New Heaven
Written by ShyDarkness
Disclaimer: The events and characters in this story are completely fictional and ShyDarkness is the sole owner of all.They are in no way similar to real persons, living or dead. If so, it is merely coincidental but not intended. Warning: Please be advised this is a yaoi story. Meaning that there is a malexmale relationship in the following. Homophobia is not welcome!
Do not flame me or tell me I'm doing something wrong.
The Prologue
- Flawless Goodbyes -
Listen to your heart, when he's calling for you
Listen to your heart, there's nothing else you can do
I don't know where you're going and I don't know why
but listen to your heart, before you tell him goodbye.
DHT - Listen to Your Heart
- April 2006 -
The New Heaven Café is a rectangular shaped room. Lined up against the wall, to the left, are occupied booths with cracked burgundy colored plastic seats; with broken springs; that will occasionally squeak when a patron moves. Brown, worn out dingy wooden tables, stand between them with initials and professes of love engraved on their surfaces. To the right up toward the entrance, is a dirty old fashioned cash register and counter with a see-through window that shows every delectable piece of dessert known to man. Behind the counter, are two young girls wearing the café uniform, that's composed of maroon and white. Further into the café are small circular tables scattered sporadically around the rest of the room, with a few chairs surrounding them. To the back of the café is a small makeshift stage for when the café would put on small dramatic shows or host a special event, such as they are doing tonight. The air is clouded with tendrils of smoke, with the aroma of coffee stuck to the maroon colored walls. The soft buzz of chatter runs throughout the room, accompanied with the lazy tunes of Jazz coming from dilapidated speakers.
I'm sitting at the last booth, all the way in the back, that's next to a hallway that leads to the bathrooms. It's my favorite spot to sit in when I visit this decade old café because for some reason, it gives me a sense of privacy. A privacy I know I can't get sitting in the park or in the stillness of my apartment, as weirdly as that sounds.
I'm watching the patrons, which mostly consist of college kids from the local college. –The one in which I attend. They're laughing and enjoying each others company. Talking about their classes, their lives, their concerns for the future. I, on the other hand sit alone with an almost empty cold cup of coffee between my hands, resting on the rugged table before me.
I avert my gaze from the people, to the table top in front of me, hoping to cease the feeling of loneliness taking over. Unfortunately that simple action was a big mistake. My eyes immediately roam over one of the messily inscribed messages across the table.
CG MH
LUV 4 EVER
12-6-94
Reading the message makes a hollow feeling come to the pit of my stomach and a deep ache, which has long ago become unnoticed, makes itself known. I swallow down the acrid tasting bile that threatens to come up and show itself. I don't know why I'm reacting this way when I don't even know who CG or MH are. So why should the fact they decided to profess their love on this table make me feel so abandoned and lifeless?
Okay I lied, I know exactly why I'm reacting this way but I'm not going to think about it. I'm not going to think about any form of love. I'm not going to think about him.
Shifting my gaze to the cup in front of me, I stare into the dark cold liquid. Without my consent, a picture of him pops into my head. It's of the face he made when he found out I drank my coffee straight. His face scrunched up and a cute smirk on his face, with just a hint of laughter in his unforgettable enticing eyes.
Shaking my head to rid my mind of the image, some of my layered blonde hair falls in front of my eyes. I really need a hair cut but I just haven't had the will to keep up my appearance or do anything at all for that matter. I run my hands through my blonde locks from the roots, bringing the hair away from my face. Once I come to the end of my chin length hair, I lean my head back and rest it against the wall behind me, closing my eyes with my fingers still entangled in my hair
As soon as I do that though, a memory of him, of us, comes to my mind.
"I love your hair." He says, his slightly rough voice rousing me from my drowsy state upon his chest.
"Mmm-thanks." I say, drifting back to that limbo between being awake and asleep, letting the steady beat of his heart carry me away.
He chuckles. Feeling the vibration against my cheek, I open my eyes slightly and tilt my head back to look up at him. I meet the gaze of slightly pointed, stunning light charcoal gray eyes, which contrast greatly with his soft looking raven black hair and almost porcelain looking skin. His face is a picture of pure serenity, a depth to his eyes, that I'm afraid, I'll never understand. He moves his eyes from mine to his fingers that I can barely feel, playing with the end of my hair. He shifts his gaze back to mine and with his free hand, he gently tilts my head back, while he lifts his head off the cushion of the couch.
Our lips meet, the softness of his lips spreading warmth throughout my body, giving me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I have yet to get used to.
Pulling back, I look into his hypnotizing eyes and give him a small tired smile. Resting my head back on his chest, my ear positioned over his heart. I once again let it lull me to that blissful state.
I'm almost there when I remember something important. Sleepily, I murmur for him to wake me up in time for my English class. He doesn't reply, instead I feel his fingers gently phantom up and down over the incline of my lower back, soothing me into a peaceful slumber.
A high squeal from a girl a couple of booths in front of me jars me from the rest of the memory and I open my eyes. A feeling of nostalgia overcomes my emotions and once more I can't help but feel lifeless. I never did make it to my English class that day. When I had asked why he hadn't woken me up, he had said he dared not disturb an angel. Oh gods. How can I forget him, his beautifully shaped face, the wonderful color of his eyes? When he had eyeliner on, his gaze was so alluring, I felt like a deer caught in the head lights, so fixated on his bright orbs.
Slouching over my cold coffee, my arms folded in the front of me, I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. I look over at my sunglasses that lay in front of the sweeteners. Taking them, I start to play with them. I need to do something, I need to get my mind off of him. Folding them and then opening, then folding them once more. I quickly grow tired of that and resort to staring back at my coffee.
I hear the chimes to the entrance of the café chime, signifying someone just walked in or left. Not really caring, I just keep staring at my coffee but then I get this nagging feeling I'm being watched so I look up.
My eyes widen almost immediately and my heart flutters up my throat. My chest feels like it's in a vice and I can't breathe, all the air has left my lungs. It's him.
He's just standing there, watching me with an expressionless face. He's clad in - what used to be a tight fitting black long sleeved shirt with a faded red band logo decorating the chest area. He has on black red stitched cargo pants with a mix of zippers and chains decorated all over them. A spiked collar along with a cross I've grown to memorize is around his neck. He wears his hair down today and it's grown since the last time I saw it, just a few inches past his shoulders. A touch of eyeliner is beneath his eyes, accenting them. He usually wears it heavier but not today. There are dark circles under his eyes as well and I already know what he's been up to the last few days.
I feel the disappointment fill my chest and the pit of my stomach. He said he wasn't going to do drugs anymore, he had promised me! But I guess since we weren't together anymore, it didn't apply. I just have to wonder if he's still doing the other thing that he'd done when I first met him. Most likely.
I haven't seen him in months and I was slowly, very slowly getting used to it but now he's here and I feel all the old feelings coming back. I'm still in love with him even after all he's done to me. Looking at him now and at how tired and thin he looks, I just want to go over to him and hug him, lose myself in his intoxicating scent, and tell him I'm there for him but I don't, instead he makes the first move.
My breath catches in my throat as I watch him take his first step toward me. It's like everything suddenly goes into slow motion and I'm just sitting there watching, memorizing the look of him. Soon he's there in front of me, his hands in his pockets, looking very unsure.
"Hey Tristan, can I have a seat?" He says, gesturing to the empty seat in front of me
I'm still a little bit too stunned to speak so I just nod. He moves to sit, the broken springs protesting against his weight, and I immediately straighten my back and lean into the seat, away from the table, afraid to be even a little bit close to him. I wince, when I hear my back crack.
He's sitting there watching me with his hands laced together in front of him, resting on the table. Returning his gaze is all I can do. I'm too afraid to start the conversation
"How have you been doing?" He asks.
I swallow nervously and respond but look away from his gaze to the table when I do.
"Good and you?" My voice comes out as a croak since I haven't used it for the past couple of hours so I cough to clear it.
"I'm okay, I guess." He replies.
I look back up at him but he's looking at his hands. It's then that I notice he doesn't have anything on his face. No lip, nose, or eyebrow ring. He always had them on when I saw him.
"Look, I just wanted to say that I'm so -"
"Stop." I interrupt him. I don't want to hear him say that. It's not what I want to hear right now, not yet anyway. "Just don't."
"What?" He asks a confused look upon his face. "All I want to say is -"
"Stop." I say again but more firmly. My sympathy for him is slowly replaced by the anger and frustration I felt when he left. "All I want to know is why? Why did you leave all of a sudden? Leave me? Leave what we built together?"
"I can't tell you." His inexpressive face, staring at the table top.
"I loved you." My voice cracking a bit. Shit, I'm going to cry. I can feel the sting of tears in my eyes already.
"I know." His only reply.
"Then why the fuck did you leave me?" My voice raising a little bit with just a hint of anger behind it. I had a right to know why he left. It was the only thing I wanted him to answer for me.
"I can't tell you . . . I won't tell you. It'll only hurt you more." He says, trying to make eye contact with me but I avoid it by resting my head back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling
"That's just great." I laugh bitterly to the white plastered ceiling. I wipe the almost present tears with the heels of my hands just before they are able to fall down my cheeks and show him weakness. I can't take this anymore, this stabbing, twinging pain in my chest. I can't stand to be around him any longer. Standing up, I grab my sunglasses off the table and put them on.
"Well I hope you got what you wanted out of it. Goodbye."
I head to the door, my back to him.
"Tristan, wait." He says but when I don't turn around to face him, he just calls out louder. "Tristan!"
I'm almost to the door but when I hear the pleading tone in his voice, I turn around and look at him. He opens his mouth to speak but I interrupt him.
"Just leave me the fuck alone!" I yell but then more reservedly, I say."I don't ever want to see your tweaked out ass again." There is only silence after I say this, except for some Saxophone music playing in the background. All chatter has stopped in the small café and all attention is on me. I feel a blush rise to my cheeks but I just ignore it and turn back around, pointedly ignoring the stares I can feel at my back.
Pushing the door open, I walk into mid-afternoon light. The sound of cars passing by fills my ears and I turn left and start walking down the sidewalk, biting my lip, trying my hardest not to cry. I almost half expected him to follow me but he doesn't. Coward! I come to a corner and turn it. Walking midway down the block, I come to a paint-chipped door with an intercom and a list of tenants listed next to it with a button next to each name.
Pulling a set of keys out of my pocket, I stick one of the keys into the key hole and unlock the door. Pulling the heavy door open, I come to a hallway, the stench of mildew is in the air. Crinkling my nose, I immediately go to the right, up an old brown staircase. I continue going up past the second floor, the only sound to be heard was the creaking of the steps beneath my weight. I reach the third floor. Then go to the last ugly brown painted door and search on my set of keys to unlock it. I quickly find it and then use that to open the door.
I'm presented, a bare hallway and walk a few steps to come to an opening to my right and enter my kitchen and throw the keys on the counter, then I come back out to the hallway and walk down the rest of the way to come in full view of my living room. Pointedly ignoring the couch, I head toward the bathroom which is down another hall to my right.
Coming to the door, I kick it open. I enter my bathroom and turn on the light. Starting the taps at the sink, I wait for the water to warm before I cup my hands together, filling them with water and then bring them to my face splashing the water on. Water goes everywhere even on my shirt but I don't care. I chant to myself as I bring the hand towel up to my face to dry it.
"Not going to think about him. Not going to think about him. Not going to think about him. Not -"
The words die in my mouth as I catch a look at myself in the medicine cabinet mirror. My hazel eyes are tainted with red from my unshed tears. My blonde hair is in complete disarray, a millage of different shades of blondes. Then I watch regrettably as a single tear escapes from each eye. I just stand there watching my face. My eyes are filled with such misery and it reminds me of the mourners I'd see at funerals when experiencing the trial of losing a loved one. I guess in a way, I was mourning too, mourning the fact that one day he will be dead from the drugs he was putting into his body.
Opening up the cabinet, I take out a bottle of sleeping pills and open it. Spilling two pills out onto my palm, I swallow them without water, and twist the cap back on and put the bottle back and close the cabinet door.
Turning away from the mirror, I shut off the light, and head out of the bathroom door. I walk across the hall to my bedroom. Closing the bedroom door with a kick from my foot, I immediately start undressing, until I'm down to my boxer shorts. Walking to the right side of the unmade bed, I push the white messed up covers aside and then lay down before bringing the covers over me and covering my head.
Curling into a ball, I start to think. I fear this is where I make my biggest mistake because now since I have nothing to take my mind off of him. There is only him to think about. Fuck.
I can't help but feel the flutter of my heart as I remember what happened at the café. How I acted and how he looked. Just the sight of him makes me want to . . . ugh.
Besides his tired face, he still looked the same. His lips looked so tempting to kiss. I remember how wonderfully skillful his mouth was on me and those deep long passionate kisses we would share after we made love. I never could get enough of him. I groan as I feel the beginning of an erection.
Damn it, why did he have to do this to me? Why the hell did he leave me? I feel tears fall from the corners of my eyes. What the hell did I do? Why couldn't he just have told me why he left? I mean he's already hurt me so much, it probably wouldn't even affect me in the end.
The last thing I see before I fall asleep, is the memory of his face. The way he looked when I called him a 'drug user.' There was at first, a look of complete shock and then it transformed into pain, with just the hint of tears forming in his eyes. Maybe he hadn't been taking drugs after all.
God, why did I have to be so cruel?
To be continued . . .