What Is A Substitue For Waxing

Not to forget anyone ...

In

ritardissimo ...

I managed to recover this picture.
The only evidence of homosexual (exposed) at the Berlin Wall.

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You can not say no

From last night for an indefinite period, the bed will be occupied by Brother of the Faith.
Sometimes I miss, living with someone.
I thought I had forgotten the foundations of coexistence. I lived for four years with peers, not to mention the 18 with twins. But it
two years that someone does not stop to sleep, only occasionally. I'm acting, in a strange way, knowing that I go to sleep and wake up with between neighbors.
help me relearn all those dynamics that I need to brush up. It always happens that way.
We put nothing to forget how to cook for more people like you smile when you are drowsy and whispers good morning to someone, sms to know what happened, leaving a plate to be heated, making coffee .
Brother and I do not even know much in the end.
We do the same course, group attended the same universe and we went out sometimes.
But when that drunk I broke the bottle on the arm, between and the only one who felt something was wrong.
In my eyes the most absent in distraction, in the silence denser. The only
.
He offered a sincere so his support - his presence - that was almost painful decline. As always.
Today they threw him out of the house and called Ross, who have been friends for years, or the owner or a friend or boh ... someone.
She called me, because I'm the first person who is came to mind.
A little 'surprised me, just a little'. I think it's easier for her to go to someone who will say yes only . Without asking what happened - why. No insistence, no lecture, no compassionate embrace as an angel of salvation.
Just a quiet place to stay.
And it was beautiful. Her bed, removing a drawer.
If I were not maladjusted, it would be even better. I would be able to be near her, in a less my . More normal.
The first week will be a gym. Hoping that life with two Lilli I miss you too ...

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CHAPTER 99 CHAPTER 98 CHAPTER 96 Chapter 97

97
Michael - The line of the curve

key in the lock and wrist wheel, door closed - open door.
door closed, a dry thud.
And look around, quick, while Michael throws down the bag and pulls off his jacket snap into the sleeve. Knotted in the stock market crash - muttering something. Something
inelegant, predictably.
"Need a hand?"
"I hate jet lag," grunts to Björn, who looks amused by the kitchen door. But much more could be said, in effect - for example, might say that he ate sandwiches with lettuce for three days and that the next time you accept a business trip should take care to ensure that the production did not vegetarian ethic, first thing. Could outsource the disappointment in respect of the airline, which offers snacks to passengers and sad that a second ration will not be granted even if the pay triple. Not if you're going to die of starvation.
Damned low cost.
And okay, could talk to because of the bad luck to run out of cash just when the taxi window appears like a mirage on the hot dog stand. The smell of grilled entering the passenger compartment, excessive salivation.
says only: "I'm Red," instead.
Because in fact the most annoying thing is exactly that - the fact that he spent whole days attached to the phone to hear him play to empty first, and then killed him directly. S trying to talk to the kid and having to detect instead seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth - even to ring the bell to no avail.
Even now, at seven o'clock in the afternoon, do not seem to come from his apartment for signs of life.
"Lost Ash?" Meanwhile Björn repeated, as he starts to fiddle with the phone confused. "What do you mean you lost, sorry?"
"That is to say that your phone is in this state for two days," he says, pushing the tempo of the unit. Log into the kitchen after - is quick to throw open the refrigerator. "That is, we had agreed to hear while I was away. We also had to set the hour for dinner, tonight ... "In reality
Michael does not know what to think of one thing - do not even know if it suits them think of something, after all. Because this was a rather thorny issue during the years of relationship with Albert - any trip he was accompanied by the frustration of having to regularly check the impulse to call home every five minutes and his nostalgic impulses of love had been muted too soon, had enough the first trip. The first ten phone calls and had already clear that it would be best avoided.
With Ash had hoped to be different, however.
And if the hassle of Albert was limited to the hm-hm distracted, in the receiver would be perfectly compatible with the character of Ash take drastic resolutions and disconnect the phone directly instead. Cut it short once and for all.
The idea that something might have happened, of course, is not the most rewarding.
"Maybe I should call him only two or three times ..." ventures, studying the contents of a jar of pickles. There are anemic onions, artichokes withered. Some carrots.
"Why?" How many times have you called Mike? " Björn question, as he twisted his mouth.
"But I do not know, not I began to count them!"
"And how many times after he ceased to respond?"
"Well, not ..." Michael clears his throat, looked at him. "He never replied to tell the truth ..."
"Not once?"
"This means absolutely nothing, of course."
"Absolutely nothing, sure."
"Oh well, I'm going to take a shower," cut him short with a distraction that is closer to the need to show a disinterest disinterested real.
generally prefer to avoid certain situations, if not absolutely necessary: he does not like much having to give up his life dose of pride, much less likes to do the idiot in front of others. Do not even particularly like the shoes dell'Innamorata apprehensive - Albert raise an eyebrow secure. Albert always breaks the balls so absurd when it comes to feed your paranoia. Yet
has not yet reached the kitchen door when he turns back, hesitating.
"If you should call, I carry the phone in the bathroom?" Says Björn.
"Go get a shower, Mike ..." replied the other, lifting his eyes to heaven.
It is yet another disappointment, later, back into the room and noticed that the phone is still lying in the same spot on the table. Crossing the Björn look and find out that half-embarrassed smile on his lips - that air sorry. Nor was his fault, if the Red is a bastard and if he is the usual jerk.
"Why do not you rest a bit ', Mike?" I ask this, too cautious. "Will be destroyed, you want to cook something?"
"is that I had dinner with him ..." is the answer, as he glances around instinctively to the pantry.
"I booked by Morgan, you know ..." chuckles Michael, awkwardly checking his watch. "In fact this is the case that the mobile, perhaps," consider. "Just to move a bit ' time, you know ... "
The truth is that he hates having to do - even hard to understand how it could be his head flashed in the suicidal idea of setting a table in the restaurant of his friend.
It must have been the romantic aspect to convince him, in a moment of folly: an elegant, candles on the tables and the prospect of intimacy collection. Haute cuisine.
him right.
"Oh. We have already given hole, you know, "Morgan laughs, as he pressed his forehead and Björn tries to keep fairly busy otherwise. "He disappeared in a cloud of sulfur or is participating in a Sabbath urgent? Do not downloaded to the witch of Cinderella, right? "
" I was not downloaded at all, if you ask me, "comes the reply in a deep growl. "It's just a bit 'late, these things happen."
A little smile, in the handset.
"As late as the bride at the altar?"
"No, as late as your brain, Morgan! In the decade or two, this? "Michael hissed, before the other laughed heartily.
"Just the years that separate you from a twenty, that combination! It is waiting for you in fast food, have you checked? "
" Fuck you, "he grunts, forgetting stoicism. Björn forgetting that, for a moment, and then back at him with an expression of who he was only joking but it is very quiet - perfectly at ease, no problem. Are You Kidding? God forbid, never mind.
not yet spent less than an hour before the Michael situation beginning to intrude into what resembles always to his personal idea of hell: table set, pasta with tomato sauce placed there before. Toast and butter and wine. Björn who is about to eat.
And he shook him down, his stomach is so empty that almost cramping. That is almost about to give way to a moment, and to hell with the Red. To hell with the pride and determination - the romantic dinner. To hell with everything you think back on a full stomach.
"Mike ..."
there to appreciate the sensitivity of the friend, however - the hesitation with which picks up the fork, without deciding to sink it in the pot if not with all the caution of the event.
"Are you sure you want to eat anything?" Feels asked, sweetly. "I'm sure you do not spoil your appetite too, if I then go to dinner. Morgan Or you could call and tell him that you have changed your mind and stay at home this evening ... "
" No, "answered But he, because that has become a matter of principle. "Now Ash arrives, he only had a small unexpected. Stuff for nothing, not even worth mentioning. Indeed, "decides, jumping up. "I'm going to ring the bell. You eat well all you need, right? "
lying if I said that does not feel a complete idiot dressed that way - even a jacket, tie and handkerchief that shit comes out of his pocket. He photographed a model dressed in a similar way, in Los Angeles - only the guy had a mask over the eyes of Bugs Bunny, and in the background stands a huge basket of carrots.
Maybe he even exaggerated with aftershave - reviews, while press your thumb on the bell and leans forward to try to pick up some noise from the apartment of Ash. While knocking on the door with his knuckles, then go back and listen to the silence with attention. While China is trying to spy on the lock - in vain.
"I start to worry," she sighs, returning to the kitchen with his hands firmly sunk in the pockets.
has not yet finished his plate of pasta, Björn, and he has to look away not to hear blur the view.
"No?" heard him ask, and measure the room with nervous steps.
"No, not normal. I mean: two days are not answering the phone, "he considers, casually grabbing a piece of bread. Urgently biting, swallowing. Almost full. "This could be explained in many ways, I suppose, except that it is not even at home you know? It is ten o'clock, almost, even if it omitted the fact that half had an appointment with me ... "He stops shooting
, the piece of bread raised in the air.
"The thing happened," he says. "Something serious."
"Mike. Do not jump to conclusions, okay?"
"His friend. That blond, "he mutters, without listening. Rushing to retrieve the phone - open your address book. Swallow the piece of bread left, everything together. After
, hear the voice of Chris in the handset is a relief that almost bends the knees: the reaction is completely unjustified, but would not stand to listen to other rings in vain and maybe he can give reliable information. Put an end to that expectation, at least.
"Hey, Michael," he said, without even taking breath. "Mike, that of the battery. To Ash, this ...? "He adds, but the other seems to have recognized long ago, thankfully.
"Oh. Yes, of course, I did not expect to hear from you. Did something happen?"
"No, you are in New York," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm back for a while, 'and I'm looking for Ash. For some '. I was wondering if something had happened, you have no idea where it is? "
rarely felt so uncomfortable - would be unable even to say whether the concern is stronger ol'imbarazzo. Or which one should hope, as if the possibility that there was an incident in a way that terrifies him barely able to control not too fond of either the alternative hypothesis, however: to make the figure of the cuckold front of everyone. Björn, Morgan - the blond. And consequently even friends of Ash full, you can bet. Yet
straightens shooting back when Chris responds: "He should be home now ..."
"At home?"
"Yes, I gave me a ride after work - around seven. But it could ..."
"Occazzo" exclaimed, throwing the phone on the table. Rushing into the hall, throwing open the door. By opening the window of the terrace, in a unique gesture.
"What are you doing?" Björn comes the protest behind him. "Michael? What are you doing? "
" Hold here, "he says, throwing his jacket.
"I do not want to seriously get over the ledge, Mike ..."
"Afferrami shirt," is the answer, as if that would be enough to slow a fall and to avoid the risk of crashing to the ground, when suddenly lacked balance. Or if he remembered Michael's afraid of heights - which are on the third floor and he can barely look already from a ladder. Or to look out the window.
For a moment, feel the vacuum suck from the bottom, before landing in the balcony near the apartment.
Soon after the rush is to make sure Ash is alive to push the heart in my throat, though - to make him open the window curtains. Swoop into the room, almost without thinking. And
remain transfixed in the doorway of the room, then - wide-eyed in the wide-eyed kid. The rapid breathing, tense muscles.
image.
The image of him curled up comfortably on the couch, not dead nor in a coma. Not even much agony to be honest.
But simply there, half lying on the couch fucking ears with headphones and a pillow under your back. With the soft light of the lamp to light the face - drawing the picture of a peaceful quiet evening all.
"Mike?" Is all that seems to have to say, not just in the eye is called the glimmer of recognition.
But even the fact that, damn, it's nice in an indecent manner - almost as beautiful as he remembered, Michael, to stop breathing and undermine the balance, from losing my mind, looking at him - he can distract the mind from knowing that Morgan was right in the end, and it has only given little shit hole. He spent two days literally dying by the desire to see the other side there was a lack of interest dried up. The request to be left alone, obviously. Determined. And absolutely no anxiety to meet again, not even bother to waste time with a phone call. Nor let us know.
The throat tightens into a knot of anger at the thought of pasta that Björn has come alone.
"Well, excuse the inconvenience," scans, and the consciousness of being just glided into his house through the window will begin charging a bitter embarrassment. Thirty years
- Albert says, somewhere not too remote in the brain. And to make matters worse he added, sternly Thirty years passed, Michael.
But Ash has stood up in the meantime - elbow on the pillow and lift her back and her hair slipped over her shoulders, arching of the spine. The curve of the side against the light, lips and eyelashes and eyes. Green.
And he finds himself that must be considered that, his sorcery that air strange, disarming innocence of one who has just awakened from a long can not sleep and have no idea what happened while he slept. The total absence of malice - that makes her look even more mischievous. The eroticism of the voice hoarse - uncertain.
"What are you doing here?" Is asking, and as she approaches Michael steps back instinctively.
Step forward step backwards.
There is always need to keep a certain distance, where the physical presence of Ash comes into conflict with the mood quotas. One centimeter more can make the difference between lucidity and madness - that Michael has learned quickly. Right from the start.
He has not been enough to avoid a lifetime to learn the answers absurd instead: "None of that. I spent here. "
" I thought you were in California, "he murmurs Ash - which fortunately links surreal almost always escape. "What were working ..."
"Curious," he says. Cupo. "Do you think that I thought we had dinner together, but ..."
Not that Michael has never been particularly adept at exposing simulated attitudes: between friends is famous for the ease with which you can make him believe anything - often focus their bets about who will succeed him to drink the most unlikely story. What's
Ash seemed genuinely surprised, therefore, should not reason to believe that it is serious. It should not even touched in that way, actually.
Yet when the boy mutters, blinking eyelashes: "Dinner?" The instinctive temptation is to retrace your mind past conversations to see if such an agreement there was really - it is not only the fruit of imagination. What if he is not dreaming the night before, maybe.
must appeal to all the clarity possible, to remain tied to our certainties.
"Sorry, I think I lost account ... What time is it?" Question the other - which obviously does not seem willing to let him rest. "When you come back? "
" Ashley, I'm back this afternoon. As I told you, remember? This afternoon. "One puff, ironic. "I did not expect you to put to count the hours, of course, but pretend to do so it would have been nice, on your part."
"Shit."
Closing my eyes, Ash takes a step forward.
"Sorry. But days have been ridiculous ... "she sighs, as he usually tries to step back only to find himself trapped behind the wall. Behind the glass, more precisely.
stiffens the muscles when the kid shuts up his arms behind his head.
"What happened in Los Angeles?"
"Hm."
"Are you tired?" Insists Ash, breathing in her hair. Pressing his cheek on his shoulder, softly.
And Michael realizes that should not put your hands on her hips - to remain firm in that regard would be better to divert attention from the warmth of his breath that glides over the skin. O by the pressure of his body.
But any such defense is useless when the mind is emptied and the blood is dissolved in that way - it could be easier with Albert, that the distances by myself. You still holding to anger with his obstinate rationality, their control.
With Ash is always just a glance, instead. O the simple silence.
Physical contact, from this point of view, can only yield more immediate sanction.
"I'm hungry more than anything else ..." he mutters. And it is already lost.
not even remember why only a few minutes earlier seemed so important, stay true to their anger. He does not remember where he came from irritation or mistrust.
do not care.
"There should be stuff in the fridge if you want," Ash whispered, her heart starts beating faster gradually. "If the empty make me a favor, among other things ..."
"I missed you," but he whispers, leaning to kiss her neck. Thinking that is not very decent nor very coherent, that it would be funny.
That laugh again, maybe. That there is no hurry.
"I phoned him, too. Sometimes. "
" Really? "Moving away soon, Ash looks at him in the face. "I have not heard, not ..." She pauses, frowning. "On the phone?"
He looks confused - has it since he has fallen into the house through the window, really, except that Michael had first thought it was a surprise.
frowns now studying carefully, however. Noting once again from where it originates, that its peculiar beauty. Almost ethereal, a bit 'unsettling and a little' girl.
Strana.
is paler than usual - largely absent.
brushes her hair from her forehead, still focuses on his eyes a moment.
"You have to have it off," he murmurs, slowly. "Ash. Are you okay, did something happen? "
take a step back, he nods.
"Dylan's back," he said then, in a tone revealing. "Yesterday, I think. More or less. After you left. "
And it's like sinking your feet in a difficult terrain, suddenly - how to find answers to each question and at the same time feel new born. How to meet again the boy who seemed to Nowhere to hide in the shadow of an impenetrable mystery - one that slipped from the shackles of this to sink in the amniotic fluid of a distant past.
What even the best photos are never retracted.
"Would you say that I almost burst out of the window in front of him before?" Laughs Michael, play down because it still seems the only safe solution. The only able to enter certain areas without too much damage without risking irreparable mistakes.
is sufficient Ash shook his head, though, because the impotence soon become incapacity. The discomfort usually - to not have the means to which Albert could count. The ability to understand certain dynamics. Address them.
"Dylan is not here: we decided it was best if he was from Chris, for a while, '" Ash says, and he realizes in that moment that he ever knowingly circumvented the problem - they have gone along too easily' s Another, in his refusal to speak of his brother. That was providential
silence - the collision avoidance with a complicated and elusive and allowed him to feel in control.
The temptation would be to flee again, even now. Looking
Ash eyes breathe deeply instead. He clears his throat.
"Want to talk?" Question.
is more than one offer is an attempt to also address their fears along with her. The compromise to appear fragile and inadequate, uncertain.
Get in the game. But it insists
when Ash says, "Not much to say."
insists that not even have time to deal with that problem in the future, but now it seems the only thing the urgent need to bring the boy to life. Make him smile, distract.
and be able to eat something in the meantime. Maybe.
Exhale and tilt your head Mike on one side.
"You're a bit 'pale," sentence, observing the other with pensive.
Then, almost gingerly: "You have something personal against the amusement park, you?"
front of him, Ash blinked. "Eh?"
"The amusement park," chuckles Michael, becoming closer. "Those places with lots of rides and cotton candy where you can hop on a roller coaster and put in a little circle 'of adrenaline ..."
"So what are the fun fair, Mike, just do not see what c'entrino now." A sigh . "You have been away too long, I had already started to forget that you're completely crazy ... "
" Come on, come on! "
" But where?? "
" at the carnival, of course! "
" But it's almost midnight! "Ash protested incredulously. "I was wrong: you're really crazy, then!"
"Crazy, that's right," he repeats, gird up your arms to life. Chewing on the neck, chuckling.
And though the boy muttered, half aloud: "Come on, did not want to eat? Go into the kitchen, made a sandwich, "in fact has already been relaxed in the hold. He has already bent back his head - he closed his eyes.
Mike leans over to kiss him, rubbing on his lips.
"A sandwich?" He says again, softly.
"Think not that enough?"
"Hm ..." The feeling
- very clear, at that moment - is that there is absolutely no way to get used to the exaltation that comes from contact with the body of Ash, that there is nothing ' more. Stronger.
And most tender at the same time - because his bones seem so fragile that most movements are softened by themselves. The tongue slips between her lips gently - his hands close to the sides of the neck without pressure. Without tighten his grip, almost.
Next, the perception of his mouth is so intoxicating that Michael finds himself pressed into the throat insane desire to shout - go wild, do something. Whatever.
tends to avoid bullshit, and if the muscles on his shoulders in one swift move.
"Rapture," he announces with satisfaction.
"Mike!" Protested the other, trying to wriggle. "Put me down - what the hell are you doing?"
But he starts calmly towards the door, looks around to find the keys.
He leans to turn out the light, gets a jacket.
Retrieve the table a surplus of pizza, going through.
"It's no so much that you struggle, you did not notice that neighbors do not feel anything when you consume a crime? "
" Are you trying to tell me that I can kill you easily without worry of being discovered? "
" Tsk, "is the answer. Amused.
And then there are the eyes of Björn resigned at the front door, the hand shake in greeting and almost went down the stairs in the dark. The race to take the flight the subway, the train brakes and tickled to prevent Ash to keep the bars. The hot dog with mustard and onions, the guy dressed as a clown who fly off the hat. The smell of sugar.
It's strange to compare this version of itself with that of the previous day - the concentration of the shots and the sleeves rolled up on his forearms. The stares of the models, the lines of the body.
There was the dinner with the production, last evening, and Michael had been away from the table to try to call Ash was perhaps the hundredth time he tried to call him a taste bitterness seemed to become all too familiar.
Jealousy. Now
elbow rubbing against his hand, and it is as if he really had become a different person. It is not just a matter of attitude - the seriousness of the set consists of playful and confusion of the crowd. Music and colored lights.
is the sense of freedom, rather. That being
fluid seems to flow under the skin, the relief to ease of control and let live as a child. Or like a madman, really.
He's always liked the swirl of carnival - the speakers seem to rumble in the stomach and to say whatever you have to cry in the night. O whispered - breathing in the smell of the hair of the other. Rubbing her lips on his temple - on the throat.
He needed to release tension, perhaps.
Or maybe the red cheeks of the boy to make him feel good - maybe it's that fifth hot dog stuffed with mustard and cucumber, or the fact of a bite by bite and insert the following between his lips. The truth
is that Ash is there with him, and this seems to be the cornerstone of everything. The key to the euphoria and the very meaning of the evening - the sense of drinking life.
He's tired - Michael does not remember ever seeing him so exhausted: even the movements are slow, sometimes close and reopen the eyelashes so slowly that you wonder if the next time you do not fall asleep on him. But
smiles, settles the stomach and poking fun to tease you as always. Every now and then swallows a piece of bread, too, and that's the important thing: to feel his nerves loose, shake hands on his shoulders and find that there is more tension. Savor the abandonment with which supports her head on his chest - which is left to embrace. The thrill of finding her lips parted.
hardly had to insist, bizarrely, when it came to persuade him to be dragged into the car of a roller coaster.
"The first time I got there I was eight," informs him, while the rack creaking under the wheels and the climb becomes steeper - slower. The darkest night, all around.
"I was fucking scared," he chuckles. "And I had my father, sitting nearby, who has always had the setting of pouring out in every critical moment in its precious maxims of wisdom ..."
"While I was with my father. My brother has always refused to go, "says Ash, and for a moment Michael holds its breath.
He turns to glance at once, though.
"What was the highest wisdom, then?"
"That life is like a rollercoaster," is the answer, accompanied by a grimace instinctive. "Moments when salts. Moments come down. This. "
Pause.
"I went down very quickly, in the personal path of my father, when he discovered I had left the football team. And I was not straight, "he adds, like any information. A regular exchange of words on topics of no importance - as if it were easy.
If it were easy now.
He has no idea of the reason why it should always choose to be revealed at inopportune moments - moments when the escape is so close as to seem at hand.
not even know why he felt the need to do it anyway - put in the hands of Ash at least a fragment of their pain. Only a fragment.
But it is a strange night, that.
A subtle balance between well-being and fatigue, between past and present.
are on the edge of the curve, and the only time enough to transform into words that Ash take his breath. Why can give voice to another confession. In a question.
tightening his fingers with hers, Michael says, "Shout!" All
shouting in unison from the trucks. It blows away the dizziness
balance - wipes out the sky and the lights, in a moment. The earth is turned upside down on itself.
is frightening to recognize that the vacuum was not so violent, later, when Michael was close behind the door of Ash and darkness creeps hands under his shirt. When you dig my stomach as if the language becomes concave and sinks into his mouth as if there were to concentrate all the heat. The center.
scrolling through the palms on the back, drag up the fabric of the shirt and while gently pushing his steps to the room toward the bed. The brushes her hair from her face, gently.
not contact the other times it is not even the same atmosphere - the senses seem more languid and there is a different nell'arrendevolezza abandon with which Ash is left with which stretch or turn your head to offer her neck. It's like touching underwater, in a sense. The rest is shadow
- heat. Whispers. The rustle of sheets
suffused, in the side.
"I'm glad you're back," whispered the little boy - Michael smiles and hardly find words to answer him.
"I want make love, Ash, "she whispers, without waiting for an answer.
There are moments that speak for themselves, carried on the skin even before you hear that in mind. The mesh is rolled Ash foot of the bed and his hands deep in his hair - his body is a perfect geometry of curves and lines and weight. Consistency.
His father would say it is like a rollercoaster - the climb can seem endless, but enough to reach the top because the air pocket suddenly becomes urgent. Why is the body to decide to let go - let fall.
The thirst for life is the same - the same joint of the fingers with his and the same smile. The surrender of the movement, the warmth of his skin. On the tongue.
Acts of Ash are very slow, almost lazy, and while he's loose the belt the weight of his arm became more intense on the back. Michael
rises on one elbow, looking at his eyes.
tilts his head, watching from above.
"Ash?" She whispers.
And then, just heading higher, "Ash?"
is sleeping.
The surprise is so strong that it remains motionless for a moment, turned to stone. The fingers still on the buttons of his tight jeans - the rapid breathing. The excitement that pulses. Beating in his temples.
"Hey. Ash? "He repeats again, just in case.
But the boy merely turn the head - pressing her cheek on the pillow. Issue a languid moan, confused.
And Michael can not help but smile, settling on the best mattress.
can not help but stand idly by while breathing regularly, and once again invalidate all theories and cancel each project - while it rewrites its own way to the times of his life. Just breathing. Existing.
and sent to hell with the pills of wisdom of his father, finally: Sometimes you go up, sometimes down.
Sometimes simply remains standing in the line of the curve. Like an idiot.
And it is strange.
But this time, against any theorem, so everything is perfect.

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Pregnancy Congratulations Sayings

96
David - How blood

Throwing his cigarette out the window, absently David releases the belt and pushes back the hair - the system tie, the collar of his jacket. Retrieve cigarettes and mobile phone.
It is evening.
It is strange to be wearing that tiredness wild - a glimpse at the gate of the house of Samuel and meditate to take another route instead. Delving into the woods, leaving the thorns and brambles will fasten the ankles. Let the darkness fade slowly and every path that night sharpen the senses.
not happened for a long time - it is also true that for a long time do not park in front of the house, anyway.
But it is the first time that the need for solitude is like so much the need for a den - hiding in the eyes of the world and buried in silence every word spoken or heard.
shake off the image of a classroom full of people, the looks of the cameras. The looks of the girls
Holmes, hidden in the crowd.
He thought that he would have noticed, David - the turnout of so many people would confuse the portraits into one picture. Instead, just turn your head to meet the blank stare of those eyes - it was enough shift attention from the jury to his client or to trace the origin of a sudden noise. The reflection of light.
YOU KNOW.
When he was released by the court the blond boy was there - even if it would recognize the photo of his face he had not appeared on the computer screen months before. Although Cooper had not ever sent those files - with too embarrassed wearing that dress worsted and had too light irises, hands too big for a slender body. Do not thin. Skeletal
instead.
Drained.
He had looked away, he was stuck in the car. He turned the music down the window, almost in a hurry. Yet
think Vivian was inevitable - a review of his hands on his thigh that slipped behind the tough stuff of jeans. The cotton boxer shorts, stuck in the belt buckle thumb.
He had left his mark on the neck of the teeth, that first night - the next time he had sought the relief of bone tasting it as you would an exotic food.
something forbidden.
And for a moment the boy had put the court on his own body - he was forced to pull over the car on the side of the road, pressing his hands over his eyes.
looking for cigarettes, with urgency.
Perhaps it was then that reached the decision to speak with Samuel o forse la Jaguar lo avrebbe portato al cancello della sua villa comunque – forse era lì che sarebbe dovuto tornare per toccare il fondo di quella fragilità maledetta e testare la propria forza una volta per tutte.

Però adesso sembra mancare l’energia necessaria ad affrontare un’altra prova – il corpo chiede riposo, la mente silenzio. E lui scende dalla macchina corrugando la fronte, socchiudendo le ciglia contro il cielo mentre richiude la portiera. Mentre infila il braccio fra le sbarre del cancello e intanto pensa alle infinite volte che ha aperto quella serratura, alle infinite volte che l’ha fatto per noia o per convinzione. O per sesso.

Mentirebbe, se non ammettesse che gli manca.

Non Samuel - Samuel is something you can leave in a corner and find, however, in anger or distraction, is part of your emotional and broke it formed over time, and broke it structured.
But there is total surrender of her body to yours, the way in which frowns to contain the pain and her lips rubbing on the pillow while you grab the hair to face him.
control that lets you manage, that lets you sharpen.
hurt him and give him pleasure are two sides of the same coin, perhaps this is the reason why David has always needed: to model the contradictions with the strength of the muscles and then get out of it exhausted as a warrior on the battlefield - the illusion can win. Take everything, including Samuel Weldon. Its fucking
North.
It is not pleasant, now, ring the doorbell of his house to restore doverglielo. Having to cope with its metaphysical utopias with the credibility reserved for real things and tell him that yes, he had a doubt too. As irrational and unstable. And absurd.
there was a doubt.
It has poisoned every night since Vivian and the man suddenly became brethren - him away and if he found himself behind, burned in the fire. It was reborn from the ashes like a Phoenix stubborn, a worm insistent. He hated
Samuel, for that matter - has cursed every single page of his novel and'm damned disappointed with the verses of its poets: Cohen. Aleixandre.
something must be escaped, if it's there now.
But something always escapes, when it comes to the teacher - that is the direction of his feet or his ideals, or any connection between a boy and the protagonist of his latest book. Or her mind.
His life. He expected to find Samuel
busy writing - for him that could not be further confirmation. The final victory, in a sense.
The man who opens the door has heavy dark circles, however, matted hair on the forehead and the eyes of those who did not find any property stimulus in the image in front of him. Of those who do not even tries to fake it - no reaction. Eyes sunk into his eyes only - lips parted.
A layer of stubble, to shade the cheeks.
"You make me come in?"
Samuel limited to deviate from the threshold when he moves a step forward - the following releases with his eyes while his jacket and puts the phone on the table while you look around without haste.
There is an unusual disorder in the room - the day struck blind and piles of papers scattered everywhere, some empty cup. A good book.
from under the chair, in a flash of light cut through the pupils of the cat's shadow as a threat silent.
"Are you okay?" He asks, turning back.
But the friend is never good when her house is a mess - you may guess the extent of his discomfort on the angle of misalignment of the cushions. And there is no need to study the smoothness with which the falls on the shirt also to realize that He must be thin, the bones appear more pronounced and are more angular cheekbones - that the eyes seem lighter than usual.
For a moment, suddenly, David felt his stomach in an effort to nausea.
"Shit, you're studying to be a vampire?" He says, crossing the room with bold steps.
Open up the window, pulls away the curtains.
"It looks like a tomb in here, just missing the wisps"
The other does not comment, though - do not look away.
He's standing in the doorway, just - arms hanging at your sides and sleeves glides on the knuckles almost to cover the fingers. As he was a child.
It is what is most striking, perhaps - the contrast between ancient gestures and hardness of new features. The traits that seem more masculine than they have ever been and the fragility that can be guessed in the posture of the body instead. In the stillness of the gaze. David
never knows what to expect, in certain circumstances.
becomes difficult to manage even himself - to control the urge to stop the wrists behind his back and push it against the wall. Spingerglisi him.
Yet this time something was suggested to stay away - not even insist on knowing if you feel good an idea seems to be taken into account.
"Listen, I need to talk to," cut short then, going around the sofa to get cigarettes. "I just want to know if you have this or if I have to undergo electric shock treatment, to hope to get your attention. Do you consider yourself fairly clear? "
" polished, "is the answer, marked strongly. One syllable after another without smearing.
He looks up suddenly, unable to keep the surprise. Unable to believe that it can be really the voice of Samuel, to decline in the notes so hard.
combines the eyebrows, and square.
"All right," nods.
But he does not like - for nothing.
does not like because of his attitude seems to subvert the rules established over decades of interaction - because his eyes speak of hostility evident and he is not used to anything like that.
did not like it because it looks like an affront. Un'insubordinazione, in a sense.
And why the fuck does not like, it's amazing Samuel dare overthrow him a grudge when he would be a betrayal dovergli reproach. When only a few weeks before he had to digest the unfortunate circumstance of being sidelined for a guy who can only claim the merit of having an unpronounceable name. Or include some salmon fishermen in your family tree, and this seems to have automatically become the incarnation of the North. The
fucked up, stupid North.
He can not believe it.
"I think it's your lucky day, sir, it just happens to have come just to talk about your favorite topic," hisses, with all the venom of his worst performances. "The Viking angelic, this? "
But it is a bitter victory, later, when finally the other looks down. When David sees him stretch the muscles of the jaw - swallowing.
new look Raise slowly.
"Go."
"What did you say?"
"I said move. Get out of my house. "
It is completely lacking the experience to collect a hit like that - David has never had trouble dealing with unexpected situations neither is particularly difficult to control their reactions when they get a sudden shock.
Yet this time is found to blink, unable to process reality. Unable to respond with due promptness, to parry the jab. Amortized. Nearly
wind breaks, for a moment.
The next instant, is not only the indignation to push his friend. It is something deeper - a chip embedded in it. Sharp knife.
"Samuel. I think you're really exaggerating, today, "the blow in the face, the clenched fist firmly on his wrist. The eyes firmly anchored to her - black in black.
The anger of whole years, to vibrate with each other.
It never happened that you are so much closer to the limit - Samuel never claimed a look with that determination and he has not ever heard in my temples beat violence with the blind force. He has never experienced so much aggression in the slip a darker impulse - the instinct to pull the scary mind and let the sex to channel the anger and pain. A
hurt really, once and for all.
must sink the nails in the flesh, to maintain control, and despite all the other remains impassive. As if the close did not themselves breaking the wrist, as if nothing has really frightened.
"I saw you on television," marks instead - in his eyes stubbornly fixed. Deadpan voice - coarse. David
do is stretch the lips in an ironic grin, not to be the first to take his eyes.
"Oh yeah?"
"From Nancy Grace," Samuel explains.
It does not need to say more because he focuses the real crux of the question - why are all of a sudden the answer to the fears of recent days. Samuel would not have reacted as if his very valuable Viking had not really had a history of abuse. If everything was only a novel, if those pages do not recall a basic fact.
Almost hard to follow the flow of time, after - even the words of the coming muffled.
"You have all my disdain, I you is clear. "
And that's what the final thrust - the explosion of suppressed tension for months. For years, maybe.
Or maybe it's the horror of seeing Vivian on the worst stretch of shadows, the feeling of being totally helpless and the weight of his life rests on the shoulders. Every choice made, every decision.
But the muscles are stretched on their own - running his hand on the table to clear away objects and papers and books.
"What, Samuel, want to rewrite the Criminal Code?" He says, while the fragments of cup splashing on the floor. While the computer crashes to the ground in a hiss and dull the anger pumping through ears as blood. Like a diamond. "You want to abolish jobs, aerating all pedophiles that happen to hit?"
The other did not respond, and he let go a laugh.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to give up my job just because the guy that you have decided to reserve my ass was made rape a kid," he adds, sharpening the sentence in a deliberate cruelty. Looking into his eyes as if to challenge him - if you would like to see. Up to that point.
The slap, when it comes, it is clear the crash of something that maybe really is breaking forever. The teeth cut the gum, the room vibrates. After
, leaving only the silence of looks to bind even the children who were both - eyes like razors and the certainty that it will be the first time to put the seal on an unbridgeable gap. A scan time quell'addio - decide on the gestures.
David would never have thought it would come about - did not imagine anything like that while the Jaguar parked in front of the gate of the villa.
naivety is to hurt, more than anything - to discover that expectations should have abandoned him years earlier and the disappointment of a frustration that continues to burn as he was a boy. The fun of being able to touch the other departing just as much as possible, waving the flags of the enemy or shooting from behind. Being at the center only when you deviate much from the center.
and realize that to keep pinned to the bed is never enough to stop his race or purpose has never served in entrargli. That there was need to hit the blond, to get to leave an imprint in his life. A cross-target.
I've never been alone.
And there was another time when Samuel appeared to be more ruthless in quell'appartenere always and only to itself. A moment more dangerous. David
feel your muscles tensing of a sudden, when it finally breaks the stillness, but the relief is an illusion that dissolves very too fast - just enough time to record the unexpected narrowing of the safety distance and the eyes of others, which become closer, more intense. His hand is raised slowly.
There are victories of which only he seems able, who performs such acts. As if they were nothing.
You tell the world that you were the one to win and no one would have no objection because, while her fingers caress your lips look remains impassive - remains unmoved after seeing, as he takes your blood to your mouth You feel your knees and surrender. While his eyes are lowered and would like to grab the neck, forcing him to watch.
And I can not even tell fuck instead.
Needless to avoid the stretch between you and leaving more time - that he will repeat again, just more quietly, "Go."
The slamming door is creaking wood of the porch - it's windy out, and hung to a beam, there are five metal cylinders that David had never seen.
The air moves them by spreading a melody, almost childish - he stared for a few seconds and then adjusts his jacket over his shoulders, rubs his lips with the back of his hand.
Breathe deeply. The forest knows
ground. Sometimes ground
knew even his clothes, years before, and there was a bathroom that could to take away the smell of grass from the hair when his grandfather passed on the fields with his tractor.
It's funny how certain memories come back to define themselves in moments that should belong only to anger or resentment - in so tied to the moments that seem almost impossible to sink some roots in the past.
Samuel was a strange child - sat on the grass cleanly and it was as if the woods the other touched with a delicacy when you immerse yourself in the bushes and brambles.
was convinced that I have green eyes - David was laughing like crazy while he insisted that he looked good, and swore that it was a very dark green. Moss Green.
and small swore on everything, Samuel - Meant to believe him establish a true covenant of blood. Bind him indissolubly - real.
This is ironic, now, typing on the computer keyboard the name of his secret more unlikely - look for the key combination of umlauts and enter the password. Click the Search function, wait.
And know that at that very moment their paths are separating, though - the first time I swear it would not be served. The first time that blood is really on the lips.
in the gorge.
was enough snorting with laughter as the edges of the wound to come back to split - David leans forward and his eyes narrowing in front of the sole result appeared on the screen: Osvik against Petersen, a final ruling.
Seven years earlier.
Tombola.
And here are praised and duck ponds. The small, quiet and provincial Rosenfield where nothing ever happens to blatant - where you can type a name Scandinavian entire database to see reduced to a single link. The right one.
David has not forgotten how long more research like this in first person - get off at that hour in the basement of a court, later, is like going back years. Reviewing boy, feeling abandoned ideals and look in vain for the paths of your steps along the corridors. Search for fingerprints in the dust of paper, sip coffee watered down. There is something terrible in all this.
something illogical.
Now that the name Björn Petersen appears in all the sheets I even remember that Samuel must have acted, on occasion - not a surprise to find the family environment as a background of abuse or the involvement of particular awe of her stepfather. Nothing is more classic, after all.
But that sound - hard. Edgy.
consonants juxtaposed combinations in foreign and the doubt of star wrong accent. Star all wrong. Hermann
Osvik: convicted at first instance decision upheld on appeal and sentenced to ten years to be served in a federal prison.
Vivian.
Shoulder pressing on the back of the chair - his head and slumps back. The succession of geometric iron grates on the ceiling.
Osvik.
moistened his lips, David closes his eyes.
could not say exactly what he got - hard to find that kind of information in hand and save the doubt that he has merely reopened a wound unnecessarily. Has signed a betrayal.
He never addressed any questions to Vivian - did not pressure because he explains himself and has never sought to investigate his past. He never even knew his full name - a question of respect.
Delicacy, maybe.
And suddenly the truth: the son of a pedophile. Brother of the victim. What else?
it would be funny because the feeling is to know even less than before - at the bottom in these acts there is nothing that Vivian's eyes have not told right away. Nothing new, perhaps.
But each of the guys who were in court this morning seems to have his face now - victims and witnesses, brothers and sisters. The blond kid off the court and the child who was waiting with his grandparents in the hallways. The photos of those who were killed, the survivors. And Samuel
there in the middle, fighting their battle with the power of silence. Even more words - just a slap. Lips still burning under the teeth.
"You know why do not you believe it, Dave?"
"I do not believe what?"
"What I have green eyes."
"You have green eyes, you idiot!"
"so that it is preferable, rather that look. "
" But if you'll look a thousand times! "
" You do not want them. "
Ultimately, it is ironic that comes after nearly three decades, the day when you cross the woods with the tiredness in the legs . The day that he is waiting on the doorstep - more thin, property - and suddenly you find yourself amazed at how clear his eyes. Combining
eyebrows, David closes his fist on the table edge.
Zoom out the binder of judgments, with an abrupt gesture.
"Have you finished, sir?"
"For now, yes, I've had enough," replied the keeper, and there is little else in the night: cigarettes extracted quickly from his pocket, take the lighter.
The bright light the flame in his hands.
And the smoke from his lips that glides along the edges of the wound - cold caress. Bitter taste in the throat. In the mouth. How
blood.

ROSA DEI VENTI is licensed under a CCA NC-ND 2.5 Italy . Permissions beyond the scope of this license May be available at: http://rosaventi.altervista.org/copyrigth.html .

Long Dong Silver Desnudo

CHAPTER 95 - PART

95
Ashley and Dylan - Spikes of wax *

It seemed like a farewell, at the time.
The landing was the same as always and Mike brought the usual signs of an evening spent playing - Ash felt his body torn between the desire to close my eyes and lean forward. Clinging to his shoulders, press the lips on the mouth. Neck.
not let him leave.
Nothing different from the night before or any other time: the man was leaving for a trip of two days, basically. One blink and he would return.
Ash was convinced seriously. For this reason, perhaps, had laughed at the time to greet him.
Only that morning the sun hurt your eyes, when he had revealed the head from the blanket to grab the phone kept ringing. And Chris's voice was played too much alarm.
too concentrated, active.
"I called Dee," he began, abruptly. "Something happened, I have to pick it up. Him back home. "
Everything had changed in that time. The sunlight, the colors of the blankets - the size of the room and his own skin. The meaning of the word house had shrunk to one syllable and the lips had not been able to articulate anything else. We had managed the brain.
"Dee?"
Ash was shot down, too fast. His head throbbed as if he had stayed enough - as if he had overslept, no, a lifetime - and felt the blood beating in his temples. The heart burst.
"He's fine. Shit, Ash, nothing happened. I asked. "Chris kept talking, but every word came from as far away. Too far away. "A casino with the boy he saw, I think, I explained everything. However, I am going to put me in the car. I just wanted to warn you. "
" You okay? "He had repeated, confused.
In response, the friend had expired. Slowly.
"Scene mother, yeah. Do you know how to take, in these cases. And being so far away does not help. "
Ash would have liked to ask more questions. Ask exactly what the hell it meant 'a mess with the guy who saw' - ask this guy who was - and ask him to refresh his memory, because after all those months, even the memory of the writer for his brother seemed to have faded, but her voice was like a shard of glass stuck in my throat: only a few sounds filtered through the barrier.
"Thanks," she whispered. It did not even know what exactly the same credits, if you for staying with him when he needed it, though to be ready to run from Dylan to offer support. To have the strength to fulfill a responsibility that should have been his, instead - his only. To do so in his place.
Closing her eyes, shook his head.
"Ash. Are you okay? "
Chris sounded worried, suddenly, and he shrugged. Getting rid of the blankets with a kick, he leaned down to earth. Let the cold penetrate the tiles in the bones.
"Sure. Are you going now? "
" Yes. If you want to pace yourself for a moment, before ... "The reply was immediate. "Maybe it's better if you go to see if Mike is around, though. Or give him a phone call or ... "
" Sure, "he had repeated, nodding. Only while
ended the conversation had reached the understanding that Mike was not around, however. What was the other side of the continent - perhaps California - and it would be two days before his return. That perhaps, for some reason confused that it made no sense but at that time the only certainty seemed to palpable, would not even come back.
The rest of the day had passed quickly. Ten minutes had lost them still remain standing in the middle of the room, trying to remember how it was that world before Dylan rimuovesse his presence.
He had picked up the clothes scattered on the ground, he had checked one by one, folded, stacked in the closet without stopping to think about why tidying appeared suddenly a must must.
had assembled the so-called scattered on the desk, picked up the scores that were scattered on the floor, perhaps even before his departure. He had changed, carefully choosing to wear jeans. Calmly putting on his shirt.
Then, his gaze fell on the bed. And he had not thought absolutely nothing while methodical movements to change the sheets.
was strange, somehow. Turn between those rooms where he lived for a year to examine them through the eyes of a stranger - trying to rearrange things to make everything as comfortable as possible. Dylan back because he could find at least that.
to apologize, maybe. Of solitude to which he had forced.
It hurt to think about, though - stop and think about the feelings, the reasons - and it was much easier to put on a portfolio in your pocket and go to retrieve food that her brother as a kid always forced him to buy. Cluttering the fridge and the house of the things he said about the tirassero - the did a good mood.
He had not really stopped to decide what to do with himself until the second phone call from Chris - the one where the friend had informed that they have arrived safely, and all goes well, he's good, it's like I said tonight and I'll stop here, however, come tomorrow .
Why was different to know that Dylan would come, from knowing that he was returning . The two processes require different mental thoughts, different preparations. Different reactions.
Ash had felt the shard of glass slide more deeply when he realized that in less than twenty-four hours his brother would be there, ready to pick up all the spaces that had given him. That did not claim anything for sure, because Dylan is not the kind that order. He does not ask either. But it deserves only the best.
It was a little 'how to return the fifteenth birthday and Cathy discover that in his absence, Chris and Dylan had moved along a step forward. A little 'as not being able to watch them and find their place - slamming the door behind him and run to look for oxygen in the park.
take months to digest it all.
Sometimes the impression is not to have succeeded again in earnest - that he never really believed that they both have chosen to take back to each other, they are still waiting for their change of heart. Close your eyes for a day, open them, and find himself alone.
Perhaps this is just after you press the end call button Ash had put his jacket and had fallen up the stairs - this was first climbed on the bus headed for home. Because the apartment was ready to accept Dylan but he could not move around in it, because the bed had clean sheets and he knew he could not close my eyes anyway.
Her parents had been asking questions: they were limited to open the door and put a plate on the table more. There was something sweet in the evening with them, watching an old film to television, as sweet as it was terrible the lack of Dylan in the same room.
As if being just there, where they had been together forever, was a thousand times worse than being alone in private.
awake in bed when he was a child and not find his brother sleeping next to you is completely different from doing the same gesture in a bare room of memories. With bare walls instead of overflowing with posters and clippings, with the objects of an adult life already structured in two distinct worlds, instead of covering woven inextricably linked.
Ash remembers the loneliness of their fifteen years. Remember ferocious anger towards Chris, the inability to show herself to Dylan. Talk to him.
I'm nothing compared to this expectation that suddenly dripping in hours too long. Compared to this impossibility of imagining a new match.
balance their separate existences.
Let them proceed without forcing them to converge.
The last time her brother looked into his eyes, was to prepare for the shock of a slap on the face. The last time they talked, his words have melted into nightmares.
Now that is coming back, he does not know what to expect.
His mother is washing the cups in the kitchen, when the reaches. He wears a large golf, thick wool, and wears her hair stopped behind the neck with a soft knot. Seen from that angle, has the same profile of Dylan. Its very lightweight distracted - misleading.
"I thought you were at work," Ash murmured, closing his hand around the door frame. The woman lifts her head, smiling. Quickly dries your hands - when you look at him.
"by later today," responding. Frowns. "Love, are you okay? You look horrible ... "
" I'm not used to that mattress, "mind him. "I do not know how I sleep, as a child."
had forgotten how tiring to keep the mask up, in certain circumstances. When the exhausted is easier, because the looks of concern or reprimand him slip without damaging it in any way, but when reality seems to burn my eyes so this is becomes impossible to pretend to ignore the concentration with which his mother how its actions .
fingers tremble slightly, making coffee and open the fridge looking for milk, and the heart seems to beat just under the skin.
A thin barrier. Almost non-existent.
"What time Dee again today?" Finally comes the question.
He supports the board on the table, very carefully.
"I do not know. I forgot my phone at home, I have not heard Chris. "
At fourteen he had become good at dodging interviews with his parents. Perhaps it helped that Dee was a tidal wave while the problem was to simply be a sea too calm - perhaps the fact that they were entering had something to do both in adolescence and are therefore not so strange sudden mood swings.
long silence.
Perhaps it was only an actor better than now. More determined not to be discovered.
But neither her mother nor her father had never had any suspicion that something was wrong with Brad - had not noticed the watches of the night nor of his need to increase the distances. Ash does not remember ever having heard his secret in danger has never been afraid of having to face.
Now, the conversation seems to hover in the air instead. Hanging over them like rain - like a crack in the ceiling.
"Ash."
He bites his lip.
"Ash, honey. Me and Dad we have always left room - We tried not to intrude among you, not to stay there on him. But recently we were really worried. "
" There is nothing to worry about. We're just growing. "
" You and Dee you have never been so kind to grow apart, "she corrects him, gently. He slams the mug on the table - almost burns his fingers when the overflowing coffee.
"Well, people change. Sai. Growing up means that , usually. "
" Do you think so? "
is an innocent question, almost tender in his look so simple. Accessible.
Ash feels on the skin vibrate and infiltrated in the clothes, though - he feels in his ears and slip wrap around nerves, sharpen.
not answer.
months because they can not answer that really does not understand anything - months that will examine the most improbable hypothesis that knows how to justify looking for some explanation Dylan, his behaviors. He thought he could be the fault of Chris, Mike's fault. That could be something that had happened elsewhere, when he was not looking - which was born of the resentment that his inattention. By its being too present.
He tried to give them space. He tried to stay close. There was no use
the same: the weeks continued, encrusted with silence, until they arrived on the evening of the slap. As long as there was on the run, the next day.
Without the slightest warning.
Without even a greeting.
Children who did not know ten years to put more than a few feet away from each other are long since faded, but Ash is now difficult to even look in the mirror and recognize in the reflection that the teenager was. At fifteen, Dee never tried his eyes, but did not allow him even to leave.
the two decades that the hit that last night did not seem able to imagine nothing better than a world in which it was not forced to meet him at every turn instead. E perhaps the only possible explanation is that when Dylan was realized that this world could never find in New York, decided to take in hand the destiny of their own history and to transfer to another place.
now is coming home. True.
But is not coming from him. He never had any intention of doing so.
And probably that's why Ash Wednesday while tidying up the apartment they could not find a place where to place himself. It is not easy, when all around there are only a remnant of another time items.
double epoch, which was still trying to convince to have a single body.
"Maybe I should go back to sleep here tonight," murmured, without turning to look at her mother.
In response, a heavy silence.
"I mean," he continues, embarrassed. "Dylan will need a place to stay, no? A quiet place. Maybe Chris could stay with him, has always been good to have around. It would not be forever, "he adds, because he can almost feel the woman's protest - his alarm. "Only for a while '. A few days. Time to replace the ideas, find some solution ... "
For a moment, his mother says nothing. Ash
counting seconds between breaths and is almost ready to withdraw all - find another way to say that it does not matter, do not worry too much - when, finally, comes the sound of a sigh.
"Ash. We are always here, you know. You do not even ask. "
Slowly, she leans on the table. Rests his hand on his - on the back palm. Light caress on the knuckles, delicate as a kiss.
"If things are too tense, one of you can come and stay here until you can solve. And anytime you feel like talking, we are available. You know it. But I really believe that we must strive to clarify what happened and to make peace. Because it is true that people change, but you is not changed enough to do without your brother. "
He hesitates, then. Just bend your fingers.
"And believe me, Ash. The same goes for Dylan. "
Remove the arm is instinctive.
Ash does not even stop and think - there's no time to decide on the action, there is no time even to rationally process the concept. The chair has already rubbed on the floor and he is standing, watching from his mother.
has green eyes, note. As if that were not ever see them, because basically they are the eyes of Dylan.
"I gotta go."
"At home?"
"No. A job. "
is an escape that, too, knows perfectly. The speed with which leaves the kitchen, the movements with which wears the jacket. The front door open before it is even buttoned.
is an escape.
been years since Ash does nothing, basically. Has always managed to escape fine.
should have anticipated that Dylan would have been able to overcome this.
"Ash."
"What?"
standing in the doorway, his mother is looking more seriously than before.
He realizes only then - suddenly, in that light - it looks tired too, after all. The lips have a smooth curve, painful, and the front is marked by fine lines, foreign. It has no color on the cheeks.
A sad pallor. Lunar.
looks to me too, thinks Ash. For a moment, it's almost enough to convince him to stay.
"Then you go home. Do not put off again. Or will it be increasingly difficult. "
a respirator. Then, almost as a blessing, she smiles.
and he nodded, bowing his head. Bending down to kiss her.
"I'll call you tonight."
He can not even say whether it is an empty promise or a deep need - felt. In the face of his mother always feels a bit 'like a child time looking for reassurance that only the future could have made in vain, waiting for some word of clarification.
It has more than eight years, though - it's been a lifetime since then. And the promises of his parents have stopped playing so true: they are no longer blindly believe in predictions, but only hope you can help.
When he stops in front of the door of his apartment - on the same floor where only forty-eight hours before he gave the last kiss to Mike, totally oblivious to - the temptation is strong to turn around and disobey.
building, note the handle: try to imagine her brother's fingers closed on the metal, the tinkling of the keys turned in the lock while he was pushing forward with the knee. Its entry distracted, maybe - just maybe intimidated - and prays with all his strength that has already happened a few hours before. What
not touch back again in a deserted house, because he is sure that would not be able to resist building between those walls. Alone. Pending.
See Chris's jacket hanging all'attaccapanni entry is a relief that freezes the blood: breath stopped in his throat and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.
to lift our gaze forward, preparing for the worst.
Dylan is sitting in the chair.
building, back straight - and stuck his hands clasped between his legs, as if he had still six years and the same teacher announcing those chosen for the query.
Their eyes do not have time to cross that jumps up, though - a nervous movement, sudden.
Clearing his throat, Ash lowered his head.
"Hey," he says softly. "You're here."
"We arrived an hour ago," Chris nods, from its position near the window. "Were you at work?"
He dares to throw a look, nodding.
"Everything went well?" Question still his friend - and it is clear the question implied, was not even necessary to do it. Ash knows he looked ghostly, almost evanescent even a couple of customers asked him if he felt good.
Sure, he answered then. Now he just nods again, before you catch your breath and turn around slowly.
"Hello, Dylan."
seems impossible to think that months have passed since the last time I saw it. He spent his entire life to watch, record every tiny detail of her face and compare it with his own reflection - for use as a reference, benchmark, yardstick - and now it's surreal being unable to say where they have been engraved certain changes.
is thinner than when he left, Dylan - more tired.
is perhaps even more pale and his eyes very red, even she had been crying for days. The first instinct - and almost ancestral unreasonable - would rush to tighten, not so much to fill the void that seems to expand in him every second, but just to give you comfort. Support.
Soon thereafter, however, the brain also processes other details: the position even more tense shoulders, the look that runs somewhere in the room as if he lacked the strength to meet Ash.
As if there was courage, perhaps. Or maybe just the intention.
"Hello ..." comes the whisper, finally.
And the voice is more fragile than before: the last time he heard it was broken, yes, but vibrating with anger can not be muted. Now is dim, however. Almost retained.
Ash is not sure of being able to resist. The only question is which one will be the first to succumb.
"You have done a good trip?" Demand, uncertain, putting his hands in his pockets.
you feel stupid, embarrassed as he happened not long ago. Out of place, unable to choose a location and unable to leave.
The fact that the picture is his house only makes the whole even more absurd.
"Are you tired? You want something to eat? There is stuff in the fridge, or ... "
" Ash. Why do not you sit down, instead of staying there into the INPUT to lie? "Question Chris, with the reasonable tone that is usually used when someone is behaving like a hysterical. He licked his lips, considering the sofa.
Then he shakes his head.
"No, I think I better go."
The brain seems stuck in a continuous loop.
"What are you going?"
"A change." Pause. "Do I have a shower."
prefer to give them away and get back on the street, reality: it would be easier for everyone and more comfortable. Outside there would be heaven to breathe - there would be traffic, and smells of the street and the cacophony of people that makes it easier to live with their heads - and Dylan could sit back in his chair.
Lie on the bed, maybe. Or relax your body and ease tension in the bathroom, under the jet of hot water.
If you did not have the mathematical certainty that Chris did not let him get out of the way - at least not now - Ash would not hesitate. It would be too automatic decision.
Let the bedroom door closes behind his exit, however, stops just beyond the threshold and inhales deeply. Hold your breath for a moment, as if it were enough to hold everything else.
to exhale after. Freeing the body and lungs in one fell swoop.
"There is that saying you're doing a great job of convincing me that you're fine."
Pulling back her hair with her fingers, Ash sighs, without looking back.
"I'm not trying to convince you," he says, dryly. "He is like? It is in a sorry state. What the fuck did that guy? "
" The guy is the least part of the problem at the moment, "admits Chris, grabbing his shoulder. "You have to give it some 'time, ok?"
biting his lip, he nods.
"I asked my mom said I can stay with them a few days if needed. Or I could go back on your couch ... Alan had not evicted me forever, right? "
" I said you have to give him time, Ash, you need not leave the house. "
" It was a fuckin 'board until now, has need to sit quiet. Sleep. It seems that has not slept since he's gone ... "
" Ash ... "The close on his shoulder bolts - Chris is strength, trying to make it turn. When
raises his other hand to touch his face, he pushes him away by moving a step backwards.
"No, ok? Do not touch me. "
" You are really asshole when you want to be tough, you know? "Hisses my friend, frustrated. "It costs so much to admit that you need someone?"
"I just want you to put stroking, dick. It is asking too much? "
Chris still has his hand raised - just bend the fingers, as if uncertain or lie close at hand - and seems about to say something.
Snarling, perhaps, because in such moments the two of them were never able to talk simply.
Ash can almost feel its close to be too painful on the shoulder - sees his eyes Squinting, how to improve prospects - and tightens the muscles in response. He raises his arm to get rid of the socket.
The image of her brother standing in the doorway to block the middle movement, however, and all of a sudden irritation melts. Evaporates.
"Dylan," he murmurs, eyes wide - and possibly lose the balance if Chris had not reflected much the same spot and you do not already rushing to support it.
For a moment, all three seem to stand still: Ash keeps staring into that of Dylan and Chris continues to hold his right hand closed on his shoulder, the left in midair.
Then, with a little 'embarrassment, her brother looks away - change the support foot - and the time starts to run as fast as ever.
He takes a step back in a hurry - Chris lets him go.
"Why do not you talk about it together?" Suggests, almost gently, and after months of silence that perspective is so foreign Ash turns to look at him blankly.
"Seriously," the friend added, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe not jump to hasty conclusions."
not wait for answer, then - time to realize the meaning of his words and has already turned its back on them and left. When passing
at his side, Dylan seems to be trying to restrain him: he opens his mouth as if to speak, raises an arm to grab his sleeve. Both attempts are simple sketches, but - lacking the determination to continue them, perhaps, or maybe there is just resignation.
Moreover, even Ash knows, that can not be avoided forever.
Sooner or later, in any case they should talk.
put his hands in his pockets, looks downcast eyes of his brother - his throat clearing, change position again. Then, Dylan looks up: slowly, cautiously.
almost fearful.
And Ash has no idea what it is, to scare him so much: after twenty years should know that whatever he wants, all he wanted was to talk to her. The
just ask.
Explain.
not get any request, however - no indication: only his eyes, fixed upon him, and the silence that lies between them by puncturing the skin. Making it even more tense, more subtle.
"Mom said to call her," feels finally say - from his voice.
It is a relief for a moment the very act of breaking the silence - a relief to get back space, back to slide the time. Soon after, with the knowledge that Dylan is that he is speaking brings panic.
"Actually, I had said that I called, "then added, quickly, because now started and maybe this could be enough to convince Chris that you do not need anything else. "This evening. To tell if you were back. But maybe it's better if you do it in the end I only saw me this morning, probably would prefer to be able to hear you all ask directly. "Pause. "I mean, it makes little sense that ..."
"Ash, listen ..." interrupts him, however, Dylan.
He shut up immediately.
His brother seems to have a better idea of some time ago, continues to keep their eyes downcast, his back pressed firmly against the wall. And it is still pale and tired.
Uncertain.
"Listen, I ... There are things I have to tell you," goes on very quietly. "I mean, I want you to know. Important things. "
Suddenly, raises his eyes to look.
"Can I talk?"
At any other time, so the answer would be obvious to make it burst out laughing now, Ash has almost afraid to nod. After
, long before his brother decides to get started.
seems that he has never seen before that room, judging by the care it takes to map the space - the indecision of the looks that border on just the furniture, the bed, the determination almost scary which prevents any unnecessary movement.
There is something profoundly disturbing in the sense Dylan so foreign to what only a few months ago was their world: they are two days that Ash feels the nausea mount, but it is only at this precise moment - but feels his brother's sliding ever more away and wait for the revelations that might give a meaning to everything that has happened - that really has the feeling of losing stars.
Dylan's voice, when it finally arrives, he does jump.
looked up suddenly.
"that night. When I ... "
breath, the more biting his lip.
"When I pulled the slap, "ending up in a hurry as to leave behind the memory.
And now continues, with almost no pull breath: "I was terrible, I would have liked. Did not mean it. I'm sorry. I mean, not that I mind as something that you feel only guilt, Ash. Just like a terrible thing. One thing that you can not even think. Like when the snake bit you. In the same way. "
building in front of him, Ash blinked.
Why is confusing under the avalanche of words which is submerged - because everything he expected, as the first argument, except to see revived the slap. Because what he says his brother still does not have any sense and the attempt to rationalize it might take too much effort: he already feels the vertigo throb at the temples. Nausea
be more solid - the strangled voice.
Dylan is watching him as if he had said something very important, though - as if it were absolutely necessary for an answer. For this nods, uncertainly.
"Ok," he says. And then, as a syllable by itself does not seem enough, "Okay. I did not think I did that on purpose, anyway. "
" Yes ... "
Dylan continues to bite his lip nervously.
"Then, I also wanted to tell you that I did not go away because of yours, Ash. You are not concerned. "
And that, the moment when the heart seems to stop.
in which the throat closes completely, the brain shuts down, the dizziness and pressure on the temples to crush him and almost feel my knees give way.
balance - balance any - miss.
Because Dylan is lying.
He's lying in the same manner in which innocent always deceiving others and himself - in the same way sometimes said to be in love with the same look with which sometimes I ask your forgiveness.
Without any malicious intent. Without even a real awareness - without a real goal. And
terrible realizing it.
Why not just as to exclude all alternative possibilities to find themselves in unbearable truth that one hand. It is not simply sense, fear is not a question of knowing with intimate knowledge, unexplained.
is a certainty now.
And Ash is not really prepared to deal with that. Thought to have reflected on the question long enough to have convinced; believed esserselo repeated often enough to have immunized.
be found on Dylan's face is a different type of pain. And is different still read between the lines, to accept a lie.
Swallowing, nods.
not know exactly what you have in mind to do, when he murmured, "Okay."
"And then."
His brother does not leave him time to decide, however: perhaps he understood to have been exposed, perhaps it is simply not made on behalf of convincing him, but he looks more uncertain than before when he resumed speaking. When
hesitates, as searching for words.
"The things I said. I thought not. Are not true. I know I do not believe me, Ash, but ... "
Dylan crashes, running a hand over his forehead.
has the same look when he was little and it seems even more remote - even more tired.
He would almost say that there is no need to continue - that may stop now, resting, then who better to speak - but the voice seems to have completely went away and the brain is hard.
Distracted.
"I did not want to go," Dylan finally mutters, barely. "I did not even come back and upside-down on all these things because I know you do not know how to deal with and you just do that and casino so you do not believe a single word. I mean, I know I messed up again all my life and that maybe I should shut up but if not I'm sorry it seemed unfair and I apologize if it seems unfair and I do not know what to do and say, sorry. Shit, " concludes. Dashing out of the room.
Ash stands still in the same place, though - his gaze fixed on the point of the wall that was occupied by a few seconds before Dylan and the blood beating in his temples. Too strong.
in his ears. Almost deafening.
not the slightest idea what it would be right to do.
know that Dylan was expecting something different from them - knows that he hoped to get a reaction and more convinced, perhaps, to see him react. Speak.
has the strange feeling of having disappointed again, but it's all distant. Almost immaterial.
He wanted to cry, maybe. Close your eyes and do nothing but sleep.
slowly raises hands to press the palms on the eyelids - almost rubbing furiously, trying to send back the tears.
"Ash."
"Do not ask me if I'm right," he says, lowering her arms suddenly.
Chris shakes his head, crossing the threshold of the room with the same bold steps with which he has always invaded any crisis in their lives - does not stop to ask permission, before closing his fingers behind his head. He leaves
draw near - his nose pressed against his throat.
Breathe, once, before lifting his face to give you just rub over the lips.
"Want me to accompany from yours?" Asks his friend, ear. "Dee was locked in the bathroom, maybe it's better if I tried to reason."
"That's what I said earlier," Ash mutters, nodding. "You had to listen to me now."
"I was hoping to go a bit 'better," admitted another.
And the point is, after all, Chris has always been too high expectations that are reflected in reality only by chance. Ash is a life that is being drawn around her from that damn optimism five years ago was go to bed convinced that his brother would not have changed anything in their relationship, three years ago he decided that he could not do it a kiss. He opened the door to his accommodation Mike, for that very reason, and Ash has her arms because so what could go wrong?
Now is sliding his hands down his back, and does not seem to regret having forced the confrontation. He's already planning the next move, perhaps - reflecting on what strategy would lend itself to its intent.
Turning his head, Ash pressed his cheek against his shoulder. Breathe deeply.
"he remains with you tonight?" Question, almost gently.
"Do not worry about Dylan now." Take a step back, Chris closes his fingers around his arm. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."
"What's my story? Mom had said that ... "
" What you must try, "interrupts his friend, leading out of the room. "And you tried. Dylan is here now, and there's no hurry. Better than trying to unwind. "
And he would protest, perhaps, for dragging their feet on the ground when the hand of Chris presses on the back is a deep rooted instinct now, all my life, but the floor seems to be too far in that time. Close are the walls, doors, ceilings. The world, out into the street, is too broad and he feels closed in on itself, again.
hidden somewhere inside her body - as small as a grain of wheat, just as fragile. Tough. And only
.
Even with the warm hand of Chris around the shell - even with the knowledge that his brother still feel like a breath of wind.
next to him. As
wounded.
distance are staggered for strength and it does not matter to count the steps that separate you from the rest of the world. Those who could bring you something nice. Because if fatigue around you as it thickens the air and holds you vacuum, lacking the possibility to extend the arm.
Tap with your finger that you're watching - crouch beside him. Into it.
The only thing left to do is put one foot before the other because someone who knows enough to protect Thee can take you to a different shelter - to go home and take care not to look in the mirror. In the absence
not find it in your eyes.
not hear in the wind - in the condensation on the glass. O
which empties into the cold bones turning your body into ice. Without the past, without color. And without destiny.


LINK PART

* Yo you dolorosas Espigas de dos que enterraban a wax

paisaje de Volcanes y dos niños locos there empujaban Llorando que las de un Asesino pupilas.

(Federico García Lorca, Poeta en Nueva York - Pequeño poema infinito)

ROSA DEI VENTI is licensed under a CCA NC-ND 2.5 Italia License . Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at: http://rosaventi.altervista.org/copyrigth.html .

 

Boob Sizes Comparison

CULOcard 2011 2010

Supplementary Angles In Football

Fic Meme:)

I wanted the first post of the year were all good intentions, but as yet I have to think well, I'd say start with this meme that lisachanoando has got fiorediloto . And I got her. A good make.

Stories I wrote (and posted): So doing the math, thanks to shared folders practices year, I wrote in 2010, completed and posted 65 stories (10 of which only the Ghettodrama drabble and 16).

My favorite story of 2010 (of my own): Without even thinking about it, Misplaced . I never loved a story so much as this (except for the GD that my love always, with the rain and the sun, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.)

My best story this year: Misplaced . For the first time the plot makes sense and the characters are not schiozfrenici, although between the first and the last part of it has passed half a year.

Story Most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Always Misplaced . I now understand that what seems to me almost perfect, the rest of the people it sucks, or nearly so. I received hoards of appreciation for certain stories I've written at random, without worrying about anything, and Misplaced has been almost totally ignored, despite what was behind it. We will get through 2011 to recover from the disappointment and frustration over this thing.

Most fun story: I would say Südafrika wir kommen , mostly because is all fun and not just at certain times.

Sexiest story: I think it Guilty Pleasure, which is the only real porn makes sense that I've written this year.

Story with the single sexiest moment: I would say Spa is for porn , Chakuza when he describes the massage they are doing to Fler with jojoba oil. It is not porn, but I think it is more intriguing then the porn itself that comes after.

Story That shifted my own perception of the characters: not know, maybe Kann Es beginnen (Pt1) , not because I did change my perception of Bill, but for the fact that I was in tune with him for the first time since the end of SE . Describe the mechanics of his brain in this shot was very simple and rewarding, and I arrived at the bottom capendolo perfectly.

Biggest surprise: Absolutely Dino Crisis . E 'was a surprise because who expected really be able to write, since the fandom (completely new) and my total ignorance about the characters who lived there? Yet it is coming pretty well, and is also liked these people who really know her. Not like me:)

Biggest disappointment: Unfortunately Unintended . It 's the typical story with a lot of unfulfilled potential.

Worst story: Without a doubt, The calm before the storm , he does not know anything, and basically me, I could avoid.

Hardest story to write: I do a tragedy for every story I write, so the honest answer would be "everything", but the most difficult of all was undoubtedly Trade Winds , because he had to be historical and I'm not going with this kind of agreement even under threat of death.

Easiest story to write: Strange but true (given the length, genre, any other business) is No looking back, no way to know . Once plotted went fairly smooth as oil, without asking myself too much damage.

"Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: No, really. Are quite predictable and badwrong difficult to write because I shudder at first. lisachanoando said Reflection not seem written by me because it was more raw than usual, so maybe she falls into the category, but do not know.

Most unintentionally telling story: After a long reflection, I would say You're so out That You're in . Though comic-ridiculous, contains whole pieces of my life and certain aspects of some people and myself that I can not stand or make me suffer.