|Better Than Burroughs
Author: Stillill PM
*COMPLETE* Burroughs said it best, “Perhaps all pleasure is only relief.” This is how Callum led his life until he met Marina. Maybe pleasure can be something more than relief.Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Romance - Chapters: 40 - Words: 226,118 - Reviews: 676 - Favs: 869 - Follows: 217 - Updated: 06-08-08 - Published: 12-26-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2076786
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: This is very short but it's only because it's the prologue. The future chapters will not be so tiny and I hope to get it out soon. I have around four different starts for this story and I'm not sure which story line I want to go with yet. I know the ultimate outcome, I just need to figure out in what way they get there. Review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading at all.
"So how's the book business treating you?" Felix asks, his elbow on the table, dangerously close to knocking his drink over. I push the food on my plate around, stabbing at it with the fork, just not hungry.
"Settling down. First year's always absolute shite." I drop the fork and lean back in the chair, looking around at the people around me. All stuffing their faces with whatever is closest. It's making me sick. Felix goes on about fuck all and I'm just too bloody tired to listen. I haven't slept in weeks, trying to keep that stupid idea of mine running. Opening a damn book store in an area filled with TV viewers was a terrible plan. But this will make it. It's just the image of the thing. Sitting in a soft chair, reading, helping the occasional customer…it's heaven. That is if I can keep the god damn shit hole open. It's not much right now, but it will be.
Looking at Felix; his name brand t-shirt, gelled hair, and his 'I just ran to the bathroom and shaved' look, and here I am; never having properly gotten the hang of shaving and mastering the art of 'in the dark dressing'. I wonder why we're still friends. How we've managed. How I've managed without slitting his bleedin' throat. My oldest American friend. Rather, the only one I've bothered to keep.
A flash of red to my left catches my attention. It's a woman in a bright red coat and a skirt that flutters around her knees. She jogs across the street towards the café, her long hair streaming behind her, not wanting to be left behind, and I sit up straight. She stands and looks around, frowning, and than walks over to join the rest of us at our tables outside. She selects an empty one straight in front of me and I can't keep my eyes off her. Checking her watch, she glances up and looks straight at me. I keep still and wait for her to break eye contact. She lasts longer than I thought, and smiles a little when she finally drops her head. She's the most beautiful thing I've seen in years. Her eyes dark, her hair even darker with little pieces refusing to stay tucked behind her ear, and even from this distance, I know that her lips are the epitome of sex. I don't know her, but I know that she's better than any first edition. Better than Morrissey at midnight and Vans, Converse…better than my store and every ex or possible ex-girlfriend I've ever had. Better than Burroughs' Naked Lunch. Better than…has the potential to be better than Burroughs himself. Just looking at her, I know she's a Camus girl. I imagine her reading The Stranger, in a car and on the way to somewhere she doesn't want to be.
Felix snaps his fingers in my face, forcing me to look at him. "Cal, what the hell are you looking at?" Turning in his seat, he scans the area and I know the second he sees her. He begins nodding his head rapidly and makes a strange 'aaaah' sound in the back of his throat. Turning back to me, he grins and I know what he's going to do and I hate him for it. I've never minded. But this girl, I mind.