Fractured Greyhound Routes
escapism.
Mist fogged the windows of the greyhound bus as it road through the freeway. Drizzle sprinkled from the thick clouds overhead sending little droplets to splatter softly on the rusted vehicle that had endured so many sodden afternoons. I looked out the window I had been tracing hearts on, decorating the mist residue with my numb fingertips. Turnpikes passed by, each exit taking me farther from the city I had claimed as my hometown. There was no sun to guide the way, no hopeful ray of light leading me into the turning point for the endless spread of rubble and tar I called my life. Dark nothings lay ahead with every dented highway sign we pass making my teeth chatter just a little faster behind my lips.
I looked down at the boy asleep by my side, his head rested on my lap and fingers intertwined with mine like delicate vines clinging with it’s last strength to my cold hand. Glasses were askew on his face and the little cheeks he had were squished against my thigh. I smiled down and took my hand away from the window to fiddle with the tips of his hair that were tangled from dried gel but still soft nonetheless. He looked so innocent asleep, like a fucking child, it made my insides twist to think I had touched such porcelain chastity and a pedophilia wave crashed over me. His legs curled on the uncomfortably old, stiff leather seat and mouth agape as he dreamed. Just watching him made my heart break just a little more. I bit my lip and turned away quickly to gaze out the window again.
Images of me breaking him over and over flashed through me. Every time I had ever said I love you, even if I wasn’t exactly sure were true, were beginning to haunt me, hissing curses to me in my dreams and even during my consciousness. It was hard for him to even believe them, he didn’t even try to anymore. I wasn’t sure if they satisfied him now like they had used to. All I could do was watch his eyes darken and look away numbly while he mumbled his own affection, which was actually all honesty. Time wore on and I began to realize he would look away when muttering his subtle 'I love you' from the humiliation of admitting something that I could never return. I tried to believe I loved him, I really did. Through the good days, with shy, comfortable giggles, ice cream foreplay, rooftop kisses, I had actually convinced myself a few times; for a time, it had seemed hopeful for the both of us.
But soon, my grip on his hips became rough of desperate and the crash of our lips turned toxic as paranoia haunts caught up with me. Things stopped being so cute and everyday I just seemed beak him a fraction more until love seemed extinct for us. After the hot release was over, when everything would crash back into reality, it just left him shivering under me and staring expressionlessly down at the bed sheets, probably wondering how things got so brutal between us. I knew what kind of damage I was setting myself up for, but with every new day I was never prepared to see the wreckage I had created. His plump lips were really just thick from the result of my bruising kisses, the scratches down his hips from my fingertips that had clung too tightly, and even as he got up I watched him limp into the bathroom and wince as he bent to pick up his pants.
Apologizes meant nothing anymore. Neither of us believed my pleads for forgiveness, no matter how pretty I spun them. But somehow, he was always holding on and whispering his whimpered sorrys into my ear. There was so many times I had just screamed at him to stop saying he was sorry, bringing me into heavier hysterics that would eventually be shushed into his embrace. Like I was the one that was broken.
I didn’t deserve his comfort. And I hated I was the only one that believed it.
Like butterfly wings, I trailed my lips across his cold cheeks, my lips providing no warmth for him. I traced his Nyquil-sugared lips, still tinted feverish from his last dosage. So soft. Some twisted impulse in me wanted to just dig my fingernails into his smooth skin and cover the flawless oleander-white flesh with red bleeding trails. I wanted to see his blood drip. I wanted to see him destroyed, physically shattered.
I pulled my hands away from him in revulsion and turned my head sharply back to the window. Tears pooled in my eyes and I felt like weeping with pure self loathing. Repulsive waves just lapped through me and I had to stifle a sob. I was sick. So fucking sick. There wasn’t a chance that I could just look at something beautiful and enjoy it’s presence. It felt so much more tranquil to tear it to shreds and watch whatever was left bleed onto the floor before my feet. My poor sweet Mikey wasn’t an exception.
Half-moon dents cut into the skin around my mouth and nose as I clamped my hands over my face and clung feebly with my nails. My teeth dug into my lip to control my shoulders from shaking and disturbing him from his sleep. I could at least leave him alone long enough to escape in his dreams.
Blood.
Ruin.
Tragedy.
Screams.
His screams…
Our sobs.
Apologies.
Blood.
Fuck…
My sobs.
“Frankie?”
I sucked in a sharp breath and quickly wiped my flushed cheeks. A smile stretched across my quivering lips as I turned mechanically to the boy of my disturbed dreams. I hadn’t noticed the feeling return to my thigh as the pressure was relieved and I had only minutes to prepare myself for a lethargic Mikey.
He had straightened his glasses and was now holding himself up with bird-boned arms that shook from his weight. I couldn’t meet his eyes that I knew were observing me sadly. All I could do was cringe and pull him back to me, afraid his arms would snap or his elbows would pop in from all the shivering; I know I would have loved to watch that. I pulled him into my chest and stroked his hair in soft rhythmic brushes. He sighed and laid his head against my chest, listening to every pound of my heart that was moments from running flat line. I think he knew that too by the way he clung to me.
“Did you sleep?” he mumbled against me, his warm breath sending chills through me as he breathed against my chest.
“No.”
There was a moment of just our heartbeats keeping us company and I could swear mine was somehow slower without any strong healthy pump, just slow melodic beats that were barely heard even in my ears.
“Why don’t you sleep Frankie?”
I stopped stroking him and felt like pushing him from me. My lips twisted into a sickened frown that made me prefer the mannequin-fake smile. He knew why I didn’t sleep, yet he asked me this question every time I slipped a tab through my lips with an ounce of coffee to maybe accompanying me. Every night it was the same; me quivering with pent up energy while he tried to lull me to sleep along with him. Eventually he couldn’t keep up with the adderall and amphetamines and would drift asleep, leaving me behind to wrestle with the phyosis that came with insomnia.
“You know why Mikey.” I didn’t look at him. Anywhere else but him. It hurt him but he knew I only hurt ten times more. I flinched when smooth fingertips brushed under my chin to turn my face, it could have been nails scratching down a chalkboard that made me settle easier then his soft grasp. Forest green met sunset hazel. We were silent while losing ourselves in each others’ eyes, both wandering in each others’ worlds for the briefest moments; his harrowing woods and my tainted sun-down. Maybe he could see all my sick desires shining through my homely iris’, because I know I could see his. His eyes wailed to me and I felt like wrenching them out of his sockets.
Break me. Break me. Break me.
“He can’t hurt you.” The brittle shield I had been trying to hold up cracked and I wasn’t sure how to react. A part of me wanted to sob, something I could never do in front of him; he broke enough for the both of us.
Muffle the smoke alarm.
I looked down at Mikey and shook my head, taking his hand and setting it at his side. He wouldn’t let me release him. His fingers clamped around mine and twisted themselves between my sweated digits.
“Please Frankie,” he pleaded. “We left. He can’t get to you anymore.”
“That fucker can’t hurt you anymore, baby.”
My eyelids fluttered shut and I took in a long breath. My head was pounding and it took a good try to pry my eyelids back open and blink away the red exhaustion in my eyes.
“Toss me a cigarette,” I murmured and he frowned. Mikey sighed, rolled over from me and dug into the pockets of my jacket I had lent him back at the bus station.
“We smoked the last one an hour ago.”
Frustrated for sharing the last cigarette with him, I rubbed my eyes with my fists and sniffled. There was no telling how apologetic Mikey was probably looking and I didn’t want to feel guilty right now. Fuck my conscience. Too bad if he wanted a fucking cigarette because he was so fucking nervous to be leaving his home. Even as I snarled bitter profanity it was only all in my head. I’d never yelled at Mikey and for some reason that hurt him even more- I don’t express myself, he says.
Who cares? Who gives a fuck. I could explode into little tiny fucking pieces right now and all anyone would think was how overdue I was. Really? Just barely? I really had no idea why Mikey wants me to yell at him. I explain it in three simple words; you’re fucking crazy. Once he had even asked me to punch him, sock him right in the face. I only shoved him and told him he was insane. No matter how much I ripped and scratched and gnarled and stabbed Mikey in my fantasies, I could never lay a finger on him in reality. Apart from the needy scratches down his hips and teeth marks on his collar, I never struck him outside of the bedroom.
“Frankie?” I grunted and took my hands from my eyes to stare drowsily down at him. I know it made him cringe every time he spotted the swollen vessels in my eyes creeping towards my pupils and dilating them tiredly. There was no sleep, no dreams, no anything; and that’s the way I wanted it. That’s the only way I remember being raised at least.
We both turned to look out the window, both too tired to deal with one another right now. Our fingers stayed attached, mine every once in a while slipping before he latched on.
Just two boys in a hurry to nowhere, holding hands and wishing everything still felt the same like it had before.
I looked down at the boy asleep by my side, his head rested on my lap and fingers intertwined with mine like delicate vines clinging with it’s last strength to my cold hand. Glasses were askew on his face and the little cheeks he had were squished against my thigh. I smiled down and took my hand away from the window to fiddle with the tips of his hair that were tangled from dried gel but still soft nonetheless. He looked so innocent asleep, like a fucking child, it made my insides twist to think I had touched such porcelain chastity and a pedophilia wave crashed over me. His legs curled on the uncomfortably old, stiff leather seat and mouth agape as he dreamed. Just watching him made my heart break just a little more. I bit my lip and turned away quickly to gaze out the window again.
Images of me breaking him over and over flashed through me. Every time I had ever said I love you, even if I wasn’t exactly sure were true, were beginning to haunt me, hissing curses to me in my dreams and even during my consciousness. It was hard for him to even believe them, he didn’t even try to anymore. I wasn’t sure if they satisfied him now like they had used to. All I could do was watch his eyes darken and look away numbly while he mumbled his own affection, which was actually all honesty. Time wore on and I began to realize he would look away when muttering his subtle 'I love you' from the humiliation of admitting something that I could never return. I tried to believe I loved him, I really did. Through the good days, with shy, comfortable giggles, ice cream foreplay, rooftop kisses, I had actually convinced myself a few times; for a time, it had seemed hopeful for the both of us.
But soon, my grip on his hips became rough of desperate and the crash of our lips turned toxic as paranoia haunts caught up with me. Things stopped being so cute and everyday I just seemed beak him a fraction more until love seemed extinct for us. After the hot release was over, when everything would crash back into reality, it just left him shivering under me and staring expressionlessly down at the bed sheets, probably wondering how things got so brutal between us. I knew what kind of damage I was setting myself up for, but with every new day I was never prepared to see the wreckage I had created. His plump lips were really just thick from the result of my bruising kisses, the scratches down his hips from my fingertips that had clung too tightly, and even as he got up I watched him limp into the bathroom and wince as he bent to pick up his pants.
Apologizes meant nothing anymore. Neither of us believed my pleads for forgiveness, no matter how pretty I spun them. But somehow, he was always holding on and whispering his whimpered sorrys into my ear. There was so many times I had just screamed at him to stop saying he was sorry, bringing me into heavier hysterics that would eventually be shushed into his embrace. Like I was the one that was broken.
I didn’t deserve his comfort. And I hated I was the only one that believed it.
Like butterfly wings, I trailed my lips across his cold cheeks, my lips providing no warmth for him. I traced his Nyquil-sugared lips, still tinted feverish from his last dosage. So soft. Some twisted impulse in me wanted to just dig my fingernails into his smooth skin and cover the flawless oleander-white flesh with red bleeding trails. I wanted to see his blood drip. I wanted to see him destroyed, physically shattered.
I pulled my hands away from him in revulsion and turned my head sharply back to the window. Tears pooled in my eyes and I felt like weeping with pure self loathing. Repulsive waves just lapped through me and I had to stifle a sob. I was sick. So fucking sick. There wasn’t a chance that I could just look at something beautiful and enjoy it’s presence. It felt so much more tranquil to tear it to shreds and watch whatever was left bleed onto the floor before my feet. My poor sweet Mikey wasn’t an exception.
Half-moon dents cut into the skin around my mouth and nose as I clamped my hands over my face and clung feebly with my nails. My teeth dug into my lip to control my shoulders from shaking and disturbing him from his sleep. I could at least leave him alone long enough to escape in his dreams.
Blood.
Ruin.
Tragedy.
Screams.
His screams…
Our sobs.
Apologies.
Blood.
Fuck…
My sobs.
“Frankie?”
I sucked in a sharp breath and quickly wiped my flushed cheeks. A smile stretched across my quivering lips as I turned mechanically to the boy of my disturbed dreams. I hadn’t noticed the feeling return to my thigh as the pressure was relieved and I had only minutes to prepare myself for a lethargic Mikey.
He had straightened his glasses and was now holding himself up with bird-boned arms that shook from his weight. I couldn’t meet his eyes that I knew were observing me sadly. All I could do was cringe and pull him back to me, afraid his arms would snap or his elbows would pop in from all the shivering; I know I would have loved to watch that. I pulled him into my chest and stroked his hair in soft rhythmic brushes. He sighed and laid his head against my chest, listening to every pound of my heart that was moments from running flat line. I think he knew that too by the way he clung to me.
“Did you sleep?” he mumbled against me, his warm breath sending chills through me as he breathed against my chest.
“No.”
There was a moment of just our heartbeats keeping us company and I could swear mine was somehow slower without any strong healthy pump, just slow melodic beats that were barely heard even in my ears.
“Why don’t you sleep Frankie?”
I stopped stroking him and felt like pushing him from me. My lips twisted into a sickened frown that made me prefer the mannequin-fake smile. He knew why I didn’t sleep, yet he asked me this question every time I slipped a tab through my lips with an ounce of coffee to maybe accompanying me. Every night it was the same; me quivering with pent up energy while he tried to lull me to sleep along with him. Eventually he couldn’t keep up with the adderall and amphetamines and would drift asleep, leaving me behind to wrestle with the phyosis that came with insomnia.
“You know why Mikey.” I didn’t look at him. Anywhere else but him. It hurt him but he knew I only hurt ten times more. I flinched when smooth fingertips brushed under my chin to turn my face, it could have been nails scratching down a chalkboard that made me settle easier then his soft grasp. Forest green met sunset hazel. We were silent while losing ourselves in each others’ eyes, both wandering in each others’ worlds for the briefest moments; his harrowing woods and my tainted sun-down. Maybe he could see all my sick desires shining through my homely iris’, because I know I could see his. His eyes wailed to me and I felt like wrenching them out of his sockets.
Break me. Break me. Break me.
“He can’t hurt you.” The brittle shield I had been trying to hold up cracked and I wasn’t sure how to react. A part of me wanted to sob, something I could never do in front of him; he broke enough for the both of us.
Muffle the smoke alarm.
I looked down at Mikey and shook my head, taking his hand and setting it at his side. He wouldn’t let me release him. His fingers clamped around mine and twisted themselves between my sweated digits.
“Please Frankie,” he pleaded. “We left. He can’t get to you anymore.”
“That fucker can’t hurt you anymore, baby.”
My eyelids fluttered shut and I took in a long breath. My head was pounding and it took a good try to pry my eyelids back open and blink away the red exhaustion in my eyes.
“Toss me a cigarette,” I murmured and he frowned. Mikey sighed, rolled over from me and dug into the pockets of my jacket I had lent him back at the bus station.
“We smoked the last one an hour ago.”
Frustrated for sharing the last cigarette with him, I rubbed my eyes with my fists and sniffled. There was no telling how apologetic Mikey was probably looking and I didn’t want to feel guilty right now. Fuck my conscience. Too bad if he wanted a fucking cigarette because he was so fucking nervous to be leaving his home. Even as I snarled bitter profanity it was only all in my head. I’d never yelled at Mikey and for some reason that hurt him even more- I don’t express myself, he says.
Who cares? Who gives a fuck. I could explode into little tiny fucking pieces right now and all anyone would think was how overdue I was. Really? Just barely? I really had no idea why Mikey wants me to yell at him. I explain it in three simple words; you’re fucking crazy. Once he had even asked me to punch him, sock him right in the face. I only shoved him and told him he was insane. No matter how much I ripped and scratched and gnarled and stabbed Mikey in my fantasies, I could never lay a finger on him in reality. Apart from the needy scratches down his hips and teeth marks on his collar, I never struck him outside of the bedroom.
“Frankie?” I grunted and took my hands from my eyes to stare drowsily down at him. I know it made him cringe every time he spotted the swollen vessels in my eyes creeping towards my pupils and dilating them tiredly. There was no sleep, no dreams, no anything; and that’s the way I wanted it. That’s the only way I remember being raised at least.
We both turned to look out the window, both too tired to deal with one another right now. Our fingers stayed attached, mine every once in a while slipping before he latched on.
Just two boys in a hurry to nowhere, holding hands and wishing everything still felt the same like it had before.