The Holy Trinity {Grace, Hannah, Mamrie} | Oneshots

Chelsea Hotel No. 2 {Hartsquared}

1933

The haziness of the air made it difficult to breathe without coughing, and you simply couldn't inhale anything but nicotine. Everything was coated in a thin layer of dust, and ashtrays were placed like ornaments on every countertop or cabinet.

I remember you well in the chelsea hotel, you were talkin' so brave and so sweet...

Bedsheets were strewn anywhere but the bed, and clothes hung everywhere but the wardrobe. Heels had been kicked off by the door. Small, china cups that were meant for tea had been used for whiskey instead, of which there were several half-empty bottles scattered about.

Somehow, half of the curtain rail had fallen down. It didn't matter much; one curtain had been stretched enough to cover most of the window, and the room was on the highest floor, so no one could see into it. Or so they thought.

On the rare occasions that the light was on, and all outside was dark, you could see the shadows of two intertwined bodies moving together in a distorted kind of harmony. Sometimes it was on the bare mattress, others against a wall or atop a single chair in the far corner.

Givin' me head on the unmade bed, while the limousines wait in the street...

The room hadn't started out in such a state. At first, it was fresh and new and clean, but then... Then, lust happened. After lust came passion, and - in turn - anger. You could almost taste the screaming matches and rough make up sex.

Those were the reasons, and that was New York, we were runnin' for the money and the flash...

Neither of them knew why they had chosen that hotel, or why they had stayed in it for so long, but both knew that if they were discovered, they were done for. The two 'best friends' that taken the media by storm would not be remembered as hilarious, progressive and sensual women, but as disgusting homosexuals. It revolted them both, what they did to each other, but they couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

And that was called love, for the workers in song, probably still is for those of them left...

Thankfully, the flashing cameras were left behind in the lobby. It had been a long show this time, and both were exhausted.

For the first time, they slept underneath the sheets, and it wasn't sex that sated them, but the feel of the others arms around their waist. It was simple instead of salacious, comfortable instead of angry, and they were sleeping instead of orgasming. For the first time, they fit together.

That night, if you'd have tried to catch a glimpse of the shadows, you'd have only seen the shape of two people nestled together.

Ah, but you got away, didn't you baby, you just turned your back on the crowd...

By the morning, the room was empty. By afternoon, two girls were spotted, hand in hand, jumping. By evening, two bodies were found and declared dead at the scene.

You got away, I never once heard you say 'I need you', 'I don't need you', 'I need you', 'I don't need you, and all of that jiving around'...