Story: Ask for help 1/?
note: short angsty ficlet, no plot at all, I wrote this as a self-therapy experiment. in honor of my one year anniversary. not nearly as impressive as my last two (in my opinion).
----
Its funny how some things dont make sense. For instance, you can be sitting on top of the world... and want to die.
Taylor waits for her cell phone to stop ringing before she turns it off without checking to see who called. The phone drops from limp fingers to the floor of her bedroom but she doesn't bother to notice.
What is this? She leans heavily against the opened balcony door, stroking her bottom lip with an unlit clove. Every limb feels weighted, shoulders sagging, her body too difficult to carry. I don't understand why I feel like this.
So much to live for; money, success, fame.
And yet. A rotten blemish festers on the soft flesh of his soul, slowly convincing the mind to end it all.
----
"Bryan. I think I need help." Taylor can hear the sound of the sun shining through the phone. Bryan. The sun. The beach. Hawaii.
"What?" The reply is chuckled, oblivious to Taylor's seriousness. Bryan is obviously sleepy. "What do you need?"
"I..." Taylor fingers the buttons on the phone, rolling the words over in her head. I'm suicidal, Bryan. 4...7...8...1... 2. "Nothing. How are you doin?"
----
They see each other for the first time in six months. Best friends reunited. Taylor digs her fingers into the soft folds of Bryan's jacket as he lifts the slightly shorter woman off the ground in a hug.
Taylor's grin is wide, sun glasses crookedly angled on her head in her hurry to push them up. She makes fun of Bryan's new brown cheeks and ears, "Englishmen are not allowed to tan." And Bryan throws his bags into Taylor's guest bedroom, saying, "You're just bitter because you're the only American without one."
Taylor shouts from the kitchen, "An Englishman or a tan?"
"Both!"
---
They visit their old favorite hang outs in L.A. and end up at a goregous private beach at one in the morning, sitting on the hood of Taylor's car about 30 feet from the shore, periodically sipping the melting ice from their empty drinks.
Bryan tells the greatest stories about shooting in hawaii. "...and his grass skirt caught on fire, right, so Jorge starts beating him with a woven-grass rug..."
They talk for so long about new projects and old friends that it's soon 3 o'clock and Taylor is too exhausted to even drive them back to her apartment. So they roll down the windows, recline the seats and sleep in the car with the music from Taylor's iPod playing quietly through the car's sound system.
---
The night before Bryan's flight back to Hawaii, Taylor wakes at a ridiculously early time and walks around the living room. She feels the discomforting weight returning and her body wants to collapse and be buried. She knows it's because Bryan is leaving again and it might be the last time she ever sees him-- Stop... Don't think like that.
But she can't help the thoughts from coming, festering, spreading rotten influence. When she pushes the guest bedroom door open, Bryan slightly stirs but doesn't wake from his sleep. He's laying on his back, arms flung up toward the top of the bed, fingers tangled loosely together as though he were in the middle of a lazy stretch. Taylor sits lightly on the edge and watches Bryan's chest rise and fall with his deep breathy sounds. She tries not to think about what she's doing as she leans carefully down, presses her lips to the corner of Bryan's mouth and inhales the intoxicatingly warm scent of his skin.
Still asleep, Bryan murmurs and affectionately reaches up to pet Taylor's bare shoulder, caressing the soft column of Taylor's throat with three fingers. Taylor pulls away from the contact before Bryan can fully wake and she leaves the room silently, her heart racing.
---
When they hug godbye at the terminal, they kiss each other on the cheek like siblings. Bryan can now sense Taylor's depressed mood and tries to cheer her up, "Love ya, Tay. Come visit me soon, yeah?"
Taylor gives an exaggerated thumbs up and kicks the back of Bryan's leg playfully to break the uncomfortable tension of the moment.
"Bye."
---
You can be sitting on top of the world... and want to die.
Taylor stands at the balcony door, the wind pushing against her skin, eyes open to the darkened sky. She thinks how easy it would be to satisfy her perverse, unexplainable craving for suicide. And how difficult it will be to fight that feeling every day.
But she knows what she needs to do. She's holding the phone tightly, redialing the number for the third time.
This time, she'll tell Bryan the truth. This time, when Bryan asks her what she needs, Taylor is going to ask for help.
----
Its funny how some things dont make sense. For instance, you can be sitting on top of the world... and want to die.
Taylor waits for her cell phone to stop ringing before she turns it off without checking to see who called. The phone drops from limp fingers to the floor of her bedroom but she doesn't bother to notice.
What is this? She leans heavily against the opened balcony door, stroking her bottom lip with an unlit clove. Every limb feels weighted, shoulders sagging, her body too difficult to carry. I don't understand why I feel like this.
So much to live for; money, success, fame.
And yet. A rotten blemish festers on the soft flesh of his soul, slowly convincing the mind to end it all.
----
"Bryan. I think I need help." Taylor can hear the sound of the sun shining through the phone. Bryan. The sun. The beach. Hawaii.
"What?" The reply is chuckled, oblivious to Taylor's seriousness. Bryan is obviously sleepy. "What do you need?"
"I..." Taylor fingers the buttons on the phone, rolling the words over in her head. I'm suicidal, Bryan. 4...7...8...1... 2. "Nothing. How are you doin?"
----
They see each other for the first time in six months. Best friends reunited. Taylor digs her fingers into the soft folds of Bryan's jacket as he lifts the slightly shorter woman off the ground in a hug.
Taylor's grin is wide, sun glasses crookedly angled on her head in her hurry to push them up. She makes fun of Bryan's new brown cheeks and ears, "Englishmen are not allowed to tan." And Bryan throws his bags into Taylor's guest bedroom, saying, "You're just bitter because you're the only American without one."
Taylor shouts from the kitchen, "An Englishman or a tan?"
"Both!"
---
They visit their old favorite hang outs in L.A. and end up at a goregous private beach at one in the morning, sitting on the hood of Taylor's car about 30 feet from the shore, periodically sipping the melting ice from their empty drinks.
Bryan tells the greatest stories about shooting in hawaii. "...and his grass skirt caught on fire, right, so Jorge starts beating him with a woven-grass rug..."
They talk for so long about new projects and old friends that it's soon 3 o'clock and Taylor is too exhausted to even drive them back to her apartment. So they roll down the windows, recline the seats and sleep in the car with the music from Taylor's iPod playing quietly through the car's sound system.
---
The night before Bryan's flight back to Hawaii, Taylor wakes at a ridiculously early time and walks around the living room. She feels the discomforting weight returning and her body wants to collapse and be buried. She knows it's because Bryan is leaving again and it might be the last time she ever sees him-- Stop... Don't think like that.
But she can't help the thoughts from coming, festering, spreading rotten influence. When she pushes the guest bedroom door open, Bryan slightly stirs but doesn't wake from his sleep. He's laying on his back, arms flung up toward the top of the bed, fingers tangled loosely together as though he were in the middle of a lazy stretch. Taylor sits lightly on the edge and watches Bryan's chest rise and fall with his deep breathy sounds. She tries not to think about what she's doing as she leans carefully down, presses her lips to the corner of Bryan's mouth and inhales the intoxicatingly warm scent of his skin.
Still asleep, Bryan murmurs and affectionately reaches up to pet Taylor's bare shoulder, caressing the soft column of Taylor's throat with three fingers. Taylor pulls away from the contact before Bryan can fully wake and she leaves the room silently, her heart racing.
---
When they hug godbye at the terminal, they kiss each other on the cheek like siblings. Bryan can now sense Taylor's depressed mood and tries to cheer her up, "Love ya, Tay. Come visit me soon, yeah?"
Taylor gives an exaggerated thumbs up and kicks the back of Bryan's leg playfully to break the uncomfortable tension of the moment.
"Bye."
---
You can be sitting on top of the world... and want to die.
Taylor stands at the balcony door, the wind pushing against her skin, eyes open to the darkened sky. She thinks how easy it would be to satisfy her perverse, unexplainable craving for suicide. And how difficult it will be to fight that feeling every day.
But she knows what she needs to do. She's holding the phone tightly, redialing the number for the third time.
This time, she'll tell Bryan the truth. This time, when Bryan asks her what she needs, Taylor is going to ask for help.
posted by ~Allie~ @ 3:00 PM
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