Don’t Fear The Reaper

Hey kids, this is Alex again.
So, I’m fucking bored as all hell at the moment, and these lovely reviews I’m getting are making me feel all warm n fuzzy inside the pants, so I figured I would post up some more to look at, abandoning me weekly rule just for ya’ll. Well, also, my sober state of mine is just very antsy so I must appease it.
Mm, marijuana god, why hath thou forsaken me?
It is so hard to type without youuuuu… : (

So here is chapter two.
I have nine written out already but I have run into a writers block, so pray I get over it so I wont leave you guys hanging on the ninth entry.
That just wouldn’t be very nice of me. -_-

Also
Guys
PLEASE
TELL ME
if there is any correction you believe needs to be made, if a description pisses you of, anything, kay? I’m constantly trying to improve and to do that I need some feedback. And don’t worry; whatever you say to me I wont get offended over, simply because (usually) I’m high 24/7 so nothing bothers me.

*shuts up so you don’t have to read uninteresting shit anymore*

(EDIT: Hey wow Cherry Starburst, I never considered all that. I just wanted to make sure that no one was under the impression that my story was related in any way to that movie. (Not to insult the movie: I liked the sixth sense, but, you get my drift.)
So to follow your wise advice, as you can see, I have taken that down. I suppose screaming capital cursing is a tad immature. ; )
Thanks babe!)

~!~

“One sheep… t-two sheep… three s-sheep…”
Heavy sigh.
“Fuuuuck…”
Silence.
Then, “FUCK!”
Adrian threw his sheets to the floor and sat up in his bed, glaring angrily at his alarm clock. Four-fucking-a.m, he still couldn’t get that fucker off his mind, it just wouldn’t FUCKING go away! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.
“Where the hell are you?” he said out loud then, his voice an angry growl. He didn’t have to worry about making too much noise and waking his aunt; she slept downstairs.
Again, “Where the hell a-are you, you bastard? Come out!”
He looked around, frowning. His computer was on, the monitor lighting the room with a gentle blue glow and the speakers playing out his sleep music, Fiona Apple’s voice softly filling what would have otherwise been dead silence.
Other than the music and himself, however, nothing moved or made a noise. He waited a little longer before calling out to the other again and that time failed as well. Of course… none of them ever came when he wanted them to.
But he’d never tried… calling them by name…
“Atia?”
Adrian sat there, disappointment retaking the dim hope that had suddenly arisen in him when he’d thought a name would work… Oh well, it was worth a try, whatev—
Oh, fuck…
Blue.
Even in the dark, the emotionless azure brilliance of those eyes was just as stunning as always, especially considering how close they were… Adrian’s breath hitched and he glanced down, the other’s lips barely and inch away from his own, the icy air escaping from them brushing gently against his skin.
Holy…
“Atia…” Adrian breathed, his eyes wide when he looked back up into the other man’s eyes. Now this… This, he’d never felt for the other… Not directly, no, he’d never felt so… starved. He craved it, craved for the man to just get rid of that inch of space, wanted to just fucking devour him.
He swore this couldn’t be really happening. Aside from earlier the previous day, Atia had never been so intimate whenever he was around. It was always with the other at least several feet away, just watching Adrian from somewhere. And even this… It certainly wasn’t like being pinned against the wall like yesterday.
Kind of expecting Atia to vanish, Adrian didn’t say anything for a second. But the other stayed stationary; his eyes boring into Adrian’s skull, he didn’t even pull away. Adrian was beyond confused; what the hell? Atia was here, he was here, and he wasn’t trying to hurt or scare, he was just… there.
Adrian liked it.
But, still…
“What the hell?”
What else could he ask? After all, shit, he had so many questions that it would be hard to choose among them. That one seemed to sum up his situation, anyway…
Silence. Nothing but the gentle melody of a song from his computer…
He waited but the silence stretched. Though, really, he didn’t mind, looking into those eyes… He seemed so captivated by the intoxicating cerulean that he wanted nothing more than to just shut up and stare, but he forced himself to say, his voice very soft, “Atia—“
Lips. Against his own, pressing; a tongue sliding into his open mouth… He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t even react; his world was confusion, the feeling shot through and then down with sudden urges much stronger than his stupefied thoughts. Atia’s mouth felt beautiful against his; he even loved the coldness of it.
He kissed back.
Timidly, at first; he’d never… kissed anyone before. He liked it a lot, though, when he pulled his tongue against the other’s, so he… tried it more… And before he knew what he was doing he was tangling his fingers in Atia’s night-dark hair, savoring the silken feeling, in complete awe of his closeness with the thing that had been distantly present all his life. It was… cold… but he found he didn’t care; it felt amazing, absolutely fucking amazing…
And just like that, it was gone.
He sat there for a few seconds, his heart racing, speechless. Then a kind of a feeling of rage and wrong-doing overcame him; what the fuck kind of shit was that? Just pop onto someone’s fucking bed, make out for a few minutes, and leave? His hands dropped to his bed from being held stationary in the place where they had been twined in soft raven locks only a few seconds prior, an angry groan escaping his lips.
W-what…
What…
What the fuck?!

***

BEEP BEEP BEEP
Nn…
BEEP
Fuck…
BEEP BEEP
FUCK!
Rolling over in bed, Adrian turned off his alarm clock and just laid there for a few minutes, his eyes closed.
Shit…
He’d fallen asleep maybe thirty minutes after that weird kiss, his first kiss, and had, in turn, gotten about two hours of sleep.
He wanted to just… go back to sleep…
But!
School.
Uhn…
Fuck school…
No, no, shit, school, he needed to wake up…
Groaning, he pushed his covers off of himself and sat up, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes for a minute. His computer was still playing his sleep music, which was excellent, because the particular song it was playing right then always seemed to relax him. Jesus, Dead Can Dance is fucking amazing…
Finally he stood up and left his room, walking a few steps down the upstairs hallway before turning to the right into his bathroom. He turned on the water in his bath to get it hot and then turned toward the sink that was opposite the cream-colored plastic tub.
Narrowing his eyes slightly at his reflection, he frowned. His semi-long dirty-blond hair was messy, he looked paler than usual, and the dark circles beneath his green-gray eyes seemed to be darker… Great. He looked like shit.
Stripping and taking a fast hot shower, he then found himself back in front of his sink, brushing his teeth, his mirror lightly misted over. He’d been thinking about a lot in just the past twenty minutes he’d been awake, though none of the thoughts had really been intriguing or solvable… Until he started thinking more about that kiss.
But not about with whom it had been with… No, shit, he’d thought about that plenty, but the kiss itself… He’d never… been kissed. Not because he didn’t want it, god, no. He considered himself among the loneliest people alive; he needed and really wanted nothing more than to just… Well, humans are needy creatures, and by nature they crave companionship, so of course he would feel like that.
But…
Why was he so alone?
No one hated him. In fact, everyone liked him, really, but none of those people were his friends. He didn’t have anyone to really talk to, never had, but he didn’t know why. He was a little shy around people, yeah, but he knew really shy people who had at least one close friend.
Did he just come off as stupid to others?
Maybe.
Did that matter, either? He also knew a lot of really, really stupid people with tons of friends. So that couldn’t be it, right? And… he didn’t talk about what he saw to people; he never mentioned it again out loud to anyone, in fact, after his aunt had gotten through with him. Whenever his family members asked about the others he would say that they didn’t exist until they stopped asking.
And it… wasn’t because he was gay.
For one thing, no one knew. No one. He’d never even made an obvious attempt to look at another man twice. Granted, he did it secretly, but no one noticed… And even if people knew he was gay, that wouldn’t keep them from being a close friend to him. He had plenty of gay acquaintances that had best friends.
Was he… ugly?
No… … Was he?
He’d never really… looked at himself. Even when in front of a mirror, he very rarely looked up to catch even a brief glimpse of his face; mirrors had always kind of creeped him out so he tried to avoid them entirely. Plus, all his life he’d never had any self-esteem from being ridiculed all the time and he guessed that he was kind of ashamed of himself, and never wanted to be reminded that he was… well, himself.
Frowning, he finished swishing the Listerine he’d drunk while he’d been thinking and then spat the minty green-blue liquid into the plastic sink. Then he grabbed a wash cloth from the counter and rubbed it across the mirror, slowly freeing his reflection from its misted silhouette form.
He was lean; not really muscular but he also didn’t have any fat on him… Like he could with the food supply he was given. His skin was flawless, smooth, relatively hairless, and an even light cream color. He was so pale that sometimes he forgot that his father was Puerto Rican and had been as dark as a goddamn Buffalo Soldier.
So… It couldn’t be his body; there wasn’t anything wrong with it.
He looked up into his eyes then and studied his face. It was sort of weird, looking at himself… It was almost like looking at another person who just happened to resemble him.
His eyes were… green-gray, yeah, nothing he didn’t know. He’d never noticed his eyelashes before, though. They were… really long. Huh. Was that a socially good thing on men? Well, it didn’t look bad, but did guys normally have that or did society demand by their rules of attraction that long eyelashes were for women only? He tried not to look too hard at guys so he didn’t really know; he’d accepted that he was gay, though that had been hard to do when he’d found out, but his aunt didn’t accept anything deviating from her idea of the ‘normal.’ So… After what she did to him before, he’d decided to just keep quiet, and just avoid the issue and men altogether, including even looking at them.
Right… Well… No unibrow; in fact, his eyebrows were… nice. Not bushy or too thin or too arched or too low… Just, well, nice, he guessed. His nose was normal, his lips looked a little big and pouty, but they weren’t ugly, and no matter how much he searched he couldn’t really find any imperfections. The skin on his face matched the skin on his body in color, smoothness, and it was blemish-free and he… He was just a guy. And he had a stutter that pissed him off a lot, yeah, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be, and that wasn’t a good enough reason for no one to want to befriend him, right?
Okay.
So.
He was just a guy, he wasn’t stupid or ugly or too shy or tactless or rude or over-reactive or ANY fucking thing, so, why the FUCK didn’t he have anyone?
Why?
Why, why, why, WHY?!
It’s because of what you are…
Adrian jumped, his heart racing as he spun around, his head turning in every direction to inspect every corner for the source of the voice. Voice? Had it even been a voice? It had seemed to have been exteriorly audible, but the words had also… echoed in his head…
Shit, another message?
Sighing, he turned back to the sink and stared at his reflection. Wait… Because of… what he was? What he was? What the hell was he, then?!
What did that mean?
He waited for an answer like the one he’d gotten to his other question but no answer came. With a frustrated sigh he slumped over and let his forehead hit the mirror and then he just stood there, his eyes closed.
What he was… As in… he wasn’t fucking human? Or, something like that? Was it the others that somehow made him be something? Did him seeing things mean people couldn’t be his friend, despite the fact that no one outside of select family members knew?
’What you are’…
What kind of shit riddle of an answer was that?
Clenching his fists, he opened his eyes slowly and stared down at the bathroom counter and took a few steady, deep breaths to try to calm the desperate rage that was forming due to his own ignorance. It was too early in the morning for this bull; he really needed to learn how to not let these things affect him so much. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to weird shit happening only to him without any explanation whatsoever, right?
This weird shit, however, was certainly far more successfully infuriating, confusing, and terrifying than anything else he’d ever been through. But, still… It was just weird shit… And who ever said that his visions would never change, that all his sight would ever bring him would be glimpses of those things?
No one. No one could define his “disorder,” no one could understand it, and certainly no one could ever explain it to him and tell him what to expect. Then, the question was…
What else could happen?
Could the others all become more violent, more active with him, talk to him, even? Would they be able to touch him and rape his mind without him being able to fight them back? Or… was that just Atia who could do that?
And… that voice… He’d never heard voices before. Never. The others never spoke; in fact, they made no noise, ever. They had always simply been strange beings, gliding about silently and invisible to all but him. Could that all change, now? All of a sudden, with no warning, could everything really just change like that?
Then again, what if the others could talk to him? Could he talk back? Would he get all of his answers to his millions of questions, would he finally fucking understand after walking around for seventeen fucking years with the constant feeling of making his solitary way through a long, black-lit tunnel?
Would he want the answers?
Would he, once he got them, be satisfied and finally understand, or would they simply leave him feeling an even greater injustice, would he go mad, would he have a tantrum, would he…
Oh, god, his head was starting to hurt…
All the questions, the fear, the fury, all the torturously perplexing situations he’d had to endure, all of his worries… Every lonely night, every lonely day, every hour spent locked up in his room, every minute spent wondering why, why him, why him. Every doctor that said he needed help, every bruise that blossomed over his skin as he watched his aunt leave to go watch TV, every time he ever cried alone in the corner, every time he tried to reach out but was pushed away, every day of his life, every. Fucking. thing.
It was too much.
Too much…
He slumped to the floor and stared at his wrists without really realizing he was no longer standing. All his life he’d been left alone, left out of everything. No one ever helped him, his mother tried but she was dead. He was crazy, he was defective, he wasn’t normal, he was satanic… It was impossible for him to do anything right; he was the scourge of god, a creature like him didn’t deserve anyone, he deserved to burn in hell for eternity…
All these accusations echoed in his head over and over again, all the angry faces and pointed fingers, all of the disgusted or condescending looks. Tears had begun to leak from his eyes, though he took no notice o them. He was just crazy, crazy, crazy…
He felt like he was about to explode; his heart was pounding rapidly, his chest felt tight, his hands were clenched so tightly his fingernails were digging into his skin, and he could feel the adrenaline racing through him, the chemical only working to feed his sudden overwhelming rage, his streaming eyes glued to his wrist, the area seeming to tremble with the rapidly increasing speed of blood being pumped into the limb.
He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take this much more…
Oh, god… He could see the blue veins beneath the pale flesh of his wrist throbbing restlessly.
He wasn’t crazy.
They were crazy!
They were idiots!
He wasn’t FUCKING crazy!
If he was such a damn curse…
The blue lines down his arms seemed to beckon in a sickening way. An idea occurred to him then stronger than it ever had before.
If he was such a damn curse… Such a damn burden…
Then maybe all this bull shit just wasn’t worth the prospect of simply more unfair, lonely bull shit in the future.
Whipping around, without a second thought he grabbed a razor from the rim of his bathtub.
One swipe, down that thick, pulsing blue line…
To the elbow…
Then another…
He stared with wide eyes as his adrenaline fueled every movement he made with his right arm, his left already in a sorry state before he realized what he was doing. It was the sixth of seventh swipe down, he didn’t know, but he stopped and then flung the razor to the floor as his adrenaline was replaced with dread.
The blood was coming, now.
Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit OH SHIT.
He didn’t know what to do. Stumbling back to his feet, he stared in horror at his handiwork. All of his anger had vanished and now he could only feel pure terror. It was pouring faster now, the separately flowing crimson streams sliding from his fresh wounds to meet up at separate points down his arm to then cascade to the tile floor, quickly creating a disturbing puddle as the blood just… wouldn’t stop… And he’d only been standing there a few seconds!
Panic beginning to overtake his senses, he grabbed his jeans off the floor and held his mutilated arm out to the side as he pulled his pants on. Then he snatched his shirt from its place next to where his jeans had previously been and he coiled the thing into a rope, wrapping it tightly at his left arm’s elbow to try and stop the flow of blood. He needed to get to a hospital; it had only taken him two seconds to “dress” and tie his arm off, but already he felt dizzy, like he could fall over with the lightest shove.
That didn’t stop him from practically knocking down his bathroom door, though, nor did it stop him from running down the hall to the stairs. What did stop him, however, was possibly one of the most unwanted things he could have encountered at that particular moment.
“Atia,” he said, stopping dead at the top of the stairway when he reached it. The other was a few steps down and looked up at him when he’d said his name. He didn’t have time for this, though; he had to get help. He couldn’t feel his arm at all right then! Fuck, he could barely even feel the entire left half of his torso!
Not knowing if he could simply push the other aside, he frowned and then said, “I need to get to the hospital.”
Atia just stood there, looking up at him.
He didn’t have the time for this!
“Could you move?” he asked patiently. Patiently?! He was dying! He was going to die!
Still, nothing.
“Fuck you,” Adrian growled then, stepping down the few stairs separating him and Atia. The man didn’t budge, but when Adrian tried to push him to the side, Atia caught his arm firmly in his own.
And then he smiled.
Taste death…
Adrian’s eyes widened. Everything seemed to move in a grotesque slow-motion. Atia turned barely to the side and, Adrian’s arm in his, flung him, like nothing, into the wall opposite the staircase. His world was a blur and then pain, nothing but lights bursting before his eyes as he could feel, could hear his back snapping upon contact with the wall. His whole world was agony, and then…
Black.

~!~

Review response tiiiiiime!!

Cherry Starburst
Oh, well, are you intrigued in a disturbed way, like you just walked into a dark room where a bunch of steroid-pumped winged robots are raping a chupacabra, or intrigued as in you had walked into the same room but it was a bunch of sexy midgets doing the raping to a regular-sized dude that’s tied down to a table with a moogle-shaped gag in his mouth?
Cause I like both. *nodnod*

Distant Raen
Why thank you. I’m glad you like. ; )

Fold39Crane
Dude that and guitar hero are like crack to me...
Er, weed, sorry. Crack is WHACK kids.

dreamer
Oh jesus thanks man. I feel so flattered. ^^

Enchantress
You like the style? Really?
Uh…
What IS my style, exactly? I just type shit, I didn’t know I had a style…
Anyway, thank you. ; )


Oh hey guys, if you like my brain shits enough, tell me if you want to be on a mailing list. My email is lick_my_magnum@msn.com
Hit me up. ; )