I had been so tired I hadn’t paid attention when I hit the pillow. I hadn’t anchored myself and I found myself on the sandy beaches I’d once fled to for comfort. Comfort after a certain man with big brown eyes never fucking showed up.
I growled at my scenery but it was much more peaceful. But those brown eyes still haunted me. Why the fuck was he haunting me. Now of all times, in this place. Why did I have to see him in this mark? The eyes, the schedule. I could time my little monsters dreams almost to the minute. I knew exactly when he’d come in and when he’d be whisked away by the darkness.
He’d used this face a number of times, and always when he felt vulnerable. After his mother died in particular came to mind. Clutching my box of things to his chest believing in me. That smile. That fucking smile!
I jolted upright in my bed and I threw the pillow across the room. “Fuck!”
And I had to stay. Poet wanted information. And Poet owing me a favor was worth a lot more than the money. No questions asked he said. But I had to do this job. I had to get close to the fucking kid that broke my heart.
I had to get all of this pent up anger out. I needed a long hard run, but first, I pulled out my laptop and fired up an email program that I hadn’t used in over five years and I wrote my pretty boy – fuck! I’d called him that without thinking… Did he put things together? I don’t know… I didn’t care.
I wrote hurriedly my fingers tapping across the keyboard as my thoughts spewed into the short letter. And I hit send. I didn’t even reread it. I didn’t care. I deleted all trace of it being sent and then then I shut it down. I wanted to hit the delete button. But I still couldn’t make myself do it. I hadn’t for five years, what made me think I could do it now.
I changed quickly into running clothes, it was 4am, the streets of New York City would still have some amount of business too them, but I was going to run until these thoughts were cold and dying and I could function again. I had a job to do nothing more.
June 17, 2017 3:49 AM
Subject: Fuck you!
Fuck you, Pretty Boy,
I haven’t written you in well over five years. And for good fucking reason. You sent your fucking friend to tell me off. And now of all things, of all the fucking times. I had to meet some of your faces. Why the fuck couldn’t you have used actors or something – people who I’d never in a million years run into or could even think were you. You and your big fucking gorgeous brown eyes.
Anytime I think about them I want to melt and whither away from the pain, but here they are fucking staring at me. Why the fuck did you use your real face? Why did you use your friends?
Now I have to push aside all these feelings. Feelings I’ve held on to and pushed away for so long just so I can do a fucking job. One that is worth more than my feelings towards you.
Why the fuck pretty boy. Why the fuck to do I have to know your name now? I hate you. You know that. I fucking hate you.
Alex Kennedy 27 years old