Young Writers Society

Deborah cost two-hundred, that was what she was worth. As she gave oral pleasure to her regular Mr Groydon how dull from two streets away. To distract herself from the dreary boredom of it all, she dreamily fantasised about the freedom she could have, if just once someone smiled at her sincerely. Just once, someone admired her as a person rather than an object.

She waited outside the Doctor’s office, she was going to receive her fortnightly injection and check-up, to see if she had contracted anything. She had been lucky in the past, but this time she hoped she wasn’t. She prayed that something could come up that would give her a reason not to dirty herself more with the men she slept with.

His house overlooked a lush green mountain that blocked the comforting view of a small town that begged to be loved. Although the mountain was beautiful, thought Rob, the town could be equally as special, for he knew absolutely nothing about it. Rob, a pale skinned, charming introvert. A man who loves the simple pleasures in life; writing under the sun, indulging himself in the opportunities of the world and simply smiling each day appreciating what he has. He looked up into the dying glimmer of the sun, and winced gleefully this town has something to offer I’m sure.

The doctor, the only doctor in this small town of Nowhere, stuck a few needles in her arm, and sat at a computer waiting for the biweekly results to process. She hoped to God it was cancer. Good Lord please let it be cancer.

Now every evening before he retreated to his bungalow for some writing, Rob would stroll on down the hill. He would face the splendour evoking mountain, and trek towards the town to investigate its humble attractions and interesting traits. The last three nights had resulted in him becoming acquainted with some old folk who had lived in their tiny cottages for some forty years. They hadn't grown tired of its serenity. He also went in to an old Cafe, verging on empty a part from two quiet regulars who each had their own role to play. There was an old man in a wheelchair, who just sat at his table listening to his radio while drinking black, sugarless tea, and the housewife who cleansed her day with the small charms of a hot beverage and a quiet rest from home. Rob keenly observed the simplistic nature of these people, these locals who he perceived as gentle, ultimate life explorers. Such small prospects in life, but such rewarding results. That evening, over a dull black coffee, he engaged rather quirkily with the two regulars and asked them with fascination are you happy here?

She had lain in bed waiting to disintegrate into meaningless dust as she had been told she had contracted HIV. The test results came back last week, testing positive. The doctor encouraged her to treat it. Jeff had rang her repeatedly. Her mobile chimed constantly, deafening her to insanity. Her voicemail went off eventually; Hey Deb, I know there are lots of guys out their in need of some pussy, so get the hell out there and do what you do best, or I'll be an unhappy man. You know what I am like when I'm unhappy. She lay still in her bed, in complete apathy. She struggled to even cry with fear, because she felt little of it at this point. But she had sense, and sense told her to ‘give them what they wanted’ and increase her chance of sickness rather than be raped and mutilated at the hands of her boss. She wasn’t going to die that way. Not with him getting that satisfaction he desired. She struggled out of bed, and practically limped without a care in the world towards the door of her motel room, leading her into the empty prospects of Nowhere.

He had taken a liking to the Cafe in Nowhere, and each evening brought his writing material with him, where he could work on it while he drank his tasteless black coffee in harmony. As he drank his tar like beverage, an intriguing spectacle of a woman caught his attention . There was nothing physically, sexually appealing about her. For he had never expressed such a fondness for anyone in that regard. He was simply moved by her somber presence, the glimpse became an official viewing on his own behalf, as he watched her traipse up and down the sidewalk, leaking her fragility to every man in passing. She fondled them with her unpleasant touch, pleading for something; sex, or a job. Finally acknowledging his, what may appear as odd behaviour, he removed himself from his seat and exited the café to see to the woman in whatever way he could. Without going to bed with her of course.

She stood still, leaning all her weight on her left foot, struggling to stand in her broken high heels. Behind her a man reached out to gently grasp her shoulder. She turned reflexively “ I charge by the hour” The man taken aback by her aggression nodded nervously in declination of her offer. “ I don’t seek to sleep with you, I just want to talk.” She was immediately stunned by the unique approach that a man had taken to engaging with her, it had been so long since someone had shown at least an ounce of respect for her existence. “ Why would you want to just, talk? “ she queried, confused and breathless with shock and thankful emotion, the man smiled and leaned slowly towards her. He signaled her with his eyes that he only wanted to help, and he placed his hand against her upper back and led her into the café, where they could sit together and converse about anything. “ I looked at you, and saw something beyond what is external".

And those words began to liberate her from her grief.

He lay next to her on the couch in his bungalow opposite the mountain, his arm around her, cuddling her with all the love he could give. She retaliated with tender pecks to his upper arm, nuzzling him like a puppy, embracing the protection he offered. This is what it was. They cuddled. No more, no less. They had talked, and felt each other’s warmth for months now, and she was ready to be with him forever. If only I could kiss him passionately she thought, a thought that hadn’t crossed her mind about another person before. But she knew him, she knew his discomfort with physical expressions of love. He cradled warmth and soft touch with endearment, but no further could he go with such expression, for it betrayed the truth to his nature. “ I don’t know why you and I met, but I am glad we did.” He smiled, and gave way to the tingly emotional feelings inside his chest. “ You are very special."

He liked to hold her gently, he liked to protect her from the savagery of her life. He had spoken to her once, and could never stop. She shed tears before him, declared her deepest regrets, as did he. He had never felt so whole in his life. He knew his feelings for her were complete, in his idea of love. But he could sense that she felt a piece was missing to their relationship.

Each time she held him, she wanted to go further. She wanted to caress his body with her fingertips, and deliver him the pleasure, that for once, she too could feel. She wanted to give him her love, the only way she knew how. They held each other; he liked it, stroking her shoulder sweetly with his thumb. She pushed herself against him, inhaling and exhaling profusely with passion. She gazed deep into his eyes, intoxicated by his very presence. She longer she looked at him, the stronger the temptation to take him became. She let out a struggling heavy breath and buried her face into his neck, gripping his body tightly. He stopped stroking her, “Stop. Please stop.” He was distressed by this, and retreated to the window where he could look out at the sky and escape. She was defeated, on the couch. Weeping to herself in silence, slowly collapsing into the grief she had previously been smothered in. “ You love me, you told me. I love you too, and I want to show it.” Although he didn’t intend to, he began to cry. Cry with guilt for her unfortunate position. He leaned against the window and sobbed. “ I can’t tell you how much you mean to me. I don’t want to hurt you.” She moved slowly towards him, and rested her head on his right shoulder.

“ I just don’t understand”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“ I just wish I could love you. Show you.”

“ I can’t. I don’t feel it.”

“ Can you try?”

“No.”

They remained side by side, together in silence, for the next hour.

“ I know you love me, but I just wish I could really feel it.”

Her face was wet with salty water, and stained with redness.

Rob was left to think, unsure of where to go with his usually collected thoughts.

" I wish I could show you, just for you. Just once."

" I wish you could to. I love you."

Her confession confirmed his guilt of being unable to give her pure intimacy.

Rob. Naked in his bed, stiff, not a muscle moving. He had never been mentally paralysed before, unable to rationalise with the intense feelings that can accompany humanity. It was guilt. Pure guilt that overrode him with failure. He led her on, what a monster he had been to have led her on. He had tried to make love with her. He went so far as to strip his clothes and….do what a man does when making love. It felt so wrong. She felt right, but it felt wrong. He had dived into her eyes with his, searching for a distraction to the foreign experience he was having, that was all for her. Deborah. He urged her to stop, and she, so crushed with hurt, fled instantaneously, leaving him to lay there shamefully, to enthralled with anger to console her.

The lukewarm water of the bathtub was the only relaxant now to her miseries, she bathed in the last of the warmth that existed in her life. She tried to wish she'd never loved him, but she couldn't without bawling in horror. Overcome by her deep feelings for him, she had momentarily lost the memory of the illness that was eating her away. She burst into tears I have shared my loathsome nature to the purest man i know. She had come to her decision, she could not stop loving him, but nor could she go on loving him, at least not in the place she was; she did not want him to feel guilt for her, because she believed he didn't deserve it. She withdrew the razor, and identified the veins on both her wrists, pulsing with the shattered passion she felt for that one man who had seemed to care. “ I love you".

He found her dead in the bathtub of her motel room. In the doorway, motionless, jaw agape. He was standing dead, in reflection of his love. That was all he could do, until he broke. He did break, a good hour after being still. He fell to the floor, dragged himself like a wounded soldier across the floor to the bloodied bath that she sank in. He felt her skin, stone cold, sticky with blood. He slipped into the bath, careful not to hurt her, and he rocked her in his arms.

“ I wish you understood, I wish you understood.” He mourned.

He didn’t want to write anymore, drink coffee anymore or walk anymore. Who needs sunset, it’s just science. Light. Light that will one day die because of us. How sad, and cruel the world is. Pathetic are the people who roam it. He was sick, growing skinny. For the past few mornings since Deborah took her life, he had stayed in bed until noon, forgetting to eat until just before bed again. He was weakening each day, growing thin. He had caught the flu, and it hadn't healed.

 Another three weeks had passed, and he wasn't cured. He hadn’t left the bungalow. His neighbour had been minding him, though he still felt lost and secluded. I could’ve just pretended to enjoy it. "I did love you,” his throat tightened. His body was deteriorating slowly, but he didn’t care.

He just didn’t care.