Young Writers Society

This will be nowhere near the best post on this board, but I've tried and this is my first attempt. Sorry about grammar! It's been a long time I've wrote something like this, outside of school!

Hanging perilously from the balcony he saw the one who had betrayed him, who had had also filled him with dangerous lust. Skin as pale as dawn, that silky laugh, the same laugh that had spat at his cheek. Two months later, summer still had a grip, so did she. Nails bitten down to the quick clawed at his neck and threw him onto the floor. Still she stood below.

He had caught them alone, one of their many liaisons. He still remembered every detail; the light in her eyes that he had lit, a light he had only been able to burn out. That silky laugh sounded different on his cheek, caring, almost loving.

“Are you going to stare at her all day?”

He turned and looked at his enemy for the first time, his own flesh and blood. His fist found his brother’s. He felt the satisfying crunch of a bloody, broken nose and withdrew. Still she stood below.

Looking at the hotel room, he caressed the fresh linen. As he lifted his fingers, he saw the red mark ingrained into it.

A groan erupted from the hunched figure on the floor; he approached it and smashed his foot onto its stomach. The hunched creature in the floor spoke;

“ Roses”

“Don’t speak to me, bastard”

“ Matthew, listen.”

“ WHY SHOULD I?” The anger burst through the inflated bubble.

“ They were her favourite flower. Did you know that?”

His fist caught Michael in the head. How could he talk about her this way? He knew nothing of her, all he knew where her legs on satin sheets, how she moaned.

“She told me everything”

“Don’t flatter yourself, she never cared about you”

“Your right, she didn’t.”

He was silent.

“She cared about you, you worried about losing her”

“Oh fuck off, don’t give me that schmaltzy crap”

“That’s your problem isn’t it? You never think anyone cares as much as you.”

“You say you know me Michael, you couldn't’t be more wrong, I cared more than anyone.”

“I know you more than yourself”

“What am I then? Shitty mess on the floor? Best friend is the bottle?”

“Nice to see you think so much of yourself”

“Get fucked”

“Thanks for the invitation, actually I’m lying on the floor right now. Have you ever thought that perhaps all this is your fault?”

“I know your going to tell me why.”

“I’m not, you know the answer yourself.”

“That I cared too much?” He asked softly

It was a long time before he opened his caked lips to speak again. By this time, his brother had turned to leave.

“We’ve said enough”

He closed the door quietly behind him.

Matthew stood, like a statue.

As he grabbed his only friend and smashed it against that door, the clear liquid, running down chrome, he knew.

He grabbed another bottle and looked below, knowing she would only wait below in his dreams. She was gone.

He cradled his head and took a long swig, feeling more numb with every sip.

Peeling the bottle away from his lips, he saw he had destroyed everything, along with this bottle. The bottle was thrown out the window, descending down the many floors to smash, unheard on the streets below. He paused and leapt after it, past the lies, meetings and deceit that he knew had happened in this very hotel.

Room 33. But he knew there were more.

His final thought as he collided with a silver Mercedes in the parking lot,

Belonging to his brother.