My name is Jonathan, I'm garbage and this is the story of my life. The first thing I remember is when my mom found me playing with dolls. I was five. She threatened to tell my dad, I never knew if she actually poisoned him. But everyone always knew the truth, I know it and I don't care anymore. They were beautiful, until I went crazy. I used to give them haircuts and do their makeup with pen and markers. I used to enjoy playing with their beauty, until they were ugly and I start feeling the need to throw them on the trash and steal a new doll from my cousin. My problem began when I started playing with my own beauty and I realized that it didn't matter if I jump into the trash can, there was no human being to steal, I was never gonna like myself anymore.
I felt his breath. I felt his pain and I got used to his company. On his nudity I found his pain and even though I knew that he would never be the new doll either, I wanted him around. I was out of prison and he was out of drag. But even when we were free horses now, we were both still unable of escaping, the needles were still stuck. That night we decided to suffer together. Cristian did not heal my wounds, but sickly he was good company.
Our codependence made us surrender to our bodies and try to fool each other. I like boys, he likes girls. I learned to like the pain and he learned to be comfortable. I missed him when he was away, but I worried when he was coming back. For him, it was worst.
His presence used to electrocute me. His violent touch used to make me unconscious of my problems and while the fainting lasted, I used to forget that I was not happy and that kept me alive.
The first night we walked along the beach. He was naked. He realized that his hero died without knowing who he really was, just an hour ago from that moment, and he ran to the beach. He found me floating, trying to be brave enough to say goodbye. But, that guy made me laugh that night. Even when we were both suffering, he made me laugh and that embarrassed me. I was trying not to disrespect his pain, or mine; but his Cuban accent was too cute and it made me laugh. "Me duele" he used to say constantly. Nevertheless, emotionally, he was too far away and he was never gonna get closer, I always knew it. I had to be careful, trying to get closer was always gonna be useless and not because of me. But I never do the right thing.
Prison made me see that I was alone. Not even Jonas was with me. He didn't know me and it was my fault. I didn't know if he was good or bad. Maybe even with his disability, he was normal, gray, like everyone else. Maybe he hated me or maybe he did not felt my hand when I pushed him. I was red and alone. I still am.
I always knew that Cristian was sadder than me. Always. Sometimes I was not free to walk, but everytime I lied and kept secrets it was my decision and I was always free to love. He had to pretend fake love, to hide real love; he had to wear lipstick and relax, he always knew that rejecting punishment always make the punishment itself worst.
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Msg: Hi people! Thanks for reading. This is my first story and my first day as a member of this awesome community. I hope you enjoyed it. Comment your opinion, like, share, etc. I will really apreciatte any kind of reply. Note: this is not the entire first chapter (the rest of the story comming soon). Have an awesome day and don't forget to love yourself first and come back! xoxo. Raf
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Amaya Beach
General FictionCristian's mother became his pimp when his father died. He was forced to perform in drag and to prostitute in and out of it. The night he scapes, he finds Jonathan on the mystique Amaya Beach, trying to kill himself. Will they be able to save each o...
