Status: Reuploaded from my old account.
Burn Burn
~
I grimace at the yellowing blinds of the office in which I am currently sat. I’m not sure if this discolouring is from age, lack of washing, or cigarette smoke. Either way, it’s fucking disgusting. On the windowsill, two flies are really starting to get it on. How can they whiz around in the air and still have sex? That must be very… energetic? Vigorous? Athletic? Really Sean, are you seriously analysing two flies fucking? Yep, you definitely need help.
I roll my eyes and continue to gaze out of the window. There isn’t much of a view, just a battered looking parking lot with some upturned bins. Very classy. Yes, I’ve definitely made the right decision choosing this place.
“Sean?”
I snap out of my daze, turning my head back to the middle aged woman behind her desk. She’s looking at me expectantly, probably fully aware that I haven’t been listening even slightly.
The woman sighs and taps her fingers on the mahogany wood of her desk. “Sean, how do you expect to get better if you’re not willing to try?” I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest and slide down in my chair a little. The woman sighs and takes a sip of her black coffee. Ew, black coffee is disgusting. “Now, as I was saying,” She smiles warmly at me, but I can see I’m trying her patience. “How are your feelings about harming yourself at the moment? Have you had any plans for more of a… long term option?”
I grimace, raising my brow. “You can say suicide. There’s no point in dancing around the topic.” My therapist rubs her temple and picks up her pen, then jots down some notes. I roll my eyes, sitting up straighter. “No. I’m not going to kill myself.” I chuckle lightly.
---
The stairs leading up to my apartment always creep me out, every step I take makes them shake and groan, it really isn’t safe. I yawn, pushing my key into the lock and let myself in. Home sweet home, I guess.
“Lana?” I call, dumping my keys on the side desk and I walk through into the front room. There isn’t a response, which means she’s probably out somewhere having a life. Strange girl. Lana’s my girlfriend. Yeah, girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, I do love her, but just not like that. Not anymore, anyway.
I’ve always known I was gay, but I’ve never acted on it. Well, I have a few times. Twice actually. That isn’t the point though. As much as I knew being trapped with her was doing me more harm than good, I could never break up with her. She’s such an amazing, lovely, caring girl and she doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken. Sometimes I think she knows how I feel. She must, how couldn’t she?
I rub my hand down my face and sit down on the sofa, flicking through the channels. Maybe there’s something on Kerrang that could cheer me up? Music is my answer to everything. I nearly choke though, when I type in the channel number. This wasn’t a good idea. Staring back at me, in all of his Welsh beauty, is Ian Watkins.
I quickly flick the television off and stand up, placing my hands on my hips. He was my best friend, but I’ve been avoiding him for so long, I doubt he even gives a shit about me anymore. He’s probably forgotten who I am. If I was him, I’d deny ever knowing someone as fat, ugly and untalented as myself.
My face screws up in pain and I press my lips together, praying for the courage to forget about that man and go to bed. Sleep would do me good. I could never be that brave though, so instead I head over to the kitchen.
I pull open the breadbin and start rummaging around. No, there’s no bread in here, there never has been. Lana and I keep all of our shit that doesn’t have a home in here for some unknown reason.
I finally wrap my long fingers around the thin cardboard box and pull it out. I slide the packaging open to reveal five small matches. I’m running out, must remember to buy some more.
Licking my lips and willing the inside pain to end one more time I pull off my shirt and toss it to the ground. Oh God, my stomach is huge. The flab on my sides is disgusting. It’s actually stomach churning. A tear drips down my cheek at the state of myself forcing me to light the match. I lean my body up against the bench to steady myself, letting my head roll back so I’m staring at the ceiling. I don’t like to watch.
The sudden burning of my skin makes me yelp and let out a cry of absolute agony. The pain is almost unbearable, but I get through it. I move the match and hover it to another part of my body, and another, and another.
I know it’s wrong and I know it’s sick, but it honestly helps me. We all have different ways of coping with difficult emotions, this one is mine. The burning takes the inside pain away and I blow out the match. I hurriedly pull my shirt back on and throw the match in the bin, then push the box back into the breadbin. That would do for today.
The pain in my sides still raging, I head upstairs and walk into the bedroom which I share with my girlfriend. The room smells of her perfume, making her smile. Although I’m not in love with her, I do really love her. She’s like my best friend, who unfortunately happens to also be my girlfriend.
I sigh and tap our dresser, then turn and leave the room. She probably won’t be home for hours, so I may as well have a shower. When I get to the bathroom, I turn the dial on the shower, allowing the water to heat up before I get in. No one likes cold showers. I pull my shirt over my head again and take a look at my wounds, they’re particularly nasty today. They look angry, and they’re still burning.
I gulp then remove the rest of my clothes and I’m sickened by what I see before me. I’m hideous. Ian would never want me. This is probably why Lana’s always out. She doesn’t want to face the fact that she’s dating a fatass.
Wiping another tear from my face, I step into the warm spray and close the curtain behind me. The water makes my burn marks tingle painfully, but it’s a nice kind of pain, so I don’t mind. I close my eyes and just stand, letting the water massage me, taking away all the tension I’ve been feeling. I swear I should just give up therapy all together and take a load of showers instead. It’s much more helpful.
I smirk at that thought. If I didn’t go to therapy, no matter how much it annoyed me, I’d be dead. It isn’t helpful at all, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to, when anyone else I tell about the shit in my head just thinks I’m mad.
I hear the door open behind me and inwardly make the biggest girly scream I can. I’m probably about to be raped and killed my some psychopath from a movie. Oh well. Gulping, I wipe my eyes and blink hard, fumbling around behind the curtain. It’s probably just Lana home early. Who would want to kill me? I’m awesome.
“Sean?”
My heart stops at the voice. I know who it is. “I-Ian?” I stutter back, trying to find a way to cover myself up, then I remember the shower curtain’s shielding me from mentally scarring my best friend. “What are you doing here?”
Ian stay’s quiet and I wonder if he’s ever going to answer me, but he does. “I-I don’t know. I guess I miss you.” He chuckled. I hear him pull down his jeans and at first I think he’s about to have a piss or something while I’m showering, which would be gross, but now I can her the nest of his clothes being removed. Oh, God. “Why have you been avoiding me?” He asks. From the sound of his voice, he’s very close, probably right outside the curtain.
Sean, calm down you dirty bugger. This isn’t what you think. Ian’s a sex god and you’re a fat freak. “I-I’m not.”
“Liar.” Ian pushed the curtain along and climbs into the shower with me, then closes the curtain again behind him. I have my back to my friend and my heart is accelerating at ridiculous speeds. Suddenly two tattooed arms word their was around my waste and Ian pulls his body into mine. Yes, he’s definitely naked. I’m not complaining. His lips gently touch my ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “Don’t avoid me, Seanie. I like to be close to you.”
I nod slowly, then groan like a whore as I feel a hand begin to stroke me. Fuuuuck.
---
Ian won’t look at me. He’s pulling his clothes on as quick as possible in silence. He hates me. I know he hates me. I don’t blame him. I gulp and continue to get dressed, staring down at my feet. Everything had been so perfect, and then my ugly body had to ruin everything. I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down my face, as much as I tried.
Ian finally looks up to me, anger clear on his face at first, but then he sees the state I’m in and rushes forward, taking me in his arms. “Hey, hey, baby it’s okay. It’s okay.” He shushes me, stroking the back of my damp, blonde hair. “I’m not mad.” He whispers into my hair and kisses my head gently. “I promise I’m not mad, Seanie. I’m just scared.”
I shake my head at that. He has no reason to be scared, and that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to hurt him. “I-I-I’m s-so sorry.” I sniff, trying to wipe my eyes, but Ian’s still hugging me tightly.
He takes a step back, holding both of my hands now. He gives me a small smile, while rubbing his thumb over my hand. “Everything’s going to be okay, Seanie. I’ll look after you.” Ian steps forward again and kisses me passionately, pulling our bodies together.
Maybe my life isn’t as bad as I had thought.
I roll my eyes and continue to gaze out of the window. There isn’t much of a view, just a battered looking parking lot with some upturned bins. Very classy. Yes, I’ve definitely made the right decision choosing this place.
“Sean?”
I snap out of my daze, turning my head back to the middle aged woman behind her desk. She’s looking at me expectantly, probably fully aware that I haven’t been listening even slightly.
The woman sighs and taps her fingers on the mahogany wood of her desk. “Sean, how do you expect to get better if you’re not willing to try?” I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest and slide down in my chair a little. The woman sighs and takes a sip of her black coffee. Ew, black coffee is disgusting. “Now, as I was saying,” She smiles warmly at me, but I can see I’m trying her patience. “How are your feelings about harming yourself at the moment? Have you had any plans for more of a… long term option?”
I grimace, raising my brow. “You can say suicide. There’s no point in dancing around the topic.” My therapist rubs her temple and picks up her pen, then jots down some notes. I roll my eyes, sitting up straighter. “No. I’m not going to kill myself.” I chuckle lightly.
---
The stairs leading up to my apartment always creep me out, every step I take makes them shake and groan, it really isn’t safe. I yawn, pushing my key into the lock and let myself in. Home sweet home, I guess.
“Lana?” I call, dumping my keys on the side desk and I walk through into the front room. There isn’t a response, which means she’s probably out somewhere having a life. Strange girl. Lana’s my girlfriend. Yeah, girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, I do love her, but just not like that. Not anymore, anyway.
I’ve always known I was gay, but I’ve never acted on it. Well, I have a few times. Twice actually. That isn’t the point though. As much as I knew being trapped with her was doing me more harm than good, I could never break up with her. She’s such an amazing, lovely, caring girl and she doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken. Sometimes I think she knows how I feel. She must, how couldn’t she?
I rub my hand down my face and sit down on the sofa, flicking through the channels. Maybe there’s something on Kerrang that could cheer me up? Music is my answer to everything. I nearly choke though, when I type in the channel number. This wasn’t a good idea. Staring back at me, in all of his Welsh beauty, is Ian Watkins.
I quickly flick the television off and stand up, placing my hands on my hips. He was my best friend, but I’ve been avoiding him for so long, I doubt he even gives a shit about me anymore. He’s probably forgotten who I am. If I was him, I’d deny ever knowing someone as fat, ugly and untalented as myself.
My face screws up in pain and I press my lips together, praying for the courage to forget about that man and go to bed. Sleep would do me good. I could never be that brave though, so instead I head over to the kitchen.
I pull open the breadbin and start rummaging around. No, there’s no bread in here, there never has been. Lana and I keep all of our shit that doesn’t have a home in here for some unknown reason.
I finally wrap my long fingers around the thin cardboard box and pull it out. I slide the packaging open to reveal five small matches. I’m running out, must remember to buy some more.
Licking my lips and willing the inside pain to end one more time I pull off my shirt and toss it to the ground. Oh God, my stomach is huge. The flab on my sides is disgusting. It’s actually stomach churning. A tear drips down my cheek at the state of myself forcing me to light the match. I lean my body up against the bench to steady myself, letting my head roll back so I’m staring at the ceiling. I don’t like to watch.
The sudden burning of my skin makes me yelp and let out a cry of absolute agony. The pain is almost unbearable, but I get through it. I move the match and hover it to another part of my body, and another, and another.
I know it’s wrong and I know it’s sick, but it honestly helps me. We all have different ways of coping with difficult emotions, this one is mine. The burning takes the inside pain away and I blow out the match. I hurriedly pull my shirt back on and throw the match in the bin, then push the box back into the breadbin. That would do for today.
The pain in my sides still raging, I head upstairs and walk into the bedroom which I share with my girlfriend. The room smells of her perfume, making her smile. Although I’m not in love with her, I do really love her. She’s like my best friend, who unfortunately happens to also be my girlfriend.
I sigh and tap our dresser, then turn and leave the room. She probably won’t be home for hours, so I may as well have a shower. When I get to the bathroom, I turn the dial on the shower, allowing the water to heat up before I get in. No one likes cold showers. I pull my shirt over my head again and take a look at my wounds, they’re particularly nasty today. They look angry, and they’re still burning.
I gulp then remove the rest of my clothes and I’m sickened by what I see before me. I’m hideous. Ian would never want me. This is probably why Lana’s always out. She doesn’t want to face the fact that she’s dating a fatass.
Wiping another tear from my face, I step into the warm spray and close the curtain behind me. The water makes my burn marks tingle painfully, but it’s a nice kind of pain, so I don’t mind. I close my eyes and just stand, letting the water massage me, taking away all the tension I’ve been feeling. I swear I should just give up therapy all together and take a load of showers instead. It’s much more helpful.
I smirk at that thought. If I didn’t go to therapy, no matter how much it annoyed me, I’d be dead. It isn’t helpful at all, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to, when anyone else I tell about the shit in my head just thinks I’m mad.
I hear the door open behind me and inwardly make the biggest girly scream I can. I’m probably about to be raped and killed my some psychopath from a movie. Oh well. Gulping, I wipe my eyes and blink hard, fumbling around behind the curtain. It’s probably just Lana home early. Who would want to kill me? I’m awesome.
“Sean?”
My heart stops at the voice. I know who it is. “I-Ian?” I stutter back, trying to find a way to cover myself up, then I remember the shower curtain’s shielding me from mentally scarring my best friend. “What are you doing here?”
Ian stay’s quiet and I wonder if he’s ever going to answer me, but he does. “I-I don’t know. I guess I miss you.” He chuckled. I hear him pull down his jeans and at first I think he’s about to have a piss or something while I’m showering, which would be gross, but now I can her the nest of his clothes being removed. Oh, God. “Why have you been avoiding me?” He asks. From the sound of his voice, he’s very close, probably right outside the curtain.
Sean, calm down you dirty bugger. This isn’t what you think. Ian’s a sex god and you’re a fat freak. “I-I’m not.”
“Liar.” Ian pushed the curtain along and climbs into the shower with me, then closes the curtain again behind him. I have my back to my friend and my heart is accelerating at ridiculous speeds. Suddenly two tattooed arms word their was around my waste and Ian pulls his body into mine. Yes, he’s definitely naked. I’m not complaining. His lips gently touch my ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “Don’t avoid me, Seanie. I like to be close to you.”
I nod slowly, then groan like a whore as I feel a hand begin to stroke me. Fuuuuck.
---
Ian won’t look at me. He’s pulling his clothes on as quick as possible in silence. He hates me. I know he hates me. I don’t blame him. I gulp and continue to get dressed, staring down at my feet. Everything had been so perfect, and then my ugly body had to ruin everything. I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down my face, as much as I tried.
Ian finally looks up to me, anger clear on his face at first, but then he sees the state I’m in and rushes forward, taking me in his arms. “Hey, hey, baby it’s okay. It’s okay.” He shushes me, stroking the back of my damp, blonde hair. “I’m not mad.” He whispers into my hair and kisses my head gently. “I promise I’m not mad, Seanie. I’m just scared.”
I shake my head at that. He has no reason to be scared, and that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to hurt him. “I-I-I’m s-so sorry.” I sniff, trying to wipe my eyes, but Ian’s still hugging me tightly.
He takes a step back, holding both of my hands now. He gives me a small smile, while rubbing his thumb over my hand. “Everything’s going to be okay, Seanie. I’ll look after you.” Ian steps forward again and kisses me passionately, pulling our bodies together.
Maybe my life isn’t as bad as I had thought.