Danger doesn't start in the big city, the bubble gum and cigarette encrusted sidewalks of the sequined whore. It starts right before your eyelashes, in the beginning of conscience and how much you deny it.
So he was staring out his window now, smoking a cigarette and looking at the lights, his free lava lamp. Well, mostly free, if you didn't count the shocking amount of rent he paid on his flat.
His flat, a present from a guilty conscience. It was Touma who got him this flat in the first place, as the revenue from his first novel hadn't been enough to so much as buy him a good coffee maker. His real success started at his second book, when the media got a really good look at him, and decided that a man gorgeous enough to be a model who wrote romance books was good press.
'Flat' suited the place, it was so open, spacious. Obviously a place for the rich. He'd chosen it because it had looked emptier than the others and had a huge bathroom.
Success was his, and he wanted to look it. New wardrobe, with smooth lines and fine fabrics. New place, clean and empty and secure. A beautiful stereo system he didn't really like to turn on - though when he did, the thrumming bass that he felt at the soles of his bare feet didn't disturb a fly in his neighbor's bedroom, the walls were so thick. He liked music with movement, that could assist him in feeling less rage.
Rage music. He needed rage music when he felt it, if he didn't have it then his Porsche was usually the victim of yet another fender bender. His insurance company charged him a premium that he tended to ignore. His 'people' would take care of it. Perhaps more accurately, Touma's People.
Cigarettes by the carton, beer by the case - coping skills he could buy in bulk.
Eiri left the tall window and turned to find an ashtray, protective of his floor.
The flavor of the week was asleep on his bed. Beautiful, and silicone based. Her presence annoyed him. She'd been coming over for the past three days, getting him off and then lingering as though just being by him meant they were together.
He didn't like company. If he ever felt the need for human companionship, he could always call his editor and lie to her, tell her he had a few new ideas he wanted to go over. Then while they were having tea, coffee, bourbon (whatever), he could list out a few lame ideas that she'd glow with great positivity over. Or perhaps he'd call Touma, who'd fret he wasn't eating enough, try and get him to smile.
Either way, this new girl was useless.
As they all were.
She stirred, looked up at him, and smiled. Her dyed red hair garish, her nakedness simply unimpressive.
"Good morning."
Her voice was slightly grating. He hadn't wanted to hear a voice all day. He simply wasn't in the mood for her sort. He turned and walked away.
He stretched a little, the navy blue of his sweater moving elegantly on him. He would have been relaxed today, he would have lounged and stared at the ceiling and smoked and enjoyed the silence of this flat.
"Can I see you tonight?"
She wasn't what he wanted. He ignored her.
What he wanted… was a beer, and a fresh cigarette.
"I'll be over at eight, how's that?"
Later, he told himself, I'll tell her later.
She used his shower and left long strands of hair in the catch. Pools of water on his floor. She ate food from his fridge, flashing him a happy smile over cups of his coffee. She left lipstick marks on the cup brim; she left dishes on his countertops.
She left.
Eiri picked up the phone, and ordered his locks changed.
He really should stop giving away those keys.
"I don't see how it's your concern." And he sipped his tea. He wasn't about to say how comforting it was to be in Touma's presence. Mostly because he didn't know how.
"Aa, all I'm saying is you're getting quite a reputation." Touma's voice was tenor.
He set the teacup down in the saucer, looked up at Touma. Touma was dressed in a flashy outfit today, teal colored shirt, black slacks and emerald green overcoat with jade jewelry.
They were sitting in a quiet tea shop, they had a table far away from all the other patrons. The patrons kept on stealing looks at them, a few of them looking incredibly excited. Eiri was unsure if they were recognized, or if they were simply staring at Touma's outfit.
He wasn't answering Touma's statement.
So Touma kept talking.
And that's how Eiri got his humanity fix for the day.
He went home.
There were eighteen new messages on his answering machine.
*Beep* "Eiri, my keys won't work on your door, what's going on? Call me on my cell."
*Beep* "Eiri… you aren't answering my phone calls… what's going on?"
*Beep* "Eiri… Eiri… are you there?"
*Beep* "Eiri? Eiri…." Sigh, "Eiri… I've heard about you. I should have known better."
*Beep* "You know a real man would have just told me to my face it was over, you son of a bitch! What the fuck is up with you? I screw you for three days and when I ask for more from you you go and do this? What the hell? God damnit Eiri!"
*Beep* "Eiri… I'm sorry… I'm just… mad… so, please… please call me…"
*Beep* And there was dialtone.
He erased the rest of the messages without listening.
Women like her were all the same. They blended one into another. The sex wasn't spectacular, ever, despite many promises. If he felt like a new one, all he had to do was go to a social party.
He turned to his kitchen, opened the cupboards and stared at the tins of food in there, the spices. He couldn't read the names, focus his eyes enough to decide what to do next.
Those women were like tins of generic food.
That thought amused him.
So he got a beer and went to go write.
Four days later, he was invited to a social party. He refused.
A week later, he was invited to a social party. He refused.
Two weeks later, he was invited to a social party. He felt restless, so he accepted. He got himself a new tin of generic sex.
Taking a shower the morning after, he picked up a bottle of shampoo, read the directions because he felt like it.
His eyes caught on the last word.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
"Good morning!" She bubbled at him, and then knee walked across the bed at him. She was wearing his shirt. She threw her arms around his neck and smiled sunnily at him. "Hooooow are yooooou today?"
"Take off my shirt."
"Sounds fine to me." She purred at him, tossed her head from one side to another in exaggerated cute form, and started to undo the buttons as if in strip.
When she had the shirt off, he picked it up off the floor and dressed to go home.
"Ne, Yuki? Where are you going?" She asked with fake innocence. "Hey. Yuki. What the hell? Is that it? Just fuck me and leave?"
He was looking for his shoes as she started to get more and more angry at him, following him around in an oversized t-shirt with a super-deformed anime character on it and little hearts. She was swearing at him, calling him a user.
He wasn't particularly bothered.
Coffee with his sister.
He grit his teeth.
"Eiri, what you are, is a misogynist."
"Oh, is that what I am?" His voice was unruffled, but his shoulders were starting to tense.
"You hate women."
He lifted his eyes up at her, couldn't help a sour smile. "I hate people."
He set the cup down hard enough for it to slosh over and stain the lavender tablecloth, got up to leave.
He was tapping a pen on his desk. His desk. Even if Touma had given it to him.
He was staring at the computer screen, which was displaying a screensaver. His mind was a blank.
"I'm a writer." He said out loud, some part of him needing reassurance. Nothing disputed that fact.
He kept tapping the pen on his desk. The light from the window was starting to change angles. He could make out tiny dust motes floating, drifting in the air.
He closed his eyes, let go of the pen, and rubbed his face in exhaustion.
Empty. This whole place was empty. He didn't need anything but this empty.
"He isn't like the others, Eiri, you know that."
He knew.
Shuuichi left a mess wherever he went. When he undressed for the night, clothes were strewn all over the place. When he woke up he was always late for something. When he cooked, he almost always destroyed the cookware he was using. He stained the bathtub pink with hair dye. He ran around the house and shouted when he achieved success and he cried loudly when he failed.
"Yuuuki!" Shuuichi ran over to him, "Guess what?"
"What?"
"I got a perfect on DDR!"
"You must have fallen on the right button."
Shuuichi laughed and kissed him and ran back to his game.
And he looked down to knock some ash off his cigarette, but mostly to hide a smile.
Old Story, New Upload ** www.contrary-perfection.net