Lucas Landry – My Boo
I swipe my phone unlocked and type in my passcode with trembling fingers, knowing I’ll find disaster at the other end.
No matter where I am, I’ll always love you. I promise you always.
“Breathe Me” by Sia
The Past
I DON’T CARE what he says, but I’m not getting in that car tomorrow morning. He doesn’t understand what he’s asking. He has no idea what I’m going through.
He’ll see how worthless you are.
Just like Celia. She looks at you like you sicken her.
You’re disgusting.
“I’m not worthless,” I whisper with little conviction. And they laugh. They always laugh at me.
The voices are relentless. Sometimes they come as crowded whispers, all faint words as one talks over the other. The whispers make it hard for me to concentrate. I fight to make sense of it all, as each murmur runs into another. Other times, the voices are metallic, cold and full of hatred for me. I even hear them in my sleep. They persist, no matter where I am, demanding to be heard, adding to the maddening chaos that is my mind. No one should have to live this way, but I don’t see a way out.
You’re not a man anymore. You’re pathetic.
You should end this. End this pointless life.
Pathetic.
Pathetic.
Pathetic.
I clutch my ears and groan, loud enough to drown out the voices, but not so loud to wake up my parents. I’ve mastered the perfect pitch over the last few months.
“I can’t break my promise to Celia.” I shake my head furiously, tears pooling in my eyes.
Celia doesn’t give a shit about you.
You’re worthless.
She doesn’t love you. You’ve ruined her life.
Worthless.
Worthless.
Worthless.
A tense hum fills the room, almost overpowering the voices, and I slowly crack open my eyes. The light from the bathroom is electric, summoning me. I step off the bed and stumble forward, unable to resist the magnetic hum. I stand in front of the mirror, and take in my reflection. Foul. Repulsive. Unlovable.
The light dims behind me and pulsates from the medicine cabinets, begging me to open the door. As I crack open the door, it glows, setting it apart from all the other objects.
The razor.
The acrid scent of blood fills my nostrils, drips in the back of my throat, and chokes me with its metallic taste. I know what I’m supposed to do. I break the feeble plastic into pieces and extract the sharp slivers of metal. As I hold them up to the light, they glow with a blinding intensity. The overwhelming hum emanates from metal, vibrating between my fingers with unbridled energy.
You’re weak.
You don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done.
No one will ever love you. It’s time to end this.
End this.
End this.
End this.
I fumble into my bedroom to look for my phone, tears streaming down my cheeks. I type out a message to Celia and press send before dropping the phone on the floor with a clatter.
“I love you, Celia. I’m so fucking sorry. For everything,” I sob as I trudge back into the bathroom. It’s time to do what needs to be done. There’s no happy ending for a man like me—only heartbreak and pain. She may not see it now, but I’m giving her a gift.
Celia can’t save you.
She doesn’t want to.
She wants you to die.
Die.
Die.
Die.
The sharp edge pierces my skin, and blood trickles down my arm, pooling in the palm of my hand. There’s no pain, only numbness and a cathartic feeling of release.
Cut deeper.
Get the job done.
Down to the bone.
I slice deeper, putting as much pressure into the cut as I can muster. Once I’m satisfied, I release the razors and watch them slowly float to the floor, humming the entire time, hovering over the tile reverently. I step away until my back hits the wall, and I slide down into a bloody heap. I place my mangled hands in my lap and watch with wonder as the blood runs down my wrist, trickles through my fingers, and pools on the white tile beneath me. As my life slowly seeps from my body, I ponder the beauty of the crisp, white tile in contrast with the deep burgundy smears of blood.
As the world around me turns to a muted shade of gray, everything becomes background as the numbness overtakes me. Everything except the one thing I wish would give me peace. The voices. They are as loud and vibrant as ever, almost cheering me forward. The only sound that drowns them out is the faint scream of Celia in the furthest part of my mind, before everything turns to black.
“Breathe You In” by Dierks Bentley
Present Day
I WAKE UP to two tiny paws kneading my stomach, purring loud enough to wake the dead. Okay, maybe not quite that loud, because Celia remains tucked under my arm, snoring softly. I swear her tiny rumblings and grunts are the most hypnotic love song I’ve ever heard.
“Easy on the bladder, Eddie,” I whisper as I scoop up the kitten and curl her into my free arm. I need to take a piss, but I want to enjoy this moment for a little longer. It’s not every day I wake up with a full-fledged fairy in her birthday suit beside me.
I tag my phone off the nightstand and shoot a text to Mrs. Wilson, the woman who owns the antique shop under my apartment. She always lets Mr. Biscuit out and feeds him when I’m out of pocket. That hound has her wrapped around his little paw. She even has a doggie pillow for him in the shop so he can keep her company when I’m out of town. I tell you, when I die, I wanna come back as Biz—that dog lives the life.
I slide out from underneath Celia and shift the covers back in place. When I say back in place, I mean I pull them up to her lower back, leaving the curve of her spine and the side curve of her perfect breast on full display.
She’s stunning. Heart-stopping. Soul-squeezing.
She lets out a lazy sigh and settles back into the mattress. Eddie curls into a tight ball against Celia’s stomach, and I quietly make my way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I quickly shower, anxious to get back to bed, but it definitely would not suck if Celia woke up and joined me. Nothing starts off a morning better than a shower shag.
I crack open the door and find Celia and Eddie exactly as I left them. Too bad for them, the shower woke me up, so I’m frisky and ready to play. I sneak back into the room—or sneak as much as a man my size can. I enter the bed from the bottom, pulling the sheets over my head and crawling up until I hit a pair of pretty little feet. Her toes wiggle as I pepper her with tiny kisses. When my tongue runs up the inside of her calf, she turns to her back and threads her fingers through my damp hair.