Single Moments
One of Six.
Joe's bottom lip quivered as he held his hand out for the money, avoiding the aged man's eyes. A check was slapped into his hand and the man rolled off the bed and lumbered out the door. "Thank you," Joe squeaked, but wasn't acknowledged. The man pushed his way through the door as Joe lied motionless on the bed. The people who used him were never loving, never held him and whispered kind words in his ear like Matt.
He did this every night, often more than once a day. It made more money than anything else, that's for sure. Sometimes he sang at parties and weddings and such, but no one wanted him anymore. He wasn't what he used to be - not his voice his health, his looks - anything. Matt was the only thing keeping him alive, he was sure of that.
Well, he was done here. But the night was still young. He picked himself off the bed, breathing deeply as he walked into the little adjoined bathroom.
Matt brought in most of the money, but Joe sure did his fair share. And it wasn't easy - the job, or the guilt it made him feel. Under a hot spray, Joe wiped off the remains of his last 'session'. His skin was crawling. He let the scalding water burn into his skin and his tears mix wuth it, flowing down the drain.
Anyone could see why the two loved each other. If they walked into a room together, the love just radiated. They'd met at one of Matt's concerts. Backstage, they just instantly clicked. The way they look at and talk to each other, you know it's love. But Matt had to quit his band recently, when he got sick - that's why Joe did what he did. To pay for Matt's care, and to make the time he had left the best. Matt didn't have much longer... and they knew it.
Joe left the apartment and trudged down the streets. The old parking garage was where he made most of his business. People were always down there, looking for a quick fix. And it wasn't used for anything else.
Joe easily walked through the wide enterance, shuffling down the long ramp to the underground level. He flared his nostrils at the smell of smoke from cigarettes and weed. Young women and men dressed in tight clothing dotted the middle of the garage, while some cars were driving away with someone in them. He leaned against a cement collumn, running his hands over the tight shirt that outlined his abs. It didn't take long for a car to pull up beside him, a window to be rolled down, and a young man to nod at him.
Joe sauntered towards the car and leaned in to the window. He recited his 'talent's, which he was so used to doing now, and stated his price.
And so it was agreed, and so it went.
----------------
Sore, and nauseous, Joe stumbled through the front door. Matt hurried to his side, helping him walk to the bathroom. Joe had resisted throwing up in the taxi he took home. He bent over and hurled the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
Coughing, he lifted his head up, gasping for air. This job often made him horribly sick. He shuddered as Matt just hugged him tightly. With one arm, he reached for a bottle of Tums on the counter and handed Joe a dose.
"Thank you," he breathed, swallowing it quickly, still panting.
"Joe, please stop doing this to yourself. I can pay for the chemo myself, honestly," Matt begged, though he knew Joe was the only reason he was alive.
"It's fine, Matt. I'm used to it," he managed to say, standing upright. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up again.
"I don't want you to be. I don't want you to pay for me, I'm going to die, anyway..."
"Don't say that!" Matt wailed. "Don't ever say that, Matt! I'm not going to let you die!"
"I love you, Joe. But why don't you get a different job?"
"It pays more than anything out there," Joe panted. "I made six thousand bucks today."
"Oh my God, Joe..." Matt whispered, hugging him tightly. "I love you so much. Just please don't hurt yourself."
"I won't, I know my limits. I love you, baby," he said quietly, kissing Matt to seal his promise.
He did this every night, often more than once a day. It made more money than anything else, that's for sure. Sometimes he sang at parties and weddings and such, but no one wanted him anymore. He wasn't what he used to be - not his voice his health, his looks - anything. Matt was the only thing keeping him alive, he was sure of that.
Well, he was done here. But the night was still young. He picked himself off the bed, breathing deeply as he walked into the little adjoined bathroom.
Matt brought in most of the money, but Joe sure did his fair share. And it wasn't easy - the job, or the guilt it made him feel. Under a hot spray, Joe wiped off the remains of his last 'session'. His skin was crawling. He let the scalding water burn into his skin and his tears mix wuth it, flowing down the drain.
Anyone could see why the two loved each other. If they walked into a room together, the love just radiated. They'd met at one of Matt's concerts. Backstage, they just instantly clicked. The way they look at and talk to each other, you know it's love. But Matt had to quit his band recently, when he got sick - that's why Joe did what he did. To pay for Matt's care, and to make the time he had left the best. Matt didn't have much longer... and they knew it.
Joe left the apartment and trudged down the streets. The old parking garage was where he made most of his business. People were always down there, looking for a quick fix. And it wasn't used for anything else.
Joe easily walked through the wide enterance, shuffling down the long ramp to the underground level. He flared his nostrils at the smell of smoke from cigarettes and weed. Young women and men dressed in tight clothing dotted the middle of the garage, while some cars were driving away with someone in them. He leaned against a cement collumn, running his hands over the tight shirt that outlined his abs. It didn't take long for a car to pull up beside him, a window to be rolled down, and a young man to nod at him.
Joe sauntered towards the car and leaned in to the window. He recited his 'talent's, which he was so used to doing now, and stated his price.
And so it was agreed, and so it went.
----------------
Sore, and nauseous, Joe stumbled through the front door. Matt hurried to his side, helping him walk to the bathroom. Joe had resisted throwing up in the taxi he took home. He bent over and hurled the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
Coughing, he lifted his head up, gasping for air. This job often made him horribly sick. He shuddered as Matt just hugged him tightly. With one arm, he reached for a bottle of Tums on the counter and handed Joe a dose.
"Thank you," he breathed, swallowing it quickly, still panting.
"Joe, please stop doing this to yourself. I can pay for the chemo myself, honestly," Matt begged, though he knew Joe was the only reason he was alive.
"It's fine, Matt. I'm used to it," he managed to say, standing upright. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up again.
"I don't want you to be. I don't want you to pay for me, I'm going to die, anyway..."
"Don't say that!" Matt wailed. "Don't ever say that, Matt! I'm not going to let you die!"
"I love you, Joe. But why don't you get a different job?"
"It pays more than anything out there," Joe panted. "I made six thousand bucks today."
"Oh my God, Joe..." Matt whispered, hugging him tightly. "I love you so much. Just please don't hurt yourself."
"I won't, I know my limits. I love you, baby," he said quietly, kissing Matt to seal his promise.