LIAR [Joaquin Phoenix ff]

Prologue

What can really give us the confidence on each move we are bound to make day by day?
What can lead us to think that that will be the right move to make for us, for whoever we’re gonna meet and for whoever we’ve left behind?
Let’s face it. How many useless questions do we make to ourselves and, plus, how many time do we lose on looking for answers just to try to head something that’s bigger than us?
How many time don’t we spend in asking ourselves if this is really what we want? The life we’re living. Is it the same life we used to dream of? Or else, are we just vapid pieces of flesh, living passively on this earth?
We just don’t think about it. Maybe we just don’t care or we’re forced to.
We seem to don’t give a damn about the things we have, about the unavoidable silent skimming of time, about what we lose.
We don’t seem to remember the eyes of the loved ones anymore.
Do I remember the glow that used to light up his gaze in the darkness of the room? I don’t.
We don’t seem to notice the tiny things that surround us in every moment. Like the sound of the water that boils in the pot.
Like the hair that doesn’t fit in the ponytail.
Like the phone that keeps ringing since the other night.
Like him not coming back home.

I mean, of course, I noticed that.
I’m just trying to get rid of that annoying void that’s hunting the house. Of the empty and cold left side of the bed.
Of the sound of my voice echoing between those sad walls, waiting for a response that simply won’t come.

I don’t care if the wardrobe’s still full of his clothes, I’m not gonna spend my days waiting for him to come back to take his stuff away.
His books, his suits, the bottle of his perfume still laying on the bathroom shelf, his shoes, his DVDs collection.
I won’t wait for him to definitely leave our house. Or my life.
Will it be like one of his stupid movies?
I can barely imagine myself, with my back leaning on the wall, one of his big t-shirts between my hands, sobbing silently, begging him to stay, while he angrily puts random stuff in his bag.
How pathetic.

You know, at least the incessant ringing of the phone doesn’t make me feel alone.
On the other side, he's probably praying for me to pick up the phone, to give him another chance.
Oh, please. Forgive me.
Bullshit, on bullshit, on big fucking bullshit.

As far as I’m concerned, he can spend his whole life with one ear glued to the phone, hoping to hear my voice on the other side.
I’ve been the mouse stuck in his snare for so long, that it’d be ridiculous if I answered his calls.
I feel so mighty right now, ignoring the annoying metallic sound that scans my days.

I’ve been having a strange dream lately.
I’m standing in front of him and he's so calm and gentle, as he was in the beginning.
He has an Oscar in his hands and I’m yelling at him.
Congratulations, I say, that’s for being the best leading actor of your life.
You’re made up of lies, I say.
That’s kinda weird, you know. Cause he doesn’t say anything, he just smiles politely, blankly. I find it quite creepy.

I’ve always found him quite creepy.

It’s been five days and I’ve not answered yet. I think I could report him, but I don’t know if I’d ever do that.

I give up, I just grab the receiver and a female voice hits me.
Of course it’s not him, you jerk.
I’ve never hated him more than this in my whole life.

“We’ve been trying to talk to you, ma'am.”

“We found your number in his phone, it was the last call.”

“There's been an accident.”

“You should come.”

Should I? Really?
Close-up to my frightened face, detail on my wet eyes.
I don’t even answer to the kind woman that waits for me to realize the amount of information she’s given to me.
The receiver just slips out of my trembling hand, ending on the carpet with a deaf noise.
The next thing I remember is me, running in the traffic, with the thick rain falling upwind on my face.
Being this way, I’m not even able to say if I’m crying or not.
Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.
To run for more than fifteen blocks on a rainy day cannot be a good idea if you’re able to think straight, but considering this particular situation, I surely am not.
I don’t even feel the rain on my skin.
I don’t even feel the ache in my chest.

I’ve got his eyes stuck in my mind since the last time I saw him.
Perhaps it’s been a week. Or a month.
I see them on people’s faces.
I see them on the face of the man with the white coat that brings me to his room.

I see them on your face. They’re closed.
You look the way you did a week ago, only with more beard and less consciousness.
I stay still on the doorstep, calmly looking at the reddish grazes on your cheekbones.
Looking at your pale skin.
I’ve always struggled in thinking about you being this calm and, before now, it was unimaginable to see you staying still for more than five minutes.

I silently sit on the corner of your bed and place a hand on your left thigh, mildly squeezing it between my fingers.
I probably want you to wake up, that’s it.

The room’s filled with the constant noise of the ECG and the beat of my heart seems to adapt to yours.
I can hear it my head, the loud sound of each beat.
This could drive me crazy, this thunderous silence that only makes me think louder. I hate it.

-Joaquin…- I just whisper your name, maybe to defeat this overwhelming quiet.

My right hand goes to your curly greyish hair, rubbing them, softly playing with some locks.
A smile appears on my face and I barely notice that.

My hand slips slowly on his face and my head desperately tries to understand what’s been the mistake that inevitably destroyed the things we used to share.

While staying here, on the edge of this uncomfortable white bed, I feel like it’s the first time I look at him.

It feels like the first time I dared to touch his skin, with unsecure hands and burning desire.

A sudden shiver runs through my spine and I can’t control my feelings anymore.
I take another look at his closed eyes and I make myself closer to his calm face.

-Do you remember the first time we met?-

_laudaxx says:
Wroom wroom, people.
Let me know what you think about the prologue of this new story.
It's the first time i write about Joaquin and it's the first time i dare to write something in english (which obviously is not my main language).
I hope to write soon the next chapter,

_laudaxx_