the cut that always bleeds

the cut

June 25

Luca hadn't spoken to Alberto for three days.
It didn't matter if Alberto waved, smiled, yelled out to him, he got nothing in response. At most, he got a glance.
Distance would normally bring fondness, but not with them. The energy Alberto received was cold, it caused him to be frozen in place. Unable to act. The normal butterflies he felt deep in his gut had become nausea, and cold sweat had begun to make unfriendly appearances.
The tear at his torso only grew wider and wider as the hours of silence went on.
The tear that had allowed Bruno to come back at full swing, and had kept him awake all night.
That tear, he had discovered, to his dismay, was Luca.

It wasn't until Alberto was alone, laying on his bed that he had reached that conclusion.
His eyes were tracing his ceiling, only the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore as a distraction. The only image in his mind was the look of Luca's averted eyes as he had caught sight of him across the main square earlier in the day.
He shivered, remembering how only days ago he had held him in his arms, running circles against his back, as he consoled him.
None of it added up.
And the kisses.
The pressure against his lips, where was it now?
Alberto took in an inhale as he longed for the feeling again, his fingers becoming entwined with the bedsheets below him.
It hurt.
He swallowed as he created a parallel between the look Luca gave him only hours ago, to the look he had as he pulled away from their interlock.
Why was there no light in his eyes?
"I'm only fooling myself." Alberto mumbled to himself, quietly, to nobody else in the room.
He shut his eyes tight, refusing the image from replaying in his mind again.
Only now did Alberto realize the lack of air in his lungs, and he heard his own gasps for air. He felt the stinging at the corner of his eyes, and the feeling of tears rolling down his face.
He had been crying.
Alberto grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt, bunching it up in his hand, as he continued to silently gasp in between sobs.
He felt it now, deep and burning.
He felt it across his torso, and he felt it as it drained out.
He had begun to feel the cut.
The cut that always bleeds.

'You want me to write stories for your constellations?'
Luca's voice echoed in his head, and he opened his eyes to look down at his arms, the freckles seeming more apparent than ever.
Now, more than ever, Alberto wanted to see the constellations. He wanted Luca to show him constellations.
His breath stuttered, and his inhales remained short and inconsistent as he sat up.
He made his way over to his desk, aimlessly attempting to find a pen somewhere in his mess.
He grabbed a hold of a black pen, and he quickly found his place back on his now messed up bed sheets.

His vision was blurry as his focus settled on his forearm, his eyes darting from each freckle to the next. His hand shook as the tip of the pen found a place against his skin, and he shakily moved the pen from one dot to the net.
His inhales shook as he created images on his skin, wonderful images that made his arms look like a storybook. Before he knew it, he had begun to cover his legs, his torso, his neck, hands, feet, anywhere he could find.
He smiled at the black lines that created a kind of night sky across his body, and for the first time, he began to see the constellations he had heard so much about.
He watched as teardrops fell down onto the decorated skin, and remained motionless as black lines became smeared. He listened to his own shuddering breath, and held onto his shirt as though it was the one thing he had left.
He craved Luca.
Wanted his fingers to trace the wretched lines, and tell some beautiful tale that Alberto could never create.
He wanted to lay beside him, and listen to his voice.
His tone deepened by sleep, his breathing slow, his motions careful.

Alberto's hands made their way to his face, as he allowed himself to imagine he wasn't alone. He pictured Luca's hands instead of his own, running across his cheek, and leaving a warm longing feeling from them.
He embraced the suffocating feeling in his throat, partnered with the silent cries he had allowed himself to voice.
It had all hit him at once, the longing, the burning, the love.
The longer he stared at his illustrations, the more he realized he wanted Luca in any way.
If it meant disconnected kisses, locked eyes, stretched out hands grabbing for seemingly nothing, he would take it.
Anything that would allow Luca to be here.
Even if Luca would never say it.
The burning in his eyes only grew the longer he imagined it.

He was willing to try.
His bottom lip trembled as his hand ran along one constellation he had created on his forearm.

"Luca."
His name filled the space, and his eyes welled once more.

"Luca."

As his vision began to go, the only thing he could imagine was a warm smile, spread across Luca's face. A laugh.
Alberto choked on air, and followed by a sharp inhale.

"Luca."

His name was poison, enough to stop him dead in his tracks, and he made another frightening discovery.

"Oh my God, Luca."

The discovery that he had truly fallen in love.

"Luca-"

His voice trailed off, the grip on his arm tight, his sobs coming in full swing, his torso bent.
He was bent over himself, tears falling onto bed sheets, his mouth wide open as he desperately attempted to inhale. He let out silent screams into the empty space beneath him.
The cut only growing deeper.