1Faulty Circuits
To Effie. For all the demons you will battle, for all the shit you'll have to go through: because you will always deserve a happily-ever-after.
There was something quietly innocent in the air that day. No pounding music wafted from closed doors, shaking the house as it usually did. There was no obnoxious rattling from the clothes-washer and no smoke from someone's failed attempt at cooking. No, the house was quiet. Almost dreadfully so, enough to make the neighbours suspicious (though not quite enough to actually go see if something was wrong).
In the dining room the table was set for two, the TV – which was always on – sat in the corner, screen unnaturally black and covered by a thin film of dust. The lights were off everywhere, even in the hallway which was known for having to have the lightbulb replaced every month (faulty circuits, but who had the energy to check them?)... there was a peace hanging heavily, sleepily, in the still October air inside the house where torment had never lain subtly dormant.
Even the pizza boxes were in the trash! Had James had the willpower to tear himself out of bed and head down the stairs... he never would have recognized the place. It was all so silent. Silent and good like it had never been before.
Upstairs he lay, encircled by the arms of another and sweating because of it. So much had changed in so little time that thinking about it made his head spin. After the umpteenth fight with Damian where the latter had stormed out, James had gotten the courage somewhere in side of him he hadn't known he had it, and changed the locks. With them he had changed his life. When Damian came back (they always came back), he had curled up in his bathroom, feeling the cold tiles press into his slender body. Damian had yelled, thrown things, tried to pound in the doors, his dark shadow infiltrating through the window until two policemen had come to wrestle it away.
After a while he stopped coming back, and James breathed easier at night. His bruises turned to jewelled sunrises, fading steadily until the only ones that remained were the ones beneath his skin. Stamped like tattoos, inky vines that wrapped themselves around his heart and choked him. He had stayed there until detox had come knocking and, unhindered by repentance, had taken hold of his every thought and need.
As he felt the C
ocain flush itself out of his system he saw things, hallucinated monsters that would come to hurt him. It wasn't a stretch for him, he didn't have to create much. It was all stashed away, neatly stacked memories in the back of his battered brain. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his lips cracked and his voice remained but a whisper, until it had drained everything inside of him and sapped his every strength.
Then he had rested, and finally had forced himself out of bed from the sheer force of his hunger. He had dressed like he always did – jeans and a clean t-shirt – and had headed to the Sobeys down the street. As he picked cans from shelves he stumbled into Ryan, a saxophone player in his Lit class. He gave him a small smile and was rewarded with an answering one twice the size.
Now he felt Ryan's warm body pressed against his and sighed. He was an addict. Not to Cocain, no, that had been just something to do when all else failed. He was addicted to men, to their affection, even if he knew it never lasted long. Ryan was nice, his hair in a permanent state of tousled-ness, his sweet sax playing in the morning and his gentle touching as if he knew that if he was any rougher James would run... but James didn't trust it. They all started out nice – it was after serenity had installed itself that the sweet words turned to yelling and the gentle caresses left violent purple marks.
One month passed, two months... and still James waited for signs that Ryan would turn bad, they all turned bad eventually. But Ryan didn't. Not after another month, and then a fourth. Autumn turned to Winter, turned to Spring. And still Ryan played his sax in the morning and made gentle loving at night. He held James through movies, and taught him how to cook (with mildly disastrous results).
James' cheeks went from gaunt to, well, less gaunt. Going from emancipated to simply skinny. He was small and slender, effeminate with his long lashes and his full lips. He had big blue eyes and a high voice and was, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature Ryan had ever laid eyes on. It was no surprise that the violent, more dominant ones always came to him. They wanted him, they abused him, and then they left him broken. Sometimes – often times – it was not in a metaphorical sense.
But Ryan never left. Not even when James begged him because he couldn't understand and was scared. Ryan stayed and stayed and stayed until Summer gave way to Autumn and a year had passed. By now routine had set in. One would pick up dinner on their way back from work, the other would cook. James went back to school and would study in solitary evenings, and at night when Ryan would come home from gigs, he would greet him with a warm cup of something and a kiss on the lips.
Ryan's mother even came to visit one day. That was when it finally hit James that Ryan might stay – stay forever. As the leaves died and fell, James started to open up. His innocent truths rocked Ryan whose outlook on humans deteriorated swiftly. How could anybody hurt James? James was like a child, small and wondrously soft. Ryan felt sickened every time he felt James tremble in his sleep, or cry when he thought Ryan wasn't awake. Ryan never moved too quickly, always letting James have time to react, and never surprised him with a hug from behind. It had happened once, through no particular intention of Ryan's. James had screamed, and he knew that scream would haunt him for the rest of his life.
One day, a few years later, he came home to a note that said that the Ryan's gig at the Haffa-Cuppa had been anticipated and that he would be home earlier with a surprise. James waited, and, too excited to be able to work, played the piano. He used to as a child and then he had left and forgotten it. Now Ryan was teaching him again and some old tunes were coming back to him. His small hands deftly worked their way up and down the keyboard, so immersed was he that he never even heard the door open. When he finished he stood and turned, jumping back half a step as he caught sight of Ryan in the corner. He hadn't come any closer for fear of frightening him. James was touched.
"Surprise?" James asked, his voice dripping with eagerness and determined to show Ryan that he wasn't afraid. Ryan laughed and came forwards – honey hair tousled (as always) and hazel eyes twinkling. He pulled out a small box from his pocket and passed it to James. It was an earring; a small hoop of white-washed gold with a smaller diamond in it. James, brows furrowed, was confused to see that Ryan wore the same.
"Marry me?" Ryan asked, placing his hands on James' hips. James stayed silent for a full minute, his brain working furiously to catch up to what was happening. After a moment comprehension sparked in his eyes.
He hugged himself to Ryan, fitting his body into the other man's larger one and buried his face into his shoulder. Ryan felt wetness and lifted the smaller boy's face to his.
"I love you." He said, tightening his arms. He was rewarded with the biggest smile he had ever seen, it lit up the other boy's face and changed it completely. For a moment even his eyes were devoid of shadow.
He had been undecided for a week. Buy a ring? No, not a ring, he scolded himself. James had a scar on his hip which resembled a college class ring far too much to be coincidence. His eyes had then landed on a custom-made jewellery store and everything had clicked into place. They both had ear piercings after all, and it would have been a nice memory for James whom had come out to his parents with a discreet yet symbolic left-ear hoop.
The ceremony was a quiet affair. The "lads" Ryan played with had insisted to be the band, and, excepting a few friends, only the families had been in attendance. Overall it was a happy day. James had cried (secretly Ryan had too) and both mothers had embraced like the oldest of long-lost friends. The music had been good, the food even better, and there had even been complimentary coffee as a wedding gift from Haffa-Cuppa. There had been dancing, laughing, and, as humiliating as it was, karaoke.
Afterwards they still awaited each other's return from work, they still made gentle love and they still put up with the other's tastes in TV. Ryan was forced to watch The Big Bang Theory and James put up with Criminal Minds. Hell, he even began to enjoy it. Cooking was always relegated to Ryan, who always left the washing to James. They cuddled in the middle of the bed but went to sleep on opposite sides and their neighbours were still driven crazy by Ryan's early-morning sax playing.
James, however, battled lesser demons. He still fought his issues. Sometimes he couldn't wash himself because his scars made him feel ugly and ruined and he didn't like to look at them and the memories they brought back. So he'd go back to their room and find one of Ryan's used shirts and put it on. It was too big on him but it smelled of Ryan and of coffee and of home. Then he'd work up the courage to go back to the washroom and head into the shower. I can do it, he said to himself, if only because I changed the locks.
And Ryan would come home to James singing in the shower and to his favourite shirt crumpled outside of the bathroom door. He would smile to himself and drop it onto their bed. Somethings never really changed.
This was a birthday present to a friend of mine who doesn't like sad endings. Actually, I've written a few of these for her and started to really like it. I think I'll start uploading them... anyway, a slightly-angsty but overall happy story of the kind I never write. :)
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xxTunstall Chickxx