Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Soured Milk, 8

"Goodness! Oh, my!" he grinned from ear to ear, rubbing his hands together like a wolf about to devour his prey, "Such delicacies on offer today, heh-heh!"

Sven stood beside him, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cigarette; looking so fucking unconcerned with it all that I wanted to punch him right in the face.  

"A proper little lamb, this one, heh!" the old man roared, smacking Sven in the back, throwing him forward and crashing to the ground.

He looked up at me with such a pitiful expression; one that almost resembled shame, and I had to look away while he struggled to get up from the floor, retreating into himself like a turtle ducking into its shell.

A damn coward, that's what he was. The way he conveniently announced that he'd grown sick of me a day after this 'old friend of his' dropped in for a visit, pretending that it was of his own selfless generosity and accord to pass me along. He must've been out of his fucking mind to actually think I'd believe it. I guess it goes to show how little he thought I knew him, but it didn't take a genius to see that it killed him; how his friend simply swooped in and stole me away, like the whole of Sven's existence was as trivial as the dirt on his boot.

And It wasn't so much Sven's feelings for me, but his terrible need for possession, that made it so hard for him to watch me leave. And while I was infuriated by the audacity of these two assholes, and the very idea of being passed around like a fucking toy, I decided to go along with it out of spite for Sven. To stick the knife in and twist it, too.

"So, my lambkin, will you come and sit on my lap? I have such wonderful stories to tell, heh."

I smiled, looking over at Sven, who winced and looked away, "I'm all yours."

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Soured Milk, 7

I thought he looked different.

I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew something had changed, and it wasn't until a while later, when I looked down and found a mop of black curls between my thighs that I realized his hair was no longer white. How I failed to notice it right away, I don't know.

Then he did that thing with his tongue and the black of his hair flew right off my mind, and instead, all I could see was a tide of orange and red that washed over my eyes in pulsating waves, rushing to the back of my head in a kind of swirled delirium; rising higher, higher, higher, until it was bursting through every limb, every end.

Then everything settled to this state of violet clarity; cool as the blue of his veins. I don't need to turn to see that he's sitting cross-legged beside me, "Welcome back," he teased, with a smug, satisfied smile.

I pressed my lips in silent protest. God, he's such an asshole.

"Oi, don't you have something to say?"


He hovered above me, balancing himself on the palms of his hands, "Hmm."

"It's black," I said, giving a quick ruffle to his hair.

He gasped, his body jerking in a kind of involuntary tremble, and though Sven would never blush, he looked away in nervous self-consciousness, avoiding the whole of my gaze until the last of his shivers had gone away.

"My mom used to do that," he smiled, a softness falling over his eyes; vulnerable and sad and melancholic all at once.

It was the first time that he'd mentioned his mother. In fact, I don't think he talked about his family at all. Once, he told me about a cousin of his, but even then, he was drunk off his ass, and only mumbled vague references to some childhood incident that I couldn't quite understand. "Is she still alive?" I asked, though I knew I probably shouldn't have. 

He glared at me with muffled annoyance, "The fuck should I know?"

"We don't need to talk about it if you don't want to. No need to be an asshole."

"Oh, fuck off, Min," he scoffed, pushing himself off and away from me.

"What? All I wanted was to have a pleasant conversation"

"Pleasant conversation, is it?"

"That's not what I meant"

"Don't mention my mother ever again, you understand? Find other ways to fucking humanize me."

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Soured Milk, 6

He's been acting like a whiny little bitch ever since that day at the coffee shop. On one hand, it has translated surprisingly well into the proverbial conjugal bed, but on the other hand, I honestly couldn't give two shits about his feelings, slighted or otherwise, and I care even less for the kisses he presses against the back of my thigh; soft and moist and all too deliberate for my liking.

"Sven, can I ask you something?" I managed to faintly whisper, strung in a flurry of his wet kisses, "But you have to answer me, truly."

He cocked his head, mockingly holding out his palms in prayer, "I swear by the sun and the moon all that lies beneath them."

"Why did it bother you so much?"

He sighed, sinking deep into the sofa's worn-out leather, "I don't know."

As he lied there, one arm over my shoulders and the other around my waist, I couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful he was. The trail of smudged lipstick around his mouth and all the way down his torso looked almost fluorescent against his pale skin, and underneathand just as striking a contrastan entire road-map of bright blue veins. His eyes, moving in swift, circular motions to the dull hum of the ceiling fan, had a sort of repressed luminescence; matte black and yet, somehow, still lustrous.

 So breathtakingly beautiful, and yet, somehow...

"I guess I thought," he softly started, "You know, what with the tattoo and all."

"The tattoo?"

"You let me tattoo your fucking butt, Min!"

"The back of my thigh!"

He shrugged, "I guess I thought it somehow made you mine."

"What is it with you and this rabid need for possession?"

"I don't know, Min. It's just the way I am."

"And here I was thinking you were in love with me."

"Do you want me to?" he abruptly stood up, looking down at me with a sort of frantic excitement, "Because I could, Min! I could fall in love if you want me to!"
He leaned in and grazed the tip of his nose against my lips, moving it sideways and back until I found myself unknowingly parting my lips, to which he quickly slipped a finger into my mouth, pressing it firmly underneath my tongue until I felt a twinge of pain shooting down my throat.



Sunday, September 7, 2014

Soured Milk, 5

"So are you two dating, or?"

It came out of nowhere; this idea of his. We were bundled up on his sofa, him vacantly watching TV and me on my laptop, when he suddenly asked if I had any friends, and the minute I began talking about this particular friend, he seemed to be infinitely intrigued. I'm not really sure what it was about her that interested him so much, but next thing I knew, he asked me to make plans with her.

And I know this sounds almost unreal, but I swear, he's been on edge since yesterday, fretting about everything and anything, and looking so uneasy and distraught that I wondered if maybe something else was going on.


He simply ignored her, just as he has been doing ever since we've arrived. The moment we sat down and exchanged greetings, he seemed to lose all interest, and proceeded to absentmindedly stare out the window while my friend and I conversed.

"Define 'dating'."

She rolled her eyes, "Do you go out on dates?"

"Not really, we mostly hang out in his place."

Looking over at him, I was taken back by how out of place he seemed to be. He appeared to be so uncomfortable, so self-aware; fidgeting in his seat and looking out the window as if the sidewalk was his salvation. He even looked different; his ridiculous mop of white curls, his dull, black eyes, and the darkness underneath them, his sickly, pale skin and scrawny arms. He looked nothing like he did that very first night I met him; that tall, handsome man with the hateful eyes and wine-stained smile. Did he really change so much? Or has he been like this all along?

"And do what?"

"Well," I smiled, "Enjoy each other's company, I guess."

"Ooh," she leaned against the table, "It's satisfying company, then?"

"Mutually satisfying." he quipped, sounding a bit agitated.

She leaned back in her seat and grinned at him, "And under current circumstances, we are to assume that this 'mutually satisfying' affair will go on in the future?"
The question was clearly directed at him, but he chose to ignore it, taking intentionally long sips of his coffee while staring at her. 

"I guess," I finally answered. 

"And are you exclusive?"

"Not really."

He jerked his head around so violently that I could almost hear his neck snap. He seemed so shocked, so dumfounded by my response, that he kept staring at me, mouth open, for a good several minutes.

"Are you seeing someone else?" he burst, pushing his chair closer to my mine.

"Not at the moment, no, but what I meant was"

"Who the fuck is he?"

"Why are you getting so upset?" 

"Why am I getting so upset! Why am I getting so upset!"

"You do realize you're not my boyfriend," I glanced over to my friend, who had a wide, open-mouthed smile on her face, "Don't you?"

He leaned back, pressing his lips firmly against each other as a dim stillness slowly took over his face, and with it what seemed to be the realization of just how much he'd misunderstood our relationship.

 "Sven.." I sighed, moving my hand towards his, barely even touching him before he pulled his arm away and stood up.

"Okay." he nodded, staring vacantly at the table, "Good-bye, then."

"Nice meeting you!" my friend called out, but he had already left.

"Wow." she laughed, shaking her head, "You sure know how to pick them, huh?"