apathetic / pathetic

…        smoke  curled  free  from  adam’s  lie  -  bled  lips.        the  bathroom,   for  all  its  untold  horrors,   had  been  a  space  of  truth      (      adam  had  been  right  about  one  thing,   after  all   :        they  were  both  bullshitters        ).      lawrence  tilted  his  head  away  from  the  worst  of  the  smoke,   refusing  the  cough  that  would  usually  follow       …        he  thinks  that  adam  would  take  too  much  pleasure  in  staining  his  lungs  grey,   splattered  with  a  smoke  so  thick  that  he  felt  as  if  he  was  choking.        ‘   you’re  good?   ’     bitter  disbelief  colours  his  voice,   framed  by  an  eye  roll.      his  attempts  at  caring  for  other,   fumbled  by  doctorly  hands  that  always  ran  a  little  too  cold,   are  shrugged  off   :        this  is  not  a  stray  cat  eager  to  be  fed  and  cared  for      (      they  were  nothing  but  tired  men,   clinging  to  their  little  lies  and  bitter  brutality,   snapping  at  each  other  without  the  relief  of  walking  away      …      lawrence  isn’t  sure  he  could  leave  this  conversation  even  if  he  really  wanted  to      ).

‘   constant  interviews,   interrogations,   support  groups,   the  news  reporting  on  us  every  second  and  you’re     ———      you’re  what,   adam,   fine?      at  least  do  me  the  courtesy  of  not  lying  out  of  your  ass.   ’        his  anger  is  a  collapsing  star,   too  cold  before  it  ever  becomes  warm,   curl  of  half  -  growled  words  slipping  free  with  a  vague  gesture  of  his  hand.      it  fizzles  out  in  the  next  breath      (        the  mention  of  his  wife,   his  failing  marriage  laid  trembling  before  them      ).     he  drinks  in  a  breath,   another,   catching  smoke  that  had  left  adam’s  mouth  still  hanging  dully  in  the  air  between  them.        ‘   i  don’t  think  you  should  be  commenting  on  my  marriage,   adam.      or  i’ll  start  bringing  up  how  you  were  stalking  me  for  quite  some  time.   ’

The doctor seemed to take ᴅɪsᴘʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ in the photographer’s bitterly imparted reassurance. With every second lingered in Lawrence’s presence, that awful cacophony in his chest only expanded; tighter and tighter it felt. Each syllable brought with it new emotion. How was it that just ᴏɴᴇ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ could make him endure such hell, pull him through  each level so quickly without saying a word?  — a Dante carved out of echoed screams against rotting bathroom tile. A look alone is enough to inspire all at once.

The doctor rolls his eyes and Adam mirrors almost on cue, having done his best to suppress such action for the sake of whatever false civility they had attempted to erect between them. ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏɴᴅᴇ ᴘʀᴇssᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇssᴇᴅ. Was he trying to spark some sort of reaction from the other? If he was, it was working. An awful, anxious  laughter escaped from him in near disbelief of the absurdity of it all.

“Oh——what? What do you want me to say, huh? No, I’m doing awful. I feel shit all the time.” He looked up from the small pile of ash to meet the doctor’s biting gaze. There was anger stuck somewhere, lodged in the man’s tone when he spoke to the other. Frustration, disappointment mounting behind a mocking smile.

“I feel---- awful? I haven’t slept properly in days thanks to this growing pain in my shoulder and —ʜᴇʏ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀ! You just wait right there,” the words tumble a near hundred miles an hour as he decides to rise from his seat on the couch,  “—-and I’ll just go and grab some more salt for you to come grind into hole where you fucking shot me, I think I’m just a little too fine right now.”

Any mood to mock or play dispersed as quick as it had rose up in him, catching those piercing blue’s reflected back in his own bitter jade. Swallowing hard, ambivalence lingers in the air like the residue of the smoke exhaled. Adam makes his silent choice, far too tired to continue the bit as his body settles back into the couch again. He didn’t mean it. He never did. A natural reaction in light of such confusion bubbling away. He had never been angry about the gunshot, ever. He still wasn’t. But he knew there was a part of the doctor that may still bear open scar about such events —- and why not be the first to rub the salt himself.

The traffic outside rolls by, the two opposed men separated again in the discourse flowing between them. Adam did want to be fine. Who wouldn’t want to be fine? But he loathed how pointed and right the other had to be. That cool tone, the steady pace at which his tongue rolled.

What was worse was that Adam knew he needed it. He needed to hear that understanding without compromise, without pity, without prejudice. Everyone was so quick to placate his bullshit after everything that had happened; the reality check was invaluable.

“Yeah, yeah, Ok Ok——got it.” He quickly shut down Lawrence’s line of fire, speaking over him as the doctor trailed off. A long exhale of breath, and shaking digits go to occupy themselves with another cigarette.           “ ——-ɪ’ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ.”

…        the  other  is  waiting.        softly,   almost,   his  eyes  plead  for  lawrence  to  play  the  hero        (        there  is  a  burden  laid  heavily  upon  adam’s  shoulder,   worldy  weight   :        how  does  he  tell  the  other  that  there  are  some  things  he  cannot  fix,   that  his  hands  were  made  to  pry  open  bodies  and  leave  flesh  splayed  and  unwound?        this  body  had  never  been  built  for  heroism        ).        but  there  is  something  he  can  offer  in  its  place   :        worry.        his  brow  crumples,   sigh  heaved  forward.        ‘   you  need  to  take  care  of  yourself,   adam.        i  know  there’s  a  lot  of        …        stress  right  now.       but  you  can’t  sacrifice  taking  care  of  yourself.        not  that  you  look  as  if  you’ve  ever  taken  care  of  yourself.   ’        even  his  care  is  barbed        (        deftly  flattens  together  insult  and  worry,   as  if  the  two  were  meant  to  be  together   :        bonded,   one  could  say        ).        ‘   there’s  a  food  truck  down  the  street        …        if  you’re  done  with  your  interviews       ───────       what’s  the  word  you  used?       interrogations?   ’

the  questioning  shifts   :       lawrence  becomes  the  focus.        his  wince  draws  again  across  his  face,   a  familiar  brush  stroke        (        a  reference  to  his  family  falling  from  adam’s  lips,   the  terrible  truth  blossoming  between  us       ───────       they  know  each  other  too  well  and  not  at  all   :        what  do  you  become  when  stranger  and  friend  are  equally  as  barren,   unable  to  define  their  relationship  in  such  unripe  terms?        ).        ‘   diana’s  okay.   ’        a  sacrifice  of  information,   throat  slit  on  the  altar  of  their  something  -  something  -  something.        ‘   do  you  really  want  to  talk  about  my  wife,   adam?        that’s  a  heavy  subject  for  you  to  run  to        …        just  because  you  don’t  want  to  talk  about  your  sleeping  habits.   ’        a  sore  point  for  him,   too        (        like  adam’s  ghostly  fingers  had  found  a  pulse  and  pinched  on  it,   as  close  to  him  as  his  own  skin        ).

As each flat lecture drawled out of the older man’s mouth, Adam felt  himself growing further away from the conversation. Such false  sympathies and anxieties for the sake of photographer made him want to spew. As if one can bat away; pretending to care for the condition of the other, and then deliver the very same  bullshit when the palm is turned in. He feels his jaw clench just a little tighter as smoke is expelled, caring not for whether it invades the doctor’s space or his own.  Whilst of course, if feels good to at least hear that perhaps someone gave a shit about his condition, he wasn’t so easily placated by lies as he wished he could be.

“I’m good.” He answers bluntly, stopping that path of conversation dead in its tracks.  Besides, he had lost his appetite as soon as he had set eyes on the haunting visage of the other. He hated it. He hated looking at him. He hated knowing that no matter what he did, or no matter how hard he  tried to forget, there was always going to be a piece of him lost to  Lawrence Gordon. Always a jagged piece of flesh cut out of his mind,  infected and blistering with the burden of what happened that night.  A scar, one that ran far deeper than any wound in his shoulder, or carved into his temple.                         

                That sound, those awful, strangled, beastly screams muffled                  into fabric as unforgiving teeth carved through flesh, through bone.

There’s a modicum of relief that sits uncomfortably in Adam’s chest as he hears that his daughter is ok. The extent of which the man could belief went only as far as Lawrence would permit; scraps of information scattered at the feet of desperate dogs. Lawrence’s discomfort at the mention of his partner rings clear with subtle shift in tone, a wobble in painfully clear demeanour. He stubs the last of his cigarette out, a cough lodged somewhere in his throat he was too busy to chase out.

          “I was just asking. You don’t need to get defensive with me.                        I really don’t care.” He lies, formerly occupied digits                        brushing through past the scruff of dark hair atop skull.

         “I’m guessing things aren’t looking too good in paradise?”            Why not dig those stakes a little deeper into the turf?                  “I guess you can’t blame her.”

…        the  eyes  that  fix  on  him  betray  adam’s  ire  -  trimmed  tone        (        guilt  manifested  from  the  softness  of  the  other   :        he  turns  his  gaze  away  quickly  enough,   allowing  an  uncomfortable  gritting  of  his  teeth,   trying  to  smooth  his  cold  tone  into  something  smoother        ).        ‘   you  haven’t  been  sleeping?   ’        this  is  how  he  coaxes  truths  from  the  other        …        wait  until  his  mouth  rubs  words  loose  from  soiled  sarcasm.        had  he  looked  more  tired  lately?        lawrence’s  gaze  swung  back  in  an  instant,   seeking  out  the  imprint  of  dark  bags  beneath  his  eyes.

‘   they’re  trying  to  make  sure  we’re  not  hiding  anything.   ’        clinical  precision,   the  questioning  has  twisted  his  tongue  this  way  and  that  way,   seeking  out  a  lie  that  they’d  never  be  able  to  draw  free        (        irrelevant   :        he’s  said  everything  he  could  say  to  them  and  yet  it  continues,   question  after  question        ).        ‘   they’ve  heard  about  some  apprentices  or  something  of  the  sort.        how  have  you  been  eating?   ’

Despite all they had been through, the two were just as ᴀᴛ ᴏᴅᴅs as they had been when ғᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴏғғ; their lives on the line in  some prehistoric bathroom. The soft eyes of the younger man can’t  help but devour the doctor’s features almost ᴘʟᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢʟʏ- as if this so-called re-union would be the key that would fix all that had happened, would afford some sort of ᴄʟᴏsᴜʀᴇ. It had been nothing but naive.

The air that hangs above them is uncomfortable heavy, and the photographer wished that Lawrence would at least attempt to alleviate the burden on broken shoulder.  His lips feel dry as he takes another drag, watching the plumes of smoke escape up into the atmosphere. Until finally the silence is broken again by that low haunting timbre.

     The path diverges as green hues meet at last with the stormy ocean,      a chance for honesty and vulnerability, or a chance to drive another      steak in the ground below them, cementing his commitment to this      foul tempest destroying all sense of civility.

         “Not really----” tone shifts, somewhat quieter but with the bite of           snark still nipping at the surface. He opens his mouth as to speak           further, but quickly replaces words with nicotine. Adam wasn’t to           choose the former path just yet; that’s what his therapist was for.

    “It’s not like I’ve---- I’ve told them everything I can remember.”      He speaks, frustration seeping in again. Not directed at the doctor,      but at the situation at hand. A pension to lie is still a brand deep in       his flesh, prompting the additional, “I’m serious.” in defence.

   He didn’t want to talk further on crazy theories of apprentices and     traps and awful, awful things. That’s not why he had agreed to come.    Those were things left to mull over at night, bed pressed up against    the back wall, eyes with access to every door in sight. Nothing was    sneaking up on him this time. Never again.

  A chance to change to conversation, especially as it had shifted to   the photographer’s own health. 

      “Your kid....your wife? How are they doing? Are they... ok?”

…        how  are  you  doing?        the  question  is  hanging  yourself  with  white  lace        (        as  sweet  as  the  notion  is,   the  pain  is  still  tangible,   held  in  his  rushed  release  of  breath         ).        his  eyes  drift  to  the  cigarette,   caught  between  lips   :        maybe  it’s  time  he  took  up  the  habit?        …         he  couldn’t  decide  if  the  other  was  more  or  less  jittery  after  a  drag  or  two,   though.        adam’s  nature  was  one  of  movement.

‘   do  you  actually  want  to  know?       or  are  you  asking  because  you  think  you  have  to?         because  you  think  it’s  polite?   ’         a  jab   :        these  are  surgeons  hands,   after  all,   and  sometimes  all  they  can  do  is  drag  open  the  soft  inner  lining  of  a  body.         ‘   i  imagine  i’m  doing  as  well  as  you  are.        how  are  you  doing?   ’

It appeared as though regardless of any positive gesture the younger man could attempt, the doctor always found a way to throw it back in his face.  Couldn’t help but have the last word, couldn’t help but try and sour the mood. He grit his teeth just a little, biting back any snarky comment with another long drag from his cigarette. His other hand remained fidgety, pulling idly at the fabric of his jean’s knee. Something to keep it occupied.

                       “Jesus---- forget I asked.” He shrugs off his remark,                     unable to hide the bitter undertone despite those soft                     eyes looking over at him. Adam could act unphased as                      much as he wanted to ---- but always his eyes found a                        way to betray.

 At least Lawrence seemed to give in somewhat to the photographer’s incessant need to fill the dead air between them. Why had he even asked to meet Adam like this if he was just going to be unreasonable?

                  “Oh, I’m having a great time. Really.                     I’m fucking living the dream.” He huffs,                   “Sleeping’s overrated anyway, right?                      Oh! And the interviews? Interrogations?                      God, everyday just keeps getting better.”

he could hardly hold in the burst of that sound. it came from deep in his chest, pulling his lips ear-to-ear, high-pitched and squeaky. it was some echo of childhood, inescapably his own. still laughing, daniel bumped his shoulder into adam’s. “no no no c’mon, we could totally have an act together and everything! being a dumbass comes way too naturally for you, you can’t just pass this up.” 

he would never stop thinking about it. it would never leave. but sometimes, it was far away enough not to reach him. 

daniel bit his lower lip as he settled. the taste of nicotine between them would’ve probably been nauseating to the unattuned. “i know some people find those fuckers creepy, but i always liked ‘em. the funny shit was my favorite part of circuses. even more than the people actively seeking a few broken bones. or worse.”

His face stung just a little as lips curved to smile, laughter only  increasing at the sound escaping the other, unable to fight that  childish urge to bump his shoulder back at him.  (Fortunately his good one.)

“A double act huh? I don’t know, I’m not the one to share the limelight. Can’t have such an experienced clown like you showing me up.  And how the shit can you talk about me being a dumbass when you’re    literally right here.”

Soft eyes settle on the familiar features of his current company and he feels his shoulders slump a little less, easing themselves back. It felt so good just to talk to someone about nothing. The hours felt so easy to waste away when going back and forth like this. He settles in a bit closer.

The boyish elbow to his ribs made Joe reflexively smirk in return. He wasn’t a fan of…dates under pretense. Girls saying that’d want to come over to watch a movie and then try and get into his lap instead. Joe knew he’d missed the nuance, but he didn’t really like to imply things like that. Not with women, anyway. Not in years. He’d rather be frank about it.

Adam finished his smoke break and Joe followed after, a 6′ tall puppy dog leash training. “So you’re saying, 1 can wh1p my dick out whenever I want, just n0t in front of your m0m?” Maybe they should compare right now. Nobody that conservative was around this time of night, after all.

What? No. Why did he say that? Fuck. Joe scratched above his eyebrow. “Stupid joke,” he amended with a smile, “my bad.” He stepped over an empty energy drink can on the sidewalk, tempted t0 k1ck it, but not giving in to the urge. Adam probably didn’t want to waste time playing kick the can, anyway.

“1 think,” Joe said, starting to feel hella tired, “the night could take us t0 someplace with vodka and at least s0me decent music.” Maybe he was being too boring for Adam. Maybe he needed to do something that was…

Outlandish, like bust up cars in the expensive part of town. Tyler reached up and brushed his fingers through his hair. “You sure you’re not working tonight or anything? Don’t need to go get your camera and take nudey pictures through any windows? I’ve always thought that stuff’d be fun as shit for a job.” Meaning, actually very fun.

A childish grin ignites ahead on pale features as they walk, one man in front of the other as their shadows chase and scale the near claustrophobic walls that surround them. It was one thing Adam actually liked about the city. The anonymity; nobody gave a shit who you were here. He could go about his meaningless existence undisturbed for the most part.

“I’m not actively encouraging you to do so. Don’t get me wrong.” He clarifies, breath haunting each word in the slight chill of the night’s air. He didn’t feel too cold right now, fortunately, and he was sure the imbibing of alcohol ahead of them would further numb the dip in  temperature.

“Mnnnh.” Adam agreed as they turn a corner, not exactly too sure where he was headed, but could feel his boots already dragging him to the  aforementioned gathering. Like a magnet attracted to the same cycle of bullshit he had no intention of breaking. Every weekend was ending the same these days. At least there was Joe now- that made things a little different, a little different. And he thoroughly enjoyed his company for now.

A snort of laughter escapes and he makes the effort to turn his head and shoot a look at the much taller man. He shoved hands into his pocket and stopped at a crossing, saddling up beside him with all the authority 5′6″ afforded.

“I don’t take nudey pics.” He added pointedly, looking up at the other. “And I don’t go looking into peoples homes, I’m not some pervert. I take perfectly tasteful shots of people in public spaces---and it’s really not.” Adam trails off, taking the lead as they cross the road, forms ignited by the neon jade of the stoplight. “Would rather not be spending my time trailing scumbags hauling their asses to seedy as fuck motels to fuck their secretaries. Just because you’d get off on that shit.” Adam ends with tease, still not quite sure where they were going.

…        the  cigarette  is  a  trembling  memory        (        a  bathroom,   a  body  captured  in  falsified  seizures,   their  escape  rendered  useless  beneath  a  mind  far  coarser  than  their  own       ───────      was  that  mind  smarter?         or  just  colder?        ).        ‘   i’m  sure  i  don’t  need  to  lecture  you  on  your  cigarette  use.   ’        his  tone  is  pointed   :        a  lecture  with  only  a  few  words,   really.        ‘   what  kind  of  story  do  you  want  to  hear?        …        one  that  doesn’t  end  with  jigsaw?   ’

@cutfoot​

What kind of question was that? ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴇɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴊɪɢsᴀᴡ? Like the man wanted to be ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇᴅ of that bullshit ─ ─like it didn’t already ʜᴀᴜɴᴛ the two to of them, as sharp as their own shadows on a blisteringly sunny day.

He finds his lighter and ignores the other man’s less that gentle protest with a pointed “Nnhn.” as fire connects to the end of his cigarette and he takes that first well needed drag.

             “ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.” Adam made his well-informed reply with a               deep breath outwards, his eyes finding the doctor’s features               once more.                 “Kinda sick of stories. Why does it have to be a story?”

Adam takes another drag, the taste on his lips awfully familiar; unable to indulge in his habit without the taste of ᴘʟᴀsᴛᴇʀ and ɪʀᴏɴ rolling their way across his palette. 

…        the  head  shake   :        a  study  of  curated  defeat        (        it  is  met  with  the  rolling  of  his  eyes,   exasperation  bone  -  deep        ).        ‘   i  thought  the  story  would  be  more  useful.        but  the  start’s  already  a  little  wobbly,   i  don’t  want  to  see  how  this  one  finishes.   ’

If Lawrence had been so ɪɴᴄʟɪɴᴇᴅ to ask him, he could at least pretend to give a shit about what Adam had to say. He could have just endured his story for the sake of ᴘᴏʟɪᴛᴇɴᴇss. He bit his tongue, hands itching to reach his pockets for a long-overdue hit of nicotine. He had ʜᴇʟᴅ ᴏғғ in the man’s presence for the other’s sake-- but after that little display -- ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ?

“ғɪɴᴇ. Suit yourself.” He hits back, affixing cigarette between his teeth.                   “You got a better one?”