He called on a cold dreary Monday night. “I need you.” His voice croaked into the phone.
I didn’t ask why, I just got into my car and left.
The wet streets were illuminated. In every puddle a broken city reflected.
A broken city without a heart. A city on it’s deathbed. A city wrought with infection. I sped through those wet streets.
The tires of my car breaking that reflection. The cold puddles licked my car’s tires in a slick fervor.
I parked in front of his house. A shitty gray house in a shitty gray neighborhood.
I walked through the lawn, a gurgle of wet grass and mud with every step.
I had a key he gave me and let myself in. He was always too afraid to answer the door.
I found him in the bathtub with a bottle of vodka.
He lay there in the suds with his chin under the water. The bottle half empty rested on the corner of the tub.
“Drink.” He said
I took a long drought from the bottle. The vodka dripped down my chin and burned my throat.
He was staring at me. His cheeks were red and his eyes puffy.
I could tell he had been crying.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
He stood up and hugged me naked from the the tub.
His wet body pushed up against mine, his sorrow soaking through my clothes.
” I’m going to kill myself.” He muttered into my shoulder.
“I want you to be here when I do it”
“Tonight?” I asked.
He nodded his head and shuddered.
“I’m going to overdose.”
He let go of me and laid back down in the tub.
I took a seat on the toilet.
He kept his bathroom immaculately clean unlike mine. A pale face glinted at me through the floor tiles reflection.
” let’s get you out of the tub.” I said.
I drained the water, he stood up and dried himself off.
He was remarkably skinny. His skin stretched over his bones. I could make out every single one of his ribs. I could almost see his heart beating.
His bony hips pressed up against mine, he planted a kiss on my lips.
He got dressed in his room while I took sips of vodka in the living room.
I sank into the couch slowly growing drunk.
He came into the living room in a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. He offered me a cigarette, which I accepted.
The tips of our cigarettes lit up our faces and the smoke rose to the ceiling.
“Why?” I asked
“I’m ready to die.” He replied.
We sat in silence, inhaling and exhaling, destroying our bodies.
His lips were beautiful when they wrapped around his cigarette. They formed a heart.
I’d known him all my life. We grew up together, went to school together, and eventually fucked together. We’d never dated though. He never saw the point, and although I loved him I never did either.
He probably loved me too but he had never said it and I never asked.
I put my cigarette in the ashtray grinding it flat to the filter.
“Come to bed.” He said
I grabbed what was left of the vodka as he took my hand and pulled me to his bedroom.
We sat criss-cross on his bed and took turns swigging the liquor. Each drink he scrunched up his face in disgust. The way the skin by his eyes wrinkled made me want to kiss his cheeks and hold him in my arms. I never have minded the tastes of vodka it slid down my throat like water. I wonder what he found attractive about me. I’ve never thought myself beautiful. I probably never will.
He opened a drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a syringe and heroin. We heated it into a spoon then I tied him off and injected the drug into his veins.
I gave him what I thought was a lethal dose. I took some for myself but not nearly as much.
He put his hands in my pants and gripped my cock.
“If I’m going to be dead tomorrow I want to fuck.” He said.
I nodded my head and wrapped my lips around his. I was his angel of death. I was a god and a devil. I was his executioner, I was his lover.
In the morning he was dead and I was alive. I woke holding his cold body. His pristine face looked relaxed. He looked to be in peaceful slumber. I kissed his perfect lips and left.
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