Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

quarter

How could you have let him go so easily?? Run after him!

I'm kicking myself on the inside. Timmy's obviously hurt. Something is wrong with him. He was smoking a joint like it was no big deal, and he's probably headed off to get more. What was I thinking, just letting him go?

I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms tight around my ankles. I don't often sit like this, partly because I feel vulnerable, but mostly because nobody's going to come behind me and hold my shaking body from behind while I cry. Nobody's going to make me feel like I matter. 

"You don't matter, that's why."

"Shut up," I tell my brain. 

"Why? You know it's true. You're just pathetic little Damian, crying because his boyfriend's dead and he has nobody to talk to."

"Shut up," I repeat, but the voice has no intention of stopping. 

"So he pushes everyone away, like little Timmy, so he can curl up and sob about how sad his life is. Poor Damian, starving himself like a desperate model. Do you know where Timmy is? He's off doing drugs, and it's all your fault. You should just kill yourself now, nobody would miss you anyway."

"Stop. Fucking stop. I don't need this."  I pull myself to my feet. "I don't need you telling me what I already know."

"So where are you headed?"

A smile creeps across my face. I have the power here. "You'll see."

I walk beside the metal rails, studying the ground for fragments of broken glass or other sharp objects. It's not like I want to be this desperate, but I haven't really been given another choice. Something has to be done before I completely lose it. 

I don't find anything. Huddled under the branches of a familiar tree, I struggle to light a cigarette with minimal luck. The water ruins the tobacco and it's disintegrates in my hand. I'm starting to run low. 

My stomach growls and my lungs beg for smoke. "I can't give you what you want," I spit at my insides. "I can't give anybody what they want."

Alcohol. Fuck I want to get drunk. The warm buzz that starts in my stomach and spreads through my limbs until everything is fuzzy and safe. Getting drunk with Justin under the stars, and I'd rest my head on his chest and let him wrap his arms around my waist. Nothing sexual while we were drunk, we promised each other, and it was a good promise too.

"I don't want to take advantage of you," Justin teased and grabbed my ass, "because you're just too sexy for me to keep my hands off you sober, and I don't want to know what I might do drunk."

"You're just afraid you'll forget the best blowjob of your life."

He laughed. "Why don't you give me one now so I can have something to remember instead?"

"Nice try."

He took my hands in his and kissed me softly. His lips tasted like pineapple and mine were cracked and bloody. But who was judging anyway?

I pulled away. "Pineapple? Someone hoping to get lucky?"

"I'm allowed to hope, aren't I?"

I unzipped his jeans. "You're allowed to do more than hope."

What am I doing?

Stop thinking of Justin. He's dead.

He still fills my tummy with butterflies, just not as many. I don't get hard from the memories.