Between The Lies

Preliminaries

Under the high whine of Elvis Presley, the sleek black Mustang cruised down the lone freeway. She turned the radio up and kept the headlights on. The yellowed yet bright beam sparkled into the night and faded against the glistening stretch of tarmac. The wind had pushed on the car to no avail as the tyres made their monotonous hiss over the rain-washed road.

She inhaled that grey stench, the odour that foretold of tar-infested lungs and her death-bed. There was something rotten in her eyes as she took each drag, as if she perversely lured on that morbid end to punish those who had caused her pain. She wasn't stopping for anything and she wasn't taking her foot off the gas for a little rain either. Wrapping her long fingers around the hip flask and raising it to sip, she felt her heat leach into the curious crimson liquid. A sour and vile taste slid into her mouth, stealing away the reality. She came to lust after it, but she lost the opportunity to steer clear of an approaching car without its headlights on.

The car tumbled over and over into the dark. The only sound that filled her ears were the shattering of glass and the distinct crackles of her bones. The moment the car hit the trees, she assumed she was dead. But she kept waking. Glued to the wheel of her wrecked car, she could taste the blood pooling in her mouth. She felt like she laid there for hours, fading and waking. The torment was the sole thing keeping her alive. But then she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.

Every time his priest father read those verses, he felt depleted.

Confined in his meagre room, he had never peeked over the edge into the world beyond. But he wanted to. People weren't the bastions of truth and they weren't going to decide the true way to live for him either. He was gay. But it didn't mean he was going to hell, if there was a hell at all.

He tipped the brush with paint as the smoke twisted in its artistic way, forming curls in the gloom. His hand moved over the canvas, channelling his emotions. However, his focus was scattered. He didn't want to admit his fear, but he had to. It was at a level that could induce numbness, but he carried on as if nothing was wrong. Of course, everything was wrong. A sudden rap on the window pulled him out of his thoughts. Walking over to the cracked window, he pushed it open.

"Careful there."

The boy's eyes were green but not the kind of shade that is easy to describe. It was almost like they were both green and yellow at the same time, with blue creeping in around the edges as if it were trying to take over. The boy studied him, holding onto the window seal. A smile crept on his face, a hint of victory surrounding it.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" His lover asked him, almost taunting. "Come on, pull me up."

The moment those feet touched the floor, their lips met. The tender touch made the room around them disappear. It was the promise of realness, of the desire that lived in them. As they pulled back, their hearts burned with the flame of their love. But it didn't feel the same anymore.

"Is it...done?" He was breathless.

"Not yet. But soon, mon amour."

"We shouldn't have agreed to this." He walked over to the window again as an angry voice followed.

"Time is against us. We couldn't risk anyone knowing about us. They will never accept us, you know that."

"He knows." He shrugged and turned around.

"We can trust him."

"Can we?" He snapped, squinting through hardened eyes.

"You can trust me, at least. After tonight, we will have nothing to worry about."

His eyes fluttered close as a warm hand rested on his cheek. Every time they drew closer, his heart beat harder and faster. He always feared it could be heard. But not anymore. He wanted him to know this time.

As their fingers caressed each other's skin, they became one. One mind with one goal and purpose. He was his drug. One touch and the intoxication was instant. They were as close as two souls can ever be. The moment their bodies hit those rough sheets, a car ran off a road somewhere in the night.

* * *

A mist, with silent steps. Her eyes transfixed on the figure, her heart drenched by fear.

"Is she dead?" Her voice was strained.

"Yes." He turned around and reached out his hand for her. She didn't take it. She could'nt take her eyes off the body. That caramel hair was scattered, stained with dried blood. Those emerald eyes were half open. That porcelain skin had sunken in tone to something so lifeless it scared her just to look at it.

Amelia Rutherford was dead. And they killed her.

She felt a gentle stroke of a hand on her midriff. Her breathing became erratic, deep and shallow. Her body yearned to push him away, but she knew she couldn't. He came close enough to whisper into her ear.

"How delicate and vulnerable they are, don't you think?" It was a threat.

"Yes, they are." She quivered, a freezing chill bringing numbness to her fingers.

He pulled back and gave her a crooked, forbidding smile. His bloodshot eyes twitched uncomfortably as he glared at her.

"You have promises to keep. Remember that." With that, he made his way towards his car.

But she couldn't move. The guilt was like gasoline in her guts. Her insides were dying in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze.

"I know." She whispered into the night as a lone tear traced down her cheek.