Turmoil Behind The Mirror

“I trust in your blackened soul
I’m walking in misty garden
Your name is Madness
Your children, the dolls....”

-Dark Lunacy



The calm and melodic symphony of that voice made Jon feel at ease with himself. He closed his eyes and cradled his soul in silent comfort and felt his limbs warm and dull. For a minute he felt far away in a darkened corner, where he could feel safer and calmer. For a moment, life lost its cruelty to him and eased its grip on his throat. And with the same slowness, darkness came upon him. It was a beckoning darkness, which promised emptiness and oblivion.

The tender dampness of the tears running down his cheeks spoke of forgiveness and solitude.

Jon felt alcohol suffocating his brain and fought against the numbness of thought that came with it. He felt like a child who closed his eyes in hope of everything to go away, fantasizing with the thought of everything behind his eyelids disappearing as soon as he closed his eyes to sweet rejection. Jon couldn’t help but smile at himself for his foolishness, though hope danced in front of his eyes for the first time in what seemed an eternity.

When he opened his eyes, he felt calmer, as if resulting victorious of a terrible battle against a threatening disease. Time had been lost, and the words thrown into the air still lingered in the room. He tried to recover himself and rebuild the wall around him before the damage inflicted went beyond repair.

Jon acted as if Alex wasn’t in front of him, as if he had faded away with the words and shouting. He was trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered being before it was too late, before the wall collapsed. But what Jon didn’t want to admit to himself was that the wall was being rebuilt with Alex already inside of it.

Jon didn’t feel like giving deep thought to it right now.

Minutes flied by but Jon didn’t move, feeling like the pray playing dead, waiting for the wolf to lose its interest and pass him by. He could feel the blood drying on his clothes, sticking them to the skin.

Alex could tell that Chris was having a very bad trip, though he was now lying on the sofa with his right arm covering his face. Alex was growing impatient. He realized Jon would stay like that until he made something, and he silently thanked for the already drying wounds, for Jon seemed to be thinking about everything but his lashed arm.

“Jonathan…” Alex muttered while shaking him by the shoulder. What Alex didn’t seem to notice was that Jon was trapped battling a war with himself.

“Jon, are you there?” a high-pitched voice asked.

Silence was all the answer he got.

“Jon…?” Chris insisted.

“Shut up, Chris. Not now,” Alex replied.

“Hummm....”

The clock again.

Alex looked at the blood on the floor and on Jon’s clothes.

“Chris....”

“Yeah…?”

“Do you have a car?” Chris started to laugh out loud, heroin and irony laughing through his lips.
“Do you?” Alex insisted, interrupting Chris’ outburst.

“Naaaah.... What for?”

“I think Jon needs medical care....”

Chris kept silent, still enjoying the lingering effect of the substance running through his veins.

“Are you coming back to your senses now?” Alex asked with anger.

“Yeah....”

“Then I’ll ask again. Do you have a car?!”

“No, I don’t,” Chris replied, annoyed, while uncovering his face and looking back at Alex. He then stood up with a jump. “What the hell happened?” he cried, hurting Alex’s ears and hurrying toward them. Chris shook Jon by the shoulder.

“He won’t respond....”

“He will, you just have to shake him hard enough. He does this all the time…” Chris replied while still shaking Jon.

“Does what?”

“Shut himself up.” Chris was now almost turning violent on Jon.

“Hey! Stop it! I’m listening!” Jon snapped while shoving Chris away.

“See? Told ya,” Chris said while looking back at Alex, who had his whole attention on Jon. Alex could see that Chris was trying to soften the situation, which worked a little. Chris was more familiar with Jon, so he tried to calm Alex’s nerves, though he was as shocked as he by all the blood.

“Leave me alone, both of you. I can take care of myself,” Jon said with a cold voice.

“Yeah, sure, Jon. Look at your fucking arm -- you’re a mess!” Chris whined.

“Fuck off, Chris. Stop preaching at me!”

“Then try to get a hold of yourself!”

Alex took advantage of Jon being focused on arguing with Chris and took Jon’s forearm between his hands, caressing the wounds with awe and respect, and running his fingers on each one of them with soft and silken touch. He was too intoxicated by the feel of Jon’s ivory skin to keep up with the yelling.

“Why don’t you both shut the fuck up?!”

Chris was stunned by the anger Alex put on display. Jon kept quiet and covered his arm, recalling the feeling of the fingers tracing the wounds and smiling childishly.

Silence reigned once again, though Chris pouring vodka in a glass disrupted it. Alex looked at him and rolled his eyes while giving up a quiet sigh. Nobody in the room seemed to take the situation seriously but him.

“Hey, Chris, since you’re on that, pour me some, will you…?” Jon asked politely. Alex was shaken by his violent mood swings.

Chris handled the glass to Jon, but Alex snatched it from his fingers and put it on the table before Jon could put his fingers on it. “No, Jonathan, you’ve had enough for today,” Alex muttered with a frightening determination written all over his handsome features.

“What?!” Jon spat incredulously.

“Shit!” Chris interrupted, while looking at the clock.

“What?” Alex almost yelled.

“I should have been home hours ago.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Alex frowned, annoyed.

“Sorry, man. I told my mother I’d pick up my sister and walk her home.”

“Can’t she walk on her own?!”

“My mother freaked out since that little girl was found in the woods, man. Sorry.”

Jon smiled wickedly while he remembered the warmth from the girl against him, and inhaled deeply, recalling her sweet scent. Chris was already walking to the door.

“Don’t walk out on me, Chris!”

“Sorry, Alex. See you tomorrow at school!”

“Fuck you!”

Chris didn’t hear the last one, for he had already closed the door behind him. Alex then felt awfully cold and out of place. Jon didn’t move from his place on the floor.

“Jonathan?” Alex whispered.

“Jon…” the other one interrupted. “My father calls me Jonathan....”

“Okay, then… Jon.”

“Alex…” Jon interrupted again, “be gentle and handle me the glass, would you?”

“No, you’ve had enough.... We have to go wash that arm.”

“Hand me that glass and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me…” Jon replied with the lingering wickedness of his previous smile.

“Fuck, Jon. Why do you have to make everything look so vile and filthy, huh?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Silence.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s none of my business,” Alex muttered with a velvety voice and went to pick up his jacket and walked toward the door, angered and confused.

Jon was fighting against himself. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. The voice had kept disturbingly quiet today. He had to swallow his pride this time. “Alex…?”

“What?!”

“Forgive me....”

Alex eyed him intently, walked through the door, and closed it behind him. He knew it would be inhuman to leave, though he really wanted to. He was deeply offended and somewhat hurt. He just found himself unable to take the first step and walk away, so he just sat on the steps and lit a cigarette.

“Why do I care about him, anyways?” he whispered to himself while a rush of wind dragged away the smoke he exhaled in regret. He put on his jacket and took another deep draught while thinking over and over about the situation.

The sky was turning from gray to deep blue, like those deep pools drowned in sorrow. He frowned at his own thoughts and the tip of his tongue toyed with the piercing on his lower lip. He tried to make up his mind.

Taking another deep draught, he cupped his face between his hands and sighed deeply, silently hoping he had made the right decision. Discarding the cigarette butt, he stood up, walked to the door, and opened it while taking a deep breath. He immediately spotted Jon, who hadn’t moved; he was still kneeling on the floor with deep blue eyes lost in nothingness.

Jon flinched at the noise and turned his head, only to be surprised by Alex walking toward him. He felt ashamed and dirty.

Alex crouched down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, grabbed the glass on the table with a frown and offered it to Jon, who looked at him and gave him a smile Alex would never forget. Jon took the glass and drank half of the liquid, then offered it to the crouching figure, who drank the end of it.

“Come on, Jon. I’ll help you out with this,” Alex said while pulling Jon’s arm, forcing him to stand up, for he couldn’t do it for himself, and walked him to his bedroom.

Jon freed himself from Alex’s grasp and went through his drawers, taking out a pair of worn-out black, baggy sweat pants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of boxers. “I have to take a shower before the blood dries on me…” Jon muttered as if lost in his thoughts. He then headed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Alex crossed his arms and gave up into a loud sigh before starting the cleaning up.

Jon found himself in a blank state of mind; he had shut himself off. He had to reach trough to the surface again before losing all contact with his senses, and as if waking up from a deep sleep, he regained consciousness of his surroundings, of the alcohol still numbing his limbs and thoughts. He could feel his body again and the space in time it replaced. Jon felt his arm aching deeply, the pain spreading through his system as if it were gangrene.

He regained consciousness of the air filling his lungs and closing his eyes; he savoured the feeling of it, as if realizing he was alive for the first time after forsaking his mother’s bowels.

// Is it worth the beating of this heart? //

{ Foolish boy.... }

// You abandoned me. //

{ *Laughter* }

// You always laugh when you’re faced up to your nature.... //

{ There’s no such thing. Grieve.... }

“There’s nothing to grieve this time. You are no more than the silhouette trapped in a crystal prison. You are no more than a handful of emotions reflected upon the names of an anonymous world of scattered shards…” Jon whispered with mockery and determination, while feeling the hot steam of the running water embrace him.

{ Fire engulfs everything. Don’t make the flame waver. }

Jon smiled and shook his head while soaking his mane, blocking the voice and satisfied of winning at least this once. He took his time, playing with the contemplation of the running water, fantasizing and silently hoping it would warm his comfortably cold soul. He washed all the blood away meticulously, and treated his arm and wounds with frailty, wondering if there were any clean bandages left.

When his thoughts had returned to what he considered the tangible world, he decided to turn off the shower and gave himself to the tedious work of drying and untangling his hair, which he realized had been unattended for quite some time. Before opening the door, he went through the drawers, searching for bandages, which he found after going through a lot of disposable stuff. He was feeling quite sober now.

// Sober and on time. // He smiled at his thoughts.

He opened the door and walked to the kitchen to grab a beer and turned to the living room, while sipping from it, then sat down on the couch facing Alex, who was dozing off with a beer between his fingers. Jon noticed everything had been cleaned up; the blood on the floor and carpet, the glasses on the table, the bottle of vodka.

He took another gulp of his beer, left the bandages on the table, and lit a cigarette.

Jon was putting on a pair of socks when he noticed that Alex was falling asleep. He felt bad; he should have been the one to clean up his mess, not Alex. He sank on the sofa while finishing his cigarette and beer. He was taking hold of his senses again.

He stared at Alex dozing off into sleep. He felt a strange sense of agony when he watched people sleep, for it was the closest state to death someone could get before falling into sweet oblivion, but the quietly rising and falling, almost imperceptible of the chest, which made him wake from his slumber, always making him dismiss the irony and open his eyes to bitter sweet reality of things.

When Jon fell on this state of mind, he felt everything around him slow down and move as if underwater. Trapped in this moods, everything turned into a water mirror, a crystalline window transcribing his movements and every breath he took. He smiled to himself for his own adversity. Sooner or later, he would find a way to sever himself.

Finishing his beer and putting out the cigarette on the nearest ashtray, he grabbed the bandages and approached Alex. He took gently the beer menacing to slip away from the dozing frame and put it on the table. Jon walked to turn the light off and finally go to bed, but Alex was ripped from his half-state of consciousness by the noise and sense of movement around him.

“What are you doing?” he asked Jon while scratching the back of his head.

“I’m going to bed. Maybe it’s time for you to leave…” Jon replied with carefree manner while walking down the corridor. Alex yawned. “If it’s too late, then you can stay. Do whatever you want.” Jon’s voice came from the end of the hall.

“Would it be a problem if I--?”

“Suit yourself,” Jon interrupted.

Alex took off his shoes, jacket, and chain-wallet and headed toward Jon’s room. He was surprised to find the door open and a quiet Jon sitting on the edge of the bed, untangling the bandages, already with antiseptics and balm at his left side. Alex entertained himself watching Jon calmly untangle the bandages with frustrating patience.

He silently knocked on the wide open door. The black-haired one looked up at him without fear now, but with some kind of hidden curiosity. Alex smiled and waked toward the bed until he was in front of the blue-eyed youth.

Jon didn’t divert his eyes this time. He allowed himself to scrutinize those orbs freely, without restraint. Jon could now see the fear those pools arose in him carved deep into his companion’s gentle and handsome features.

Jon didn’t think of someone’s eyes as an unrestrained window to the soul inhabiting a mortal coil; he thought of them to be an hypocrite reflection of a doubtful event chosen to divert reason and distress: An accident frozen in time and flickering in ethereal waves of numbing thoughts.

Alex broke the enchantment, taking a step forward and crouching down between Jon’s warm thighs. He stretched out his hand slowly, as if asking permission, which wasn’t denied. He could almost drink from the warmth coming from Jon’s thighs pressed against his sides, cradling him. He finally reached to his companion’s forearm and held it between his hands tenderly, running his fingers softly over each one of the wounds inflicted on it. He caressed each one of the bruises lethargically with silken touch, as if barely touching the skin; intoxicated with the emotions stirred by this new allowance.

Closing his face to the skin, he inhaled deeply, feeling Jon’s scent spreading through his body and closed his eyes, drowning in melancholic fragrances. He held his breath to memorize the perfume and treasure it not in his mind, but in his soul. Releasing his hot breath over the creamy skin, he opened his eyes lazily, as if waking from a century’s sleep.

His right hand traveled to Jon’s shoulder with the same delicacy, where Alex traced the youth’s collarbone with his thumb gracefully. Then he closed his lips to the skin, merely brushing it, and grazed the wrist’s wound with a butterfly kiss. Jon took a deep breath at the feeling of the blond’s lips resting briefly on his skin. He shivered at each one of the kisses offered to him, for each one of the wounds was gifted with equal courtesy.

He looked down at his tormentor and closed his eyes, while his right hand went to caress the crouching male’s hair, burying its fingers in the soft labyrinth of blond spikes, which made Jon think of thorns. An then, in silent agreement, Jon freed his arm while Alex’s hands looked after quiet comfort around Jon’s waist.

The blue-eyed wrapped his arms around the tender neck of his companion and rested his head on top of the other’s, feeling Alex’s tight embrace around him. The boy sank his face on Jon’s lap. Both of them rendered to each other’s proximity and healing warmth, mingling their sent, and feeding on the emotional agony of the other. It engulfed the abyss between their mortal restraints, broken and shattered by the symphony of one another.


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