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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