[Author's Note: Much like my other story, "Gothic Transfixion", this one will not be a two page story about guys getting it on... so... again, if that is what you're looking for, I suggest you search elsewhere. Thanks. Also, for the other readers of G.T: I must extend my sincere, shocked gratitude at the indignant e-mails I received when I announced its termination. I am personally acquainted with the person who is up in arms with G.T, and am currently pursuing legal assistance to get his thick skull beat into shape. I am very confident that G.T will still continue, it just may be for a little longer yet 'til I am able. Until then, I've started this story because I've been burning to write. Being without the ability to express myself in G.T because of this dull-witted individual ended up making me desperate and starting this story. It may not have the magic that most of you seemed to find in G.T, but I hope it can still capture your interest. Most of the people who wrote to me about G.T were asking me not to lose the "calibre" with which G.T was written. So I have tried to refine and better my style even further in this one. I hope it will not disappoint. - T ]
A strange, yielding light sinks heavily into the musty auditorium via the crumbling, dust-encrusted windows; a light that is yellow and murky, like the very thoughts of the auditorium itself. Dirty, sluggish, tangible. The auditorium is otherwise unlit, shafts of tarnished golden light stabbing into the dense gloom at intervals of ten feet, creating an almost absurd effect that is more suiting to a b-movie set than this converted Baptist church. I am sitting in the third row of seats from the stage, trying to make comfortable my slender frame into an even more slender, ancient leather seat. The smell of the place takes me back to a time where plastic was only found in people's personalities, where computers were but a vague dream in the minds of equally vague visionaries, where the church echoed gladly and brightly with a thousand devout songs. The covering of the seat groans, protesting my presence, echoing with it the disgruntled whisperings of the church, but I refuse to pay it any heed as the stage is plunged suddenly into light. It is, like the rest of the light, almost surreal, giving the stage an eerie, dreamlike haziness. It pools off the decrepit red velvet curtains that drape haphazardly off the left and right of the worn, black painted floorboards, the center of the stage a bald patch of wood brown where years of footprints have scoured away the paint.
I lean back slowly, trying to feign nonchalance and relaxation as people begin to sit down, dotting the pews behind me. Kicking my feet up against the back of the pew in front of me, I fold my arms over my chest and settle myself down to watch, trying to ignore the wild, nervous thumping of my heart, the moist apprehension of my palms. Pressing my back up against the wood of the pew, I halfheartedly listen to the voice of the church, the very grain of the wood whispering to me of the better days, trying to remind me of how unwelcome I am, a modern hybrid, into its ghost-filled lair.
The dilapidated stage suddenly takes on life. People clad in shadowy, dusty black skitter across the floor, some trying valiantly to push back the ragged red curtains, others directing the stagehands with the placing of the rusted spotlights so that the beams of grimy light fall here, and here, and here. I watch appriciatively, watching the casual perfection of the stage slowly come to its prime, peices of its puzzle being put into their proper places ponderously. The curtains finally yeild, the spotlights stay on their required points, and the floor is cleared of obstructions. The stagehands melt into the ancient shadows, the pale ghosts of their hands and faces fading from veiw as the houselights flicker and dim. The smell of the place takes on a sharper, more acrid feel as the senses switch their priorties; I can almost smell the sweat of people long gone, can almost hear their feeble voices spilling out of the creaking wooden floors.
A silence descends, insofar as it can, considering that the church itself seems to quell any noise anyway, almost instantly. An expectant energy thrills through the pews; I can feel my blood pausing, and my eyes to focus, my whole body ready to move away with the tide it can sense is coming. Conversations die quickly, all attention is on the worn brightness of the stage. I sit up slightly, my fingers clutching the reliable material of my coat unconsciously, my pulse quickening with expectation.
A figure detaches itself from the watchful, depthless shadow, and takes three quick strides into the center spotlight. Once there, he stops, letting the light soak into his hair, fall like a robe onto his shoulders and over his chest. He stays still for a moment longer, allowing, I like to pretend, our eyes to get used to the light reflecting off of his brilliance, letting us peirce the radiance to see the human beneath. Those in the front row cheer and applaud, and the one on the stage grins cheerfully and snaps off a mock salute in greeting. Someone in the front row then stands and lifts her voice to reach him.
"Okay, Shae, we've only got about half an hour, so you'd better get this right the first time."
The voice is soft and gentle, yet threaded through with a iron authority: a voice not used to being questioned but deceptively naive. The figure on the stage grins again and nods with air of one long suffering, and the speaker in the front row sits down again. I look behind me for a moment, my gaze flickering over all the people sitting behind me, their glimmering gazes locked keenly upon Shae. He always had the biggest turnout of all the "stars" in the Dance Theater course of our university, even during rehersals like this one. I watch the admiration spilling unabashedly out of their eyes, and cannot help but smile a little, the corners of my lips lifting in response to their complete absorption. Slowly I return my attention to Shae just in time to hear the speakers crackle to life. As he waits for the song to cue, he assumes his starting position, organizing his body to resemble captivity: falling to one knee, his hands covering his face, his head lowered, his breath seeming to stop so that he becomes frozen, a perfect statue of grief that would put Rodin's studies to shame.
The song starts: "Goodbye Blue Sky", by Pink Floyd. Roger Waters and company's voices soaring into the auditorium with unexpected clarity. The Dance Theater do strange, experimental venues as their shows, this time it is a musical of Pink Floyd's "The Wall". It might sound stupid, but acutally they have been doing an incredible job of it so far. The choreography relies entirely on the dancers and the muisc, no props or effects involved whatsoever. Shae starts to move. With the soft urging of the guitar, his stance begins to slowly unfold, weariness dripping from his trembling hands; emptiness from his wild, hollow eyes. I am instantly caught, once again, in the thrall of his spell, a spell which he manages to weave everytime his feet touch that worn old floor. Slowly he weaves his way around the stage, no crazy moves yet, just simple flowing movements, a hand denoting age here, a swirl of the body that gives off the impression of glory gone by there.
Someone told me once that grace was subjective -- that it, in of itself, is merely the brainchild of perception, and nothing more. That if you break it down, grace is simply millions upon millions of tiny movements, each one jagged and stiff, but going so fast that it appears to be fluid and beautiful. I can always agree with that until I see Shae dance. It is hard to describe his dancing; caught somewhere in the breathtaking and aching horizon between perfection and the human condition of beauty through randomness. I watch him silently, not feeling my breath ceasing to flow, not feeling my heart thud hollowly, wantingly.
His golden spun hair flies in silken, glittering waves; sheafs of distilled sunlight cut into graceful layers around his eyes, cheeks and chin to become a perfect frame to a picture of peircing beauty. I can almost smell the soft, sweet scent of it as it falls into his eyes, eyes the colour of sky after sunset and before darkness, an irridescant and startling clear deep blue. Tawny eyelashes lower like languid lovers over those eyes as the song ends, a fringe of gold above each eye and sparkling in the spotlights. I watch, stricken helpless, as a small modest smile touches his gentle, pink-dusted lips when applause swells the room, noticing with a stab of thrilling pain how those lips look as inticingly soft as any girl's, how white the teeth behind them. His chest swells and receeds with each breath, bringing the shape of his slender torso to light under the thin material of his shirt, letting my eyes graze upon the perfect grace of his hips and pectoral muscles before I remember myself and look hurriedly away again. He stands quietly, unmoving, letting the subtle grace of his body speak for him. He stands like one poised for flight, and yet, at the same time, as one who could never imagine themselves leaving the earth and soil. Connected, rooted, and at the same time disconnected and far, far away.
This is Shae. Grace personified. In dance, the grace is beautiful in a flowing, finessed way. In the rest of his life, it is a hard beauty, shown in the firm strength of his slender shoulders, in the soft yet commanding tone of his voice, in the clairvoyant and unnerving clarity of his gaze. An angel with torn, bloodied wings, and the knife that desicrated them in his own hand. And I, against all the wishes in my heart, am in love with him. It is understandable if you think about it: a mortal falling in love with immortality, grasping at the perfection which he can never hope to attain. But still the love irks and frightens me. It is an intense, burning, jealous love, one that threatens to render me completely comatose at times like these, when he pours out his beauty in such exquisate ways. It is also a love he does not know about, and is best to always remain this way for the sake of our friendship. How could I possibly explain to him that I lost my girlfriend of three years simply due to the way he'd looked one winter morning a few months ago? The sunshine on that day had caught his hair and eyes all aglow, and he'd simply smiled and closed his eyes, spreading out his arms to soak the warmth in. In that moment, my heart became his, and I have shed wild tears every night hence in a vain attempt to assuage the shrieking desire of my heart.
I watch him now, watch him smile his gentle, quiet smile, and remember the kisses from my girlfriend placed so tenderly upon my lips, stiring up a fire in me so bright only because in the place of her lips, I felt his. I remember how I would cry searing tears as I kissed her, knowing I was betraying her but also knowing that it was the only way I could kiss her, and unable to stop the greed of wanting to kiss Shae, no matter how vicariously and strange. And then, I remember that final night, when, against all the things I thought could ever go wrong, she heard me whimper his name in a dream and felt me press a throbbing erection into her side. She woke me up, burning tears in her eyes, and wrenched the sordid ugly truth from me. And then she left. And I wish I could say I miss her the way I know she misses me.
As they get ready to start "Another Brick In The Wall", my eyes follow his every movement unconsciously, my body jolting with energy as he glances my way and offers me a wide, dazzling smile. I smile weakly back, repeat my unspoken mantra to him in my head again: "I love you", and then fall silent again, unmoving again. His hand lifts in a careless, flowng wave, and my heart goes sailing after it.
"Hey, Miah," He calls softly, his gaze a sapphire, blinding blue in the light. I shiver.
"Hey..." I reply quietly, offering him a half-smile, one very characteristic of me. I can feel my eyes sparkle, and quickly lower them.
"So what do you think?" Shae asks me, jumping off the stage and winding his way through the seats to approach me, a smile still on his silken-looking lips.
I grin helplessly and shrug, tilting my head to one side slowly.
"It's great. You're great. You always are. Takes my breath away." Of course, he'll think I'm being my usual, adjective-y self, he won't take me literally.
He grins again and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yeah, yeah. What do you really think? Think I'll get away with portraying a blonde Floyd?"
I laugh and after a moment's contemplation, nod. He grins again, chuckles, and in a fleeting vision of golden hair and shimmering blue eyes, he is heading back towards the stage, leaving me to stare at his retreating figure.
"Bye, Miah," He calls, looking over his shoulder to wink playfully at me.
Needless to say, my heart lodges itself in my throat. That wink... always something so damn sexual about it. But perhaps I should explain about my name. My actual name is Jeremiah, most people call me Jere. Shae is the only one to call me Miah; he started calling me that the day we started school together and everyone else called me Jere. He couldn't bear not to be different, wanted to claim something of me no-one else could have. Even back then he was possessive. His real name is Sheldon, a name he hates with a burning passion. I gave him the shortened version of Shae one day back in grade seven and he's stuck with it ever since. He'll even go so far as to blatantly ignore the fact that his name is acutally Sheldon; I've seen him argue with one of our friends over the fact even when his I.D was in her hand, displaying his real name for all to see. But then again, Shae'll dispute that an orange is acutally the colour orange just for the sake of arguing, so that's really nothing new.
We've been friends for what seems to be forever, since four or five at least. So needless to say, we both know each other painfully well. He's been there for me when almost everyone else ran away, including my parents, and I've been there to help him through his rough times as well. He likes to think of himself as the strong one, protecting me at all costs. I let him stick to this disalusionment for the sake of seeing him happy, even when we both know that there's been times when I've had to scrape him off the proverbial rock bottom. When he discovered he was gay, I was the only one who could convince him that he was sane, that it was okay. So yes... we've been through a lot. And now, to top it all off, I've fallen in love with him. My best friend, pseudo-brother. Which could end everything.
Mulling over these engraved thoughts, I stare at the stage sightlessly, feeling like a minature version of the church: useless, decrepid, completely uninspiring. I watch from a very long distance Shae going over his steps with the dance instructor, hear dimly the annoyed complaints of the d.j as they stop and start, stop and start. I see Shae give the d.j a friendly flash of his middle finger, and smile absently as they exchange mock obscenities. I don't remember how long it is that I have sat there, but by the time I resurface out of my intellectual slump, it is to see Shae crouching beside me, waving an experimental hand in front of my face.
"Hello? You there, man?"
I blink, turn my gaze to lock on his slowly, feeling oddly as if in a dream. His bright blue eyes stare inquisitively up at me. Their brilliance shocks me out of my sluggish trance, and I nod belatedly, sitting up clumsily.
"Yes... yeah. Yup." Sure. Here. And not, I swear, desperately plotting some way for you to fall hoplessly in love with me. Never.
He grins, and shakes his head wonderingly. "'Yes, yeah, yup'?" He repeats questioningly. "Didn't sound all too convincing to me. You alright?"
I blink at him for a few moments, pondering how exactly to answer that horrifically difficult question. He gazes up at me, his shrewd, keen eyes locked onto mine unblinkingly. Their marine depths seem to slowly take apart every inch of my soul to examine and then to put back again with his name scrawled on each little bit. I watch how the light of his eyes seems to pour onto his skin, illuminating it with a clear, penetrating diamond whiteness, and I can feel myself dying a little more as a smile appears on his lips.
"Miah..."
I marvel silently at his voice; so gentle and low, but at the same time strident and without lacking glory. And the sexy nuances to the tones as his voice fades away, that sensual decending of notes that boarders on the purr... youth itself caught in his voice, tempered by intelligence and light.
"Hey!"
I blink again, shake myself, and nod stupidly at him, lowering my head slightly so he can't bear witness to my flushing cheeks and shining eyes. Whoops. Way to weird him out, Jere. Muttering some sort of excuse, I raise myself out of the creaking chair, and he moves out of my way, standing with me, still eyeing me wonderingly.
"Practice is over.. I'm assuming you want a ride?"
I grin weakly at him and nod my agreement, and he winks at me as he heads down the aisle to the door leading out. We live in the same dorm together in UofA, or as those who don't live in Alberta call it, the University of Alberta. Our only mode of transportation is Shae's old beat up fire-red Thunderbird; "The truck made in shitbox heaven", as Shae so affectionately dubs it. He drives the thing everywhere; it's amazing it hasn't croaked yet. But it still coughs itself into life every morning and sputters its way through the day with admirable aplomb. His brother gave it to him as a hand-me-down in a fit of frustration; simply handed it over to him one day with smoke spiralling out from under the hood and an exasperated "Peice of godforsaken SHIT!" to go along with it. Needless to say, Shae fixed it up with his usual luck and perserverance, so now it only looks like it's ready to be impounded, not like it's been through the process at least five or six times.
Heading out after him, I pause to wish a good night to those waving at me, and by the time I'm finished being polite, Shae has driven up to the doors, the unmistakable sputtering of the T-bird beckoning me out the door. As I turn, I see him peering out at me through the lowered window on the passenger side, waving me in impatiently. Yanking open the door and wincing automatically at the teeth-jarring creak it makes, I slide in next to him, not bothering to fasten my seatbelt as he shoves the gear into drive. Pulling the door shut, I lean back silently as we roll out of the church's parking lot, not bothering to heed Shae's pointed glance at my lack of seatbelt.
"You should really be wearing that thing, Jeremiah," he admonishes half-heartedly, his eyes on the road.
"Yeah, and you should have a registration for this peice of shit, Sheldon." I retort, smiling lazily into the darkness of the truck as I hear him growl under his breath after a moment.
"You know as well as I do that no cop would ever stop a car in this condition due to the fact it looks like it would explode if it had to do anything under 120, and if you ever call me that again, I will kick your ass."
I sneak a glance at him and grin, he catches me doing this out of the corner of his eye and relents slightly, smiling. Anyone else he would have made wear the seatbelt, or else he would have refused to put the truck into drive until they did. But for me, he lets me get away with potentially risking my life. I don't know whether to be offended or flattered.
'Mmmm," I murmur in response, and all is silent again.
I watch him as sereptitiously as I can as he drives, stealing swift glances every now and again as the minutes pass. My hands rest tremblingly on my lap, burdened down by the secret they bear, wanting more than anything to release but unable to find stable enough ground to let it fall to. I stare at them, willing them to stop, willing my heart to calm down, trying to ignore the nervous sweat making my palms itchy. My eyes close in an attempt to ground myself, but fly open again after a moment. Bad idea, I tell myself groaningly. When my eyes close, I can feel everything so much more clearly, and in this case, I suddenly felt Shae's aura moving through the air as his hands shifted on the steering wheel. I could smell him more closely than made for comfort, the slightly spicy, soap scented essence of him overpowered my brain. He smelled like a bowl full of pine needles, cedar leaves and juniper sprigs. I keep my eyes open, trying to keep my breath at a normal pace, not the exhilarated panting that was wanting to force itself out of my lungs.
"Leia called for you last night. I forgot," Shae suddenly says, jolting me out of my reverie.
I sigh under my breath and mutter my thanks, thoughts of my ex girlfriend now flooding my mind. Leia. What could she have wanted? I really hope she didn't say anything to Shae....
As casually as I can manage, I ask. "What did she say?"
Shae is quiet for a moment, and then offers a curt shrug, his usual manner when dealing with Leia. They don't get along very well at all. I don't understand Shae's animosity to her, but he has his reasons, I suppose. Keeping his eyes on the road, he speaks to me in his calm, steady manner, but the tightening of his fingers on the steering wheel and the hardness in his gaze tells me all I really need to know.
"Nothing much. Wanted to know where you were, why I wasn't with you. Told her that I didn't know, why the hell should I be, and to shove the phone receiver up her goddamned -"
Hurriedly I wave him into silence, shaking my head firmly. Shae sighs softly and looks over at me. I want to suddenly cry, the brightness of his eyes seems to light up the entire truck. I can feel the deep sapphire endlessness sweeping over me, and I fight the urge to look into it, to give into the surrender that I know I shall have to give once I do. He speaks quietly, sincerely, the brightness of his golden hair visible to me out of the corner of my vision.
"You know as well as I do that she was a complete ruthless bitch to you, Miah. I'm glad you got rid of her."
Got rid, hmm? Right. If you want to call her dumping me that. Of course he'd asked me why she didn't come around anymore, and the only thing that came to mind to say was that she'd dumped me for some guy with bigger muscles. Shae would believe it, anyone would believe it. I mean, shit, even I'd believe it if I knew it wasn't complete bullshit. She was just that type of girl. But the type of girl with looks to kill, a body you could just devour, and a laugh as enslaving as music. So with that kind of package, you tend to turn a blind eye to those lethal qualities and simply feast on the eye-candy.
"Mmmmm," I murmur again, and Shae rolls his eyes in irritation. But I say nothing more on the subject and for once Shae has the presence of mind to leave well enough alone.
The next ten minutes of the drive back to the university are uneventful; simply me watching Shae silently glowering at the road. Leia always seemed to give him pessimistic constipation of the mind. If once mentioned in the day, Shae would be locked onto the thought of her for hours, muttering things at the walls and sneering at anything vaguely feminine. It used to worry me, but now I've just learned to live with it. Live with it and ferverently wish that maybe, on some fleeting wild hope, his anger towards her was stemming from jealousy. But no such crazy luck, I know. I had my chance once, and blew it to the point of no return.
It's late now, and I'm in my little room of the dorm, the door closed and my stereo playing some nameless music off the radio. Shae's stolen all my cd's for the moment, and I don't have the courage to go out the adjoining door into his room just now. I can hear him in there, his voice resonating softly through the wall, engaged in languid conversation with Jamie, a mutual friend of ours. Well, perhaps not mutual; Jamie's had his sights on Shae the moment they met. He's not obsessive about it like most people are, though, so credit must be given, I suppose. A large amount of the people Shae has met in his life, be they female or male, end up falling completely head over heals for him, which has never been a gratifying experience for my friend. He's been privy to stalking, relentless phone calls, notes being shoved in his bag countless times, threatened suicides if he didn't fall madly in love with the threatener... all of which have taken their toll. He is now very selective with whom he associates with, giving others the impression that he is an asshole; very curt and cold. But it is simply a defence measure, and one that I think suits Shae very well. He's never completely been a people person, the only one he'll ever truly open up to or be relaxed with is me. How I gained that trust, I don't know. All I understand is that it is the grievious envy of most guys I know here.
I stare listlessly into space, once and a while flickering my gaze over to the picture I have sitting on my nightstand, feeling my eyes burn while they see. It's a picture of Shae and I when we were eighteen, and my favourite one to date. It's at highschool prom, and he and I are dressed in the most ridiculous tuxes imaginable; Shae wearing a haiwiian shirt with his and me with a neon green bowler hat. We ultimately got kicked out for not adhering to the "proper dress ettiquete", but we managed to sneak in a dance or two anyway. He didn't have a date for the prom due to obvious reasons, and he couldn't stomach going with a girl. So he asked me to go as his date, and we had one slow dance to ourselves before we were kicked out. Of course we were the uproar of the school after that, up into and including our first year of university. We've had our share of criticisms about it from various homophobic dickshits, but nothing we've never been able to handle. Shae was always worried that I'd end up hating him because of the reputation it got me, but I could never bring myself to worry about it. So what? Let them think I'm gay. At least their lives won't be so meaningless now. They'll have something to amuse their tiny little brains.
And now, if only they knew. I stare at our picture silently, letting my gaze travel over Shae's face, a helpless smile touching my lips as I see his wild grin, and his fingers wrapped around mine. I can't help but notice how well they fit together, our hands. The blue of his eyes captures me and I lose myself in their vibrancy as his voice shimmers through the wall, indistinct but comforting. I've got two candles on the headboard of my bed, both of them lit and casting a faint but warm glow into the small space, the scent of cinnamon eminating from the pooling wax. The light does strange dance shows across my walls, giving view to the things that adorn them: a few posters of World War II art, and above my bed a painting Shae made and gave me one Christmas, our university up in flames and the words "Communication is the weakest form of the human condition" across the top. My walls are a deep forest green, my carpet a lighter shade, and my bed black with red sheets. I've always loved vibrant colours, especially more so since most people can't walk into my room without having to blink a few times. So much colour in such a small space, I guess it overides their capability to process.
"Miah?" I hear a quick knock on my door, and just as I look away from the picture, I see my door open slightly and Shae to slip in. My eyes narrow slightly as the light from the living room pours into my tiny space, and Shae hovers in the doorway, trying to block it out with an apologetic grin on his face. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, and he smiles.
"Sorry to bother you..." His voice trails off as a look of concentration takes over his features and he breathes in deeply. "Smells good... like cinnamon," he observes, and then comes to sit on the edge of my bed. "Um, Jamie... asked if we wanted to go out tonight, like out to a bar or club or something... what do you think?"
I instantly shake my head; the thought of having to watch Shae dance with Jamie, or just dance in general isn't something I think I can deal with very well right now. I'd probably either seriously contemplate ripping Jamie's eyes out with my teeth, or end up with a hard-on so intense that I'd have to castrate myself before being able to stand up. Shae frowns slightly but then nods after a moment, training that keen, unnervingly bright gaze on me. I try not to wilt under it, but have to look down as always as it goes on longer than I can bear.
"Okay," he half whispers after a moment, and then suddenly I feel his fingers on my cheek, sliding over my skin softly. I look up quickly, startled, my heart instantly hammering in my chest and my body tingling like fire.
"You'll miss out on the fun, Miah," he says quietly, his fingers moving with erotic slowness to brush through my hair, and I can feel my eyes closing against every instruction I give them, lured under by his gentle touch. I try not to gasp, but can feel my breath quicken in my chest. His fingers don't stop, and my hands become white fists under the sheets. Inwardly I groan and beg him to stop, already feeling tears of frustration and desire stinging painfully at my eyes. With every move of his slender fingers across my cheek, I can feel my heart slowly seiving itself for him, shredding bits of itself off and handing them to him, swearing eternal love for as long as it could last. I want to stop, I want to sit up and knock his hand away, but at the same time I know I would be devastated if he stopped, and I would end up a wreck all night waiting for his touch again.
"You should come," he whispers softly, tantalizingly, his breath touching my eyelids, his voice searing through my consciousness and rooting itself somewhere in my groin. I can feel my body responding to that sensual tone, and while I can hear my brain faintly screaming that it was the way Shae always spoke, my chest feels like it has caught alight and an erection begins to throb in my lap. 'Stop,' I silently beg him, quickly losing the battle to keep the tears and the arousal hidden. 'Please...'
"Okay," he continues, unknowingly answering my plea. His fingers glide through my hair once more before slowly moving away, the warmth of his energy leaving makes my skin feel cold and hollow. "Never mind. You don't have to come. Just don't stay up all night; you have early classes to go to tomorrow."
I nod weakly and try to open my eyes, but the blueness of his gaze locks them up again. He leans down and presses his lips to my cheek in a quick farewell kiss, and then with a quiet sigh, he lifts himself off the bed and is out of my room once more, leaving me to my candlelight and shrieking hormones. I hear their voices in the living room for a moment and the final slam of the front door gives allowance for my fists to unclench and my eyes to force themselves open. I lie there silently, trying not to whimper, the only evidence of my tears later is the two moist spots on my pillow as they slide down my cheeks. Shae is an erotic person unconsciously; every move he makes teeters dangerously on the starkly sexual. The simplest things he can do with such grace and display of effortless power that it leaves the watcher breathless and begging for more. With those that he loves, he is very reliant on the touching basis of a relationship, so hugs and kisses on the cheek are almost always a given from him. It's only as of late that they've ever caused a problem for me. He means them only in a friendly manner, I know... how can I possibly tell my body that, though?
Sighing in frustration, I turn onto my side, clutching my pillow hopelessly. Gazing at the wall, my thoughts of him become slowly more abstract, shards of painful, bittersweet memories rise up to haunt me out of the blackness of consciousness. My eyes close in warding, wanting more than anything to forget that which is whispering at me to remember. A sunshine-filled day comes back to me, one filtered through the memory of youth and carefree days. It has a golden tint to it, much like the brillance of Shae's hair, which was longer back then, when we were seventeen. Trees, their leaves just changing into their vibrant autumn colours, rise tall around us, the ground beneath our feet littered with the paper-like presence of pine needles and twigs. We are laughing; I can hear our entwined voices lifting to spiral up through the branches that surround us like a protective shroud, can see the leaves dance in perfect time to our teenage joy. To this day I don't remember what the joke was about, but I smile now as I see Shae's eyes, glittering like blue diamonds set aglow with merriment and love. His smiling lips shine softly in the setting sun, and the golden light sets his perfect complexion into a bronze casting. His tawny hair pours down his shoulders, half of which is caught up in a clumsy braid of my own making, the sun dancing joyously in the blonde highlights.
And then, somehow, it changes. The light seems to stand still, the air seems to freeze itself and become more dense; all that I can clearly register is Shae's eyes, thrillingly beautiful as they watch me. I hear our laughter dying away, leaving nothing but a heavy silence. I can feel myself moving, somehow getting closer to him, my eyes locked on his. His arms move around me hesitantly, awkward and nervous in their movements, but at the same time completely sure and confident. I can feel his muscles encircling me, the warm solidness of his shoulders touches mine, and his eyes close. I don't remember breathing after his cheek touches mine, caught and permanently snagged upon the feeling of his smooth skin rubbing against my cheek, feeling the imperfect tide of his breath on my neck. He is holding me tightly, not letting me move; I can feel his body trembling with fear and another nameless but intoxicating emotion. He whispers my name in a voice that I have not heard since, a sound that is so completely vulnerable and heartbreaking, because in it I am forced to see everything he has been keeping from me. In that instant, I see his endurance of months upon months of secret devotion to me, I feel his heart breaking with jealousy as I stare unabashedly at girls, and I see his desire to tell me, to make me his.
I blink as I feel this, and it is like my heart has just been shot out of my chest with a cannon ball. But he doesn't let me move, doesn't let my body respond with the sob I can feel building in my chest. I grip him tightly, he whispers my name again, wanting to ask of me something, shaking with the need of it, but not being able to form the words. I don't move, I don't do anything, just stand there with a thousand emotions rushing through my head, the concept of saying "no" to any of this not even broaching my thoughts. So he moves, and trembling, presses his lips to my cheek. Tighter he grips me as his lips feverishly work their way towards mine, his eyes closed and his body shaking like the leaves we stand under. Distantly I hear myself moan slightly as the emotion pulls me under, and I can feel my legs starting to give out from under me. But still he holds me up, refusing to let me fall, whispering the words that have been burned into my head ever since. "I need this... I need you... please don't stop me... I love you.... I want you..." I know I start to weep as I hear those words, but the tears are long forgotten as his lips finally find mine, pressing against them with a passion that shakes me to my core. His lips taste like tears, but whose I cannot tell, for when we eventually pull apart, his cheeks shine with salty, glittering trails. I will have bruises on my arms from where he held me, and they will last for weeks. For nights my dreams will be filled of the memories of this kiss, and in the darkest ones, the feeling of his hard on against my leg will make me wake up, desperately clenching my teeth to hold in the cries of wonder and lust.
Thinking back on it now, I wish I had done a few things differently. But no matter. It is over, and has been for a long time. But we suffered for it dearly. He left me standing there, a shaking mess in the middle of the wilderness. When he'd truly realized the full extent of what he'd done, he had backed away from me slowly, eyes wild with grief and dying desire. Appologies fell like dirty water from his lips, unintelligble and anguished. Then, without giving me a chance to move, much less say anything in reply, he'd turned and sprinted away, becoming a distant flash of movement in the far-off trees by the time I'd completely understood what had happened. I remember getting home, stumbling my way there, vision blurred with debilitating tears, one hand held to my burning lips. I hated him for months afterward. Not just for the kiss, but for leaving me after doing such an incredible, impossible thing. The kiss too had its own factor; I didn't care that he'd kissed me, but I did care that I'd responded to it, and that I was having wet dreams almost every night since. I hated myself for being turned on by it, thought it was wrong, dirty somehow. Shae... could be gay. That was fine. That was Shae. He was the type of person it went well with. But not me. And shortly after that, I met Leia.
Shae and I had not really spoken for months, and it had taken its toll. As much as the sight of him hurt me, not being able to be around my best friend hurt more. And I know with unnerving clarity how much it hurt him. It almost made me hate him even more, to watch him glance at me as we were in class and then look away again, tears sparkling in his beautiful gaze and his reddening cheeks as he attempted to hide them. It was Leia who got us speaking again; she'd come up to me one day and demanded that I tell her why the "gorgeous guy" she'd always seen me with previously was avoiding me. When I asked her why she cared, she said she didn't, but she could tell that he did. And that was what gave me the regrettable illusion that she was a semi-decent person. So Shae and I started speaking again, and it progressed from there. And so did my relationship with Leia. If anything good came out of it, it gave Shae the realization that I had someone and that the someone was female. It hurt him for a long time, years, but he never once took it out on me. He used it to make him stronger, and he eventually became happy for me, even though he loathed her. But slowly his jealousy was tempered to true hatred, and a hatred I knew came from the way she would sometimes treat me.
Quietly I sigh, helplessly pressing fingers to my lips, pressing them gently, trying to remember exactly how his kiss had felt, trying to catch some of that elusive passion again. But as I do, I can feel my fingers lamenting the lost and forgotten, the kiss is as dry a memory as being born. Gone, gone, beyond the pale, beyond the dawn. The candlelight flickers on my eyelids, making me drowsy. My bed feels as big as a football feild; a massive expanse of warmth and softness. Darkness steals over my mind, slowly weeding out the visions of the candlelight, leaving me with a velvet nothingness that carries me on its back like a strange sea serpent in an even stranger sea. I whisper his name into the nothingness, reaching for him in the darkness of possibility, wanting to touch his mind for a moment and leave an offering there for him to find. But I fall short as always, and simply fall into unconsciousness, leaving my subconscious to deal with the tiring pleadings of my heart. The radio starts to play "A Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carleton, and I smile.
"If I could fall into the sky Do you think time would pass me by? You know I'd walk a thousand miles If I Could Just Hold You..."
"Miah..."
The sound of my name is like a ice pick decending into the enveloping comfort of sleep and ripping my solitude away. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and attempt vainly to pretend like I didn't hear it, groaning in protest. But the voice persists, and I frown, trying to muster up the energy to shove at the person aggravating me so. But after a moment, the voice becomes known to me, its gently amused tone slipping across my consciousness like an autumn breeze. So I open my eyes slowly, reluctantly, mumbling curses against the light that comes streaming into them. I vaguely catch the outline of Shae sitting on the edge of my bed, attempting to pull the covers off of my prostate body, and I groan again.
"You missed your seven o'clock class again, Miah," he informs me admonishingly, and sits back as I struggle to a sitting position, running my hands through my hair irritably. I mutter something at him, and he grins; I can feel the energy of it hit me without even looking at it.
"Never mind swearing at me, Miah. It's your ass on the line. The prof isn't going to put up with this indefinately, you know."
Nodding absently, I look over to the clock and sink back against my pillow, eyeing it evilly. Nine o'clock. Wonderful. Shae sighs at me, and pulls the rest of the covers off slowly, exposing my boxer'd self to the cool dormitory air. As the covers move, I catch sight of something glossy lying on the bedsheets, and I frown as I look at it, trying to decipher from a distance what it is. As I stare, it finally becomes recognisable to me; the picture of Shae and I that usually sits on my desk. My frown slowly deepens in consternation. How did that get there? I don't recall taking it off the desk last night... I look up at Shae quickly, hoping he hasn't seen it, but he has. He stares down at it too with a strange expression on his face, one I can't read at all. After a few seconds of frozen silence, we both move at the same time, Shae standing with the bedsheets to fold them up for me, and me slipping off the bed to go change. The picture lies there, looking painfully obvious on the bed, but neither of our gazes touch it again. I pad over to the closet and lose myself in its darkness, feeling around blindly for some sort of acceptable clothing while my cheeks burn. How could I possibly explain why a picture of him was under my sheets? How DID it get there, anyway? Praying he doesn't say anything on it, my groping fingers find purchase on a pair of jeans, and my other hand finds a reasonably well-ironed shirt. I pull them out of the darkness, check to make sure they match acceptably, and start to dress.
The jeans are a dark blue, wideleg and extremely comfortable. The shirt is a dark green long sleeved, one that matches the sea-green and blue of my eyes. Slipping into my pants hurriedly, I do up the zipper and the button as I watch Shae place the neatly folded sheets on my bed again. He stands there a moment, eyes locked on the picture, and my cheeks flare again. Shit, shit, shit. What can he possibly be thinking? A slender hand extends from the hidden realm of his jacket pocket and decends towards the picture, picking it up gently, cradling it like an infant. In slow motion I start to put my shirt on, watching him carefully, ready to run in there and yank it out of his hand with some sort of half-assed excuse if he shows any sign of discomfort. But he simply holds it, staring down at it, the blonde layers of his hair hiding his face, curving around his chin. I shrug into the shirt absently, gaze locked on him. He stands like this for a while, rendering me stuck to staying in the closet, too worried to come out. Then his other hand lifts and he touches the picture with his forefinger, trailing it lightly down the surface. His hand moves with a wistful slowness, and I can see him bite his lower lip gently. I frown slightly in puzzlement, tilting my head to the side, wondering at his actions, but I have no time to speculate further as my door suddenly flies open and Jamie bursts into the room.
Shae almost drops the picture, looking up with a startled expression as Jamie greets him.
"Shae... sorry. I've been looking for you and Jere... I need a ride.. I'm seriously late for my class... can you help?"
Shae stares at Jamie for a moment, looking lost, but then gains his composure again as Jamie repeats his question. Nodding with a brief smile, Shae strides over to the desk, puts the picture back into the holder just as I walk back into the room, closing the closet behind me. Jamie glances over and grins, I smile back and then look to Shae. He offers me a half smile, and then heads to the door, holding it open for Jamie.
"We'll be in the truck when you're ready," he says in his calm, steady voice, and with a genuine smile, leaves the room, Jamie trailing along with him.
My gaze transfers from the door to the picture after they leave, trailing over our grinning faces, feeling anything but happy. He looked so strange before Jamie walked in... like about to cry. Had I weirded him out that much? Sighing, I leave the dorm and walk over to the washroom, quickly brushing my teeth as I dwell on the turn of events. Still puzzling as to how the picture ended up in my bed, I drag a brush through my hair, and on second glance I see that it is Shae's brush. Sighing softly, I lower the brush to eye level and stare at it, watching the light glitter off the amber strands of his hair that weave around the bristles. Plucking one out carefully, I dangle it in the path of the lightbulb above the sink, watch it blind me with its tiny radiance.
"Shae," I whisper softly, longingly, my eyes downcast and my heart trembling.
I can feel my spirit sing his name in a sorrowful song, and I fight to stand as the power of desire and love overcomes me. Why couldn't things be easier? Why can't I just... say what I long to say without fear of rejection? Why do I have to cry in frustration every night while I hear you sing your songs and see you dance your dances? Slipping the strand of hair into my pocket, I glance up into the mirror, checking to make sure everything is semi intact. Staring back at me I see a pair of sea-green eyes, dark lashes and an unconscious half smile in a face that has been labeled delicate, modelesque. My sandy brown hair falls in my eyes, tousled as always and without a prayer of ever changing. Sighing irritably, I walk out of the washroom and head downstairs, where Shae is patiently waiting with Jamie inside his truck.
"Hey," he says, and smiles, and then without offering me a choice of where to sit, he opens the door and gets out, motioning for me to sit in between him and Jamie.
I glance at him for a moment, then shrug mentally and swing myself up and in, grinning again to Jamie, who winks back. Very much a pretty boy, Jamie is one never caught without a smile. A cheerful example of the human species; his dark eyes and auburn hair is a mix that never fails to make people stop and stare when he walks down the street. Dressed impeccably as always, he moves over more so that I have ample room, and Shae gets in after me.
"Where to, Jamie?" He queries, glancing over to Jamie, who shrugs and replies in his drawling, South Dakota voice.
"Anywhere near the Horticulture building... I've got to meet Brenden there."
Shae nods, and in a few moments we are out of the residential parking lot and heading down 4th Street, which connects the East Campus to the North. I lean back as far as I can, but being squished between two people doesn't afford much room in which to get comfortable. Shae's truck has the seating arrangment of a U-haul; one massive seat up front which seats three abreast. I stare out of the window fixedly, trying not to completely register Shae's nearness to me or feel how warm his body is as it presses against me. Our legs are touching without an inch of room to be found between them, and our hips stuck together as if adhered there by some strange glue. His arm brushes my side every so often as he switches lanes or turns corners, and everytime it does, I have to close my eyes to quell the thrill of nervous, school-girlish energy that rushes through me at the contact. Jamie and he persue a casual, light-hearted conversation, something which I hear in bits and peices through the pounding of my heart in my ears.
I am drawn helplessly to the way he drives: my gaze lingers on his hands as they grip the steering wheel, falling slowly in love with the effortless elegance with which he holds it. His fingers, long and pale, hold the wheel lightly but firmly, almost as if he is playing it like an instrument. The delicate rise of the back of his hand to his wrist makes me smile to myself; the sun glitters gently off the tiny blonde hairs adorning his skin, making it look as though it has been kissed by fairy dust. As he moves his hands to move the truck to where he wants it to go, I watch the muscles under his skin ripple and dance, a strange but beautiful symphony played out for me and me alone. Again my eyes close as I helplessly wonder how it would feel to run my fingers across his, if I could raise goosebumps on those slender but strong arms of his, if I could make his muscles jerk in desiring reaction to my touch. I wonder if his fingers would wrap around mine, if his skin would feel like warm silk, if his energy would pour into me like water. And if I raised that perfect hand to my lips and kissed the inside of his palm, would I be given access to his wrist, his forearm, his shoulder, his neck...
I swallow painfully and tear my train of thought away from that track, not liking the shivers it has started to send down my spine. Reality comes back to me; I hear their voices again, and my eyes are drawn away from his magical hands as I look down, trying to avoid the blush I can feel rising to my cheeks. But again I run into problems as my gaze lands on our legs; I watch as he suddenly moves his booted foot from the gas pedal to land firmly on the brake, and I feel the movement entirely too perfectly. I can almost see his knee bending, his skin brushing against the inside of his pant leg and vicariously caressing my own flesh. He has become too real to me in the past couple of months; the very presence of him makes my heart hurt as I realize how ALIVE he is. I can hear his breathing mingling with his voice, creating a gentle music that mixes with his leg, hands, eyes and hair and makes me catch my breath in pain. He glances over in mid sentance with Jamie and directs his peircing, concerned gaze on me. I pale, inwardly cursing myself, and try to look unassuming.
"Alright?" He askes, a slight worried frown touching his semi-androgynous features.
I manage to nod and offer him a smile, one that I know is weak, broken by my heart wanting me to grab him and kiss him right here and now... driving down this stupid road, in this godawful truck...
"Okay..." he says after a moment, looking back to the road, the frown still on his face. But Jamie asks him about Tool's upcoming concert, and he is lost to me again.
Silently I watch him, unabashedly letting myself witness him become animated and eager as he talks with Jamie. A half-smile plasters itself to my lips as I see his soft, light-pink lips catch themselves in his charismatic grin, see his eyes pour their sapphire brilliance out onto his fair cheeks, his hair caressing his skin like I a lover I have been born to be envious of. The sun is pouring into the car through the driver's window, illuminating his profile in shades of gold and amber, reflecting off his tawny eyelashes and making a halo of his hair. His laughter at something Jamie points out fills my world; an ambrosia of light, silver-touched sound that carries me to a place of wonder and debilitating desire. I see the light shiver through his irises, turning his deep blue gaze to a strange colour that I can only describe as the colour of a sunrise. Beautiful, inconsequential, all-encompassing. Oblivion.
"- right, Miah?"
He trains his gaze on mine for a moment, and I am lost. In the true, pure and complete sense of the word. The deepness of the blue is shattering: it is like the sky itself is staring at me, the sky gone intelligent and empathetic. I vaguely feel myself half wondering if, somewhere, the sky is missing two tiny eye-sized peices of itself; the peices that Shae seems to have stolen to use. But that thought is hazy and incomplete, all I can feel is the brightness and deadly intelligence of his eyes sweeping through and around me. In that moment I become nothing: simply a collection of molecules and electrons that those eyes can see right through and discern without the smallest difficulty. I feel like he can predict every breath I take, every pump that my heart creates, every thought that goes snapping through my brain and every endless desire of my heart. I can feel my hands shaking, the blood rushing out of my fingers and retracting up my arms, trying to compensate for the sudden halt of my heart.
His eyes have always had a startling effect on me (although not to the extent they have now), and everyone he's ever come across. People walking down the street can briefly glance up at him, drawn to his face by its beautiful construction and then stop dead when they see his eyes. Something about them speaks to a part of their souls so ancient and far-gone that it makes their bodies go into overdrive and freeze. Our friend Brendan is absolutely enamoured with Shae's eyes, he's been trying to find the word to explain them properly ever since they've met, to no avail. The best he's ever come up with is "annihilating". They strip everything away that you think you are, leaving you with your true self, and then they burn that to the core too, leaving you just enough feeling to register nothing but pain and the desire to better yourself. To become more perfect so that you can justify the gaze you have just recieved; the gaze of an angel. An angry, heart-wrenchingly beautiful and aloof angel, but an angel nonetheless.
"Miah..." Softly, worriedly, wonderingly.
I blink, shake myself. Snapping my gaze away from his, I realize we are parked, and Shae has one hand on my shoulder, shaking me lightly. I feel an empty space beside me; Jamie has gotten out of the truck, seemingly oblivious to the whole thing and is walking towards his class building. This time, the blush is unavoidable. I feel it like like a wave of boiling hot water sweeping up over my cheeks. My shoulders tense and I can feel every muscle in my body stiffening as embarassment shudders through me. My face burns.
"Yeah..." I mutter, looking anywhere but directly at him. "Sorry..."
He is silent for a long moment, his hand still resting on my shoulder. I sit there unmovingly, wanting to shrink into nothingness, shame and embarassment making me feel smaller than a grain of sand. The blush on my cheeks only intensifies as he leans closer, trying to look into my eyes.
"Miah... are you.. okay? Honestly okay? You've... been acting... so... weird lately..."
I can feel sudden tears stabbing at my eyes as he leans closer; I can't reply to his question because the nearness of him sends my senses into a spiralling mess. His scent, his gentle voice...
"Miah?"
His hand hovers on my shoulder for a second longer, and then begins to slowly retreat; the removal of his fingers leaves icy imprints on my skin, hollow spaces where he should have been. Oh Christ... this is it, I realize wildly. I'm fucked. Totally fucking fucked. I'm a teenaged girl at a N'Sync concert... I'm obsessed. No turning back now. Either fly, or burn. Find a place to land with him, or drop to death alone. I have a feeling I'm going to burn... drop... die...
"Shae..." I hear myself whimper desperately, and then without realizing it, my hand is lifting to intercept his, to stop his from pulling away from me totally.
Our fingers touch, and he is unmoving as I cling to them, unable to bring myself to complete the touch, but helpless to pull away.
"Shae," I say again, lifting my eyes to find his, trying to ignore the blur in my vision which I know is because of those wretched tears. Oh... God... what am I doing..? Please stop me..
His eyes are wide, worried, and something else. A strange emotion burns in their searing depths, it makes the irises swirl and darken. Belatedly, I feel his own fingers trembling with mine.
"What.. what is it, Miah... what the hell's going on?"
It's on my tongue. I can feel the words burning themselves into my tastebuds with fury, I can taste every syllable and nuance, I can hear what they would sound like if only I could find the courage to give them voice. I love you... I love you... I love you... I need you... I want you... tell me it's not. Too. Late. For. Us...
"Nothing..." I say, managing to spit that out around the other words sitting there. And as I do, I feel my heart sinking deeper in its dungeon, rattling itself tigher in its chains. "Nothing."
He starts to frown; a look of disbelief and fear washing over his features. It makes me want to kick myself; watching that wave of impurity sweeping over his beautiful features because of me. He shakes his head slowly, his eyes narrowing in concern and suspicion. His eyes still hold that strange light, our fingers still touch. I want to pour my thoughts through our joined touch, but some irrational fear makes me worry that he'll actually hear them, and I'll lose him forever.
"No, Miah..." he says almost soundlessly. "That's bullshit... I know it is. Something's going on... why don't you trust me enough to tell me?"
As he says that, he drops his hand away. It is a movement so drenched with finality that it makes my heart wrench. I stare at him a moment longer, my heart feeling as thought it has started to crack. Trust him? Oh God... if only I could explain... but he's over me, has been for a very long time. Now if I told him, he'd be weirded out, disgusted. I know he would. Silence... just... shut up, Jere. You've already fucked up beyond BELIEF.
I am about to open my mouth and reply with a useless string of words, when a knock on the window next to me makes us both jump. My hand falls, and I look over my shoulder. I see, swiftly, Shae's expression darken slightly, angered at the interuption. Outside the truck, however, a tall and dred-locked guy peers through the window, a blissful grin on his features. Brendan.
"Hey guys!" I hear faintly, and after a half second, Shae motions angrily for him to get in.
The door opens, and I glance at Shae only long enough to catch him gazing sharply at me, worriedly. Dropping my gaze away again, I force a cheerful smile Brendan's way, who responds with an instantly shrewd expression, looking at the both of us questioningly. Shae is silent, not saying anything to him, simply staring blackly out his window.
"...what's... going on?" Brendan asks slowly, his deep voice resonating through the confined interior.
I stay silent, too ashamed and afraid to look at Shae again. Shit shit shit. What have I done...
"Nothing," Shae says tersely, and slams the gear into drive violently, making me flinch.
"Nothing at all."