Turmoil Behind The Mirror

When he got home, all of his feelings broke loose. He felt so sick. He ran to the bathroom and felt the vomit burn his throat. He threw up and began shivering, feeling cold and alone.

He washed his teeth to get rid of the taste and looked at himself in the only mirror that managed to survive his wrath. It was mounted on the bathroom wall; on those tiles he hated so much. He didn’t recognize his own face.

// What can be done? How can I heal these wounds? Make the scars disappear? //

{ Like you ever could. }

He was shocked at the sight of tears staining his face, reddening his cheeks. They ran freely over the pale skin. The piercing blue eyes of the reflection made him feel totally naked. Those beautiful yet almost effeminate features angered him. The narrow nose pointed at him; the small yet voluptuous mouth was making fun of it all. The black, wavy mane flowed freely passed his shoulders.

Staring intently at the other’s eyes, he felt sick again. Nausea began burning once more. He punched the mirror with his right fist and it exploded in a world of colors and shapes. He took one of the most stunning shards and caressed it. A tear stained the glass. Looking at his forearm, the ivory skin was beckoning.

He started to cut himself. Over and over again. Deep wounds. Two or three of the gashes made all the way to the muscle. He noticed his own breathing had become a difficult task. Throwing the shard against the wall, it became a universe of tiny little dots of light.

// The stars. Tonight I shall greet them. //

He looked at his forearm, which was bleeding very badly, and started to lick the wounds. A moan escaped his lips. The smell of irony shook his being.

Butterfly kisses showered the wounds. He was panting. The warmth growing between his legs hurt him. Now, more that ever, he felt like this wasn’t his body; it didn’t belong to him.

Massaging his groin, he could feel himself hardening at the touch. He unfastened his pants and the cold air was torture on his erection. He began stoking himself, until anxiety took over and he began to stroke harder, faster, up and down his member.

Lips never stopped roaming his forearm. And with a last gulp of blood, he came. Pulling up his pants, he savored the dizziness, lost in the pleasure.

He washed his hands, cleaned up the mess, and started looking for the gauze, some antiseptic, and the never-forgiving bandages.

Finally, remembering they were under the bed, quickly went to get them. He carefully cleaned the wounds and treated them with care. He felt love for them, handling them like something so very fragile. The bandages were too flashy for his taste, but it didn’t matter now.

He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly. Savoring each draught, he pulled a bottle from under the bed.

// Vodka… it’ll do. //

He drank half the bottle with utter despair, until sickness overtook again. The room began spinning around. Smiling, he stretched his arms and let himself fall unreservedly over the bed, discarded the cigarette butt, and started to doze off.

The blood drying on his t-shirt began to smell, strongly.

The perfume lulled him into sleep.

When he woke up, it was already dark. Two in the morning.

He stood up while rubbing his eyes, opened the window, and started to undress himself. He decided to take a quick shower; the presence of blood suddenly resulted unbearable.

He the put on a pair of baggy jeans, a black t-shirt, and a worn-out zipper jacket….

// I need a shot. //

Going through all of the drawers….

// Great. Not even a fucking shot to be found…. //

Feeling angry at himself, he opened the door and hurried throughout the streets until he reached the well-known alleyway.

// Dead end…. //

The voice woke up.

{ Pathetic. }

// Ahh… shut up. //

{ You’ll blow him again for some? }

Laughing rang in his brain violently.

// Ain’t listening so… buzz off. //

Walking in the dark for a while, he finally discerned the desired silhouette and walked toward it.

“Hey, Jon.”

“Hey.”

“Man, you look like shit,” the other whispered.

“Hmmm….” Jon gave a loud sigh. “The usual.”

“Got my money, Jonnie boy?”

Jon roller his eyes and barely whispered, “No.”

“Well, then… you know what to do, bitch,” the silhouette murmured with a grin on its face.

Jon could almost hear the fucking smile on the other’s face, and it was infuriating.

{ *Laughing* …You gotta be kidding me! }

Jon shrugged his shoulders.

The other man was readying himself.

Jon unzipped the dealer’s pants for him, taking one step closer. He could feel the other’s proximity and it made him feel ill.

At least darkness hadn’t abandoned him.

// At least the moon hasn’t left my side. Please, let him be gentle this time. //

He felt comforted by the moon, by its purifying light.

{ You make me sick. }

“Hey, Jon, it didn’t come out for air, you know?”

Suddenly, hands were roaming his body. He snapped back to reality. Reality; the full force of the concept made him react.

He pressed himself against the warmness.

And with his left hand he took the waiting shaft between his fingers, pressing the tip carefully with his thumb and heard the man against him groan.

A few moments and he started to pay off his bills.

Feeling a strong hand pushing him away to force him on his knees, he silently obeyed and crouched down.

With his right hand, he started massaging the towering silhouette’s balls and took the shaft into his mouth, running his tongue over it, sucking. Fingers dug into his hair and pulled at it, forcing his head.

He posed his hands on the panting man’s hips to hold them still. Deep-throating a few times, he felt the other man coming with a loud moan. He swallowed hard; not a single drop wasted.

Pulling up his pants, the other handled him a small cellophane wrapping.

“Enjoy, man. I sure did.”

Turning around, Jon left without any words. A few steps and dizziness took over. He felt his body’s betrayal once again. Arching forward, he threw up. Looking at the pool of vomit at his feet, giggles emerged from the darkness behind him.

// Fucker. //

He ran all the way home, lost in despair; images of the past hunting him. Finally reaching his destination, Jon opened the door and stumbled the way in.

{ Thinking of daddy again? }

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up!”

Grabbing one of the syringes lying on the night table, he quickly prepared half of the heroine he had skillfully earned. He then tapped one of the veins and closed his eyes, feeling the long-time fiend taint his blood.

// Now you’ll shut up for a while. //

Lying on the floor he adopted a fetal position. Minutes passed and numbness came. Still on the carpet while stretching his limbs, he looked up to the window and searched the night sky for the all-forgiving moon.

// Are you so ashamed of me? So ashamed you hide? My witness, my only witness. Tell me, you, the only one who doesn’t ignore me: Why? I can laugh at what has been done, but I’m not capable of laughing anymore, and now I fall. I find myself to be the fool in your charade, ‘cause in my eyes I am the lie. Ahh, so goddamned tired of this crap, tell me, should I endure it, or would you help me tie the rope around my neck? I see things clearly, but still, regardless of it, my world is disturbed. How I long for tomorrow… haven’t seen it in a while. //

Three-thirty. A loud sigh.

The alarm clock pierced his brain, and cracked his skull.

// Sorry, not today. //

Standing up from the floor, he turned the alarm off and went to bed, pulling the covers over his head.

The last thing that came to his mind before losing all consciousness were those eyes staring at him early in the morning, at school.

// That gaze… that look…. Don’t…. //

And he soundly fell asleep.