Better Than Burroughs

One Week Later
Callum

Pulling out the last piece of wire, or whatever the fuck this shit is, I flex my hand. Still a little uncomfortable but a million times better. So Marin was right, I actually did need stitches. Twenty something combined. My right hand is better off than my left. I’ll have some intense scars though. Great reminder. I actually wouldn’t mind being reminded of doing what I did. It turned out better than I thought. Something happened and Marin and I…I don’t know, but it’s good. Talking about my parents, I feel like this fucking weight has been taken from my shoulders. It gets easier the more I talk.

Drawing is back. Thank fuck. I was being driven out of my mind not being able to do that. Next time I think about attacking myself, my hands sure as hell won’t be the victims. Maybe my knees. It’s been a bloody week since she kissed me. Right, she fucking well kissed me and it was better than any other. How the fuck that can be, I have no damned clue. I’ve kissed enough women; it was always a means to a bloody end. With Marin, I wouldn’t mind if kissing her was the end. Sure, I’m so damned turned on whenever she’s near I can barely think straight, but I’d rather kiss her a lifetime than fuck her once. What does that say about what I want from her? Forever? I don’t want fucking forever. But I know I definitely don’t want once. I doubt forever would last very long. I’d fuck it up. Of course I would. So why not just jump in? If I know how it ends, I may as well just go for it. The idea of hurting her though makes me want to throw up and have another go at my hands. This is the longest investment I’ve ever put into another person. Waiting so long has made me paranoid and nervous as all hell. Fucking terrible idea.

She’s spunkier now. She’s how she used to be when I first met her. Felix was killing her. I haven’t really been seeing her all that much lately though. That fuckin’ coffin dodger of an employer has her working all the bloody time. Marin seems to not mind. Apparently they get along. I mind, I never get to see her for fuck’s sake.

I’m aching for release. Masturbation’s just lost its fucking fun. I’ve always enjoyed the simple act of pleasuring oneself. A reward of sorts, a relaxation technique. It doesn’t seem to hold the same allure any longer. I haven’t had a good fuck in too long and living with Marin isn’t helping. Watching her move about the flat is torture. Every single time she folds herself up on the couch, I want to fucking jump her. She’s comfortable in the most asinine positions and it’s an absolute turn on. Makes me wonder just how bendy she can be. I, on more than one occasion, have happened to come across her doing some sort of yoga stretching rubbish and it’s better than anything I could dream up.

She moves loosely. She doesn’t put on any act when she walks. There’s no deliberate sway to her hips or thrusting her chest out. Everything is quite subtle. She just moves how she moves. I refuse to walk up stairs in front of her and deny myself the treat of seeing her backside. And her posture is ridiculous. I want to put a book on her head and mock her when it doesn’t slide off. She drives with the bloody seat straight up. She looks like a giant from the outside. Her pinky sticks out when she drinks. Did she go to fucking etiquette school? She plays with her rings. All the bloody time she’s spinning her rings around. When she happens to wear a necklace, she tugs on it constantly. She pulls on her earrings, always simple ones that hang gently. Her nostrils flare when she gets in a laughing fit. The last time I was able to witness such an event was when she had me watch Craig Ferguson’s talk show. The only thing I’d seen of him was Saving Grace and that book of his, his show’s not too bad. Some drab bits, but overall, not too shabby. I think she’s got a wee bit of a crush on him.

She has migraines. I worry about them. I haven’t delved into the matter for the same reason I don’t delve into her family life. The more I know about her, the harder it will be when I fuck things up. She doesn’t offer information and I’m a selfish bastard. She cares enough to ask me questions and I don’t return the favor. She’s probably waiting for someone to show interest.

It’s almost five and I’m just about to close the store when Holly struts in as if she’s here every day. She’s dressed to the nines, short skirt with the sole purpose of flashing her long legs. I don’t think she’s been eating enough. Her thighs look a little thin. Paired with the mockery of a skirt, her breasts are on display in her top. It’s meant to look as if it was pieced together down the front. It’s not attractive. If a woman is flashing the entire world her chest, it might be best to put some god damn jeans on. Cover something up for shit’s sake. I may not agree with it, but my body still does to a certain point.

The second she gets close enough, the noxious smell of hairspray assaults my senses. It’s amazing how my feelings towards this poor bird have changed so drastically. At times I’ve found her to be rather attractive, and at times like this, I find her almost repulsive.

“How’ve you been Holly?” I ask, wondering how long this exchange will last before I can close up and draw. She doesn’t come around to my side of the counter and I’m actually quite surprised. That surprise fades when she leans across the counter and her breasts push up invitingly. Not enough though.

“Pretty good. What did you do?” she grabs for my hands and I let her. I may want her to leave, but women love men in pain. I almost correct her grammar as well, but somehow manage to keep in inside.

“It’s nothing,” I say, waiting a few seconds before pulling my hands back. She tells me of her life. I’ve heard it all before. The parties, there’s one tonight, why am I always invited to these fucking things at the last minute? Do people think I don’t have a life? Or does she just think that I’ll jump at the chance for a fuck? I can’t blame her. But the idea of doing that just doesn’t appeal like it used to. The whole time Holly’s talking, I find myself comparing her to Marin. What the fuck is that? Marin’s legs are far more inviting. Pale and strong, not as fucking thin, healthy. I bet they feel real nice wrapped around a waist. Jesus Christ. I want to see imprints from my fingers on her thighs.

“So how ‘bout it?” she asks with a sexually charged grin and I don’t know what the question was but I know in what genre it belongs. Whatever it was, I don’t really care. It seems that I run on autopilot and react to her advances without much thought.

The next time I really pay any attention, she’s pressing herself up against my side. She’s treating herself like a prostitute and gets off on it. I’m treating myself like a fucking sick bastard and getting off just isn’t on the horizon. A sick bastard I am though. This isn’t going to help anything. I know it won’t. Holly is pressing her hips against me and in turn, I grab her waist and I’m not quite sure what my intentions are. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my fucking chest and I think I may be having a soddin’ panic attack. Her hand slides down to my pants and she hesitates when she doesn’t find an erection. Before she can say anything, I step away from her, pushing her back. She’s confused and I’m not. Marin will be coming home at any bleedin’ moment. With my luck, she’d walk right in and that’s something I would not be able to talk my way out of.

“I can’t do this anymore Holly,” I say with a shake of my head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie and I’m a fucking coward. But I don’t want to hurt her. I just want her to get away from me. She’s used to a certain side of myself and I can’t seem to give that to her. I can’t give her anything anymore. In all fucking honesty, just sitting in silence with Marin reaps more benefits than fucking other women. Why that is, I don’t want to think about. I don’t want Holly or any other girls in random bars about town. It does remind me of something me mum used to tell me, that when I found the woman I can merely exist with, I’ve found love. She was looking forward to my children even when I was in her womb I presume. Always wanted to be a grandmother.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” she almost taunts, a direct hit to my masculinity. I don’t mind it. If she wants to be irate, that’s fine with me. I’m used to being the bastard. I don’t really want to be him anymore, I doubt things will be easier. Who was it ever easier for to begin with though?

“What is it?” she asks, her voice softer as her head tilts to one side and it’s so achingly Marin that I can’t look. I shake my head and scratch my fingers along my jaw.

“I can’t do this,” I repeat. I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t give her what she wants from me anymore. I fucking dug myself a hole.

I don’t want the casual sex. It was easy to a certain degree at first, but now it’s just fucking sickening. You can only delude yourself for so long before it just doesn’t work anymore. I think now’s that time for me. Maybe the time was years ago and I’m finally noticing. The aftershock is too much for me right now. I don’t need to hate myself anymore by coming home to Marin after fucking another girl. The last time was enough. I find myself staring at Holly in abject horror at myself. I want Marin. What the fuck have I been doing? Why have I been spending my time with fake feeling instead of the real thing? What the sodding fuck am I so god damn afraid of? Ending up like my parents? The idea of dying for someone scares the shit outta me but would it be so bad? They were happy. Why can’t I just fucking be happy? Because happiness isn’t trustworthy. It doesn’t last. It’s just a front for what’s to come. For the pain and anger over your utterly wretched life. So what the hell am I even doing with her if I don’t want what she’s offering? And what is she offering, if anything? Every time I have these big revelations, they aren’t anything of the sort. I keep thinking that same old shite with new words, just buying myself more time.

I haven’t said anything and I almost forget that Holly is with me. She’s standing up straight and her mouth is working around but for the life of me, I can’t hear a word of it. I just watch her talk and wait for the end.

When she finishes, I tell her that it’s over with. That I no longer want to see her. I block out the voice in my head which tells me I’m an callous prick. I tell her that she should leave. She should go to that party and meet someone else, replace me, it wouldn’t be difficult. I hurt her and she lashes out in anger. Her hand slaps across my cheek before she leaves, slamming the door behind her. My face burns and I relish it. I don’t think she’ll be calling any longer. That’s one set-up I won’t be able to fix. That’s probably a good thing.

Before anyone else has a chance to walk in, I head for the door and lock it. Marin has a key. It actually wasn’t the first thing I gave her. Neither one of us ever thought about it until she was left locked out. Giving her a key was a fucking experience. I felt like I was committing to something colossal. I seem to keep forgetting that she’s a flat mate. First and foremost. I don’t want her to be, but she is.

Grabbing V off the counter, I head upstairs. I wish I had known about this guy sooner. Pynchon is my new literary hero. It’ll change in a week, so he better enjoy it now, dead or alive. I’m fucking starved. Getting hit really gives a guy an appetite. The sun is slowly disappearing and I don’t really care anymore. I’m not much in the mood for drawing. I’m a bit livid with Holly for messing about with my plans. I find leftover pasta and turn on some Morrissey before I settle down on the couch. I’ve been on a Viva Hate fest and I just can’t seem to remove the record.

Marin doesn’t quite share my food habits. She has this thing with heating up her food. Bugger that. Why it’s a must, I have no idea. Cold pasta is perfectly fine. Actually, angel hair is better cold to begin with. I know I can’t be the only one who thinks that.

I eat quickly and try to get comfortable on the couch. It smells like Marin and I can’t. I roll off onto the floor and it’s a little better. This whole sodding place smells like her. Like both of us, and it’s too familiar. Too good. I roll a bit and spread out on my stomach. The floor is cool and I press my cheek against it.

The music soothes over me and I don’t know how long I’ve been laying here when I hear her walk in. Angel, Angel… is just beginning so it hasn’t been too terribly long. I don’t know what people have against this song. It’s rather soothing.

I hear Marin put her things down; I imagine her bag being set down on the desk and her shrugging out of that red coat. I love that coat. It reminds me of every time I blundered, but it’s a good thing. Maybe I’ll stop being such a cunt. My father would be disappointed. My hero would frown. Wonderful. I want to talk to Charlie, he’s the closest thing I have, but I can’t. I just can’t do it. I haven’t mentioned going home since I first said it. Every single time I deal with an annoying prat at the store, I think about it. I think about just fucking leaving. Not even telling Marin first. I could never do that though of course. I could never deprive myself of the goodbye. Of holding her. Of her tears. She feels too good. I want her in my bed every night. I want to sleep beside her, wrapped up inside her, but I haven’t asked since. Neither has she. No matter what happens during the day, whatever horrible fucking thing I do, I just want to sleep next to her. That gave me more then all that causal fucking ever did. I’m desperate for it now.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice holds a laugh in it and I must look ridiculous. My arms spread out to my sides and my legs spread wide. I must look like an idiot. “You look like a Febreze commercial,” she adds and I must not watch enough TV. I actually watch no TV, unless she forces me of course.

I roll over and she’s standing over me with such a sweet smile on her face. I love her face. She’s so god damned beautiful. I feel myself fall into familiarities and what happened downstairs floats into the farthest recess of my mind. I latch onto her ankle, pleased that I can actually do that without screaming out in pain, and pull her towards me. She shrieks and with my other hand I reach up and tickle at the back of her knee. The knee buckles and I take the opportunity to pull her down with me. She falls in a heap across my legs, none to gracefully. It’s completely endearing.

“Callum!” she scolds, lifting her head and flipping her hair to the side to glare at me. I release her ankle but I still don’t let her get up. I pull her down to lay beside me and brush her hair out of her face. I love the next song and I want to lay with her.

“Shhh,” I scold when she begins to speak. She sighs and resigns to my order. Late Night, Maudlin Street starts and she calms besides me, her head on my arm. I remember that for quite a while I kept automatically referring to the song as ‘Last Night on Maudlin Street’. I still do at times. It just pops out more for me. Fuck this song is just about perfect. Although Alsatian Cousin has some of the best bloody lyrics I’ve ever heard. The whole third stanza is fucking mind-blowing. He and Nick Cave ought to hang out and record some premium music.

“You smell like hairspray,” she says quietly, staring at the ceiling. I look sideways at her and contemplate my answer. “Neither one of us owns any,” she adds and it furthers my dilemma. She should know what I do with my spare time. I feel like she should. Suddenly the time I’ve spent with other women, I feel like I was cheating.

“Holly stopped by the store.”

“Did she slap you too?”

“You can see that huh?” I ask somewhat pointlessly, rubbing my cheek with my free hand. She nods and I drop my hand. I wonder how red my cheek is. I didn’t think she hit me hard enough to show.

“Why did she hit you?”

Marin’s voice is trained and it gives away nothing of her feelings. She’s shutting me out and I don’t fucking like it. I hate it. I never want her to shut me out. It just isn’t allowed. Wanting to get something, anything, I tell her the truth.

“I wasn’t willing to continue our relations and told her to leave.”

Marin doesn’t say anything and I want her to know that it was because of her. I want her instead. I don’t think that would work though.

“Was she one of the four?”

Right, the four women I’ve had sex with lately. “She was, yes.” Don’t ask, don’t fucking ask.

“When was the last time?” Not the question I was dreading. This one is worse. There’s nothing much I can do though but tell her. I think for a moment because I want it to be true and I need to get it right. I can’t just pull it out of thin air. Two weeks ago. That long? It was a week or so before the hand carving. I remember having to leave. I just couldn’t be around her that night. She was driving me insane. Sexually killing me. I tell her it’s been a few weeks and for some reason I feel the need to add that I haven’t been interested much lately. Especially not after the night I cut myself.

“Why?” she asks, sitting up to look down at me. Her hair falls to the sides and I can’t see her face well enough. I push her hair back and tuck some behind her ear. Not all of it stays put, but enough to satisfy does. Her eyes are so soft and her eyebrows are slightly pushed together in patience. She’s wanting me to tell her that it’s all for her.

“Because I want you.” I leave it at that and let her assume it’s only sexually. I want everything though and I’m ripping us both off by not saying it. She sucks in air quickly in surprise and I smile. I love catching her off guard.

“If I asked you something personal, would you answer?”

“More personal than that last one?”

“Would you answer?” she asks again and I’m worried. What the hell is she going to pull out on me? I’m intrigued and find myself agreeing to answer. A promise of sorts.

Instead of asking something else, she nods firmly and gets to her feet. Sitting up on my elbows, I watch her go into the kitchen. I stand up and follow after, feeling like a fucking puppy. “Did you forget?”

“No. I’m saving it for a later date,” she says casually.

“I don’t think so. My agreement is solely reserved for this very moment. Not for a later bloody date,” I insist as forcefully as I can. I pull myself up to sit on the island counter and watch her. She turns around and glares at me. She’s fucking glaring at me for no good reason. Not very kind.

“Fine. I was going to ask you why, when I’m right here, you sleep with everyone else? I changed my mind because I didn’t want to ask it.”

I have to hand it to her, she’s got balls. I never thought she’d ask me something like that. That damned personal with such a heavy tie to herself. She keeps doing shit like this that makes me think she wants me just as badly as I want her, but she doesn’t fucking know what she wants. She’s got this deluded image of me and she needs to fucking drop it already. She’s trying to appear calm and in control but she’s breathing a bit too heavily and her face is a bit too closed off. She’s scared shitless right now and I’m going to use it against her cause what else would I do? I think about sliding off the counter and cornering her but I don’t. Honestly, with the way her chest is moving with her breathing, I doubt I’d be able to stop myself from crushing her chest to mine.

“Ever since you told me all that stuff about wanting me, you haven’t done anything! Why tell me all that unless you were planning on following through? Do you enjoy just messing with people? I kissed you and you haven’t even brought it up! Either there’s something wrong with you, or there’s something wrong with me and judging by my track record, it’s me.”

She looks like she’s going to cry. How many times would this be? I haven’t even fucked her yet and I’m making her cry. She’s so god damn wrong it’s pathetic. I still don’t get off the counter. I keep my distance and she makes no move to leave the kitchen. I hadn’t realized that she was upset about all that. I’ve never needed a woman to tell me this, why do I need her to say it? It’s difficult to rely on my arrogance around her. The thought of being wrong is sickening. The reality of having to wait for her to reassure me is even worse.

“I’m afraid that if I have you…I’ll never be this satisfied again.”

“What are you talking about Callum? You act like touching me is some sort of irreversible travesty. What could possibly happen? The world isn’t going to end. How can you get anywhere in life without taking any chances?”

Now this annoys me. She’s the last fucking person who should be waxing poetic about taking sodding chances. What the fuck has she ever done in that arena? Not being able to keep it in, I ask, “So moving from your parents’ home in with Felix and then from there, in with me, that’s taking fucking chances? You’ve never even lived on your own for fuck’s sake.”

“I didn’t insist on moving in with you Callum. I said it as a stupid joke. If you didn’t want me here than you shouldn’t have painted a stupid tree on the wall for me!” she yells at me and she took what I said the wrong way. I didn’t mean it like that. What is it with woman and hearing what they want just so they can nail your ass to a bloody cross?

“That’s not what I meant Marin and you damn well know it.”

“No, I don’t damn well know it! You don’t tell me what you mean. I’m just supposed to figure it out on my own. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not all that easy.” With that said, she literally stomps out of the kitchen all the way into her bedroom. She’s probably really mourning not having a door to slam. I’m angrier than I should be. I can’t be here. Feeling like a sixteen year old, I leave instead of talk to her about all this. I don’t talk shit over. I wouldn’t even know where to start. And I’m tired of explaining myself. It’s just too much work. Sod it. I, unlike her, have a door to slam on my way out.

I head for the nearest bar but once a block away, I change directions. I can’t deal with a crowd right now. I can’t deal with drunken wankers. I’ll kill someone. I decide on a different destination in which I can get just as knackered without all the company. I stop at Kmart and buy some paper and pencils. Erasers, sharpeners, and whatever else that looks good. They don’t have much.

Marina

“You should just get good and drunk,” Emma offers and I laugh while shaking my head. I don’t think drinking is the answer. Maybe it is for Callum, but not for me. I prefer feeling to drunken ramblings and hangovers.

“Nah, thanks though.”

“Well don’t beat yourself up over this Mar, he’s responsible for his own actions,” Emma says, in the process of looking through the refrigerator. “Jeez, he’s Irish with an English accent, he’s a vegetarian, he’s broody, he draws, he says things like ‘Bloody wanker’ and he’s brutally hot. You hit the intriguing man jackpot. Not only that, the guy carves himself up for fun. Not that it’s not sort of frightening, but you have to admit, a guy who can do that is pretty damn sexy.”

I laugh at Em’s rambling and am really glad that she came over. My anger subsided rather quickly after Callum stormed out like a petulant five year old and was just replaced with regret. I was sure that he just went out to have sex with strangers and it was I who drove him to it. He told me that he wanted me and he never followed up on it. It drives me insane. I kissed him and he never took that as a sign that he could kiss me any time he wanted. I don’t know what he wants. With all the talking he does sometimes, he somehow manages to never quite tell me what I need to hear. What I want to hear. I called her pretty quickly so I wouldn’t dwell all by myself and luckily, she wasn’t at home so it didn’t take her very long to get over here. I told her about everything that happened and she’s remarkably calm about it. I like that about her.

“Thanks for always putting things in perspective for me,” I say with a smile. She shrugs as if it’s all in a days work and gives a laugh, picking up a book of Shakespeare sonnets off of the counter.

“Look, you wanna know what I think about all this?” she asks, sobering up and turning towards me with her elbows back on the counter-top.

“Always.”

“He adores you and he’s scared shitless of you. He just talks without thinking sometimes. It’s not uncommon among those types of guys.”

“What types?”

“The ones with demons in their closets.”

Maybe she’s right. I’d love to be able to talk with him about it but we’re sort of opposites in that sense. I love talking about every little thing, he’s more internal. I don’t think he necessarily enjoys being that way, but it’s how he is. He’d have to work on it if he wanted to change it.

“How do you feel about the guy?” she asks, her brows rise expectantly as if she already knows my answer.

“He’s…I don’t know, I just feel so much around him,” I say, trying to figure out how to voice the way he makes me feel. I don’t think I really need to do so cause Emma’s grinning like a twelve year old. “Oh hush up.”

“I said not a thing,” she insists, the grin still firmly in place. “Just be yourself, you know? Don’t worry about things so much. He’ll figure it out cause he has too. If you care about him as much as it appears, don’t push him. I’m not saying not to fight with the guy, arguing is a good thing with some couples, but there’s always a line. You just gotta know when to back off.”

I’m watching Emma talk and when did she become so into relationships? She begins babbling about how it’s hard to find someone to be happy with and I realize that she’s lonely. I’m always talking about myself and it’s so selfish of me. We don’t always have to talk about Callum. Interrupting her, I ask, “You alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem…sad I guess.”

“I’ve never really wanted a boyfriend all that much but after I met Dwight, I thought maybe it would work. It didn’t and now I’m just sort of wanting someone to be around, you know? I liked it. Dwight was too needy though, too nice. It started to drive me bonkers,” she laughs lightly. “Callum have any sexy Irish buddies?”

“I would assume so but I have no idea. Want me to ask?” I grin, knowing she would never want me to ask such a thing. She would never want to seem like she couldn’t get a date.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’ve missed you,” I say. I haven’t been seeing her as much as I should. It’s just so easy to get wrapped up in this place, living with Callum. When he’s around, no one else crosses my mind. It’s just so easy to forget about the world and live in my own happy bubble.

“Me too. Let’s all have a night out. Make Callum hit a club or something. I want to see him drunk.”

“Well if he’s in a club, I doubt you would have to wait long to see that.”


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Author’s Note:

Saving Grace – movie written by/starring Craig Ferguson. His book is titled Between the Bridge and the River. I recommend them both. He hosts the “Late Late Show” now, thank god.

V – by Thomas Pynchon

All the songs mentionedare from Morrissey’s record Viva Hate. In the song Alsatian Cousin, Callum refers to this stanza as being just about perfect:

A note upon his desk

“P.S. Bring Me Home And Have Me!”

Leather elbows on a tweed coat

-Oh!-

Is THAT the best you can do?

So came his reply:

“But on the desk is where I want you!”