Time & Time Again

I watch his chest rise and fall irregularly. Everyone looks peaceful when they sleep, but he looks like an angel.

‘An angel of hell,’ something whispered from deep inside of me.

I tried to sooth that thought down, but it has it’s place. I wasn’t going to push it away: it existed to remind me of the task at hand. He had come into my life like a saving grace, and turned my world to hell. As if I hadn’t come from enough pain? Maybe that’s why I stayed so long: what he gave me was only what I asked for, what I recognized as love.

I’ve always loved them; that’s another reason to stay. I thought back to when we first came to the East Coast, like a million years ago or whatever. Back when I never thought any one in this co-dependant family would hurt me. I’d usually pass in and out of sleep, and there was lots of nights when I couldn’t get back to never-never land. I guess it’s just human nature to people watch when you have lots of time on your hands. The only people I had to watch were my bandmates. Cliff always looked completely worn out, but serene. Lars looked like a battery recharging, as if he was barely maintaining his stillness long enough to get some rest. With Cliff and Lars you could see the goodness. Damn, that sounds cheesey, but it’s true. That’s how I knew I could trust them. Dave looked basically the same awake as asleep: on guard and a little lost. He was only human, after all. Then there was this unsure man, this guitar god. Like I said, a dark angel.

I reached down to stroke his face, push a short curl off of his forehead. I loved his hair short. He couldn’t hide those beautiful eyes beneath a mop of unruly locks. Maybe I was making a mistake. I do love him; I don’t actually want to leave him. Don’t want to leave those eyes, full of light when he laughed or was just thinking. Those arms, those legs, that tummy that tasted like salt rock candy when I ran my tongue over it.

It was easy to think this way now. My eyes welled up a bit as I forced myself to think of why I was sneaking away.
I have to cling to the negative.
Manipulative.
Abusive.
Sure, he would never lay his hands on me. I’m sure he knew that if he chose to punish me physically, there wouldn’t be a fuckload I could do about it. It’s not like I would hit him back.

Yeah. He knew it. Well, you tell me: how do you hit someone who you know has been batted around in the past? Even in defense– even if it was my instinct. A part of why he could be so cruel was because of the cruelty in his past. I just couldn’t bring myself to be a part of it, and I know I’m a fucking wuss for deferring to his fits.

Not that all of us didn’t have fucked up pasts, and fucked up ways of dealing with it. That’s why you could find me–more often than not–following the suit of the rest of the band, and drowning my tears. It’s not like I even had any allies anymore. Lars would kill the both of us rather than listen to what had happened if I ever did raise my fist. Now, he’s so wrapped up in Jason it’s borderline nauseating.

I remember when he and I were always together. Those were more carefree days. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? No they weren’t. The cares were just hid under a cloud, a haze of booze.

Now, I have to think clearly. Tomorrow I can have a drink, put my fist through a wall, whatever the fuck I want. But for now, I have to stop letting my mind wander back. Focus, man, focus on what you’re doing. Look at him, say your silent goodbyes, and get the fuck out before you get hurt again.

Fuck, what will Lars say about me leaving? No, no... don’t think like that. Lars can be rational. Lars will understand. Maybe I should go stay with Lars for a few days; maybe that will even tip the scales in my favor.

No! I can’t think like that either. Fuck this. Fuck them all. I need to be self sufficient. Why am I still here? I need to remind myself of all the reasons I have to leave.

Cheat.

He made me feel like a whore. Even when it was supposed to be nice, he could make it dirty. Even when all I wanted was to make love to that body– . And oh, how his body has changed. He was always sexy as hell, but as the years went by, and he came into his own. The beer paunch slimming down and now that toned and lean musculature. Whether he’s holding me or letting me worship him, I just want to feel close to him. But if I voice it, I’m made to feel ashamed. I know I demand too much, I ask for too much because I feel so much. Sometimes I don’t have the words to get it out, but it would helped if he could have a fucking emotion!

How does he bottle up his feelings? Of course, when he let them out, unleashed them on me– it hurt worse. When we would fight, and fuck to make up– godfuckingdamnit, couldn’t he fucking see all I ever wanted was to please him? It was like he thrived on making me feel worthless, unworthy of him. And it worked. It’s kept me on a tight leash all these years.

You would get mad at me after we screwed. How was I supposed to know you were angry at yourself?

Why couldn’t you share anything with me?

Actually, all of that’s worse, isn’t it? Isn’t it? You were angry because of things you were thinking, but you never told me what you were thinking. You just fucked me senseless then appeared disgusted with yourself.

I hated that. Not because of how it made me feel, but because on top of my shame, I had to watch you struggle alone. And I was always right here. Or at least I tried to be. Maybe I’m not escaping tonight. Maybe I’m setting you free. I gave you what I had, I created new paths for you to tread upon, and it was never enough.

I hate myself for needing you even when you never need me. I can prove that I don’t need you. I can leave. After all, I have nothing for you– nothing you desire or crave or love. I’m doing you a favor. It has to be this way.

But what about tomorrow? Tomorrow, when you find me gone from our bed? Somehow daylight makes things so real. You’ll never know how many nights I stood here, by your bed side, saying good bye. Maybe that’s what’s stopping me. With anyone that’s been well and truly out of my life, I never did get a chance to say good bye. The decision was made for me, and it was terribly in it finality. Here I am, incapable of making a decision for myself: weak.

So tomorrow comes... and you come into the studio. You love this band as much as I do– it is our life. You once said you were married to Metallica, and I stole that quote as a convenient soundbite. It’s not like you do enough interviews anyway, and it was too true not to broadcast. Yes, the band will be okay– more or less. That I’m sure of; otherwise, none of this would be an option. I can’t leave the rest of them; I love them still. But, you, my dark heart: love means nothing now, and I have to leave you. You are such a mix of ying and yang, a swinging pendulum– I have no idea how you’ll react. Either you’ll hold your tongue or you’ll be in the kind of mood where everyone will know everything. I couldn’t handle that, you know. I couldn’t handle everyone knowing what a failure I really am in every aspect of my life. I can’t make music without you, I can’t live without you, and I can’t please you.

I can’t handle either. I can’t take this at all! Why the fuck am I going through this, and why are you making me go through this alone? Worst, I hate myself for standing here. I need to touch you one last time. I need to promise myself that this my last touch, finally.

I watch my hand drift down towards your face, and brush that stubborn lock back away from your forehead. I really do love it short. It’s still wild and unruly, like you. Subtly sexy only because the rest of you is overpowering with allure. Fucking great, I’m waxing poetic. Next thing you know I’ll let my mind ramble on about how the waxing moon glints off of your various piercings, bringing hints of starlight down onto your face.

Fuck. I have to go. Now.

Now... you slowly open your eyes. I don’t know if I willed it, wished it, or cursed this moment. But with those pearl black eyes on me, I’m frozen.

“Babe?”

I close my eyes and sigh. There’s nothing more I can do. With your voice so thick from sleep it’s dripping sex appeal, and my resolve was wavering even from the moment I conceived of the notion to leave– I’m undone.

“Where are you going? What’s wrong?”

Utterly undone. You take one second in a year to let kind words spill from your lips, and it has to be right fucking now?

“No where, Kirk. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep with you out there.” I watch you as you pause to yawn. Those beautiful, thick, blood red lips stretching into a wide circle and my mind is off again. My body refuses to respond to my logically commands: blood pounds in my ears, rushes to arouse me. I sigh again, and circle around the bed to my side.

Familiarity is good. Climbing into bed beside him is familiar. This’ll be ok. It has to be. We can do this. I let my hands trail over those newly etched flames. Damn, you’re sexy as all fuck. A smile dares to rest on my mouth as I hear you hiss sharply at my touch. It’s the barest of sounds, but I’ll take what little encouragement I find.

As I melt into the mattress, you pull my hand up to your chest. I try not to flinch away in surprise. You’ve pulled me closer to you, wrapped me around you, and I feel so warm. The desire to run dissolves from my body. Vaguely, I hear you mumbling something about ‘yours’ and I would think to react, but the fog is rolling in over my mind for the night, at last. Maybe things will seem more clear in the morning light. After all, things change, right? In the end, no one ever promised me that life on this planet would be heaven.