Another grain

Chapter 1:

My room is a dark place.
ten years ago, when I first moved into town, the walls were plain white and depressed me, by even looking at them.
But luckily it didn't take long for me to make a friend and together we would put pictures of our favourite singers or movie actors up and the thing is, that we never took any of them of. Not a single on in ten years. Therefore, today, the walls are caked with serval layers of superstars, not a bit of white shining through.
But that's not why it's so dark.
It's dark, 'cause I have drawn my curtains shut, out of two good reasons:
first, so I won't be able to see any of those pictures that remind me of Oliver.
Second, not to see the light in his window, which happens to be in the house directly across the street
Up to the certain event we used to leave our curtains open and give each other signals, when something had happend. It's some kind of remnant thing from our childhood, where we would learn the morse alphabeth out of mickey mouse magazines and save some pence on the telephone bill of our parents. In the end we fugured that other boys our age might be able to read them as well and we stuck with some selfinvented like "Something happend", "I'm horny" and "Come over asap". The last ones never went together, though.
We did that for zears, actuallz never really stopped doing it and therefore I was tempted to do it today as well, but somehow it seemed impossible now to even talk to oliver. Knowing that he would just leave me behind.
Yeah, sure, I could understand, that he needed to get over what had happened to us, but he could have got that help anywhere that was not 200 miles away.
It was the fucking other end of the country and foremost a place I couldn't follow him to.
God, somehow I was still stuck with the childhood dream of always being with him.
Just that it wasn't a dream.
It had been real once and I don't understand what broke it.
And I wasn't sure who's fault it was.
When I look in the mirror, though hardly managable due to the lack of light, I can see my face taken over by shadows.
It looks so scary.
My bright blue eyes are a dirty grey, going over into black and my hair looks like a dustcolored mess, when usually blonde.
And I couldn't understand why somebody would like my features, though I know that many silly girls did. And it was hard to tell who seemed more like a lunatic-my draknessdrowned me or the giggling girls.
But then they had been all over oliver as well and that sort of shows a better taste.
At least it's nothing you could blame them for.
Oliver is rather pretty.
His eyes are a strangley warm grey with out a trace of coldness and looking into them could be easily called my hobby. not a big deal, 'cause when talking to him I kind of shoudl look into his eyes. and we talk a lot.
or used to, that is.
Now Words seemed to dry in our presence, till we're both tiered of coughing them out.
and what would we talk about.
he wouldn't want me to tell him what I felt.
though I would like to.
I would like to tell him how it was. being grapped by my hair and shoved into a corner, watching them do THAT to him.
It's true, I wasn't really physiaclly harmed, but I can still feel the tingle of their hands on my scalp.
It's like my hair was being pulled out and I retrace their touches with my fingers and hate the fact, that it's even long enough to grap it.
the anger swells inside me and I get a pair of scissors from my desk.
When I come back to the mirror, the cold metal pressed against my skin, I catch a glimpes of my refletction and realize I'm crying.
Great.
Being a sissy was the last thing I need right now.
With an outraged growl I snap the scissors shut and watch as a strand of my long hair floats towards the carpet ,
It's deeply statisfying and I do it again, slwoly calming down.
when I'm through half of my head I'm crying freely, the tears welling from my eyes.
I drop the scissors and follow them to the floor, hugging my own knees.
and desperated over the dark I get up and open the curtains and the streetlight hits my wall, where photos of Oliver and I smile at me.
I get up and kiss the first one, my lips thightly pressed to his photoglossmouth.
Then I went on to the next one and the one after.
I got trhough all of them before I finally fell asleep on the floor.

I wake up to the sound of shouts and a door slamming nearby.
The sunlight tickles my nose and for a moment I'm happy and confident, because I don't remember any of the events from yesterday.
I strech, my eyes still closed, and bath my body in the sunlight, before I realise that I'm lying on the floor and with the sensation of my aching spine and my sore head the memory comes back.
Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm happy about the things that come with sleep.
Sure, it's nice to forget about everything for a while, but when the past shoots back into your head it's sort of like going through it again.
I hate that.
I want to blind out the images and the idea of being parted from Oliver.
The noises from the street still make their way through my closed window and I step closer, to take a look out. I stumble back when the understanding of what is going on hits me.
Down there, on the opposite side of the road is a red car running and I know that car.
It belongs to Oliver's mum.
If that isn't a clue, then Oliver being hugged by his little cousin, or his aunt crying or his mum putting a back into the trunk sure as hell is.
My breath hitches and I'm frozen for a moment, before my legs give a jerk and storm down the stairs to the frontdoor.
I'm quite lucky that my body is doing all that stuff for me, cause my mind only goes:
No, no, no, no.
My fingers grap the doorhandel and I throw it open.
Then I stand there in the doorframe, breathing heavily, 'cause that was a run so fast, that jumping out of the window wouldn't have brought me here a second earlier.
I look across the street and my eye catches Oliver's.
Strangly enough he blushes.
My mouth form words- it's a very silent "wait" and even though I'm sure he caught it he doesn't stop.
Just tears his eyes away from mine, slowly getting into the car.
I watch him stunned and my face turns a lobsterred, but all my anger and confusion don't matter to him, because the sound that brings me back into motion is not his voice, but the sound of the engine being started.
I jump down the sairs and aprroach the car, tapping on his window, when I reach it.
He still just smiles up at me with his gorgeous face, something I really can't appreaqciate today.
I tap the window harder and yell at him, tell him to open that fucking window and talk to me.
He shakes his head, gives his mum a sign and the part of glass that I'm touching rushes past my fingertips, burning them in their swift movement.
I try to hold on to the back of the car, but end up jogging after it, now not only yelling, but also shouting and screaming and having a bloody breakdown in the middle of the road.
The car turns the corner and is gone and I'm still there and all I can feel is that pain in my chest, aching and throbbing.
I think my heart is trying to catch up with my breaths, but is to busy hurting and thinking "no, no and no", over and over again.
I just can't believe what happend.
I would believe it to be a joke, a coax or some thing of this sort, but the car not coming back and Olivers aunt ignoring me and shutting the door of her house gives me a clue that this is reality.
And it's a painful one, because what my heart fails to know, my brain can't figure out either.
How am I gonna live without him?????

****
so...that's the second chapter.....
I'm gonn ask for a beta again, 'cause I think my stuff really needs to be spellchecked.
And I apologize to those who had problems reading it because of my terrible english.
Hm....I'd like to communicate a bit further with my readers, so I beg you to have a look at my myspace site....add me, leave me messages, comments or invitations.....I'd be happy...

finally to my two reviewers....
....thank you so much....I'm glad that you have such good opinions about my work and enourage me to add further chapters......I'll keep them coming
Since you review both on different websites it's hard to say who was the first, so you both get the bonus of asking me for a oneshot with any of the characters of this story......just that I wish you wouldn't do it now, 'cause I still need to figure some things about them out....but well...I suppose I can write plotless smut.....:)