge the mound of earth in his gullet. With a thrill of will, he jammed his fingers into his mouth, as far into his maw as he could manage and gagged, a strong pain beginning in his stomach. At once, he retched out the mud in his throat and the little he had left in his stomach, taking in grateful gasps of air.
The screaming stopped, at last, and the sun rested behind the trees, sinking below the horizon. The orange prescription bottle lay empty.
Raking window from the pane, and ready to commit.
Sway back through gray beams of slate, on fingers cold and thin.
Long rye tickled his face and fingertips while sun dared to lick his closed eyelids. How could Tim deserve such peace on a quiet morning? But it wasn’t the gentle kneading on his chest that woke him. It was the warm, soft weight that enfolded so perfectly in the nook of his arm and chest. Slowly, his lids parted, taking in the soft light of the sun through the single tree that towered above his resting body. He licked his lips, the strong taste of dirt that was still crusted around them.
His neck was sore as he turned it, catching sight of dark blond hair resting upon his folded arm. Something in his stomach sat heavy and thick, perhaps waiting for the other man to lash out - punch him, choke him, call him rotten words. But the only thing he received was a sleepy smile and those same fingers pressing rhythmically onto his chest. He let out the breath he was holding and allowed his eyes to gaze upon Brian, basking in the sacred moment where he could admire the boy’s golden skin.
Will the beatings be worth it? As long as I get to hold you just like this?
In the sweet morning sunlight, Brian looked almost angelic - dark lashes resting upon his cheeks, his bottom lip pouting out, and that little piece of hair that curled just below his left eye. The moment was blessed as he observed the boy clinging to him, and slowly, those closed lids began to open, and Tim was given something else to look at. Brian peered up at him, the color of grass sitting inside his orbs, glittering up at him with so much innocence, there was not a chance that he remembered the things he did to Tim.
Maybe it is. Probably not.
The prettiest smile made its way to Brian’s lips, the corners of his mouth upturning slightly into something so sweet, it should have been sinful. The only thing Tim could do was stare, and slowly, Brian’s fingers lifted from his chest and to his dark hair, gently tousling the locks in his hand. Tim’s eyes fell to the ground, scared to look Brian in the eye any longer. He was afraid that any moment, something in his face would change and his soft hands would turn to iron, doing anything to Tim that could be harmful.
None of these things happened as the light-haired proxy tucked dark locks behind Tim’s ear, smiling warmly as he did so, and he finally allowed himself to think that Brian was back. But only for this moment - that he knew. His hand caressed the back of the boy’s head and gently beckoned him forward, their lips meeting in a soft kiss that lasted only seconds. Tim would never admit to objecting as Brian pulled away, regaining his breath in quiet huffs. Tim wanted more, but was afraid - as if Brian would swallow him whole like a snake. And sadly, Tim would do nothing to oppose.
“I love you.” Brian breathed, his palm brushing the side of Tim’s face. Something in the other boy’s stomach fluttered, not butterflies, but ugly, gray moths. His dark eyes left Brian’s light ones and he sighed quietly. No matter how much he yearned for the other’s touch, he could not bring himself to say it out loud - to return endearing words or actions. Deep down, inside the landfill of Tim’s soul, he knew that it would never be worth it. He closed his eyes and said nothing.
I’ve got a present for you -
It’s made from pieces of my skin.