One always remembers their firsts.
The first crush, the first kiss and the first-time sex.
What about the first heartbreak?
When all the firsts are centred around one person is it easy to erase them from the memories?
That's why it hurts so much to...
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"Underneath the cold November sky
I'll wait for you
As the pages of my life roll by
I'll wait for you
I'm so desperate just to see your face
Meet me in this broken place"
Songs for the Chapter
Without you
By Ashes Remain
Will you wait for me
By Kavana
~ Past ~
"Mile! Mile!!"
His mother yelled at him as he strode into the house.
"Where have you been?" She cried running after him as he sprinted up the stairs taking two steps at once. She couldn't keep up with his long legs. He went inside his room and slammed the door shut locking it from the inside.
"Mile! Open the door!" She started banging on it. "I want to talk to you."
"Leave me alone!" Mile yelled, ripping his shirt off.
His head was throbbing and his heart was aching. He needed something to dull the pain.
Going to his drawers he started opening them. He didn't usually keep alcohol in his room but used to hide a bottle or two when he was younger and underage. Throwing open the closet he walked in looking through its shelves and boxes.
He found a bottle of unopened Jack Daniel inside one of his shoe boxes. He unscrewed it, tilted his head back and took a mouthful, wincing at the neat booze burning down his throat.
Thumping on his door had stopped but his head still pulsed rhythmically. He shouldn't have come home and should have gone to his condo but Nodt insisted that they should come home first.
As he drank straight from the bottle, gulp after gulp, his throat stopped burning making it easy to swallow.
The pain in the head stopped, but the pain in the heart didn't.
"Hold me now
I need to feel you
Show me how
To make it new again
There's no one I can run to
And nothing I could ever do
I'm nowhere if I'm here
Without you."
Slipping his hand inside the pant pocket he fished his phone out. It had finally stopped ringing after two days.
He flipped through his gallery and found a few of Apo's pictures. There weren't many because Apo didn't like being photographed. He picked one photo he loved the most. It was a candid shot of Apo. He stood by the stove, with a spatula in one hand wearing nothing but a little red short. The late morning sun filtered through the netted curtains, throwing a golden glow over his beautiful honey skin. He remembered sneaking behind and hugging the warm body to his chest, kissing the graceful neck and shoulders until the eggs burned and he got scolded properly.
