The sun glints off of the red clay shingles from the house before me. I back into the driveway, and turn my head to smile at my good friend, Tim. He's chewing his nails down, and his shoulders are shaking. He looks both annoyed and worried that I've taken him for this drive. "Don't stare at me, dude. Just go!"
"All right, all right, but for fuck's sake, relax! If you're going to have a breakdown, then go in the back of the van," I instruct, only getting a shrewd glare in return.
"You probably stole this van, too," he bitterly mumbles, and I can't help but tell him that I didn't even, though I'm pretty sure I did. We both get out, and, sure enough, he ducks into the back as I make away behind some bushes so that I can hop into the backyard. An open window later, and I'm trucking about two thousand dollars of shit into the back of the van.
As I toss down a breifcase, I notice that my darling Tim has moved to the front seat again. I'm ready to leave, anyways, so I tuck myself into the driver's seat and go with Tim once more at my side. "I - I couldn't sit with that shit."
"What shit?" I calmly ask, but he glares at me. "What shit?" I ask again.
"The shit you stole!"
"I didn't steal anything, Tim, and if I was going to steal I don't think I'd steal shit. I know the guy that lives there. I'm helping him move," I state matter-of-factly. I can't think of someone who would steal "shit". Tim bites down on his thumb, and I glance over to notice before looking back at the road. "He wants to move to a new small town. Sound good?"
The sound of Tim's teeth gritting together meets my ears, and I flinch. "You know I hate that sound, Tim."
"Jake Milton hated that sound," Tim reminds me as I turn onto the backroads. "You're Walter Raleigh."
"My friend who is moving is named Dan MacKinley, Tim. He hates that sound, too, and since we're moving him you should practice not making it."
Tim gives a sigh from next to me, and he reaches over to grab at the jean of my thigh. "Okay, Dan. Let's move to a new small town."
"I think that'd be lovely," I answer with a smile, and Tim doesn't say a word.
"I ate the bananas," Tim tells me as I look through the food in the cabinets. An empty bag of dry cereal coughs at me, and I cough back. "Are you getting sick, John?"
"Yes, I have the flu. I haven't left the couch for three days," I inform him.
"Of course not," Tim says in a disheartened agreement. "Maybe you should go lay down now. I'll get you something to eat."
"The last time someone went to get me food, I had to move. Dan just had to shoot the cashier. I don't know how you got along with Mr. MacKinley, Tim."
"Love, I guess," he answers a question that I didn't pose. His answer makes me frown, though. Tim loves Dan? No, Tim should love me. Dan was a nasty fellow. "I love Dan," he continues at my frown, "Just as I loved Jake, and Joe, and Caleb, and Cameron. Today I love John." He kisses my chin, and then he hugs me. "So don't be sad, John."
"You're a whore!" I proclaim at him. He looks up from the half-hug, startled. He looks nervous, and his body twitches as he pulls away from me to bite his thumb.
"Wh-what? What did you call me?" he says. He's shaking really bad.
"You're a whore to love all those men, and some of them are my friends, Tim! You won't love me tomorrow, will you? No, I don't want to be loved by a whore!"
"You best not say that again!" he snaps. His body jerks upright as he talks. "Do you know what you put me through?" Tim moves to hit me, but I punch him first in the nose so hard that he falls with a crash to the ground. "You, you hit me! You psychopathic ass, you hit me!"
"I'm not a psychopath, you are!" I scream into Tim's face. "You told MacKinley to fire the gun! You told him to move, and you killed all the other men, too. You're the murderer! You're the psychopath! I ought to hit you again!" Tim rolls away from me and draws his gun. He points it at me as he stands up, one hand covering his bleeding nose. Tim wouldn't shoot me. He loves me. "I ought to call the cops is what I really ought to do! You're threatening me with a gun, see? You're threatening my life!"
"If you talk to the cops, we'll both go to jail!" he shouts at me in return. "I love you but I don't intend on being separated from you in a jail. With my luck, you'll be committed for the rest of your life. Now sit back down on the couch and tell me you love me, John!"
"My name is Martin," I answer as I take a seat on the couch. I turn my head away from him when he goes to touch me. "My name is Martin and I hate murderers. You should, too."
"I can't. I love one."
"Well, that makes you a terrible person," I tell him. He turns my head and presses his lips against mine.
"I know, Martin. I know."
This was a short thing I wrote fairly long time ago for diebyownhands.
I didn't like how dead my page looked so I figured I'd post it so that you all know I'M NOT DEAD! I JUST HAVE A BROKEN COMPUTER AND COLLEGE TO DEAL WITH!
Her requirements were angst, so I threw together the angstiest non-teenager-y things I could think of involving only two male characters! By that I mean there was no abortion or pregnant hoes... Still though. Here's my present for her now displayed for you even those she read it ages ago.