When I finally get back, I've aquired a bottle of unisex cologne, a new sweater, a new blonde wig, and some sunglasses. The trailer is blasting and I feel the heels of my boots vibrate as I ascend the crickety, boarded steps, and suddenly recognize the resonance of Placebo. It's a slow song, actually, and I then come to realize that means someone is playing my cd without my permission, leading me to remember the broken cases beneath my bed, which then leads me let it go, because it's probably just Manson, and tonight, it won't matter what music is playing. I grin and jam my key into the keyhole, unable, and not even bothering to attempt, to keep my ecstacy at bay, quickly swinging open the door and closing it behind myself, slipping off my combats, and going on an instant manhunt for the man my eyes have set to prowl on. I try to seem collected and calm as I come into the scene from this morning, the scene I left with potential and am now retransitioning with oozing, sparkling, glamourous glee dazzling and tantalizing the tips of my anxious spider hands. I glance as I turn and swish my body, trying to seem nescient in the sway of my hips atop my mechanical thighs, a model to inspire a world-class mannequin, a fucking manaqueen, as he would put it, and see him positioned on the sunken-in sofa, situated and just waiting, dying for a distraction, and holiest fuck, will he be overjoyed with what God has sent him... Distraction? Clearly. Desired? I highly believe so. Voluptuous? Erotically enevitable? Strictly irresistable? That is what I am aiming for, what I'd kill to be in his eyes. "Well, " I tell him softly with a worn out sigh, as if I am going to retire soon, "I got some shopping done. No speed, but I got a new wig I think you'd like to see. I also got some really cheap colonge, but it smells really great... Even a little...Well, let me see...," I mutter, digging in the sack, "You smell it. It certainly enti..." I look up as I pull the bottle out of the bag, popping open the tin it's encased by, and let my gaze at long last fall upon him, lingering, and what I see makes it perfectly clear to me that this conversation is entirely one-sided. Sharing him in the slump of the sagging, straining bundle of cushions that build the sofa is someone else, and the thing that stings is not that I know them, which I don't, but that I've never seen this bitch before in my life. Now, that's not to say that if I did know them, it wouldn't be acid in my eyes or salt in my wounds, but this could never, ever be pretty in any circumatance. We stare at each other, her and I, after she managaes to extract her tongue from the crevice that is my... whatever I can call him's mouth, and no one says a word. No one needs to. No one fucking needs to, and if she opens her mouth, I'll break her jaw open, and that is without question the most sincere promise I have ever made to a complete stranger, whether the stupid cunt knows it herself or not. I don't bother trying at this point; There's a swing in my approach, and perhaps it's sultry, perhaps it's scary, perhaps it's wrong for this body in these clothes or this mismatched moment, but I've put out all the effort I had today, and my patience is running thin. A moment ago, I was a man made of lust, and now, I am a man filled with a different type of heat, one fueled by infinite fire. "Oh, " my voice comes out hoarse, though I force it to be husky, "I didn't realize we had a visitor..." I snap! I'm fucking busting open in every outlet I have, and I smash the glass of the bottle in against the wall, shards flying everywhere in strewn, sanguine, scarlet frenzy, and the bitch is screaming, screaming, and I just don't have the fucking time of day to acknowledge the slices wedged into my skin as anything but harmless stray glitter. I lunge at her, and she cowers farther into the caving cushions, unable to escape my reach as I slap the destruction of the unopened containter across her face, scattering the remaining wreckage in all directions in the process. She's gratiously spitting blood, her face painted bright with red, her eyes glossy as she heaves for air in a fit of panic and desperation in a way that makes me wish I had saved that bottle for this moment. I look away in disgust, and I know that Manson's looking at me with pure hatred, but I'm not going to look back. I'm not ashamed for what I've done. I've broken her nose, or so she says, and I believe I busted her lip. She'll look like the trash she is for a few months. Half a year. A year. Maybe have a lasting scar or two. So fucking what? So FUCKING what! It just gives her another story to slip between someone else's sheets... To get attention, to be another needle whore... Manson says he's leaving, and asks (comands) me to come, picking up my keys off the counter in lieu of his own. I follow him angrily. Does he seriously expect me to accompany him to take the bitch to the hospital? I storm after him, and when I stand in the doorway, glowering, he turns around full circle and grabs me by my shirt collar, tossing me out of the trailer and locking it behind us, not bothering to say a word as he places her in the front seat of the red convertable we made out in not two days before. I smell of the pungence of perspiration and perfume, and it isn't flattering, to say the least. Now I am the one left gawking, and he won't bother to look at me as they pull out, her tantrum so loud that I can make out garbled versions of the words, "NOW!," "DICK!," and "WHAT... FUCK... BRAINS!?" It lasts only a minute and a half or less, and fades off into the cacophony put forth by the city's lives. I am left sitting here, without a way back in, without anything to occupy myself, and without anywhere else to go. All that's left to do is give in and act like a woman who has just hit her midlife crisis, so I burst into tears and expect the worse. It's only been about an hour and a half when the door rattles, catching the attention of my stuffy, pink, puffed out eyes, and a perplexed, troubled Zim Zum, clad in jammies and fuzzy slippers, comes out to join me in my misery fest. My nostrils are crusted with drying snot, my eyes are sore, and I honestly just want to run in and go to bed already, but that isn't fair to the person who unlocked my entryway to rest, and so, at his request, we trample over the events of the evening. He listens to me and nods the entire time, with such sincerity, I feel like he actually has been through the same motions. At the end, he slings his arm around my waist, and scoots over by me. "Twiggs... Jeordie. Jeordie," he murmurs smoothly, sleepily, "You are beautiful, you know? And you are worth more than any sleazy chick, any day... I really want to comfort you, I promise, but what is there to say? I can't change Manson. You know how he is. I do wonder if you have ever wondered if there's more to his stage antics than just the shock factor, but honestly, since I haven't figured it out, I can't nudge you that way... Let's go inside, alright? Sleep with me tonight, so he'll assume you're gone, and you won't have to be alone." I nod, sniffling.... Man, Zim is a really great guy to have around. Pogo steals shower water from the whole band, gets laid, and can have one hell of a party, but when it comes to this, I never thought anyone in this band would be able to really go into depth with me or help me through rough patches like today. We go inside, and he tells me he's going to make soup before bed, and asks if I want any, which I don't. I tell him I'll meet him in his room, and when I get there, I slide under the soft, fleece duvet, and get snug and cozy. He comes in about five minutes later, give or take, takes a seat by the bed with his steamy bowl of hot, harty soup, and puts Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back in the DVD player. I can truly say I've never felt so welcomed in anyone else's bed. Halfway through the first quarter or so of the film, he sets his dish to the side, climbs up onto the matress, and crawls under the covers, settling beside me, his warmth radiating against me, thermal and lively, but too tuckered out to go beyond being simply farmiliar. It's a gentle, dear feeling, and feels alot closer than I feel on my knees... with the very man I've adored for years now, inside of me.
