Better Than Burroughs

Callum

Dinner went well. Betty’s a brilliant bloody cook. Thankfully, neither one asked about Marin and I. Sure, they asked her for her life story but they steered away from any sort of delving when it comes to me. I’m not buying it. They’re just waiting for the opportune moment. After dinner we ended up back in the living room. I helped Charlie with the fire and now the room is too bloody hot. I took my jacket off so it’s just about bearable. The second I get back in the car, the windows are going down and if Marin has a problem with that, I’ll just take the sweater off. Something tells me that she won’t mind the windows.

“I’ve never seen this painting before,” Marina says, pointing up at the large reproduction of Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights. It’s hanging above the fireplace in three sections. As it should. Betty and Charlie both have a thing for Renaissance art. They’ve filled their homes with photos and reproductions of famous painting, wood cuts, etchings, and on and on and on. It’s bordering on fanatic but cute at the same time. The oil painting is actually one dear to my Irish heart. I wouldn’t mind living in that world. Silly elderly and their pack rat tendencies. As long as it’s not I lost my shoe Rococo. Such trivial wastes of time.

I listen as Charlie tells Marina what it’s called and where it’s from and I can’t help but watch her face. She has a certain fascination in her eyes when she soaks up new information. It’s stunning. Like that sodding dress. Why the bloody hell did she have to wear a dress? Especially that one? I don’t know if she’s aware of this, but the damn thing is like a fucking road map to the shape of her breasts. Maybe it’s just me and my being partial to the shape of her breasts.

Marin stands up, walking closer to get a better look at the figures in the oil painting. She begins laughing softly. Charlie and Betty excuse themselves and I wait until they leave to stand beside her.

“What’s with the anal fixation?” she whispers, swaying over towards me, her shoulder brushing against me. I don’t know if it’s for my protection or hers, but I set my hand against her back to keep her steady. I think she takes it the wrong way and instead of moving, she stays put. No matter.

“So what is it all supposed to mean?” she asks with a laugh.

“Well, this is The Earthly Paradise. Garden of Eden,” I say, pointing up at the left wing. Moving over to the center, I continue, “This is the garden which it’s named for and moving on to the end is hell.”

I watch her study the images and I bite my lip to keep from telling her how fucking beautiful she is. I did that already at the beginning of this lovely adventure. No need to blow her head up. Honestly, I’m being a right cunt. She doesn’t say anything so I keep talking to distract myself from everything else. “It’s actually an altarpiece. It opens to those images. When shut it shows the Creation of the World. It’s the history of the world and the progression of sin. Everything is perfect and idyllic in Eden’s Garden. Then they all bullock it up and go to hell. Northern Renaissance really liked their hell.”

“What sort of drugs did they use?” she asks with a grin.

“Even if Bosch was clean, being locked up without any ventilation with all those bloody chemicals is enough to drive the sanest mad.”

Suddenly she turns towards me and with how close she is, her chest brushes against my arm. At least she has the good sense to back up a bit. “You’re not going to lose your mind are you?”

“I may have already lost it.”

“How close do you think you are to snipping a lobe off and moving to Tahiti?” she asks with a grin and she knows more about artists than I had assumed. I should know better than to assume anything about this girl.

“It’s still a ways off I imagine,” I answer even though I wouldn’t mind Tahiti. The women are gorgeous. However, why go there when I have a stunningly beautiful woman standing right beside me?

“Do you know a lot about art?”

“Not much.”

“I believe you,” she smirks. What a little ball ache. I hear the water turn on in the kitchen and leave Marina’s side. Finding Betty, I carefully maneuver her to the side and take control of the dishes. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and calls me some sort of endearment that makes no sense. She leaves and three dishes later Charlie appears at my side and begins rinsing. I turn the cold water on, not wanting to scald the poor man.

“Betty’s got your balls in a vice.”

“Watch your mouth,” he says.

“She in there with Marin?” The thought of leaving anyone alone with Marina does not appeal. Especially not someone who knows about my past. Someone who knows what I’ve been through. These two are the only two I’ve ever been semi-honest with and even them I don’t tell everything. They know the basics. They know the outline. They just don’t know the feelings. They create their own for me. I didn’t even really tell them about my parents. Charlie sort of intercepted a call from an old mate of mine back in Dublin. I wonder how he’s getting on?

“Now that you mention her,” Charlie begins and I groan. “We’re curious why you brought her exactly.”

“Proving that I don’t need a social psychologist?”

“Be serious for a moment. I’ve never known you to do something like this.” Charlie fixes me with such an expectant look that disappointing him by lying or fucking about makes me sick.

“She’s living with me. I thought it rude not to invite her.”

“You’re living with her?! A woman?”

The look of utter surprise offends me. What’s so bloody shocking about my living with a woman? I’m capable of sharing my home with someone for fuck’s sake. I’m not a complete self-centered bastard. It’s really hard not to go on the defense but I have to remind myself who I’m talking to here. Charlie doesn’t mean anything by it and it’s made apparent when he smiles gently.

“She was my mate’s girlfriend. They didn’t work out and I gave her a place to stay.” Suddenly I get the thought that maybe I should have told them both about taking on a roommate. “I’ll pay double rent, it’s no problem.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not an issue here,” Charlie says, rinsing off the last dish and shutting the water off.

“And what is?”

“You’re living with a girl when I have never known you to even date any.” He makes a valid point and I know what he’s getting at and he’s right. Glancing at the clock, I just want to go home. I want to draw and afterwards I want to sleep. Now if what I’m drawing is a sprawled nude woman and said woman also chooses to share my bed with me, I won’t be complaining.

“What exactly are you trying to get at Charlie?”

“I know you better than you think Callum. I may be an old man now, but I wasn’t always so monogamous.”

I admit that this surprises me. I guess I always had an image of Betty and Charlie together. It’s not realistic though, that they’ve been in love for their entire lives.

“I’m here if you need to talk. I doubt much will shock me,” he smiles comfortingly and I’m glad for his offer. I just may take him up on it. I feel like I’m going insane in my own head.

“How did you two meet anyway? Her debutant ball?”

“Not quite. Actually, I met her through a friend. He was deeply in love with her and wanted to marry her. I didn’t let that happen and we eloped. Her parents were infuriated and just about disowned her for two years. She was so innocent. God, you would have loved her innocence,” Charlie gets lost in his own thoughts and I can’t help but hate him a little. He took what he wanted and I hate him for it. Do I need to constantly be reminded of my mistakes? They’re what my parents would be now if they had the chance. Give or take some family love.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Charlie continues. “Marina is.”

I nod because I don’t know what else to say. My agreeing is pointless. Sweet doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Be careful Cal,” Charlie warns.

“She’ll be fine,” I snap.

“I was talking about you.”

Before I can answer or even think of one, the girls walk in the kitchen laughing. Turning around to face them, Marina’s face is red and she has a glass of wine in hand. Walking to her, I take the glass from her and drink the rest, plastering an arrogant smile on my face. I don’t want her drinking. I don’t know why, but the idea doesn’t appeal. While I enjoyed her looseness with me when she was drunk, it wasn’t real and I can’t take any more of that. I don’t want to feel her against my body and when I look down, see her piss drunk. It does nothing for my confidence. Usually a drunken woman doesn’t bother me. But I want Marina. The real Marin, insecurities and all.

“Rude,” she mutters and I don’t respond other than to tell her we should get going. I can’t have Charlie scrutinizing every move I make. In all honesty, I’m just a tad uncomfortable knowing that he’s seeing through my bullshit. Just like women don’t sleep over at my place, I don’t fucking invite them to dinner with these people. Marin’s just not one of the group and I can’t ignore just how much I separate her from the rest. It twists my balls with its blatancy.

“Betty, it was lovely as always. Don’t hesitate to come by the store. You’re bothering me is absolute bollocks.” My chest swells with satisfaction when she shoots Charlie a glare. I feel no guilt in getting him in trouble.

“Trouble maker,” she accuses and I hug her goodbye and give her a kiss.

“Thank you guys so much for having me. Dinner was wonderful and I had so much fun,” Marina says, her voice sincere and sweet. I watch her hug Charlie and frown when I see him whisper something in her ear. She laughs and I don’t like not being in on the joke. Or maybe I just don’t like her so close to another man. This is Charlie for fuck’s sake! Marin doesn’t need to meet my jealousy. She moves to Betty next and I say goodbye to Charlie as the women say their goodbyes.

On the way out, we both say goodbye to Max, who has maybe moved two bloody feet. Noticing my jacket hanging by the door, I grab it. The second we get in the car and she starts it, I’m rolling the windows down, feeling way to fucking overheated. She doesn’t complain and I’m glad.

“What’d Charlie say to you?” I ask, not being able to take it.

“When?” she asks, pulling out into the street and giving me maybe twenty percent of her attention.

“When you said goodbye, what did he whisper to you?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“It was about me wasn’t it?”

“Well that’s cocky.”

“Of course I am, my cock is rather impressive,” I answer.

“I’m not telling you what he said,” she says with confidence even though I swear I see a blush in her cheeks. Leaning back into the chair, I feel like pouting. I jab at the CD player and shut the music off in annoyance. She laughs and I’d do it over and over again to hear her laugh. I don’t care if it’s at me.

“I love them,” she says when we’re five minutes from home. Leaning against the door, which she locked to avoid my falling out somehow, I don’t look at her. There’s a mark on the window from my forehead.

“I really did. They’re amazing. I can see why you’re so close to them.”

“I’m close to them?” I ask, wondering where she got that from. Granted I took her with me, but I don’t think I’ve spoken much about the two. Maybe I did when I was unsober, I still don’t remember telling her that she’s beautiful. I should stop drinking. I didn’t drink anything tonight. It would be a bigger thing if I already didn’t drink around them. I don’t want them to think I’m a complete waste of oxygen. I couldn’t stand their disappointment.

“You took me to their house for dinner,” she says obviously and I wonder when she got so damn observant. It probably doesn’t take a genius though to figure out that I’m fond of the pair. I’m just annoyed that she won’t tell me what Charlie whispered to her. It’s put me in a funk.

Suddenly I feel claustrophobic and I need to get out of the fucking car. I don’t know what it is. She’s getting so bloody close and I’m going to fucking lose it. Does she really need to know everything there is to know? Must I feel this insane urge to tell her? What the hell is this? It’s not like I’m in love with the bird. I just need to fuck her arse off and get this over with already. Purge her from my system. I study her as she pulls into the lot and I wonder if I can get at her tonight. Of course I’ll need to stop being a difficult bastard, unless she likes that about me. Who knows? I think she knows more about me than I do her. Why haven’t I asked her anything? Cause I don’t want to know, that’s why. The more I know about the girl, the more I can’t stop fucking wanting her. Last thing I need is to find out that her high school boyfriend raped her or some terrible horror like that. Just the idea of anyone touching her makes me tense up. Of course, it’s all a ruse. I want to know everything there is to know. She has stunning eyelashes.

“Are you getting out?” She’s got her door open and she’s half out of the car, staring at me like I’m daft.

I get out and walk to the front door, unlocking it and going inside. I wait for her to join me before I go upstairs. The apartment is a little cold and it feels great to me but Marin immediately turns inward, her arms crossing and I don’t want that. I turn the heat on even though it’s going to kill me. I watch her take her shoes off and her ankles are so tiny. I’ve never noticed them before. They look so delicate. I find her wrists and it’s the same thing. It would be so easy to snap them. Kissing them would be far more enjoyable.

I start finding more parts of her that match the description. Her neck and her collar bone. It’s strange that they should seem so fragile considering that the rest of her is stacked. Full hips, full chest, I bet they’re proportionally correct. I’m staring and she knows it. Woo her. Seduce her into bed. How the fuck do I do that? Everything that usually works seems like such a fucking joke. I have no idea what to do. What the hell is wrong with me? Just kiss her. I’m almost sure that she wouldn’t reject me. Almost sure. Almost just isn’t good enough you silly cunt.

“You alright?” she asks me, her head cocked to one side, her neck smooth and pale. I want to bite it. I clench my eyes shut tightly and give my head a shake. I will not get a hard on from her neck. I refuse. Absolutely refuse.

“I’m fine Marin.”

“You never used to call me that.”

Opening my eyes, I almost ask her what she’s talking about until I know. She’s right. I never did call her Marin but what the hell does it matter? Does she care? I ask, “It bothers you?”

She shakes her head insistently, looking like she’s trying to erase the idea from my head merely by shaking her head. “No, not at all. I actually really like it.”

I walk up to her and lower my voice, “Really? What else do you like?”

I can see her neck work as she swallows and I begin to get all sorts of mental pictures involving her swallowing. Fuck, I want her.

“I like…” she pretends to think, her finger tapping her bottom lip and I pull her hand down, moving closer.

“Letters,” she finishes with a sigh.

“Letters?”

“It was all I could think of at the moment.” I laugh at her and she adds, “But I like getting letters and I like living here with you. Thank you.”

“You should really stop thanking me. I get more out of this then you do.”

“Really?” she asks incredulously, her face skeptical.

“Oh yeah. I’m a right fucking arsehole and this is all for my own gain.”

She drops the humor and steps back and I’ve fucked up somehow. Her eyebrows furrow and for a second she looks hurt. I don’t touch her.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” she says and it’s more of a plea than a command. Why does it matter to her if I say that I’m a prick? She doesn’t like being reminded? Or maybe she’s just so butt ass in love with me she doesn’t like my putting myself down? I don’t know which I would prefer.

“Now you’re telling me I can’t insult me own self?”

“I don’t think it’s funny.”

“What does that have to do with it?” I ask, suddenly very annoyed with the whole situation. “You’re a real mind fuck, sweetheart, you know that?”

“A mind fuck?”

“Yes. A fucking mind fuck. One who fucks with and messes about with the minds of others.”

She doesn’t argue with me and I want her to. She walks away. She fucking walks away and tosses a goodnight over her shoulder. The bloody nerve of the woman. I’m ready to have a good row and she’s saying goodnight? I don’t fucking think so. My entire body hums and I follow after her, completely invading her bedroom without an invitation. I was thinking about doing something about that for her, the no door, but fuck that shite.

“Good night Callum,” she says again as if I’m illiterate.

“I bloody well heard you the first time.” And suddenly I’m standing in her room with nothing to say or do and she’s not saying or doing anything and I’m screwed. I’ve just ran into something that I had no plan for. I feel like we’re suddenly stuck and there’s no solution in sight. I can’t think of anything to say that would either make this better or make it worse. She’s gorgeous and perfect and I can almost manage to hate her for it.

Her hands on her hips, she looks bored and maybe annoyed. Her head tilts to one side and she almost looks intrigued. She’s in the same shit hole as I am and she’s waiting for me to do something. Do something you fucking git!

Without further thought, I grab her elbow and pull her against me. It’s like a speeding train now and I can’t stop or think about my actions. I just zone in on her mouth and I grab her chin with my other hand, bringing her face up and kissing her hard. I expect fireworks, a gigantic reaction from her. I don’t know, moans and her writhing against me. Not this. Not her frozen. She doesn’t fucking move and I realize that I’m kissing an unresponsive woman. How utterly fucking pathetic. I don’t even bask in the feeling of her lips. I can’t push her away fast enough and I leave even quicker.

I freeze in front of my staircase and stare at the steps. My hands are shaking. Why the hell am I leaving? This is bullshit. I’m tired of it. I turn around and charge back in her room. She hasn’t moved and her eyes are wide. She looks up at me when I walk back in but she doesn’t say anything. I admit, she looks a tad dazed but I can’t be bothered with that right now. I’m used to blatant honesty and I’ve been swallowing it all when it comes to her. It’s too much bloody work.

“I want you. Marin. I want you every single fucking day. My bloody skin crawls at the thought of you.” I smack my hand back against the wall to my left for dramatic effect and my palm stings. “I want to fuck you up against this wall. Hold your hands above your head and just go at it. There is not one inch of this damned flat I have not imagined having you in, nor the store, nor anywhere I may have been or may go in the future. I want to pass out on top of you, inside you, and just sleep. I need a night to purge you from my bleedin’ system.”

Even while blithering on, I know I’ve messed up. It may have been the fucks, or the I only need one night to get her out of my head bit. So maybe that wasn’t the best way to go about it. Her hand slapping across my cheek pretty much fucking confirms it. I don’t let my face move with the hit, wanting to feel every bit of it. I deserve at least that much.

“How do you say ‘fuck off’ in Gaelic?” she sneers. I don’t answer because I’m far too tempted to give her something else to say.

“Be as brassed off as you like sweetness, but dare deny that you want me.” I’m taking a huge risk with this one but I can’t do anything else. I can’t back down like a fucking poofter. She can easily shoot me down and I’ll be licking my wounds for…I don’t want to think about it.

“I’m not playing your game,” she says, crossing her arms but she didn’t deny it. She didn’t fucking deny it. She chose not to answer which means I was right and this gives me the advantage. She’s fucked. Not yet anyway, but hopefully soon.

Holding my hands up in a harmless gesture, I walk forward and stand in front of her. She’s breathing deeply and still very angry with me. She’s probably confused and all sorts of rubbish. I’m going to play the accent card. The accent and Gaelic card. I’m going to let the Irish brogue run wild on the lass and hope it doesn’t kill me. Just allowing myself to slip into the accent reminds me of home and makes me want to curl into a fetal position. Not the sexiest fucking feeling the world. I need to keep it limited to just a bit of Gaelic and a light accent. Nothing too heavy. She wanted to learn some after all.

“Do you like The Pogues?” I ask her and she wasn’t expecting it. Hesitantly, she nods her head and I continue. “Póg, means kiss. Póg mo thóin, now that means kiss my ass. I believe that used to be their name before they shortened it.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’m attempting to distract you, my darling. Quiet down and let me.”

“That’s not going to work Callum. Don’t think it will. You just told me…a whole lot of things and I don’t know why.”

“To make life easier,” I answer with a shrug.

“For who? You? Cause you’re sure as hell not making my life any easier,” she yells and it’s completely clichéd, but fuck does she look sexy angry. Nothing better than razzing an attractive woman. She’s pinning me down with her eyes, shining brightly, and her mouth is tense and despite the first train wreck, I want to kiss her again.

“Doesn’t really concern me,” I even shake my head and she turns away from me. The zipper taunts me and I want to tug on it. She’ll need me to unzip it for her if I had to zip it in the first place right? She appears to be ignoring my presence and it’s annoying.

“How many woman have you slept with this past month?” she asks without turning around. I have to admit, I’m a bit taken aback by the question. Not that I thought she didn’t know. I’ve never hidden my activities from anyone. But for the first time, I don’t want to answer the question. I want to lie to her because thinking back on the women, I feel unworthy.

“It depends.”

“On what?” she asks, whirling around on me and I take a step back without realizing it.

I shove my hands in my pockets and keep stepping back as if my point was to lean against the wall all along. Real smooth Godard. I’m glad I never changed my last name as a kid. I hated it. Kids pronounced it wrong. She’s still looking at me. “Are you asking because you actually want to know the truth? Or are you asking as a silly little bird?”

“I don’t know what that second one is even supposed to mean but why would I ask unless I wanted to know the truth?”

She’s so fucking out of it. I’m not a moron. She must think I am if she thinks I would buy that load of bollocks. For a second I let my head drop and stretch my neck out. Lifting my head to look at her again, I answer with more self-assurance then I feel right now, “Four.”

I think. Oh bloody hell. I’m so fucking pathetic I can’t remember them all. It never used to be this often though. It’s her fault. Damn woman. Her mouth almost drops and her face is completely open to every single thought that’s going through her head. I’m disgusting. I’m dirty. Unsafe. Unclean. Unattractive. Pathetic. A bloody fuckwit. Well, fuckwit is mine. That probably wouldn’t come from her head. Does she realize that her face is a bloody map to her heart?

“I think you were right the second time,” she mutters, sitting down on her bed. Yeah…too late now. I leave before she makes me want to apologize for being myself. She makes me want to do a whole load of things differently. How did I fuck this up so badly? I need a drink to calm my nerves. She’s floored me.


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AN: Hope this chapter was received well. The next one is sort of a filler chapter but I hope it will be amusing at least. The whole ‘first kiss’ thing was weighing down on me so I decided to go this way and take the pressure off. Besides, it’s just what ended up happening. I’m being pretty good on staying ahead with the story. I don’t want to get behind. I’m amazed at how easy this is to write. I wish research papers were this easy and went by this fast.

Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights is quite the painting. I urge you all to check it out.

“How close do you think you are to snipping a lobe off and moving to Tahiti?” – This line is first referring to Vincent Van Gogh’s cutting his ear lobe off, more widely known. The second portion is referring to his pal Paul Gauguin who left his wife and kids and moved to Tahiti to paint the women. Just wanted to clarify, I remember in my last story, some people didn’t know what I was talking about at times. If there’s ever any confusion on any references, just ask and I’ll answer.

Oh, and I have no problem with art from the Rococo period. I just don’t think Callum is the type to enjoy art that’s main purpose is puppies, picnics and sunshine. It was all very flighty and fluffy. Honestly, it’s not really for me either, but I respect the talent that went into it.

I shall never write another author’s note this long. My apologies.