isn't for you

I say what I want, when I want now.

Seth looks out the window next to his bed. Two years ago the walls along with his door and window frame were painted black in an attempt to find Seth's inner self; the only good that ever did was to confirm his loneliness like the only fish in the sea.

"Hey mum." He says into the phone the second the call tone stops. The view outside is a glum one, a grey sky of clouds and one crammed street of London that seems to twist and twine to both sides indefinitely. "I'm fine."

She asks about his diet, whether he's sleeping enough, and tells him that she misses him. Seth says what he needs to say and promises her that he will look after himself.

She says she loves him. He says that he loves her too.

He hangs up first.

Vince returns to their apartment at about six thirty. He discovers his roommate playing music out loud from an expensive sound system, sitting on the window sill, back facing out.

"Hey." He greets Seth with a nod from the hallway. "Having fun?"

Seth grabs each side of the window frame and leans back, wild grin on his face, and falls backwards. The frame comes loose and he feels empty inside with the wind on his back, a splinter in his left palm and a broken skull.

He wakes up.

Vince is still not back; it's ten to nine, dark outside, and the slum of London has decided that it wants to drink and forget. Bright neon lights flicker, people laugh and vomit in alleyways, boys and girls frantically try to climb the social ladder by looking for the most desirable mate.

What's the point of freedom when it's doomed?

He thinks of turning on the speakers, of pumping out the miserable atmosphere and replace it with the best music he will ever make – the music that is approved in this household, that doesn't get scolded at by his father or criticised because they contain satanic messages. He thinks of going to the kitchen and spread some beans on a piece of toast, or maybe order pizza as a surprise for Vince.

Instead he lays, the bed soft and warm on his back, and thinks about the big questions, the ones Aristotle couldn't answer.

Who am I?

Seth Holdsworth, twenty-six-year-old almost-broke indie music producer. Professionally known as StethS. Currently unemployed and looks forward to any opportunity to contribute to a company that appreciates talent.

Why am I here?

London? Because it seems like a place with open arms and opportunities, an unfamiliarity to escape from Renfrew. Earth? Pure bad luck.

Where am I going?

Nowhere in life. Out of the closet. Anything but anywhere.

He hears the door lock rattle, panics inside and freezes. Maybe it's Vince; maybe it's a psychopath with a chainsaw at the ready; maybe it's both. The odds aren't really in his favour. Then he hears a girl, loud and slightly slurred.

"I'm just sayin', it wouldn't hurt to try." She shrills, immediately followed by Vince's raspy, magnetic voice. There's a reason why every now and then he's featured on Seth's tracks.

"Leena, please go home so you're safe and sound. This life isn't for you."

StethS – Isn't For You Ft. Vincent X.

There's a short silence, then the girl grunts and leaves, her heels tapping prettily far away and down the stairs.

Everything goes to quiet. Seth's eyes are closed, one of his legs off the edge of the bed. He holds his left arm straight up, palm open. Every time Seth is surprised by how effortless it is to raise an arm when laying down.

"What did she want?" Seth asks.

It's always a surprise.

Every day when Vince returns to their apartment, the first thing he checks is whether his roommate has killed himself. Today it's a no. The second thing is how desperate for love Seth looks. Today it's a seven.

"Never mind her. You okay?" He leans against the door frame to Seth's bedroom.

The arm pointing up falls onto the bed with a soft poof. "Can I tell you something?"

"Depends. Did you have a dream?"

The hallway is dimly lit by a yellow light bulb that flickers if it rains. It cast Vince's shadow onto Seth's body unevenly. In the dark Seth smiles.

Living with a mentally unstable musician isn't the worst. The worst thing, for Vince, is having to see all the worst expressions he could possibly see on a daily basis. They're raw every time he dares to glance past Seth's unintentionally dramatic face, they cut and they slash and they make flesh wounds that somehow don't heal.

Right now it's a shade of desperate that you cannot paint with light nor black, because that's too easy a way out. The smile on Seth's face seems to clench tight onto whatever it can grab or make do with. Like dangerous half-truths.

"You said you loved me. I fell backwards out of the window."

Silence. The light bulb flickers a little, momentarily giving in to the bright neon colours that are spilling through the window.

"Seems like a big reaction for the L word." Vince tears his glance away, and then it's as if the spell was broken; Seth sits up to close his window. The frame doesn't come loose.

Maybe in a million miles, on a highway through the skies, someday soon we'll be together.

Silence tells lies. Right now it's saying everything is okay. It's raining outside.

"Want beans on toast?" Vince asks, the sound echoes off walls.

Want you.

"No."