Chapter Text

Prologue

boiling my blood til it's bubbling under the skin of my thighs, it's love.

but you would never think that, if you were looking at it from above

It was still dark out when he awoke, sheets tangled around limbs, and the air tainted with the scent of sex and the melancholy that seeped from the walls of Michael’s apartment. His limbs ached, every tendon and ligament protesting against any movement other than sinking deeper into the mattress. The curtains swayed slightly, an even darker shadow in the already dark room, the silhouette ghosting over walls and consuming the already sparse moonlight.

It was Tuesday. The morning frost had settled into Mike´s bones, chilling him to the marrow. The mattress protested against the weight as Mike lifted himself off the battered bed. He spared a look towards the sheets, another stranger taking up half of the bedding. Another unknown face. More tanned skin. Brown hair that never seemed to shine the same way his did. He couldn’t remember the person’s name, but he remembered how his smile was never the same as the one that plagued his wildest dreams or most vivid nightmares. His eyes were not hazel, nor green. In reality, Mike did not know what colour they were, the night prior melting into one consecutive feeling of ecstasy and disgust, his inner monologue softened at the edges with liquor.

He fought the wave of nausea that overtook him. A shiver crawled its way up his spine, the sense of dread now heightened as he remembered once more what he had done. The guilt came first, followed by a disgust so violent he was tempted to name it something else. Abhorrent?

Mike made his way through his small apartment, muscle memory taking over as he walked through the darkened space. He kneeled on the bathroom floor, head in his hands as he waited for his vision to stop spinning. For his mind to stop thinking. For his memory to stop betraying him. He could feel the weight of every day that passed weigh heavier in his chest.

He could see him so clearly in his mind's eye. He thought of each new lover he had brought home over the past year. A collage of features mixing and matching as they mimicked the picture of who he truly desired. His mind superimposing the correct face over another’s, a desperate attempt to satisfy the hunger in his chest. Or maybe it was a cruel reminder he indulged in. He grieved the dead and the living with the same desperation.

His head felt heavy, already dreading the day ahead as the buzzing in his ears grew stronger, louder. A quiet and incessant static that reverberated in the four pathetic walls of his apartment. The buzzing was akin to that of flies, drawn to the scent of all that we discard and watch fade. Mike felt his eyes burn; if it was a protest against his thoughts or the sterile fluorescent that seemed to illuminate every sin over ivory flesh, he could not know.

Mike stripped off his few layers, a desperate attempt to fight off the cold that seemed to follow him during his days. Or maybe it was a barrier to stop whoever lay now on his bed from touching him. He did not know anymore. He rarely knew anything these days.

The cold tile was enough to snap him out of reverie, eyes widening at the shock.

Scorching water poured from the rusty pipe, something that once would have embarrassed Mike, was now part of his daily routine. The water burned, leaving trails of reddened flesh across his back, his thighs, his feet. The shower smelled faintly of copper, the water's scent of iron dizzying, his soap adorned with the same specs of rust that consumed all the metal surfaces within the small space.

Red skin, alive and angry from the desperate attempt to wash away his sins. Mike stood under the water until it turned cold, letting the fog blur his thoughts, even if momentarily. Allowing the heat to burrow its way into his hollow chest. The phantom touch of his stranger’s hands still tortured Mike. Bile rose in his throat again. Debilitating.

When Michael finally opened the shower curtain, he found the room engulfed in steam, the edges of everything blurred further with the new obstruction to his vision. Every surface was lightly misted with water. He stared into the mirror, his factions impossibe to view from the steam that covered the reflective surface. Mike did not need the mirror; in all honesty, he was aware of how he looked. Mike always looked the same during these types of mornings. The lack of sleep framed his eyes in a muted purple, the guilt carving out his cheeks with a delicate blade, the already sharp edges made sharper by his own exhaustion. The routine he had fallen into a few years prior still taunted him, physical reminders of his actions branding him and his skin with a sin only he could see.

He dressed quickly, disgusted at the sight of the now blooming purple marks on his torso. He walked towards his sad excuse for a kitchen, the coffee maker humming as it poured the liquid into a mug. The sun had not yet risen. Michael let his eyes adjust once more to the darkness of his apartment. His skin buzzed under his clothes, the dread setting deeper as he watched the sky slowly begin to lighten. It would be an hour or so until the sun rose, yet the promise was there.

Mike clung to his mug desperately, his back flush against the cool concrete as he looked over his small studio apartment. His eyes were searching, categorizing the mess around him. His pupils skimming over the person who now tainted his sheets. ‘I’ll have to wash those tonight,’ he said to himself, the sound of his own voice deafening in the silent building.

Mike drank his coffee greedily. He let the black coffee coat his tongue, a bitter reminder of his reality. Of what was there, but most importantly,  ̶w̶h̶o̶  what wasn’t. The buzzing in his ears began anew, a cacophony that wasn’t truly there, yet he convinced himself it was if only to distract his thoughts from him again.

Mike did not know how long he stood there, in the vastness of his apartment, in utter silence. It was not until he saw shards of golden light begin to peak through the curtains that he moved. His mug had been emptied a long time ago, the ceramic still faintly warm from the boiling water and the heat from his hand. He placed the mug into the sink, turning it slightly, an attempt to hide the memories the ceramic held.  

He grabbed his keys and bag, making his way out of the apartment quickly. He did not spare the stranger a glance, hoping he at least had the decency not to leave a mess when he finally stirred.

The sun had risen, and alongside it was the stark reminder of all he had done up until this point. It was hard to hide from the sunlight, but that did not mean Mike did not try.

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