I Am Your Tourniquet

Twiggy took a deep breath and knocked. He knew he was home, the lights were on and his car was in the drive. After no answer he knocked again. Still no answer. Knowing it was extremely unlikely, judging by the tone of the voice messages, that the singer was simply sulking, Twiggy felt a twinge of panic. He’d always felt almost a psychic connection to Marilyn, they each seemed to know when something was up with the other one, and right know he felt something was definitely up. He tried the door – it was unlocked.

“Marilyn?” he called, gingerly stepping inside. Jesus, the place was a mess. It seemed he’d smashed everything up in a fit of rage and simply left it. “Marilyn?” he called again, a little louder this time. The light was on in the bedroom, Twiggy headed towards it and pushed the door open.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. Marilyn was lying in a pool of red liquid, surrounded by fragments of glass and a bloodied knife at his side. His arms were shredded and he looked to be unconscious.

Grabbing the first aid supply he knew was in the bathroom cabinet, he began to clean and bandage his wrists. Fuck, he’d really done himself a lot of damage, it didn’t look like he’d lost enough blood to knock him out though. Copious amounts of alcohol most likely had something to do with it. Once he’d cleaned up his arms he began to tidy up the glass pieces, and after wiping the knife off he placed it back in the drawer. He was just turning round when he heard him stir.

“Tw...Twiggy?” The bassist spun round to kneel beside his partner. “Twiggy are you...what are...” the disorientated older man clung to his lover’s shirt, his newly bandaged hands running over his chest.

“Shh, shh it’s okay, I’m here,” the younger man wrapped his arms around him. “Oh God I’m so sorry, I’ve been an idiot, please forgive me. I never meant you hurt you like this...” the tears began to course down his cheeks as he rocked back and forth, his arms around his partner’s chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Twiggy, Twiggy I’m so sorry. Please come back to me, I’ll treat you right, I swear. Please don’t...I’m so fucking sorry, if I could change everything I would. I love you so much.” At the mention of those words, the younger man smiled through his tears and placed a kiss onto his lips.

“I love you too. You know...” he cast a worried glance down to his arms “we should really get you to a hospital or something.”

“I don’t want a hospital.” The singer said adamantly. “I just want you.”

“You’ve got me,” he whispered. “You’ve got me forever.”