Author
Email: phluphee@sbcglobal.net
Improv: #4 -- love, full, ego, beautiful
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Notes: The improv words reminded me of the song
"Beautiful." I wrote this piece around the lyrics. This an
introspective ficlet about Justin prior to 308.
Disclaimer#1: The character Justin Taylor belongs to Cowlip. I'm
just borrowing him for my own selfish pleasure.
Disclaimer#2: The song "Beautiful' was written and performed
by Mandalay. It's on their album "Empathy"
You can depend
On certainty
Count it out and weigh it up again
You can be sure
You've reached the end
And still you don't feel
You know about anything
Justin pulled his black pea coat around himself a little tighter as
he huddled on the stairs outside of Woody's. The night was quiet and
subdued; a seemingly strange state for Liberty Avenue to be in. But
as the hours of evening turned into the stillness of the early
morning, the hustle and bustle of man-on-man action died into a slow
lull. Every now and then a stray couple or a hustler would walk by
interrupting the calm.
Justin pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. He
took one out of its box and lit it up. The warm smoke felt good
traveling through his lungs. It gave him the false sensation of
being secure and cozy, despite the light wind that began to pick up.
His hair flapped in his face, covering his eyes and tickling his
nose. He swiped it away with a gloved hand and blew the smoke out
like a small sigh.
What was he doing sitting here, alone, on a Friday night? He was
completely fuckable. In fact, when the word got out he broke up with
Brian, his stock shot straight up on the queer market. Justin could
walk into Babylon on any given night and have his pick of men. And
after Ethan, he had taken advantage of it. But within few weeks of
visceral rendezvous' and faceless dick sucking in dark alleys, the
boredom set in. At first it killed the buzzing anger that flowed
through his body, but then it became tedious and time consuming. His
thoughts would betray him and he no longer could stomach the taste
of other men in his mouth. It made him numb and more attuned to what
he was missing - Brian.
Why did it always come to down to that name? It was the last thing
he wanted to think about. It was the reason he was sitting on step
in front of a closed bar at 4 a.m. To escape his own concupiscence
for the hazel-eyed monster. Yes, a monster, he had decided.
Something to dread, something to run from, something fear, because
it consumed him and fed on every fiber of his being. Every thought,
every breath, every fucking waking moment was occupied with
remembrances. Memories that left searing marks on his body –
picture-book-tattoos of love, friendship, and loss.
You can ignore
What you've become
Take it out and see it die again
You can be here
For who's a friend
And still you don't feel
You know about anything
It was the loss that fucked with him. The giant hole that burrowed
deep in his chest. The bleak icy darkness that crept in his heart
and fed on the wounds until he could no longer feel. It confused his
senses until he no longer could discern between what he though he
desired and what he actually yearned for.
He wasn't sure what was worse. The relentless fury he carried for
Brian. Or the insipid complacency he fell into by the hands of the
violin ingénue.
Justin went through the motions with Ethan. They made love on the
rooftop, ate chocolate for breakfast, bathed together in the
listless glow of candlelight - traditional details he thought were
lacking in his previous relationship. That everyone else seemed to
have. But Justin could never discern between the actions and the
driving momentum behind it. Ethan didn't stir him up with lustful
passion. It was flat like day old root beer and it frustrated him
because he knew what love was supposed to feel like.
Love was supposed to make you breathless and prickly. Love was
sticky and feverish. Love drowned your ego and made you swoon, but
Justin didn't even sway anymore. He was lifeless and two-dimensional,
like a charcoal pencil sketch on a notepad, and what he wanted
desperately was warmth. The hearth of fiery embers to return and
replace the cold stoniness he encompassed.
It wasn't something he could conjure up alone. So, he sat on a
dirty step in front of an empty bar and sulked, because there was
nothing else to do. He knew you couldn't take back your actions
from the past, and you certainly couldn't fix it with good-
intentions brought on by 20/20 hindsight. He would have to somehow
propel himself into something useful that rid him of idealistic
tangents of what love was supposed to be. Maybe he'd double up on
his classes at PIFA, something to keep him busy and fill the hole.
Justin took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked out into the
barren street. He wrapped his arms around his legs and leaned his
chin against his knees.
Do you know you're beautiful
Do you know you're beautiful
Do you know you're beautiful
You are, yes you are