of Roh & Fairy
Chapter 6
Nude - Have You Seen My Feathers?
bets Hands on hips - look inquisitive - the mother of the twins is around the perimeter of the room sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
is Sunday - Sunday afternoon - and only you are at home. Her husband
.
And Dylan, of course, that as the script was caught by a sudden attack of fever.
"I do not understand ..." he muttered, puzzled, throwing his son a look suspicious. "But I cleaned up the other day, before that your brother went away ... "
" will be the trainers of Chris ... "he ventured, distracted.
But she shakes her hand, upset.
"Dee," replies, lifting the blanket to peek under the bed. "As far as the shoes of you guys can get to be really pestilential I doubt that Chris has a rotten whale, instead of feet. This is just the smell of rotten fish, do not want to recognize it? "
" Marco, now ... "
" Marcio, I say! "
" Hm ... "
Silence.
"You believe that the fish become toxic if it is fresh and cool?" He asks cautiously.
Doubt had come, in fact, perhaps too early to pass at the fish could not have been exactly a good idea, but did not have much choice. Officially has a fever, for that matter. From Friday afternoon.
and could not risk running out of raw material for its aphrodisiac dinner - dinner aphrodisiac that without the whole plan would go ahead. I had to buy shrimp
Thursday, then. Hide them with care.
Among other things, is almost sure I heard it move during the first night.
course, could not sleep.
"Oh my goodness, but what is this stuff ?!?!"
his mother's cry startles suddenly, brutally detaching it from his thoughts.
"Dee, but shrimp! Damaged! "Feels screaming in horror.
blinked, then - straightens his back.
Intrigued, he turns in the direction of all that noise.
Have you heard about often, Dylan, perceptual gaps: they are small black-out that the brain active at a particular moment - in response to a shock, often, or in front of a reality too traumatic.
He never thought it could happen one time just before X, though. Just when the plan seemed unassailable - when half the work was already done. When there was so little, to the fateful dinner. Just a few hours.
Glued to swallow.
I can not believe - can not accept it.
never survive such a catastrophe.
"decaying" screams while her mother, beside herself. "A full wrap shrimp rotting in the custody of your guitar, Dylan!" But he is
bleached - the blood fell to the feet.
"I think Ash has forgotten them ..." fuming, in a faint voice.
"Ash?"
"Now that I think, were a birthday gift for Cathy ..."
Pause.
"You know how it is done, Ash," resumed, Aton. "He has too good taste in these things ..."
Nor is it convincing, if only to realize it, yet finds the strength to react.
I can not think of anything but his dinner - the key part of his plan.
Deleted.
He had also prepared the candles - the music. Pepper, ginger and chilli and paprika.
is about to burst into tears.
"All right, all right!" He exclaims, before her mother translated into words, the rise of the eyebrow. "Crayfish are mine, I have hidden there because I wanted to make a surprise dinner for Chris! To say goodbye, you know? The Last Supper! Cooked by me, leave a memory! Something I could not forget that ... "
You press his hand over her mouth, stifling a sob.
And he sent away his brother, therefore, sent him to spend a weekend alone. He left after
worried about his fever - he cheated. And betrayed.
at all.
Despite the euphoria of the plan, to Dylan's last days were not easy at all: Ash shortness of breath, night, and there was the smell of her hair on the pillow. There was
his image printed in dreams - that he went down one by one the steps of the house, which turned one last time before getting into a car with his black bag. Before leaving a fearful silence behind him. And there was anxiety
thin - undefined - to weave the plot of every moment without him. To blur the edges as if time flowed differently. Slower at times. Or faster. But never in a family, without ever being collected.
actually wanted to tell his brother to tell him of the plan and also has a little 'fear. Chris's watch that makes you want to do sinful things of the world, at times, and in others only to run away. Let it go, maybe. Stay
child.
But now - now that his mother is standing there in front, with that box of shrimp smelly hands - Ash wants to be by his side just to see him turn his eyes to heaven. To be sure that the world is collapsing as it seems, after all, because he is always puffing. That shakes back, engaging the ear to ear.
With shaggy hair. With its mournful shirts.
"Yes, well ... The fact that Chris would have remembered a long time, your dinner, no doubt about it ..." she sighs, resigned, and Dylan can not help but notice what looks like her brother at times.
"I miss Ash," he cries, depressed. "And I have a fever ..."
"I'm already softened, Dee," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It is not necessary that you commit so much."
"And tomorrow he'll go away too Chris ... And my shrimp are rotten ..."
"You can always cook something else, you think?"
"No ..."
"Why is not it? "
A sigh.
"I am red."
"Shrimp?" Application for her mother, raising an eyebrow. "So what?"
"They remind me ..." he exhales, glancing heartbreaking.
and did not believe that would be so easy - Would never have thought of being able to cope with the disaster that cool.
Half an hour later, perched on the kitchen bench, noted with delight the window of the microwave into which the lobster has remedied that his mother is slowly turning and considers that he should have thought from the start, the freezer at home.
It would save a lot of trouble. And he could spend the money to buy the new shrimp glaze color pink I love you I .
The truth is always too much to worry - too much responsibility for a child: as now, that has to be careful at the same time the beep of the oven, the pot of water to sauce pan.
the moisturizing mask that was smeared on her face.
"OddioOddioOddio! The six and a half! "Exclaims, alarmed, jumping off the stool with a single leap.
Hold on for twenty minutes to get your skin smooth and silky , was written on the packaging of the cream. And who knows how to count exactly how many minutes have elapsed since he spread, Dylan, but that she had already had to remove a piece that's almost guaranteed.
Leaning to look at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, it gives a disgusted grimace.
"Bleah. This sucks ... " mumbles, moving his fingers gently on the reliefs of the cheekbones.
The mask has formed a greenish film on the skin - a gelatinous stuff that seems to mud. O Light toad.
Blood elf.
For a moment - at once - the panic seems to dig the bowels.
"Gone away!" Dylan began, hurrying to snatch the first residue from the face of that green stuff.
The alarm of the microwave stops his hand in the air, though.
widened his eyes, spun around toward the door.
"Oh crap! The lobster! "
think the cream after - decide:" Now the most urgent thing is remove from oven and push quickly the beast in the pot. The water is already boiling, for that matter.
And the sauce has become black. Better off. Already smells a bit 'burnt ...
"Ahhhhhhhhhh !!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Jumping back, clinging to the edge of the table with both hands, had not realized how lobster was awesome until it's fully thawed appeared on the plate of the oven, with those of his sprawling legs. With those telescopic antennas - with all those bumps. Prehistoric aspect.
shudders.
Groping, lengthens carefully the arm to reach a fork: holds its breath, a step forward. Clenching his eyes, trying to harpoon the hideous crustacean.
"OddioOddio" exclaims, colliding with the shell of the shell. He
goosebumps.
To calm himself, he is forced to walk up and down the kitchen, breathing deeply. Launching
quick glances around, meanwhile, desperate for inspiration.
Perhaps you could hook it with the andirons in the fireplace - if there was a fireplace in the house.
Or it could throw on a towel. Two. Three.
Take it while it's nice covered by sponge - completely invisible.
"Mamma !!!!!!!!!!!" screams the other hand, pressing his back against the wall.
"Mammaaaaaaa !!!!!!!!!!" insisted desperately.
When his mother finally enters the room, the air has alarmed those who expected the most terrible disasters. Yet nothing seems to have prepared for the vision of a child smeared against the wall, his face covered with green jelly. Eyes wide - spectrum.
jumped, lets out a strangled groan.
"Dylan!" He exclaims, holding her hand over her mouth.
But he shakes his head, raises his hand.
Trembling slightly, indicating with his finger the door of the microwave.
"The lobster ..." stuttering. "I do not know how to put it in the pot ..."
"Do not you realize you're burning the sauce, I do not see the smoke??" She snapped, rushing to turn off the stove.
He always had a great ability to react, his mother. Dylan must admit.
"And what you put on your face, what is that?!?"
"Do you think I cooked too much?" He murmured, dare to stretch their necks to peer into the pan.
"Dee, do not tell me is my mask of cucumber! That disappeared two years ago - the one you swore not stealing! "
" I have not stolen it, "comes the answer, cautious. "I only borrowed. Just give me the pocket money buys you, I promise ... "
" But you realize that a piece will be expired by now? "
" Expired like? "
" Go at once to get that stuff from face, do me a favor! "
" I put the lobster in the pot? "
other side of the kitchen, she sighs.
And while the lobster floats at last in an embroidery of bubbles and steam Dylan new approaches to the bathroom mirror - again wrinkled her nose in the usual grimace in disgust.
again is going to wash my face - stretching your hands under running water.
again - suddenly - it freezes in mid-gesture.
"Seven!" He exclaims, turning the wrist for a better look at the clock. "The seven are the seven already!"
is very late - Chris will be home in less than an hour and he still has to wear a dress. Must stop to make dinner, prepare the table. Light candles and give the enamel on the nails and straightening hair. Make-up.
But above all - above all! - That we must hasten to implement the most difficult part of the plan: get rid of her parents.
is that the biggest unknown factor, the aspect that has worked with most attention when it came to plan the details. In
quickly left the bathroom to return again in the kitchen, the lobster is still boiling, Dylan has not the slightest idea whether it is already cooked or not. What is certain is that he did not grant it more time - not now. Without hesitation
grabs the colander, the system in the sink. He closes his eyes.
"Okay," he says to himself. Takes breath. Then
down water and lobster in the sieve, holding a thrill, groping for a tray. And that's it! When the cilia
reopens chilling crustacean is sitting exactly where it belongs: in the middle of the plate.
With great satisfaction he is watching from a safe distance and thinks that he does not remember ever having done anything as heroic in the whole of her life: dealing with the firm such a monster. For love!
If the meal had to be the best of culinary, Chris will certainly be proud of him just for the courage. The dedication.
Sighing, she smiles happily. Step Three
finished, on the cell type, setting the number of Babs. "Start phase four."
is delighted.
trotting happily through the apartment to reach the living-peeping through the door, looks around. Find the figure of his mother sitting on the couch.
"Dad where is it?" Question, weird.
From afar, she lifts her head from the book he is reading.
"Dylan!" Exclaimed, straightening his back. "I told you to remove that crap from my face!"
"Dad?" He repeats, without badarle.
"It went to take a shower, said the ashes and will put you to bed. Had a headache ... "
" Oh, good! "
" Well? "
" Well ... I mean going to bed, so he rests ... "he tries to remedy, coughing. "You've got a bad wax, anyway ..."
"Thank you," replied the woman.
"You have a scary face ..."
calmly, she raises an eyebrow. "We want to talk about your face, Dee? "
Dylan shrugs.
"But I think it's just fatigue. Maybe a little 'stress. You know you need? "
" Someone who adopts my son? "
" No! "Snorts Dylan, annoyed. "A nice hot coffee!"
"Where's the catch?"
"What trick?"
turning his eyes to heaven, she sighs.
"Go for the hot coffee, then," grants, while Dylan is already starting satisfied to the kitchen. "But not poison him, okay? "he adds, and he blocks the steps at once.
remains motionless for a moment, not even breathe.
swallows.
"But no, can not suspect anything ..." he repeats to himself, pressing his hand on his pants pocket. "It was just a joke of his. Everything is normal ... "
The bottle is still there safe, and he goes back to catch his breath.
clarity should be maintained and not be impressed by coincidences.
Everything is going well at the end - there is no rational reason to worry.
Now prepare the coffee, it will bring a cup to her. A cup to his father. Wearing clothes stolen from the closet the runaway's mother Candy, light the candles. It will finish the lobster season ...
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Sitting at the kitchen table, the father of Dylan startled as if by a pin point sharp.
Nutcracker in his hand shooting with force - the lobster claw fly on the refrigerator.
He screams in turn, raising his eyes on the face of the child.
Sky Dylan, you scared me! " exclaimed breathlessly. "What's wrong on the face??"
"My lobster !!!!!!!" he moans, holding both hands over her mouth. "You ate my lobster!"
"your lobster?"
Interdict, the man looks at the plate.
"I had my dinner ..."
"It was not your dinner, the dinner was Chris ..." Dylan yelled, furious. "I had cooked myself! For him! "
" Oh, really? "
Silence.
"I had come good, however," considers the other, while his wife appears in the doorway of the kitchen. "Maybe just a little 'rough ..."
"What's going on, what have to yell like that?"
"My lobster!" Dylan does not seem able to say the least. "He ate my lobster, it ate all!"
"No, on ..." sorry, man indicates the pot. "The legs are left ... and even a claw ..."
"Mammaaaaaaaaaaaa !!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Play Dee, your father has not done on purpose," she sighs, throwing a dirty look in the direction of her husband. "Unfortunately it happened, these things happen. We do it this way: you go to wash my face now and in the meantime I'll cook something for dinner, okay? "
" But something what?? "He moans. "We no longer crustaceans, and I explained that I need something red!"
"A salad of carrot?" Dares his father. But Dylan
screaming, hysterical, railing against the parents to push them both out of the room.
closes the door, then - he drops his chair.
Traps tears, looking around with a troubled countenance.
Inside the pot that had the hot sauce has thickened so lovingly prepared in dozens of terrible lumps blacks and lobster, amputated of its prehistoric every bump, lying belly up on the edge of the tray with the bowels dug. The claws chopped off - the tail twisted. Planted the knife on the head, at eye level.
carnage.
"My dinner ..." he muttered, unable to console themselves. "You can not ..."
Slowly reaches out to the plate: gathers the legs of the animal in complete silence, aligning them one by one as if it were precious relics to be saved. It does the same thing with the tail - with the antennas. The claw of the only surviving fragment.
It's not the dinner that he was planning to serve, that, but if her father has eaten the meat of the lobster in touch Chris biting their legs, like it or not.
Dylan can not give an aphrodisiac effect of shellfish - not just talk about it.
Resolute, down on the bowl of the sauce pan gray - seasoned with plenty of paprika and ginger adds a handful. A thick layer of chili, above. Pepe
in quantity.
"At the end is always a lobster," consider wisely while climbing the stairs, carefully balancing the tray in her hands.
Entering the room is always a certain effect, since Ash has started, but after the lit candles can already feel a bit 'better, the room is a light mellow, warm, and for a moment erotic fantasies take over everything.
Already we can see, draped in silk Candy from the mother, with a red feather boa around his neck and his hand resting gently on the side.
Chris will stay crunching the claws of the lobster, while - maybe half lying on the bed. He
incederà slowly, one step after another to reach. Up to fermarglisi opposite - lower the straps. Dropping the suit on the ground - hear it slip down my spine.
feel his gaze.
on the skin ... "Occavolo!" He exclaims, as soon as the hand that was touching his groin meets the relief of the bottle of sleeping pills.
Quickly, his eyes run to check the clock: the clock is ticking. Must hurry!
again closed in the kitchen, shortly after, wait impatiently while the coffee is ready and try to quantify the dose of medicine that should be paid the cup will have to adjust the weight of the person to fall asleep? There will be a standard requirement?
have no idea.
He only knows that when he went to steal the bottle from the bedside of his mother there were no leaflets, around, and he can not risk that her parents will wake up mid-evening - at the most crucial maybe. No way! Better
abound.
Half a bottle should be to protect him from any risks - meditation, satisfied.
Yet, as with the cups in hand across the aisle to get back into the living room, inappropriate and persistent inner voice began to repeat the mantra of dark grief and misfortune.
if it's dangerous, Dee? whispers one of them, sinuous. If
fell into a coma? rages another.
your fault! Combining
eyebrows angrily in a grimace, he snorts. There were only
scruples of conscience, now! As if he needed more smoothly, as if there were already too many things to worry about!
And if you die?
"Mammaaaaaaaaaa !!!!!!!!!" moans, throwing open the parlor door.
the couch her parents heave in unison.
"Mom ..." coughing Dylan, lowering his voice. "I brought this coffee, you know ..."
glares at his father. Fast. "And to you, here ..."
"Really?" Asks the man, straightening his back. "To digest the Arag ...?"
"You are very kind, Dee," interrupts the wife, handing a nudge in the ribs. "You then find something else to cook? Are you sure you do not want a hand? "Your mom ...
whispers the voice, full of emotion. What ever you do without your beloved mother, Dee?
"I get along very well alone," he muttered, grimly. "At least this is not the risk that someone devour everything!"
His father clears his throat, embarrassed.
"Here, drink!" Dylan ago, handing the coffee with a gesture, only to meet his eyes - eyes sink a few seconds. Remembering younger half-closed on a book of fairy tales and the voice tells of princes and fairies. White horses. While censors any mention of gnomes - angering Ash.
This is your dad, ago this little voice, any of the two. What you read fairy tales when you were little ...
What did you learn to play guitar ...
And you're addicted!!
"Thanks love," smiles the man, leaning forward to take the cup.
I called LOVE ...
"So we have peace?" Question, confident. "I've forgiven him?"
"No!" Dylan exclaims, snatching the cup from his hands.
Coffee boiling it down on his pants, his father let out a yell. His mother rushes to the rescue of her husband, alarmed.
"I changed my mind, no coffee this time!" He exclaims, with steps across the room angry. "But I warn you," threat from the doorway. "If someone dares interrupt my dinner there I'll drink one liter each, a full liter! Without absolutely no scruples, I swear! This is a promise! "
" But it's crazy? "Stammered her father.
His mother shakes her head, resigned.
"I'm going," Dylan ends then, pointing the finger in their direction. "When Chris arrives, send it on to me. And remember the promise, I strongly recommend it! Something to say? "
Silence.
"Take off the mud from his face, Dee."
"Perfect!" He grunts, disappearing into the corridor. So now
must also worry about his parents - snort - as if it was not enough to seduce a man challenging!
Not sure of being able to give their best knowing that those two wandered the house - they are able to break into his room at any moment.
But no, you're wrong! voice spoke cautiously. You know that your have always been discreet
... "Shut up you!" He growls. "Nag"
not even have the strength to send a new message to Candy - have the feeling that whatever he might bring bad luck. And then would not have time, anyway.
almost eight, and he has not yet tried the dress! Has not yet chosen the enamel!
There is no time to lose.
Climbing the stairs two at a time rushes in the room, closes the door, opened the closet.
making their way among the gloomy shirts Ash, recover hidden behind the silk dress jackets. The
to cry - he is always crying in front of the silk.
There is nothing in the world more moving for Dylan. Even the feathers. Nothing.
let your fingers slip on the slick texture of the fabric, enchanted, and thought that would give anything to be able to always dress well.
But if you always dressed so would not be so excited, now - would not address that point with my heart in my throat. With the excitement that vibrates beneath, like a shiver.
In fact he likes the idea of reserving Chris something so rare and precious.
"Hmmm ..." sighs, closing his eyes, when the fabric glides over the skin.
He feels very sinful - no one else in the world knows that this is completely naked and holding on to him a very special charm.
The charm of the secrets, in a sense.
of the forbidden.
moistened his lips, slowly approaching the mirror, holding the eyelids tight - focusing on the rub of the fabric along the sides. Along the thighs.
"Okay ..." she whispers.
Piano, opens his eyes.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh !!!!!!!!!!!"
not expecting it, he remembered that he still face the damn cucumber cream!
The shock is so violent that Dylan jumped backward, stepped on the hem of her dress falls down. Something
tears, something falls on his head. The hair hang up somewhere.
He shouts again, in terror.
"No, the dress !!!!!!!! The dress! "
going to have a panic attack - is to feel bad. Or to burst into tears.
has already started crying, in hindsight.
"The dress, the dress ...." Continued to sob, dazed, while pulling up. While time to assess the damage and discovered a giant tear on the buttocks. Just there.
As a joke!
"The dress ..." he repeated, in tears, unable now to articulate any other word.
Beside himself rushed to the bathroom, turn on the tap. He washes his face, convulsively.
"The dress ..." still sobbing, clutching the towel.
"The dress ..." moans, lifting his head.
"The ves ..." The litany
stops suddenly, he blinked.
brought her face close to the mirror, still flapping her eyelashes.
He tilts his head.
blinked.
And let go of his arms at his sides, then - you drag it back into the room.
slowly past the wine, lobster legs, the bed. You pass the yellow enamel
Pants on fire and the color a bit Flit. What color I'm not Really a Waitress - which had nearly chosen.
Exceeds the rubble of his plan of seduction, the absence of his brother, the soft light of candles.
The feather boa.
It transcends everything. When
crouches in the shadow end of the room is only around him - Dylan holds the knees in his arms and buries his face in his matted hair.
Skin smooth as silk - the label said the cream.
Her face is completely ruined, however, punctuated by dozens of red spots.
disfigured forever.
Nor is it yet another failure of his plan to make that knowledge so heartbreaking - it is almost absolute certainty that no one will ever look at him let alone have sex with him. Do not you imagine the look of the people, or one of his companions. To Chris. You
Ash, especially - lost their similarity.
The foundation of the world who seem to waver, the reference points confused. The sense of loss, paralyzing.
Terror.
"Dee?"
Nor has the strength to wipe his eyes when Chris enters the room - not even move.
In a sense it's like anything concern him only marginally, now, as if everything happening on a plane too far away.
There is silence around, and the candlelight is shielded from the hair. The face is hidden against her knees, motionless.
"Dee ..." repeated the other, cautiously.
But he remains firm - continues to cry quietly. No noise.
has the feeling that any sound might make only one more real catastrophe - like when he was small and curled up under the covers for fear of the dark, without even finding the courage to breathe.
do not hear much grown since then - just a little 'more lost, perhaps. Inadequate.
And the voice of Chris does not help, because Dylan does not recall having ever heard in a modulated tone so sweet. So intimate and friendly.
"What's up, mh?"
is almost a whisper, but the lump in my throat is immediately closer.
Without answering, shaking his head slowly.
"From ..."
Silence.
"It's Ash?" Chris mutters again, running his fingers through his hair.
Dylan bites a shiver through his teeth - Tighten the muscles of the shoulders. Take
just back him when he slipped his hands to the sides of the face.
"Dee?"
She never found the courage to look in his eyes if he were not closed with chin between his fingers and his face suddenly raised - discovered by the hair.
not expecting it - not because he opposed the resistance.
"No, do not look!" Exclaims, trying to break free from the socket. "Do not look do not look!"
"But ..." In front of him, Chris seems to hold back a laugh. "I know you've done that, Dee?"
curled against the wall, he sinks his teeth into the lip.
"I have a full face ... ..." A sob - strangled. "The red bubbles ..." ends in despair. "I know you've seen ..." Pause. "I do not want your pity ..."
"What ... Pity? Dee, you have the nose a little 'flushed! What bubble are you talking about? "
" You must not do, Chris ... "
"But what?"
Silence.
"compassionate telling lies ..." he whispered softly. "There is no need, really ... not ..." Reversing his eyes to heaven, the other pulls him up.
"God, if you are dramatic ... Have you looked in the mirror, at least, before you start crying your beauty faded?"
"No, Chris!" Is now the cry, heartbreaking. "Please, I can not do it, not me ..."
blinked, Dylan suddenly shuts up.
There are two figures, the reflection of the glass in front of which it is pushing his friend, a boy almost blond, very attractive, sufficiently amused. Chris, no doubt.
On that there is raining. And a
someone with hips wrapped in silk - with the straps down, and eyes red from crying. And the hair more tousled than Ash - wildest.
him that he in fact is not recognizable, well dressed, but that is tilting the mirror in front of a face on the surface there seems to be nothing more that look like boils red just before - nothing that is too different.
There is only the wet trail of tears on her cheeks, and the imprint of the teeth on the lower lip. The light of a relief evident in her eyes. And maybe just a hint of embarrassment, immediately after, while the legs move a half step backwards. While he paints a slight smile in the direction of Chris, and hair system. And adjusting her dress, quickly.
clears throat.
"Yeah, well ..."
Pause.
"I was joking, anyway ..." stutters. "It's not that I was seriously worried, eh ..."
"Certainly not. Of course. " Amused, the other holds a smile. "It was obvious you were playing."
"playing, that's right ..."
"Exactly."
"Yeah."
"Besides, you also put in costume ..." grins Chris and Dylan chuckles in turn, not understanding. Looking around - meeting her reflection in the mirror, and the right shoulder slipped on his arm. The black silk dress. The
dress.
start.
"The dress!" He shouts, eyes wide in a still image of sheer horror.
"The dress !!!!!" again, perhaps for the hundredth time since he set foot in that room.
Suddenly, the connection is chillingly clear: the brute sought to compare her gorgeous sexy dress for a masquerade - a ridiculous caricature of third-rate theater!
And maybe it's the weariness of tears, perhaps disappointed by the ultimate failure of his plan.
Maybe it's that Chris has dared to denigrate the silk - sore. Mined land.
But even before the mind can assess the actual need for a full-blown hysterics Dylan has already exploded, is already sinking his hands hair. We have already forgotten about the tear down and is walking up and down the room as if to burn the ground. Burn it all.
building, at a safe distance, Chris is watching him curiously.
"How dare you, you bunch of ungrateful and cowardly brute?? As if all the misfortunes of my life does not depend on your aesthetic pathological Neanderthals, as if it was not your fault that I almost disfigured his face! "
calmly friend raises an eyebrow.
"My fault?!?"
"Yours, of course! For those who believe that I have made poached shellfish, what the hell kind of reason that I think is coated cucumbers on my face? "
" I have to say? "A cry
furious - strangled.
"I did it to prepare the damn aphrodisiac dinner, to be irresistible! Why you decide to look for once, because I wanted to ... "
Silence.
Suddenly, Dylan blushed to the roots of hair.
"wanted?" Question Chris, angelic, stretching his arm to lift the shoulder.
But he does not answer - all of a sudden it's as if the voice had crumpled in her throat. And most
destabilizing is that all of a sudden you're realizing that the hand of the other is resting on his shoulder - that this shoulder is bare. What are bare knees, and back, and that the lips are very close to Chris. Just
close.
is starting to feel a bit 'hot.
"I wanted to ..." exhale, lowering his eyes.
"Yes?"
"Well, I wanted to ..." repeated, unable to even finish the sentence this time.
across the screen just chuckles hair - looks at the door. Take a breath, a little 'to fatigue.
"I do not think that women's dress is exactly the best strategy to seduce a gay guy ..." says Chris, making him slowly slip his hand from his shoulder to the neck. He still has that smile
fun on the lips - Dylan is almost certain to have detected the typical curve before the mind is disconnected from everything. It is certainly not the first time that his friend sinks his fingers through his hair - there seems to be anything too different from usual in that their interaction. And yet ...
"Hm?" Exhales.
Yet thoughts are inexorably collapsing in some unspecified point in the path that the hand of Chris traced to reach the neck and the brain appears to become unable to process any other stimulus than the sound of his voice. The sound and nothing else.
It's like a split net.
mind softened by the tone of voice, body fearfully sensitive. The skin dotted with chills.
cabbage. The
has created over a thousand times that moment, Dylan has always fantasies in a mischievous smile - he pressed the palm of your hand on the groin of the other and then he raised eyebrows by saying something like, "Wow "It is now completely paralyzed
instead. Perhaps because that resembles
both the reality - because there is a chance that Chris tried too many times if they come out at any moment with one of his jokes. But more than anything else because all of a sudden the muscles are petrified by fear crowds - only a fear of the intensity of the chills that dot the skin. Or the heat of excitement. At dizzy.
Catching his breath, raises his eyes on his face.
"It's because I'm leaving tomorrow?" I ask this in a whisper. "Last-minute panic, or are you really sure?" Without even
understand the reason, he blushes.
"Could you ..." He looks down - making instinctively closer. "Could you give me an easier question, please?" She whispers.
But Chris shakes his head, smiling, and he slides his fingers under his chin. The lifts the face, gently - he leans forward. Brush up your lips with his.
And other questions not addressed, for that evening. Fortunately. Why
had asked him anything from that point on, it was also his name, Dylan could hardly have been able to respond.
Sometimes there are lights that create atmosphere, or flavors that evoke memories.
Objects that become symbols.
is strange.
Sitting on a windowsill different in a different house, Dylan meets the rasta in a makeshift tail and thinks that the smell of the enamel has always reminded his fifteen years - the apartment he shared with his parents. The period in which Chris lived with them and that sense of security intact. His childhood, perhaps.
smiles. A
time taking hours to choose a color to spread nails and every choice he brought with him the regret to all those who had to give up accordingly. Now it has become incredibly
easy - in which the enamel is dipping the brush is transparent - did not name - and maybe he only realizes the infinite shades of color that takes on the color of light with certain conditions. With the sun, sometimes in the evening or at sunset.
is a bit 'as a secret. The
came often to laugh over the years, thinking back to his unlikely plan of seduction and lobster claws neatly lined up under a thick flow of hot pepper sauce.
you sure that you have sworn a thousand times to Chris not to tell a soul the matter of dress for women - has threatened him with death if he had dared to reveal to anyone what was nervous that night. Or what has proved awkward.
course the answer has always been a not very reassuring grin - you can be sure that some things never change. Are the cornerstones of your universe, after all - the foundation of your home.
And that's okay. What Dylan
still can not find is the exact moment when he has changed, though - when exactly it happened that as a teenager and hyperbolic airhead has been transformed in the boy that is now.
Maybe Chris would raise an eyebrow if you tell him that his first time, after time, does not remember much excitement or pleasure, or novelty of the contact with another body or the taste of kisses. Or tenderness.
recalls clearly curious details, rather like the fact of having him growled at least a dozen times before deciding to let him enter.
Remember that he was convinced that would never be able to sit down later, but that would have started from scratch anyway. He did not care at all.
And if you think back on those moments are his hands that tickle the best picture - not the sensual caress or touch more exciting. Or the intertwining of bodies.
It is a strange thing, memory.
yet ... And yet there is one thing missing in all this system of memories, more or less confused - a curious vacuum that has never been explained. Absolute lack of any pretext. And maybe the answer is right there.
Because there is a feather boa, in memory, to wrap every single moment of his fifteen years was leaning on her shoulders as Ash left for its first weekend alone, was twisted around his neck while he was stealing the draft by the bedside of his mother.
He was lying on his chest and peered through the holes in the locks - as he slept. In developing imaginative plans of seduction.
And he was still there that night - it is safe - when Chris touched him lips. Dylan
Then he smiled, tilted his head. Forgot your dress and silk and enamel that he would choose. And he wanted to show the sensuality.
He closed his eyes.
And from that moment, for some reason, the feather boas there was more.
END
Feather Boa by Roh and Fairy is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Italy License .
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