.A dull throbbing came from my left shoulder, my slingbag digging into
my back. I tossed the last of my breadcrumbs out to the pigeons in the
square, dusted off my hands.
"It's late afternoon already," said Nigel, checking his watch. Nigel
never cared much for the exact hour, always preferring to say to
himself "morning", "afternoon", "evening" and variants thereof.
Because of this, and because he was my walking watch, I never knew
what time it really was. Everything was always vague, at least to me.
I looked up. There was no more warmth from the light, though the sky
was still blue and the sun was still bright.
People were staring at us. They might have been looking at our filthy
clothes, or the way we were careening around the square with our
scraps of old bread and stale crusts, letting them go in the air like
flocks of tiny doves.
"We should go, if I get home late my parents will fucking kill me," I
said to Nigel.
"Okay."
"I want to live here one day," I said, as we headed to the carpark
opposite where we were. Nigel had parked his scooter between two cars,
and passers-by looked at us strangely as I got on behind him.
"Yeah," Nigel turned the bike around, revved it onto the road. "I
wanna live here too, in the city. I love the vibe. Someday, hey?"
We sped along Steller's Road. I relished the wind that rushed past us,
relished the mouthful of Nigel's dirt-blonde hair in my face, loved
the speed at which we cruised.
Half an hour later, we pulled into the driveway of Nigel's townhouse.
"That was pretty fun," I said, as Nigel steered his scooter into the
bike shed. "Too bad it did fuck-all to help with my writer's block."
"Yeah, now I don't even feel like writing. I just wanna relax in my
room, maybe smoke a cigarette and listen to something heavy."
"So much for an inspirational trip to the city. I almost want my bread
money back. How's your manuscript doing, anyway?"
"I'm almost finished with the character introduction."
"Shit, that's more than I've got. Exposition is a pain in the ass.
Who've you got as your main character?"
"Travis Dechoft. He's like me, really. Maybe a bit better-looking."
"So, you're writing some wishful fantasy based on your life? Deep."
"Fuck off. Didn't that one guy say, "Write what you know"? I'm writing
what I know, if people don't like it they can go have sex with
retards."
"Well then, looks like I'd better go off and find myself a lucky
Down's kid to please."
"Yeah, says miss "I've-only-got-half-a-page-of-
my-novel"."
"I'm not even in the novel competition to win. I just want to see if I
can actually finish something for once. Fuck it, you're a better
writer than I am. I really don't have a chance."
"Come on, just try. You're way more creative. We're practically equal."
"Oh well. I'm gonna go now. Cheers, dude."
"Bye."
_____________
"So do you have a plot for your story yet?"
"Yeah. It's about these two people, and they're both writing novels
for a competition and they're really good friends."
"Oh, now who's basing their novel on their life? You're worse than me!"
"Go fuck a retard."
_____________
"Dude, you look upset. What's wrong?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Bullshit. What now?"
"Guess."
"Is it about Candice?"
"She doesn't want anything to do with me."
"Oh shit."
______________
"How's your novel coming along? I've got four chapters, all I need is
some kind of climax and a denoument."
"Seven chapters. I'm about halfway."
"Jesus, are you writing an epic or something?"
"I've been through a lot."
"That's what they all say."
Nigel just looked at me
______________
"I'm almost finished, what about you?"
"I give up."
"What? The deadline is next month! You're almost done! You can't just -"
"Azure, just shut up. I'm not writing anymore. Forget it."
"No! What the fuck dude, what the fuck? I thought we were in this together!"
"I'm serious. Just fuck off, Azure. I don't feel like speaking to you."
_____________
"Christ, that's the third cigarette you've had in a row."
"I'm a chainsmoker par excellence."
"Fuck that. Why don't you just go die of lung cancer or something?"
"Fuck you. One Stuyvesant Red is like three Marlboro lights. So
technically, I've only smoked one cigarette."
"That's bullshit! And who the hell smokes Stuyvesant Red anyway?"
"Maurice does."
"Oh?"
"He says they kill him faster."
"It's not as funny when you know he's being half serious."
_________
"Azure, I need to speak to you."
"Stop looking so serious, it's scary."
Nigel didn't reply as he led me to the hedges.
"Wait, what is this about? Why do we have to be here for you to tell
me? Why can't we just go to the corner wall or something?"
"It's about Maurice."
"Shit," I said. "Is he alright? You sounded like he was really messed
up on Friday. When last did you see him? Did you manage to calm him
down? Did his dad see him?"
Nigel looked straight at me. Or past me. I couldn't tell. "Maurice is dead."
I dropped my sandwich.
"Please don't lie."
"Maurice is dead," Nigel repeated flatly.
__________________________
I rang the doorbell.
"Come in!" I heard Juan's voice through the door, from his room, above
the Apostasy that was blasting at full volume. I let myself in and
found that the door was unlocked.
"Anyone else home?" I said loudly as I made my way to Juan's room.
"Naw, just me."
Upon entering, I was hit by the smell of cigarettes, old beer and
stale pot. Juan was sitting cross-leged on the carpet with a
Stuyvesant in his hand. He took a deep drag.
"Dude, you look like shit." I said to him.
"I am shit. My life is fucking worthless."
"Fuck, NO Juan, don't do that!" Anger consumed me at the sight of Juan
doing this to himself. A perfect creation of nature, destroying the
beauty of the form that had been given to him. I lunged forward and
pinned him to the bed, wrenched the razor away from his grasp. I
didn't care that it scored my hand, causing my blood to spatter the
sheets with red. To my surprise, Juan didn't fight back. He offered no
resistance; was completely submissive underneath me like a captive
animal too weary to fight. I stopped.
Juan looked up at me, and I froze. Because suddenly I could see the
sheer sadness in his hollow stare. The kind of sadness even I was
afraid of. I recognised it. It was the kind of deep, unbearable,
indescribable pain that most people have known, but only in Juan, I
saw it overflowing. It was dulling his eyes, his will to live. I was
frightened by it, but at the same time I boiled with an inexplicable
rage. I bent down.
"You fucking cunt," I hissed. "How dare you to this to yourself. To
everyone you love. To me."
"I'm sorry, Travis. I'm sorry." Juan looked away.
"You goddam liar. You're not sorry."
"If you knew me as well as you thought you did, you wouldn't be sorry either."
The words stunned me. I was speechless. I shook my head. "Juan, no."
"Travis, you have to help me." Juan said quietly.
"No." I whispered.
Juan didn't look away this time. "You know this pain. I can't live
like this anymore, Travis. I'm worn out."
"Juan..."
I suddenly felt Juan's hands gripping my arms, guiding them to his
neck. I could feel the cool skin, felt his steady pulse on my fingers,
felt the muscles tense and relax with every ragged breath he took.
"Please," Juan begged softly. "Do this for me, Travis. Please."
I pressed down. I no longer felt like a human. I was a machine. I
closed my eyes as I felt Juan struggle, but I didn't let go. I knew
that if he had wanted, he could easily have thrown me off. But he
didn't. I couldn't feel myself anymore. I was merely a detached,
emotionless shell. I felt Juan tense up underneath me. I kept
pressing.
I couldn't remember anything after that.
___________
I was shaking. My face felt numb.
So this was why he stopped writing.
This would never make a novel. Not when it was true.
______________
It started to drizzle. I ran towards Nigel's doorstep and knocked on
his door. No one answered.
"Thanks for showing me how much I mean to you by fucking my best
childhood friend, Nigel. I really appreciate that." My hands were
shaking.
"Why don't you mind your own business?" Nigel's face was red. "You
stupid fucking cunt. You think the world revolves around you, don't
you?"
"Fuck you." I screamed.
Nigel cast a glance at Tania, who looked on the verge of tears,
hugging a crumpled t-shirt to her chest.
"Don't bother with the shirt, sweetheart," I said to Tania, "there's
nothing there to hide anyway."
Nigel shut the door in my face.
It rained harder.
I took other things to mind with that. The wind did not seem to stop,
but I could care less about it. I looked away. Nigel's silhouette case
shadows on the ground beneath the window, and I hated it. I wanted to
wipe out everything he stood for.
______________
I lit up.
"One Stuyvesant Red," I whispered.
____________
Maurice
Peter
Delia
Tania
Victor Cromford
His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and I mistook it as directed at me.
I looked down. "You'll need help with that," I said. Cromford looked
surprised. He raised his hands, as though trying to reason with me. I
reached out, pulled them onto my chest.
"Well," I said softly. Cromford made no attempt to push me away. He
looked at me for a few moments with an unreadable expression on his
face.
Cromford nearly bruised my lips with the intensity of the kiss. He
pulled me towards him, and I kissed back, ran my hands down his back
as we shifted to align our bodies with each other, perfectly in sync.
Cromford was breathing heavily now, and I could feel his hard-on
pressing against my dress. I broke off from him, pushing him aside.
"Here." I quickly undid the buttons of my blouse. Cromford follwed
suit, discarding his garments as carelessly as I had. I kicked the
clothing away from our feet, looking up to find his beady brown eyes
fixed on my body. He licked his lips.
"You're a treat," he breathed.
"I know," I said into his shoulder as he kissed down my neck. "I get it a lot."
_________
"Oh! I almost forgot. In other news, I fucked Cromford."
"You what?"
"Yep, I fucked Victor Cromford. I'm a dirty slut and I should just go
turn tricks for crack now."
"Hah! I always knew you'd end up sucking his cock or something. When
was this? Thursday? Friday?"
"Tuesday, actually. You know he scheduled an extra maths lesson for
people who didn't understand the work?"
"Yeah?"
"Nobody else pitched up. So..."
"God, Azure. What the hell were you thinking? Victor fucking Cromford.
Jesus. That's worse than me and Vivienne."
"I know. Doing Cromford is a lot worse than wading through a mountain
of Vivienne's fat rolls. I don't even care anymore. I have no clue why
I did it. Christ, I should have made him pay me."
"So what now? You get "benefits", so to speak? Maybe you'll pass maths
this year?"
"If I win a sexual harassment lawsuit worth two hundred grand where my
lawyer's fees cost twelve grand and the entire ordeal costs me my
dignity, what is the net amount of money I'll be left with after tax
is deducted?"
"You burnt the toast."
"Oh, wouldn't you look at that. It's all black, just like my
conscience and my soul."
