Postcards From No Man's Land
Twisted Love
Frank woke up with the gritty feeling of dried sweat clinging to his skin. His body was cramped and his muscles tight from lying in the same single position all night. His arms were fastened around a skeletal boy with tear tracks that formed currents in his face. His body was molded around the boy's as well, as if his chest was welded to the boy's back and their legs tangled like vines.
It was natural for him to immediately think of sex. There was the automatic thrill in the image of writhing, twisting bodies, slick with sweat and love. Wild-cat screams and entwined limbs. One person, not two, the joining of much more than bodies and tongues.
But then it was different. With Frank and Mikey, it was always different. Frank did not simply want to fuck Mikey up in one drunk, rambling night. He did not want it to escape his memory in the morning after, courtesy of drugs, alcohol, and the Masquerade. Frank's mind was more than one-track.
No, he wanted it to be a dance. A burning ballet of sweat and smiles and three little words that were larger than life. He wanted to spin.
With a glance at Mikey's sour-vomit clothes and their tangled, jean-clad legs, Frank came to the conclusion that they had only slept together in the most literal sense, and the conclusion was not as disappointing as it might have been. Just another night of another sort of dancing, another sort of drug, another sort of love. One-way street love. Unrequited love. The love of a boy for another boy, and that boy for his own brother. Twisted love.
Have you ever been lonely? Frank wanted to ask the sleeping boy. He saw the frown on Mikey's sullen sleepy face, and he wanted to ask, Do you feel the emptiness in your heart?
Because Frank felt the emptiness. He felt the emptiness that was too deep for words and for kisses and for wild-thing love. He felt the emptiness that had a hold on Mikey's heart, which was withering every day.
Have you ever been lonely? Gerard asked Frank.
He was a whisper in the air, just another of Frank's breathy heartbeats. His voice was Mikey snuggling closer, desperate for any sort of human contact. Gerard's voice was Frank's love-drenched lips pressing right down on Mikey's heart, through his sweater and his skin and his muscle and his bone. Right down to his very fucking heart, where Mikey was so goddamned lonely it could break a heart.
Three hearts in the room were shattered.
I am not lonely, Frank thought as Mikey's eyes began to flutter open, the world shielded from his broken irises. I am not lonely, he thought as Mikey pressed his face to Frank's sweatshirt that smelled like Whiskey and vomit and Gerard's hazy cigarettes. I am not lonely, he thought as the loneliest boy pulled himself up and pressed his swollen lips to Frank's. Twisted love.
Gerard's smile enveloped them, and the room smelled of sadness.
Do you feel the emptiness in your heart?
And for that Eternal second in time, neither of them felt the loneliness or the emptiness of their twisted love.
It was natural for him to immediately think of sex. There was the automatic thrill in the image of writhing, twisting bodies, slick with sweat and love. Wild-cat screams and entwined limbs. One person, not two, the joining of much more than bodies and tongues.
But then it was different. With Frank and Mikey, it was always different. Frank did not simply want to fuck Mikey up in one drunk, rambling night. He did not want it to escape his memory in the morning after, courtesy of drugs, alcohol, and the Masquerade. Frank's mind was more than one-track.
No, he wanted it to be a dance. A burning ballet of sweat and smiles and three little words that were larger than life. He wanted to spin.
With a glance at Mikey's sour-vomit clothes and their tangled, jean-clad legs, Frank came to the conclusion that they had only slept together in the most literal sense, and the conclusion was not as disappointing as it might have been. Just another night of another sort of dancing, another sort of drug, another sort of love. One-way street love. Unrequited love. The love of a boy for another boy, and that boy for his own brother. Twisted love.
Have you ever been lonely? Frank wanted to ask the sleeping boy. He saw the frown on Mikey's sullen sleepy face, and he wanted to ask, Do you feel the emptiness in your heart?
Because Frank felt the emptiness. He felt the emptiness that was too deep for words and for kisses and for wild-thing love. He felt the emptiness that had a hold on Mikey's heart, which was withering every day.
Have you ever been lonely? Gerard asked Frank.
He was a whisper in the air, just another of Frank's breathy heartbeats. His voice was Mikey snuggling closer, desperate for any sort of human contact. Gerard's voice was Frank's love-drenched lips pressing right down on Mikey's heart, through his sweater and his skin and his muscle and his bone. Right down to his very fucking heart, where Mikey was so goddamned lonely it could break a heart.
Three hearts in the room were shattered.
I am not lonely, Frank thought as Mikey's eyes began to flutter open, the world shielded from his broken irises. I am not lonely, he thought as Mikey pressed his face to Frank's sweatshirt that smelled like Whiskey and vomit and Gerard's hazy cigarettes. I am not lonely, he thought as the loneliest boy pulled himself up and pressed his swollen lips to Frank's. Twisted love.
Gerard's smile enveloped them, and the room smelled of sadness.
Do you feel the emptiness in your heart?
And for that Eternal second in time, neither of them felt the loneliness or the emptiness of their twisted love.