Better Than Burroughs

One Week Later
Callum

A week has passed before I got my arse over to the UK. Deck stayed back in Dublin, something I insisted upon. I love the bastard, he’s my fuckin’ brother, but I don’t need him around for this. I dressed up all fanciful, as if she’ll notice. It means fuck all but it makes me feel more…involved. What I feel involved in, I don’t have a God damned clue.

Wearing all black, being rather maudlin, I’m reminded of Johnny Cash for a second. I’m wearin’ a fuckin’ tie. A bloody noose around my neck. I had already loosened it by the time I got to the cemetry. At least it’s on.

The cemetry is gorgeous, I have to admit. It is actually quite serene. It would have been a place of some sort of pathetic comfort if this is what mum had wanted. It wasn’t, so it’s not. The place is quiet, save for murmurs coming from a service a ways to my right. Chokes and broken sobs. It’s throwin’ memories in my face and my stomach rolls. I feel sick for a few minutes and have to lean against a ridiculously tall headstone, complete with a great white angel. I lean over and stare at the grass and block out the sounds until I get my body back under control. I concentrate on the sound the light breeze makes through the trees and ignore everything else. I feel a tickling on the back of my hand and brush a small spider off right before he heads up my sleeve. I decide that his name is Pierre. He could be French. Why the hell not? Pierre’s also a whore.

I start walking in the direction I remember her being in and am careful to step around an open grave. Walking past a few more headstones and still not finding her name, I turn around and look back at the open grave. She wasn’t this far back. I walk back to the six feet deep hole and find mum’s name on the placard. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What the fuck happened?

I try and control my breathing before I fuckin’ hyperventilate. Rubbing my eyes, I keep looking at her name, wishing that it will change and that this isn’t really the right spot. I’m just fucking loosing my mind. Her name doesn’t change and I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. What the bloody hell did those fuckwits do?

I hear the clinking of change before I hear the footsteps and an older man approaches my side, hands in his trouser pockets. He’s not dressed in black, instead he’s wearing mostly earth tones. He must be eighty.

“Are you family?” he asks, looking down into the dark hole.

“Her son.”

“I’m sorry, my boy. I’ve heard of this happening, but never here,” he pats my back and I nod my head slowly.

“When?”

“Some time last night. It must have been after ten.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask, with a shake of my head.

“Glenn, I live here and take care of this place.” He holds his hand out and I shake it, responding in kind with my name. He stands beside me and neither one of us speaks. I don’t mind him here. It’s helping me to relax and get my thoughts in order. I had wanted some time here. I was supposed to call Deck when I was ready and then he would call his mates and all would happen. So, what the fuckin’ hell went wrong?

“My wife, Lily, is buried just over there,” he says, breaking the silence and pointing out towards a small twisted tree. His hand is pale and the folds are beautiful. The light catches it so perfectly that the shadows are their own conception. I keep quiet and his voice grows softer. “She left this place five years ago. She’s so striking. She could have caught anyone, and it wasn’t jus’ her looks, it was her heart. It shone out from her eyes. She was beautiful.”

I listen to him tell me about Lily. He switches back and forth from past and present tense. He keeps her alive through his words. His voice is soft but so strong. Passionate. He believes these things with every ounce of his soul. I find that I do too. Through his words, I love Lily and I would move the earth for her. Glenn’s hand is on my shoulder and it feels so heavy, as if he’s hanging his entire body from that one hand.

“You can’t ever look back in regret, Callum. It will only torture you. If you must look back, do it with pride,” he looks at me and I swallow thickly. My throat is closing up and I can’t seem to force my tongue to work. I can’t say anything and even if I could, I don’t know what I would say. Glenn smiles and gives my shoulder a pat, “I’ll leave you to yourself. You’ll be just fine.”

I watch him walk away and I keep watching until he disappears up the hill into a small house. He lives here. He lives as close to his wife as he can without joining her. I think it’s the most pathetic thing I have ever bared witness to. So pathetic that I’m envious. So pathetic that he’s the strongest man I have ever met.

I look down at the open hole and bend my knees, laying one hand in the grass and hopping down. I can easily see over the edge and it’s an interesting view of the world. Looking up, the sky isn’t just blue, it’s light. I lie down and fold my hands over my stomach. Where is she now?

My phone rings and I almost don’t answer but right before voice mail picks up, I decide that I should. It’s Deaglan.

“They jus’ called. I am so fuckin’ sorry, Callum. Jack got confused an’ thought it was last night. I am so god damn sorry.”

“It’s all right, Deck.”

“What?”

“I’m all right. I had a chat with Glenn and I’m all right now. I’m not angry with you. I probably shouldn’ meet these wankers though, I might kill them, but I’m all right.”

“Glenn?”

“Yes, Glenn. Husband of Lily. It’s no matter. I’ll call ye tonight,” I hang up and I know that I should call Marin. I haven’t spoken with her since I left. I’m a prick, yes. She hasn’t called either. So at least we’re both bastards and for once, I’m not alone. I’ve been gone for a god damn week. I want to talk to Marin so fuckin’ bad that I feel like a junkie. I haven’t been sleeping. I don’t like not having her near. I don’t feel the comfort of knowing that she’s sleeping below me. Not in the way I would like, however. I went a couple days without calling and after that, I felt like it was too late. Felt that I was a cunt for not calling sooner and she would definitely be hurt and upset. So I kept putting it off. Now I’ve been gone for a week and I still haven’t called. I just made it worse but at the time, it just really seemed logical. It’s fuckin’ embarrassing. But there’s this part of me that knows that it’s alright that I don’ call. That she’ll be there when I go back and things will be better. I’ve always been selfish. I may as keep the trend alive.

I shove the phone in my pocket and relax back into my previous position. The sky is so damn pure that it’s too perfect for this world. I watch clouds drift by so slowly that they appear to not move at all. You know better than that, but there’s a part of you that has to wonder if it is you who is moving and not the cloud. I smell dirt and grass and it’s not so bad down here. It’s not unsettling at all. What exactly does that mean for me?

Mum was in here, in a god damn box, and now…I don’t want to think about it. I don’t like the idea of being in a box and I don’t like the idea of being burned up. Especially knowing that right now, mum just might be in an oven. Unless they already did it. I may be committed for this. I doubt it would seem normal and I know the family is going to see red over this. I will do what me parents wanted. I will spread them in the ocean together. They both deserve to get what they want. Fuck everyone else.

The sky is moving quickly now and I feel a part of the earth. I feel natural and real. I can feel the soil and I feel that thinking in Morrissey’s words just may not be all that flattering to the man. Is it twisted that right now, I want Marin lying next to me?

---

“Excuse me, Callum?”

The voice jerks me away and for a moment, I don’t know where the fuck I am. I see black and stars. Then I see a figure leaning over me. So far up over me, glancing from side to side, I see walls of dirt and that’s right, I’m in mum’s open grave. Of course. I fell asleep in her open grave. How normal and well adjusted.

“I have to close the place up, you’re lucky I walked past you.”

I sit up and nod my head, silently giving thanks to Glenn. Being locked in here would not have been my idea of a great night. I haul myself to my feet, brushing dirt from my pants. I pull myself up and out of the hole, standing next to Glenn and not knowing what to say in situations such as these. Situations in which I am found sleeping in a grave like a complete nutter. I stare down at the hole and wonder why I didn’t have a more panicked response to waking in said hole.

“Take care of you,” Glenn says with a smile and a pat on my back. I nod and say the same to him. I walk away before he can say anything more. I want to get back to the hotel and sleep. I want to talk to Marin.

When I get back to my room, I wash up and toss my filthy suit into my bag. I didn’t bring a lot with me. Just a change of clothes and some books. I’m not stayin’ long enough to see the family. I don’t have the patience for that right now. I honestly don’t. And once they find out about mum, they’re going to have a fit. I look forward to it.

Naked and lonely, I ring the flat and pretend that I haven’t taken the time difference into consideration. I miss her and I want to hear her voice. I don’t give a toss if I wake her up to do so. It rings a good number of times before she picks it up. The sound of her voice puts the most ridiculous smile on my face. I don’t ponder over why she hasn’t called because right now, I’m happy and I don’t give a shite about the technicalities.

“Hello my lovely.”

“Callum? Do you know what time it is?” her voice is muffled and I definitely woke her up.

“Of course. Is there a problem?”

“No. I just wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“Jus’ trying to keep ya off guard,” I could hear the sadness in her voice. She’s probably going to have a hard time covering that up when she’s half asleep.

“How are you?”

Lying would just take too much effort so I’m honest, “Completely knackered and emotionally feeble.”

“Are you alright?” Her voice is chock full of worry and I’m happy for it and also upset that I did it.

“You’re lovely and I miss you,” I side step her question but I already more or less answered it. I don’t want to talk about my mood. I just want to hear her talk. “How are you doin’?”

I keep quiet as she rambles on about her going ons. The need I feel for her startles me and I think about just getting on a plane and going to her. Fuck everything else and just take her and love her. She scares me to all fuck but I need it and it feels good. I wouldn’t be able to tolerate rejection, not from her. Worse though, I wouldn’t be able to survive if something happened and I ended up like mum. I know that if she knew how things would end, mum wouldn’t change a thing. She would never regret the choices she made. I shouldn’t be too fucking scared to make them. I want to make those choices I won’t regret and I think I’ve already made them.

She asks me what I did today and I tell her about the cemetry. I leave the part about mum out, I just don’t want her to give me a speech and I don’t want to feel ashamed of my decision. She asks what the cemetry looked like. She wants to know if it was cool or not. She asks to know all of the tiny things that make living worthwhile. I tell her all of it and more. I tell her about the spider and how I nicked my finger on a rose thorn. I ask her what her favorite flower is and she says that they are sunflowers. I didn’t expect that. I expected lilies or orchids. She tells me that sunflowers reflect nature’s odd sense of beauty and I laugh. I ask about her head and she tells me the truth and I’m sad to know that she had a migraine the day before. I’m frustrated that I wasn’t there.

I love talking with her but she still sounds exhausted and I tell her to go back to sleep. When she protests, I say I will call her tomorrow. She asks me to promise her and I do. I never make promises I can’t keep, but I can keep this one. I can keep this one for the rest of my god damn life. I almost tell her that I love her but I bite it back.

The Next Day
Marina

“Mom! You home?!” I shout out, walking through the house, but I get no answer. I know she’s home. Her car is in the driveway. I don’t know why I’m here. Ever since Callum called last night, I’ve been feeling this need to connect with mom. I don’t know why and I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, but the feeling is strong. I don’t know if anything can ruin my mood right now. I was getting so worried that he hadn’t called. I was jumping to all sorts of conclusions. But he called and I’m so happy that I worry for my sanity.

Walking through my parents’ bedroom, I enter the large bathroom. My mom is sitting in front of her vanity mirror, brush in hand and makeup spread out on the small table.

“Hey, how come you didn’t say anything?” I ask, walking up next to her and meeting her eyes in the mirror.

“Were you calling? I must have been in my own little world. I’m sorry, hunny. What brings you back home?”

I pull out the extra stool and sit down beside her, taking the brush out of her hand and swirling it in the rose blush. I motion for her to turn towards me and she does. I always loved doing this. She let me when I was a kid. Even when I did a horrible job, she always let me. When it came to this stuff, the surface, she was a fabulous mother. She helped me with makeup and outfits, with boys and dating, but when it came to the way I felt, she was clueless. Towards the end of my teen years, we didn’t have the greatest of relationships any longer. I wish we had and I wish we did now.

“I just wanted to hang out. Callum’s in Ireland and I was starting to get bored by myself,” I answer as I carefully highlight her cheekbones with the rose coloring.

“That’s nice of you. Your father is at work, you can stay for dinner if you like.”

“He’s still at work? It’s five o’clock,” I say, looking into her eyes.

“He’s been trying to scrape up enough to retire with,” she says with a small laugh. It’s not real though and I don’t believe that it’s as light as she’s making it out to be. I feel guilty for not being around more.

We don’t talk as I make use of some lipstick and silently thank god that I did not get my mother’s mouth. She has the tiniest little bird lips I have ever seen. I don’t know where I got my mouth from, but I’m just so happy that it wasn’t my mom. I think my lips are fairly balanced. When I was little I used to be in love with my bottom lip. I thought it was just the best thing ever. I used to pull on it all the time. It’s strange what things you love when young. But even now, I still tug on it. Especially when my lips are dry and I need chapstick.

When I finish with her makeup, I don’t ask her why she was applying it this late in the day. It’s usually a morning type of activity. I watch her put everything away and I really look at her, as a person and not as a mother. She looks sad and I’m mad at myself for never having noticed it before.

“You okay, Mom?”

“Of course, don’t I seem alright?”

“I don’t know. You just look a little…off.”

“I’m fine.”

I nod my head and accept her answer. I don’t press the subject further and I stand up and leave the bathroom. I don’t know how to talk to her. I want to talk with her and she just knocks me back. She must not want to. Otherwise, she would.

“I took the liberty of making you an appointment with a Doctor Eric Fause. It’s for tomorrow at noon. Shelly, you remember her, she has the two twin boys, and well she highly recommended him to me. He’s supposedly very good.”

With a sigh, I drop my body to the bed and lean over, my elbows on my knees, “Mom, thanks for the thought, but I really don’t want to do that.”

“You still get the headaches, so you need to find a solution to the problem.”

“But I’m fine with the problem. I manage just fine. No one has ever been able to do anything about them and honestly, if I hear a doctor say, one more time that he doesn’t know what to do for me, I’ll have a mental breakdown and snap completely,” I say with a grin. Mom doesn’t smile back and my grin fades.

I end up agreeing to go just so I can get out of the conversation. Besides, I don’t actually have to show up. I just have to tell mom that I will so she’ll leave me be. It works and the topic is dropped. That’s what I get for asking about her well being. I get my health brought up because heaven forbid we talk about her. Family is so tiring. I ask to help set the table and we spend the rest of the evening eating and waiting for my dad to come home.

Callum

“What are you doing?” I can hear her stifle a yawn and I get immense pleasure knowing that if she didn’t care to be talking with me, she would have hung up and gone back to sleep. I woke her again.

“Reading,” I allow the book to fall shut, keeping my finger in between the pages to hold my place.

“What are you reading?”

“Montaigne’s Of Cannibals.” I trace the decorations across the spine and enjoy the feeling of the sharp edges against my fingertips. I found it in my father’s den. It’s in perfect condition, gorgeous red with gold inlay. The pages smell beautifully. His name is written inside and when I saw it, I immediately found a pen and added my own. “Have you read it?”

“No, I haven’t read anything by him. Read me some of it?” her voice lifts up so sweetly and I would do anything she asked of me. I like to think that anyway.

I clear my throat and open the book to where I left off, not bothering to start from the beginning of the essay or explain anything to her. “These nations, then, seem to me barbarous in this sense, that they have been fashioned very little by the human mind, and are still very close to their original naturalness. The laws of nature still rule them, very little corrupted by ours; and they are in such a state of purity that I am sometimes vexed that they were unknown earlier, in the days when there were men able to judge them better than we.”

I read until I hit the quote from Virgil, these manners nature first ordained, and than I stop. My throat is getting dry and I would rather read her something that would woo her. I have no idea if she’s even listening. She didn’t make a sound.

“Marin? You awake, love?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Her voice is small and breathy. She’s impossibly arresting.

“For what exactly?”

“I like it when you read to me.”

If that’s the case, I’ll never fuckin’ quit reading to her. I stand up from my position reclining against the wall and set Montaigne down on my father’s desk. I know he’s got books perfect for times like these. I scan over rows of great names: Kahlil Gibran, John Milton, Kurt Vonnegut, Herman Hesse, Homer, Voltaire, Sophocles, and I pick up a book of Oscar Wilde’s short fiction. Thoughts of wooing are set aside as I open the book and choose to relax in the armchair instead of the floor.

Her breathing is quiet and soft and I want to feel it against my neck. I want her to breathe across my hip and the small of my back. I flip to the back of the book, where the prose poetry is, and I read her “The Doer of Good”.

Reaching the end, I read the last bit, “And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and said to him, ‘Why are you weeping?’ And the young man looked up and recognized Him and made answer, ‘But I was dead once and you raised me from the dead. What else should I do but weep?’”

I loved this as a kid. The last lines always gave me chills before I even knew what it was supposed to mean. I wish that I still didn’t know. I miss not knowing certain things.

“Have you ever read the Bible?” Marin asks after a few seconds of complete silence drift by.

“Of course.”

“You say that like it’s normal.” I can hear the sarcasm and I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t normal.

“You haven’t read it?”

“No. I’ve never known anyone who has. My parents were never religious. Apparently my mom used to be, when she was younger, but I guess religion wasn’t something that she found necessary later in life. My dad doesn’t believe in God.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I don’t know. I just know that there has to be something more than this. It’s depressing to think otherwise. I like mystery in life though. I don’t think everything needs to be explained.”

I find myself enjoying this, enjoying listening to her voice. I’m asking questions, something I just never used to really do, and she’s answering and I love it. I think about my parents and ask, “What do you think happens after death?”

“Like I said, there has to be something more. I refuse to believe that once we die, that’s it. Life can’t be that pointless. Everything has a purpose and something has to go on. Did you ever see that Robin Williams movie? 'What Dreams May Come'. That’s how I want things to be.”

“I’m not familiar,” I shake my head even though she can’t see it. Knowing her has me wishing I paid more attention to movies. She’s a freak for them. She’ll have me watch something and she’ll start spouting off random trivia about actors and directors. I may not know what the fuck she’s talking about, but she loves telling someone all about it so I don’t say anything most of the time.

“It’s good. I’ll get it when you come home and we can watch it. Anyway, its stance is that heaven and hell is what we make of it, it depends on the sort of person we are as individuals. The movie’s also this really wonderful love story. The man literally goes through Hell to find his wife. I want that, you know?”

I don’t tell her that I would do that for her. It just sounds way too dramatic and pathetic. I actually view the afterlife in much the same way. Everyone gets their own world. If I’m wrong, and my parents aren’t living together right now in this house somewhere, I’m going to be livid and extremely disillusioned.

“When did you read the Bible?”

“I was twenty.”

“Not that long ago.”

“Well, nine years,” I smile to myself.

“Liar. I know how old you are, Callum. You are not twenty-nine. You’re twenty-four.” She says it like it’s this grand fucking fact, something to gloat over. I don’t bother arguing with her, not because she’s right, but because I don’t want to play any games right now.

“Tell me something,” I stand up, taking Oscar Wilde’s words with me, and walk through the darkened house. I find my way to my old bedroom on instinct and after flipping the light on I remember that this has been Deck’s bedroom. Turning, I head for my parents’ bedroom and I don’t turn the lights on when I get in. I hear Marin ask me what I want her to tell me and I wait to answer until I’m lying sideways across the full bed. Right now, I’m wishing she was with me. I wish I could hold her through the night.

“I don’ care. Just tell me something.” I actually did have a request, but I’ve forgotten what it was.

“Well do you have a genre in mind? A topic maybe?”

“No.”

She sighs and is probably inwardly cursing me for not giving her a specific topic. Now it’s up to her as to what she tells me. Sometimes I realize how alike we actually are. Neither one of us likes to bring up certain topics even though we want to. I want her to bring them up on her own. I want to know what those topics are.

“I dressed as a cat for Halloween so many times, I perfected the costume.”

Not something I expected. I’ve seen pictures of her as a kid. She must have looked adorable dressed as a cat. She was one of the cutest fucking nips I’ve ever seen. Beside myself, of course. “Were you a particularly lazy child?”

“Well, I was a belly dancer once. I have no idea what provoked that one.”

“Does it need to be Halloween for you to repeat that outfit?” The image of her dressed up in such a manner is making me hard.

“You didn’t know? I hide a costume in my lingerie drawer and every Sunday night after you go to sleep, I dress up and practice my dancing.”

I groan and hear her sharp intake of breath. I want to turn her on. I want to hear her moan. I want to know all of the little noises she makes in the fit of passion. Stretching my back and legs, I release another moan, knowing what it sounds like. My stretching moan is quite similar to my fucking moan. A nice release of sorts.

“What was that?” Her voice is timid and she’s already assuming what it was.

“That, my love, was my having a nice stretch.”

“Oh, okay,” she says in a sigh and I don’t know if she’s relieved or just pretending not to care. It’s probably both. She wouldn’t know what to say if I started getting off while on the phone with her. She’d probably just sit there in silence, growing wet and being too stunned to do anything about it. Unless of course I told her too and I would obviously do that. Oh bugger, now I’m extremely turned on and it’s all her doing. Damn Marin and her bloody breathing. Fuck, that’s ridiculous.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curious. You must really love those stretches.”

“I really…really do,” I say softly, hinting at something completely different. She doesn’t say anything and I wonder if she’s warming up.

“My mom made me some appointment with a migraine guy,” she says suddenly and as much as I want to continue with the foreplay, I can’t ignore her comment. She doesn’t sound happy but I am.

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow. Noon time. I’m not going though.”

“Really? An’ why is that?” I ask, annoyed with her for being so flippant with her health.

“I don’t want to go. It’s pointless.”

“It’s not pointless and you are going,” I don’t mean to sound so god damned bastardly and controlling but I’m not going to placate her immaturity. I don’ give a toss about how many MDs she’s seen or how useless they’ve been for her in the past, I won’t tell her get this way.

“Are you confusing yourself with someone who can order me around?” she sounds angry and I don’t really care. I want to yell at her about this but I don’ want to deal with the repercussions.

“Keep thinking of me in whatever way you need to, but you’re going to go to that appointment merely because I want you to. It makes you feel all warm inside knowin’ that I care for your state of health.”

I change the subject before she can respond. I want to know what she looks like right now, I want to picture her and torture myself. I ask her what she’s wearing and the complete cliché is not lost on me.

“Clothing.” She’s a complete smart ass and I love it. I’m glad she goes along with the subject change.

“You’re not workin’ with me here, sweetness,” I sigh, a little disappointed that she’s not wearing some sort of impractical lacy thing.

“Fine. It’s nothing special, just coffee cup pajamas.”

Nothin’ special my drunkard arse. I know those fuckin’ pajamas. They’re tight and thin. She asks me what I’m wearing and I laugh. I tell her, pants and a shirt, and she seems to not really have a follow up. I want to say so much to her. I want to tell her how much I want her. That I want her so badly that if I close my eyes, I could imagine her weight sitting astride my waist. It would all be rather out of the fuckin’ abyss but I want to say it all anyway. She did say she liked surprised in life, right? I want to ask if she’s wet, I want her to reach down and check for me. I have to fight with myself not to say the words.

I try to bring up other subjects, I really fuckin’ do. I try to get the conversation moving away from sex but she keeps directing it right back to it. Be it the tiny little sighs or breathy yawns or the little teasing comments she continues to make. It’s not all my fault. I woke her to talk with her and it seems that being awoken is the way to her panties. Of course this might be her to fuck with me after my being such a damn action man.

I don’t know how the subject is brought up, but suddenly the topic of discussion is places in which we would like to have sex. Of course I’m thinking of places I would like to have sex with her at, but I think the topic is supposed ta be more general. It’s really a ridiculous thing to talk about. People never actually have sex in these places. It would be impractical and probably uncomfortable, but it doesn’t keep it from being any less of a turn on.

“Oh! On one side of a very thin wall,” she announces and I’m shocked. She wants to be heard. I gave up a long time ago trying to ignore my hard on. I’ve fucked in many different locations and for the most part, there’s always somethin’ digging into my ass and I’ve never been one for that feelin’.

“I’ll find one for ya,” I promise.

“Is there one place above all others that you’d like to have sex at?” she asks and she’s askin’ ‘bout herself. She has to be. I know for a soddin’ fact that she’s doin’ this on purpose. She keeps fuckin’ talkin’ about sex and it’s not nice. It’s cruel and she’s a horny little bugger.

“Darlin’, sex is sex no matter where ya are. I’m up for it, all the time,” I comment arrogantly. She sort of laughs and I add, “Though I must admit to havin’ a certain predilection for down in the store, you sittin’ on the counter, thighs spread. It’s definitely somethin’ I’ve spent a lot of time mullin’ over.”

I got her with that one. Her breathing becomes a little heavier and I want her so fuckin’ bad that this needs to stop. I need to hang the phone up. I need to but I can’t and I start running my mouth.

“How you feelin’ over there? Why don’ you slide that beautiful hand of yours beneath your panties and check somethin’ for me?”

“Callum!” she reprimands. It’s cute. She’s tryin’ ta back down now. She bloody well started this. She wanted to bring this outta me. I mock her and say her name back, just as incredulous, if not more so.

“Besides, how do you know I wasn’t already?”

“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me, Marin,” I warn.

“I’m tempting you?” she asks and I can hear the pride in her voice. She’s feeling rather smug about this. Fuckin’ minx.

“Touch yourself. I want ta hear you.” She says my name again, this time it’s not so arrogant. It’s wary and I win. She doesn’t fuckin’ have it in her to continue with this. “Do it, Marin.”

“Fine. I’ll stop. I have to get back to sleep anyway, I have to go see a damn doctor tomorrow,” she says, throwing it out quickly. She tells me to have a good night and before I can say anything, she’s hung up. I won. She’s too soddin’ innocent to go on and she agreed to see the doctor. It only makes my situation worse though. I can’t help but imagine her right now, finally doing as I told her, now that I can’t hear her. Fuckin’ pain in my arse. I have half the mind to call her up just as I cum.


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AN: In Callum’s POV the word cemetery is spelled wrong. I’m spelling it the way he pronounces it.

“I feel natural and real. I feel that thinking in Morrissey’s words just may not be all that flattering to the man.” – Callum is referring to The Smiths song “I Know It’s Over”, in which the lyrics are: Love is Natural and Real. But not for you, my love. Not tonight, my love.

‘Of Cannibals’ – One of the essays written by Montaigne in his book of complete essays.

“The Doer of Good” – Oscar Wilde