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writers_loftHello!
I'm a total n00b here.
A small presentation:
Swedish girl with Iranian roots living in Japan with bf. Twenty one years old. I've been writing since around eight (kinda stumbled into it when I wrote essays and couldn't stop thinking about how to describe Fall and crows in the best way). And so English is my third language, and I apologize for not being as good as the rest of you.
So, I also have a problem, obviously. I've been working on a story for half a year now haha
And I've managed to write first half of the first chapter and some stray bits here and there. My computer lost the second half, so I've angsted about it for a while and put it on the shelf. I feel like I'm getting a bit blinded and subjective as to if the story is actually worth it or if it's total and utter crap.
Please do tear apart!
Is it over worked? Under worked? Poor plot line? Badly presented? Bad flow? Throw it at me!
I appreciate if you express any thoughts.
The Gate
Genre: Romance/supernatural/horror/comedy/angst
Summary: Avery is hunted by scenes from a life he’s never had, but it becomes his reality as the truth elucidates step by step, kiss by kiss, betrayal by betrayal.
Warnings: Coarse language, mild slash
Chapter One
Part One
“Welcome to The Gate”
Present
Small raindrops whipped the pavement and the fragile spring-flowers hanging over the railing of the second storey balcony. The deep purple sign under the whirling petals flickered once or twice at the end of the alley, before it went out. It wasn’t like the sign was needed; those who had business in The Gate could find it anyway.
Darkness had just coated the sky and the atmosphere inside The Gate was beginning to shape up. The gravel crunched under the feet of a pair of guests walking arm in arm in the street. Their laughter echoed off the indifferent, old walls as they pushed open the heavy, chromed door and came into the warmth.
The Gate looked like any other high-end bar; sparingly lit, with modern furnishing and satiny black surfaces. Round tables and leather clad chairs were placed all about, almost as if at random. The scent of earth sipped in from outside, but it was otherwise surprisingly stern for a bar. The light was scarce, careful not to show too much, its rays crept out from large violet bubbles of lamps hanging off the ceiling in meticulously measured distance from one another. The music was kept low; experimental and avant-garde tunes that set a unique mood.
Avery hurried down the creaking stairs leading down from the shabby apartment over the bar, adjusting his cuff links and collar. He was late again, and sleep had not yet completely left him, but he was alert and ready. It had been a nice little nap. He closed the iron door behind himself to hide the stark contrast between the two environments. The sleek, deliberate darkness of the bar engulfed him.
Janary caught him coming. She almost hit into him with the heavy-looking crate of beer she carried. She didn’t mind harming him now and then, it seemed. Avery barely avoided getting his knee-caps smashed.
“You have a customer,” Janary said and nodded towards a man sitting at the end of the burnished, black bar disk with his head in his hands.
“Popular, are we?” Calli, Avery’s flat-mate, walked by and flashed him a blinding smile. She was cleaning the floor with a cloth under her shoe. People coming to The Gate seemed to believe her drinks were more magical than the other bartenders’, so they often requested her. The rumour was that she had a trick up her sleeve that could even make demons drunk. Whether this was true or not wasn’t exactly confirmed scientifically. Avery didn’t mind when customers requested Calli, but it drove Janary up the walls; she didn’t like to bother with such trivialities. The reason was rather plain in Avery’s eyes; she might not be the best looking girl who worked there, but her smile could brighten up the greyest of skies.
Avery replied the smile wearily, hesitated for a moment and sighed heavily. He had no choice but to serve his customer. “What may I serve you?”
The man looked up as if he had just woken up from deep thought. His dark brown hair had a few strands of white, despite his young, but jaded looks. He wore an old brown leather jacket that looked to pull down his shoulders with its weight, or perhaps it was the strange, shiny turquoise and yellow gadget pointing its head out of his breast pocket. His vital blue eyes scrutinised Avery up and down. “Are you Avery?”
“Yes.”
“I was told you were beautiful, but I wasn’t quite expecting-” he cut off, as if he’d said something he didn’t mean to. He couldn’t help but stare at the velveteen black hair down the young man’s back; his skin looked translucent in the darkness. A fringe of thick black eyelashes cast shadows over his blushing cheeks and made it hard to decide whether the dark eyes were violet or if they reflected the purple of the large lamp bubbles. He wondered how a boy looking this frail and small in those nicely tailored black clothes could possess such power; those long limbs and fingers that fiddled with the glasses behind the bar looked like they could crumble into a heap of bones in any moment, as if it was the pure spirit of life that kept his body alive.
Avery looked away, his soft eyebrows tensed momentarily.
“Oh, make it a whiskey,” the man said. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a picture and was lost in thought again for a moment.
“Any preferences?”
“Any is fine.”
Avery suppressed a smile and gave the man a glass of whiskey. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
The man bit his lip and slipped the picture over to Avery. It was of a smiling young girl. Avery gave the picture back. “And what may I help you with?”
“She…has suffered…for a long time. I don’t know why or what it is. I…I’m ready to do whatever it takes. She’s my daughter.” The man’s palms left wet marks on the bar disk. He shot the whiskey down his throat with quivering hands, becoming more and more flustered. He ran his fingers through his hair and battered his faint blue eyelids. The warmth of the alcohol seemed to spread itself in him and he took a breath before continuing. “I heard about you, that you could…cure her, no matter what was wrong with her. I figured it’s my last hope.” He bore his eyes into Avery from under his messy hair.
Avery took the empty glass from the man and dried the area with the cloth he kept hanging from his black waist-apron. “I’m afraid I can’t.”
The man stared at the counter for a moment. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“It won’t give me anything.” That sure sounded selfish. “I mean…”
“You want a soul in return right?” The man had made his research, all right.
Avery nodded, sighed, closed his eyes. He looked at the people who danced to their own beat on the floor and a pair of girls giggling at a table, a little too close to be just friends.
“You can have mine! It’s the least I can do,” the man exclaimed.
“Please keep your voice low. It’s not about that. Your soul is of no use to me.” Ah, this hurt every time. Why couldn’t he do it for everybody? He locked gaze with the man until the man looked away.
“Give me another, will ya?” He slapped a bill on the counter.
“Of course.” Avery poured him another shot of whiskey.
“By the way…why do I get such a strange feeling from the other…customers?” The man swigged his drink and got up to go.
Avery couldn’t help but smile this time. He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps they’re just not...your type of folks.” Avery wet his deep pink lips. “Be careful.” He took the bill and watched the man make his way out. He looked slightly lost in the crowd that blocked his way.
The bill felt harder than usual. Avery turned it. There was a card behind the bill with a name and number, and on the backside of it there was the name of a hospital and a number, presumably the room number of the daughter. Avery stuffed it in the pocket of his pants. “Janary.”
“No, you can’t,” Janary said, “It’s Saturday night!” She shook the drinks as if she had stuffed a hamster into the glass and was doing her best to kill it. Her wavy, tied back hair, chocolate brown and soft, jumped about her taut expression. She didn’t look it, but she could throw out a few bothersome customers when needed. The uniform looked much better on her, Avery thought. She just had more shape to fill it out.
“I’ll be quick.” Avery winked at Janary before he walked out the back door.
“Don’t think you can charm me!” Janary called after him and slammed down the drink on the counter. “Where are all the people? Why isn’t anybody lending me a hand here?”
Avery closed the door to the commotion inside. He leaned against the brick wall, closed his eyes, and drew in the scent of rain. It had stopped pouring and the silence spread its comforting wings around him. He lit a cigarette and watched the sky, although there really was nothing but dark clouds and pollution to see.
Avery didn’t smoke often, but he kept a pack at his end of the counter. He enjoyed the calm it gave him, and the moment he could savour with the excuse of smoking.
It was somehow surprising that people came to The Gate. It wasn’t exactly on the top ten of must sees in London, nor on any map, and to top it off, it was located at the end of a lonely alley in the not so very party-friendly Bayswater.
“Since when do you smoke?” Nebreus appeared in all his glory, the gravel screaming under his Ben Sherman shoes. “Give me one.”
Avery felt a jolt in his chest. He unwillingly offered Nebreus a cigarette and followed it up with a long, stern stare.
“Lucky Strike?” Nebreus wrinkled his nose and pulled out a package of Davidoff from his pants pocket. His trousers looked torn, but Avery didn’t dare ask how much he’d paid to get them like that. Bits of sad black fabric hung out from under his red MC jacket, almost hiding a bright red drawing of a penis over the zipper of his black pants, and beside it was the too familiar Vivienne Westwood logo stretching itself over his strong thigh.
He lit the cigarette, cupping his hand to protect the flame. He cast a glance up at Avery before straightening up. His light blonde, asymmetrically cut hair followed his movements. It was side parted and almost reached his jaw at the front, longer at the back, with perfect volume and every strand in its place. Vanity personified.
Avery crossed his arms over his chest, slammed his own head back against the wall and proceeded to ignore Nebreus. There was a line of thought he tried to grasp but forgot again every time he managed to remember it, and Nebreus didn’t really let anybody think.
A crawling fragrance of musk and tobacco muted the smell of earth.
“What do you want?” Avery tried to sound nonchalant, but stole a glance at Nebreus when the other wasn’t looking.
“Aww, why you hatin’ on me?” Nebreus made a mock-sad face and chuckled. His voice was somewhere between base and tenor, but it sounded manly and could charm just about anybody. Avery didn’t know how many women fell down dead every day just from seeing that lopsided, mischievous smile on Nebreus’ pale pink lips. He averted his gaze.
“Did you go online chatting again?” Avery couldn’t help laugh at how unnatural the attempt sounded.
“What if I did? Need to keep up with the times, right?” He winked. “How is it going?” Nebreus’ expression hardened a bit, lost the edge of humour. His forest green eyes caught the scant light of the street lamp.
“None yet.” Avery let out a sigh. “I’ve gotta go in.” He suffocated the cigarette butt under his shoe and turned to go.
“You shouldn’t wave off customers so quickly,” said Nebreus with a nonchalant tone and took a puff of his cigarette.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Avery halted and turned back, his eyebrows knotting slightly.
“Just sayin’.” Nebreus shrugged.
Avery stared blankly for a moment. “I’m going to Ceane’s later, by the way.”
“Ceane? Why?” Nebreus sounded slightly eager. He held the door open for Avery and scratched his scalp.
“I’m sleeping over.” Avery shrugged. “Maybe I should tell him I’m coming. Would be good if he wasn’t so pushy though.”
Nebreus looked as if he’d just been slapped in the face. “Pushy? He’s pushy? How?”
“You know…” Avery searched for the right word. “Nevermind.” He shook his head and went into the tumult behind the counter.
Nebreus stood and watched the door slam behind Avery. He pulled his mouth this way and that and stuffed his free hand into his pocket. “Pushy, eh?”
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫
“Sweep the floor, Avery. Don’t just sit there on your skinny ass.” Janary poked Avery with the broom, hands on her hips. It was a wonder how she could keep going without the smallest signs of fatigue. Perhaps it was because she actually shoved most of the job on her employees.
Avery pointed to the cell phone at his ear. He sat behind the bar, against the iron door that led up to the apartment he shared with Calli. He claimed the broom and waved Janary away, which made Janary throw another of her feral glares his way. “What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.
“Nothing…just, can’t you come now?” Ceane’s raspy voice said in the phone.
“Why?” Avery stretched out his leg in front of him. He’d been thinking about something important before Ceane called, but he couldn’t remember quite what it was.
“It’s nothing. I just wanted to complete the assignment tonight.”
“It’s fricking four a.m., you’re not going to do it now anyway. And I’m going to sleep when I get there.” Avery felt the exhaustion spread out into his limbs when he said that, but there were still things to be done tonight. Something he was thinking about, what was it again…?
“Yes, I am. Inspiration struck me.” There was a sound of items hitting against each other, perhaps paint brushes.
Avery didn’t know what to say. He sighed and shoved his hair out of his face.
“I just…miss you,” said Ceane, voice distorted with mirth.
Avery’s face fell, “Eheh…Right. I’ll come over when I’m finished. Still gotta sweep the floor.”
“Later then,” said Ceane, sounding beat.
Beep, beep, beep, dim-dum! And the screen changed to the usual background of flashing stars again. Avery got up and started doing what he was supposed to do.
Janary ran about like a chased madman, picked up trash, glasses and broken pieces of a lamp bubble that a customer had succeeded to break in a minor fight earlier. She slapped Avery on the buttocks as she passed by, urging him to snap out of it, but the force was so much that Avery jumped, flew a bit forward and landed on all fours, the top of his head hitting the wall. He felt the tears build up in his eyes. Janary placed her foot on his back and pushed. A satisfied smile crawled over her features. “Did you finally wake up?”
Avery reached out towards Calli, who giggled and shrugged.
Janary guffawed and walked off after a final push.
What had he done to deserve such a bloodthirsty employer?! Oh, cruel world!
As he was collecting the pieces of his broken soul from the floor, Avery noticed a small note on the floor under him; a name, a number, and on the back the name of a hospital and a room number. He suddenly woke up. The name was practically impossible to pronounce though, but it called out to him. Tiarang Xi-xi-xiant? Tiarang Xiant? Avery’s eyebrows knotted in effort. He had reviewed the conversation with the man again and again in his mind, and there was something about him. Something, he just didn’t know what.
At the end of the evening it always started to smell of spilt alcohol and sweat and vomit at The Gate, but after working there for almost five years, Avery was getting used to it. They always turned the music lower at the end of the night. He watched Calli swing her hips to it as she leaned over the tables she cleaned.
The built up warmth wouldn’t leave the place, so Janary opened the front doors when she was assured that no drunkard could find his way in. She looked about the street with paranoia. “Clear.” Then she noticed the sign not working. “Avery!”
“Y-yes?” Avery dragged his feet after himself, and piece of toilet paper got stuck under his shoe.
“Cm’ere,” Janary said, her eyes narrowing. She pointed up to the sign. “When you get up, lean down from the balcony and fix it. Don’t fall down and break it. I don’t care if something happens to you, but that sign cost a lot.”
“Why can’t Calli do it? I’m not even sleeping here tonight.” Avery regretted saying this as soon as he’d finished the sentence. He swallowed, hard.
Fog suffused the dawn air; fresh, cold, and casting shadows over Janary’s face, making her look even more intimidating than usual. She didn’t say anything else. She went about doing her work as usual. She knew she had got her point across when she threw a glance over her shoulder and saw Avery who almost wet himself.
It took an hour more work, a few shots of Ouzo, and talking about the good ol’ times with Janary for her to let go of Avery at six in the morning. Even then she grabbed him by the collar, dragged him across the floor and threw him by the door to the apartment before she closed down the place and went home. “As long as you lack discipline, I won’t pay you enough to get an apartment of your own!” she slurred.
Avery felt like weeping, but he got up, brushed himself, went up to the apartment and threw his shoes off. Most of all he wanted to collapse into bed. Even with these work hours, he was still used to operating in daylight. His eyes were crossing; it was hard to keep them open. He peeled off the work clothes, folded them neatly and put them on the end of his unmade bed. It wouldn’t feel as homely if everything was neat.
He turned his head and twisted his back, pushed his shoulder with his hand and tried to get a look of his back. Nothing was visible. The effort made him pant. He tried the mirror instead, but could only see one side at a time. The dots had increased; almost invisible, creating intricate, seemingly random shapes on his back. Some of the dots were inconspicuous, others larger, like hot fingertips had been pushed against his skin.
He pulled on his regular clothes; a pair of black skinny jeans and a black cut-sew with bits of shredded fabric that plastered itself around his thin body. He topped it off with a matte black McQueen trench-coat Nebreus had bought for his birthday two months earlier and stuffed his wallet into its pocket.
It was cold outside, not terribly cold, but still cold. Avery shivered and pulled the jacket closer. The streets were filling up with cars that cut through the thick fog and people who hurried to the tube station. The sun still hadn’t shown itself, but the city was slowly coming to life; it meant sleeping time to Avery.
He felt his stomach grumble long and loud, so he dodged into a Seven Eleven and bought two chocolate bars and a sandwich to go and took a big bite off the sandwich as he made his way to Ceane’s apartment.
The apartment was located kind of in the middle, in the middle of everything and nowhere. Just in the middle. Avery walked past it every time after the turn around the street corner and had to back a few steps. It was as if the house was invisible if you looked at it directly, it was only seen over your shoulder; grey, high, old and ugly.
Avery bumped into a woman rushing out of the door and her curly brown hair whipped into his face. She mumbled sorry without even as much as a glance and continued on her way. Avery pursed his lips and climbed up all five storeys.
The door was open. Avery headed right into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, drinking in deep gulps to wash down the chicken and curry sandwich. He took a deep breath and licked his lips, drying his chin with his arm.
“Thirsty?” Ceane huffed a short laugh, one long dark eyebrow crooked and the other raised.
“Hi,” said Avery and leaned back against the cupboards, a drunken smile plastered on his face. “Mind me going to bed?” He made his way into the bedroom with the drawing props on the floor and paint blobs on the low table. He stepped on a brush which made the sole of his foot hurt.
“Bitch!” he exclaimed and dropped on the bed, holding his foot tight. The pain lost the battle to fatigue, so he crawled under the naked duvet and turned his back against Ceane.
“Can I join?” Ceane smiled brightly and hopped onto the bed with excitement.
“In hell.” Avery shot out a hand and kept Ceane’s face from coming closer.
“Please?”
“If you as much as touch my hair, I’ll fry your brain with my super laser eyes.”
“You wouldn’t!” Ceane gasped over dramatically.
“Seriously, Ceane, I’m so tired I could die.” Avery felt the room spin, or rather his brain spin in his skull. It was strange how tired he was; being in a bed felt too good. He heard his own breath calm down.
Ceane rustled some papers on the other side of the room, where an easel stood. The noise of the swift movements of charcoal on thin paper was familiar, soothing.
The clock tick-tacked. Its rhythmic clicks made him sway deeper into unconsciousness, where the sound became louder, louder and louder, until it almost hurt. The tap in the shower was leaking, its minute beat filling out the gaps between the tick-tacking.
A mother was scolding her child in the kitchen above. A frying pan hit the floor. Ta-dump, said the veins in Avery’s brain.
Avery pulled in a sharp breath when an ambulance with shrieking sirens drove by too close to the house. He fell back on the pillow, shaken. Ta-dump, ta-dump, ta-dump.
He could hear Ceane turning his head; whisper of fabric against fabric, the air that left and then filled his lungs.
“Did you really believe I love you?” said a voice, the words dripping with mockery and disgust.
Avery’s eyes snapped open wide. The ceiling was white, with intricate yellow and brownish patterns of moisture. Bleak light shone in from the window. His hands clutched the sweat embedded sheets. His breath came in slow, quivering starts.
A throbbing pain spread out in his chest. It felt as if his ribcage would crack open and his intestines would jump out soon. Whose voice was that? It sounded so familiar, yet it didn’t sound like anybody he knew. He was sure Ceane hadn’t said anything.
“Are you all right? Your eyes are red.” Ceane seated himself beside Avery. “You’re sweating.” He pulled Avery’s moist shirt off his limp body.
Avery gave in to Ceane’s cold, ticklish fingers. “Hold me,” said Avery, hoping the pain would go away if he felt intimate touch. He looked at the hands that were gathering his silk black, ruffled hair behind his back. The fingers became blurred, blackened like tar, enveloped his bony white shoulders, sank into the skin, into the aching place in his chest and squeezed at his essence. Avery felt his breath hitch, stop. His eyes widened.
“You are wretched, vile, distorted!” echoed a voice in his head. He wanted to say it out loud to Ceane, but his body wasn’t obeying.
The darkness was taking over his mind and body, he felt consciousness slip away again, and clutched at it with his remaining strength. His knuckles became white around Ceane’s arms. He knew he couldn’t take this anymore. A shiver shook his spine and he flinched.
“Avery?” Ceane put his head to the side like a curious, but oblivious dog.
And then it was gone, just as quickly as it had come. He would’ve blamed it on fatigue if it wasn’t that he had felt it before. With all the circumstances brought about in the past five years, he was more than ever inclined to believe what his instincts told him, although he still had no solid proof.
The pain was still there, beating hard behind his ribcage. “Why do you care so much?” he asked in a whisper, more to himself than to Ceane. His eyes narrowed.
Ceane was taken aback. His eyebrows rose comically. It took a while for him to respond. “Because…because you’re the most interesting.”
“You’re in love with me.” It wasn’t a question, but more of an observation. Avery’s voice was void of feeling. “Kiss me.”
Ceane’s lips parted slightly in confusion. He had never been so bluntly asked to kiss someone, not that he remembered at least. He couldn’t remember Avery ever act this way either. Not with this much…confidence. There was nothing he could do but obey Avery’s imperious command. Ceane leaned forward.
Avery wasn’t exactly helping; he sat with his back against the cool wall, his usually soft features expressionless. Ceane’s soft lips pressed against Avery’s before he backed and searched in the placid pair of dark blue, almost violet eyes for an explanation, or at least a reaction. He let their lips meet again when Avery didn’t say anything. He kissed Avery’s bottom lip, embraced it between his own, felt it softly yield, melt. Still no response. He licked Avery’s lips tenderly, let his tongue slide in between the lush pair of slightly parted lips and allowed the kiss to deepen.
Avery turned away, pulling in air through his nose. “I hate you,” he hissed and got off the bed, put his shirt on and went out.
Ceane sat staring at the place Avery had sat just a moment ago. It was still warm from the heat of his body. The sensation of his lips still remained. Ceane let out a trembling breath, his hand clutching the sheets, jaw clenched.
Failure wasn’t a sensation he much enjoyed. After all, this was his game, and the puppeteer cannot lose.
I'm a total n00b here.
A small presentation:
Swedish girl with Iranian roots living in Japan with bf. Twenty one years old. I've been writing since around eight (kinda stumbled into it when I wrote essays and couldn't stop thinking about how to describe Fall and crows in the best way). And so English is my third language, and I apologize for not being as good as the rest of you.
So, I also have a problem, obviously. I've been working on a story for half a year now haha
And I've managed to write first half of the first chapter and some stray bits here and there. My computer lost the second half, so I've angsted about it for a while and put it on the shelf. I feel like I'm getting a bit blinded and subjective as to if the story is actually worth it or if it's total and utter crap.
Please do tear apart!
Is it over worked? Under worked? Poor plot line? Badly presented? Bad flow? Throw it at me!
I appreciate if you express any thoughts.
The Gate
Genre: Romance/supernatural/horror/comedy/angst
Summary: Avery is hunted by scenes from a life he’s never had, but it becomes his reality as the truth elucidates step by step, kiss by kiss, betrayal by betrayal.
Warnings: Coarse language, mild slash
Chapter One
Part One
“Welcome to The Gate”
Present
Small raindrops whipped the pavement and the fragile spring-flowers hanging over the railing of the second storey balcony. The deep purple sign under the whirling petals flickered once or twice at the end of the alley, before it went out. It wasn’t like the sign was needed; those who had business in The Gate could find it anyway.
Darkness had just coated the sky and the atmosphere inside The Gate was beginning to shape up. The gravel crunched under the feet of a pair of guests walking arm in arm in the street. Their laughter echoed off the indifferent, old walls as they pushed open the heavy, chromed door and came into the warmth.
The Gate looked like any other high-end bar; sparingly lit, with modern furnishing and satiny black surfaces. Round tables and leather clad chairs were placed all about, almost as if at random. The scent of earth sipped in from outside, but it was otherwise surprisingly stern for a bar. The light was scarce, careful not to show too much, its rays crept out from large violet bubbles of lamps hanging off the ceiling in meticulously measured distance from one another. The music was kept low; experimental and avant-garde tunes that set a unique mood.
Avery hurried down the creaking stairs leading down from the shabby apartment over the bar, adjusting his cuff links and collar. He was late again, and sleep had not yet completely left him, but he was alert and ready. It had been a nice little nap. He closed the iron door behind himself to hide the stark contrast between the two environments. The sleek, deliberate darkness of the bar engulfed him.
Janary caught him coming. She almost hit into him with the heavy-looking crate of beer she carried. She didn’t mind harming him now and then, it seemed. Avery barely avoided getting his knee-caps smashed.
“You have a customer,” Janary said and nodded towards a man sitting at the end of the burnished, black bar disk with his head in his hands.
“Popular, are we?” Calli, Avery’s flat-mate, walked by and flashed him a blinding smile. She was cleaning the floor with a cloth under her shoe. People coming to The Gate seemed to believe her drinks were more magical than the other bartenders’, so they often requested her. The rumour was that she had a trick up her sleeve that could even make demons drunk. Whether this was true or not wasn’t exactly confirmed scientifically. Avery didn’t mind when customers requested Calli, but it drove Janary up the walls; she didn’t like to bother with such trivialities. The reason was rather plain in Avery’s eyes; she might not be the best looking girl who worked there, but her smile could brighten up the greyest of skies.
Avery replied the smile wearily, hesitated for a moment and sighed heavily. He had no choice but to serve his customer. “What may I serve you?”
The man looked up as if he had just woken up from deep thought. His dark brown hair had a few strands of white, despite his young, but jaded looks. He wore an old brown leather jacket that looked to pull down his shoulders with its weight, or perhaps it was the strange, shiny turquoise and yellow gadget pointing its head out of his breast pocket. His vital blue eyes scrutinised Avery up and down. “Are you Avery?”
“Yes.”
“I was told you were beautiful, but I wasn’t quite expecting-” he cut off, as if he’d said something he didn’t mean to. He couldn’t help but stare at the velveteen black hair down the young man’s back; his skin looked translucent in the darkness. A fringe of thick black eyelashes cast shadows over his blushing cheeks and made it hard to decide whether the dark eyes were violet or if they reflected the purple of the large lamp bubbles. He wondered how a boy looking this frail and small in those nicely tailored black clothes could possess such power; those long limbs and fingers that fiddled with the glasses behind the bar looked like they could crumble into a heap of bones in any moment, as if it was the pure spirit of life that kept his body alive.
Avery looked away, his soft eyebrows tensed momentarily.
“Oh, make it a whiskey,” the man said. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a picture and was lost in thought again for a moment.
“Any preferences?”
“Any is fine.”
Avery suppressed a smile and gave the man a glass of whiskey. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
The man bit his lip and slipped the picture over to Avery. It was of a smiling young girl. Avery gave the picture back. “And what may I help you with?”
“She…has suffered…for a long time. I don’t know why or what it is. I…I’m ready to do whatever it takes. She’s my daughter.” The man’s palms left wet marks on the bar disk. He shot the whiskey down his throat with quivering hands, becoming more and more flustered. He ran his fingers through his hair and battered his faint blue eyelids. The warmth of the alcohol seemed to spread itself in him and he took a breath before continuing. “I heard about you, that you could…cure her, no matter what was wrong with her. I figured it’s my last hope.” He bore his eyes into Avery from under his messy hair.
Avery took the empty glass from the man and dried the area with the cloth he kept hanging from his black waist-apron. “I’m afraid I can’t.”
The man stared at the counter for a moment. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“It won’t give me anything.” That sure sounded selfish. “I mean…”
“You want a soul in return right?” The man had made his research, all right.
Avery nodded, sighed, closed his eyes. He looked at the people who danced to their own beat on the floor and a pair of girls giggling at a table, a little too close to be just friends.
“You can have mine! It’s the least I can do,” the man exclaimed.
“Please keep your voice low. It’s not about that. Your soul is of no use to me.” Ah, this hurt every time. Why couldn’t he do it for everybody? He locked gaze with the man until the man looked away.
“Give me another, will ya?” He slapped a bill on the counter.
“Of course.” Avery poured him another shot of whiskey.
“By the way…why do I get such a strange feeling from the other…customers?” The man swigged his drink and got up to go.
Avery couldn’t help but smile this time. He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps they’re just not...your type of folks.” Avery wet his deep pink lips. “Be careful.” He took the bill and watched the man make his way out. He looked slightly lost in the crowd that blocked his way.
The bill felt harder than usual. Avery turned it. There was a card behind the bill with a name and number, and on the backside of it there was the name of a hospital and a number, presumably the room number of the daughter. Avery stuffed it in the pocket of his pants. “Janary.”
“No, you can’t,” Janary said, “It’s Saturday night!” She shook the drinks as if she had stuffed a hamster into the glass and was doing her best to kill it. Her wavy, tied back hair, chocolate brown and soft, jumped about her taut expression. She didn’t look it, but she could throw out a few bothersome customers when needed. The uniform looked much better on her, Avery thought. She just had more shape to fill it out.
“I’ll be quick.” Avery winked at Janary before he walked out the back door.
“Don’t think you can charm me!” Janary called after him and slammed down the drink on the counter. “Where are all the people? Why isn’t anybody lending me a hand here?”
Avery closed the door to the commotion inside. He leaned against the brick wall, closed his eyes, and drew in the scent of rain. It had stopped pouring and the silence spread its comforting wings around him. He lit a cigarette and watched the sky, although there really was nothing but dark clouds and pollution to see.
Avery didn’t smoke often, but he kept a pack at his end of the counter. He enjoyed the calm it gave him, and the moment he could savour with the excuse of smoking.
It was somehow surprising that people came to The Gate. It wasn’t exactly on the top ten of must sees in London, nor on any map, and to top it off, it was located at the end of a lonely alley in the not so very party-friendly Bayswater.
“Since when do you smoke?” Nebreus appeared in all his glory, the gravel screaming under his Ben Sherman shoes. “Give me one.”
Avery felt a jolt in his chest. He unwillingly offered Nebreus a cigarette and followed it up with a long, stern stare.
“Lucky Strike?” Nebreus wrinkled his nose and pulled out a package of Davidoff from his pants pocket. His trousers looked torn, but Avery didn’t dare ask how much he’d paid to get them like that. Bits of sad black fabric hung out from under his red MC jacket, almost hiding a bright red drawing of a penis over the zipper of his black pants, and beside it was the too familiar Vivienne Westwood logo stretching itself over his strong thigh.
He lit the cigarette, cupping his hand to protect the flame. He cast a glance up at Avery before straightening up. His light blonde, asymmetrically cut hair followed his movements. It was side parted and almost reached his jaw at the front, longer at the back, with perfect volume and every strand in its place. Vanity personified.
Avery crossed his arms over his chest, slammed his own head back against the wall and proceeded to ignore Nebreus. There was a line of thought he tried to grasp but forgot again every time he managed to remember it, and Nebreus didn’t really let anybody think.
A crawling fragrance of musk and tobacco muted the smell of earth.
“What do you want?” Avery tried to sound nonchalant, but stole a glance at Nebreus when the other wasn’t looking.
“Aww, why you hatin’ on me?” Nebreus made a mock-sad face and chuckled. His voice was somewhere between base and tenor, but it sounded manly and could charm just about anybody. Avery didn’t know how many women fell down dead every day just from seeing that lopsided, mischievous smile on Nebreus’ pale pink lips. He averted his gaze.
“Did you go online chatting again?” Avery couldn’t help laugh at how unnatural the attempt sounded.
“What if I did? Need to keep up with the times, right?” He winked. “How is it going?” Nebreus’ expression hardened a bit, lost the edge of humour. His forest green eyes caught the scant light of the street lamp.
“None yet.” Avery let out a sigh. “I’ve gotta go in.” He suffocated the cigarette butt under his shoe and turned to go.
“You shouldn’t wave off customers so quickly,” said Nebreus with a nonchalant tone and took a puff of his cigarette.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Avery halted and turned back, his eyebrows knotting slightly.
“Just sayin’.” Nebreus shrugged.
Avery stared blankly for a moment. “I’m going to Ceane’s later, by the way.”
“Ceane? Why?” Nebreus sounded slightly eager. He held the door open for Avery and scratched his scalp.
“I’m sleeping over.” Avery shrugged. “Maybe I should tell him I’m coming. Would be good if he wasn’t so pushy though.”
Nebreus looked as if he’d just been slapped in the face. “Pushy? He’s pushy? How?”
“You know…” Avery searched for the right word. “Nevermind.” He shook his head and went into the tumult behind the counter.
Nebreus stood and watched the door slam behind Avery. He pulled his mouth this way and that and stuffed his free hand into his pocket. “Pushy, eh?”
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫
“Sweep the floor, Avery. Don’t just sit there on your skinny ass.” Janary poked Avery with the broom, hands on her hips. It was a wonder how she could keep going without the smallest signs of fatigue. Perhaps it was because she actually shoved most of the job on her employees.
Avery pointed to the cell phone at his ear. He sat behind the bar, against the iron door that led up to the apartment he shared with Calli. He claimed the broom and waved Janary away, which made Janary throw another of her feral glares his way. “What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.
“Nothing…just, can’t you come now?” Ceane’s raspy voice said in the phone.
“Why?” Avery stretched out his leg in front of him. He’d been thinking about something important before Ceane called, but he couldn’t remember quite what it was.
“It’s nothing. I just wanted to complete the assignment tonight.”
“It’s fricking four a.m., you’re not going to do it now anyway. And I’m going to sleep when I get there.” Avery felt the exhaustion spread out into his limbs when he said that, but there were still things to be done tonight. Something he was thinking about, what was it again…?
“Yes, I am. Inspiration struck me.” There was a sound of items hitting against each other, perhaps paint brushes.
Avery didn’t know what to say. He sighed and shoved his hair out of his face.
“I just…miss you,” said Ceane, voice distorted with mirth.
Avery’s face fell, “Eheh…Right. I’ll come over when I’m finished. Still gotta sweep the floor.”
“Later then,” said Ceane, sounding beat.
Beep, beep, beep, dim-dum! And the screen changed to the usual background of flashing stars again. Avery got up and started doing what he was supposed to do.
Janary ran about like a chased madman, picked up trash, glasses and broken pieces of a lamp bubble that a customer had succeeded to break in a minor fight earlier. She slapped Avery on the buttocks as she passed by, urging him to snap out of it, but the force was so much that Avery jumped, flew a bit forward and landed on all fours, the top of his head hitting the wall. He felt the tears build up in his eyes. Janary placed her foot on his back and pushed. A satisfied smile crawled over her features. “Did you finally wake up?”
Avery reached out towards Calli, who giggled and shrugged.
Janary guffawed and walked off after a final push.
What had he done to deserve such a bloodthirsty employer?! Oh, cruel world!
As he was collecting the pieces of his broken soul from the floor, Avery noticed a small note on the floor under him; a name, a number, and on the back the name of a hospital and a room number. He suddenly woke up. The name was practically impossible to pronounce though, but it called out to him. Tiarang Xi-xi-xiant? Tiarang Xiant? Avery’s eyebrows knotted in effort. He had reviewed the conversation with the man again and again in his mind, and there was something about him. Something, he just didn’t know what.
At the end of the evening it always started to smell of spilt alcohol and sweat and vomit at The Gate, but after working there for almost five years, Avery was getting used to it. They always turned the music lower at the end of the night. He watched Calli swing her hips to it as she leaned over the tables she cleaned.
The built up warmth wouldn’t leave the place, so Janary opened the front doors when she was assured that no drunkard could find his way in. She looked about the street with paranoia. “Clear.” Then she noticed the sign not working. “Avery!”
“Y-yes?” Avery dragged his feet after himself, and piece of toilet paper got stuck under his shoe.
“Cm’ere,” Janary said, her eyes narrowing. She pointed up to the sign. “When you get up, lean down from the balcony and fix it. Don’t fall down and break it. I don’t care if something happens to you, but that sign cost a lot.”
“Why can’t Calli do it? I’m not even sleeping here tonight.” Avery regretted saying this as soon as he’d finished the sentence. He swallowed, hard.
Fog suffused the dawn air; fresh, cold, and casting shadows over Janary’s face, making her look even more intimidating than usual. She didn’t say anything else. She went about doing her work as usual. She knew she had got her point across when she threw a glance over her shoulder and saw Avery who almost wet himself.
It took an hour more work, a few shots of Ouzo, and talking about the good ol’ times with Janary for her to let go of Avery at six in the morning. Even then she grabbed him by the collar, dragged him across the floor and threw him by the door to the apartment before she closed down the place and went home. “As long as you lack discipline, I won’t pay you enough to get an apartment of your own!” she slurred.
Avery felt like weeping, but he got up, brushed himself, went up to the apartment and threw his shoes off. Most of all he wanted to collapse into bed. Even with these work hours, he was still used to operating in daylight. His eyes were crossing; it was hard to keep them open. He peeled off the work clothes, folded them neatly and put them on the end of his unmade bed. It wouldn’t feel as homely if everything was neat.
He turned his head and twisted his back, pushed his shoulder with his hand and tried to get a look of his back. Nothing was visible. The effort made him pant. He tried the mirror instead, but could only see one side at a time. The dots had increased; almost invisible, creating intricate, seemingly random shapes on his back. Some of the dots were inconspicuous, others larger, like hot fingertips had been pushed against his skin.
He pulled on his regular clothes; a pair of black skinny jeans and a black cut-sew with bits of shredded fabric that plastered itself around his thin body. He topped it off with a matte black McQueen trench-coat Nebreus had bought for his birthday two months earlier and stuffed his wallet into its pocket.
It was cold outside, not terribly cold, but still cold. Avery shivered and pulled the jacket closer. The streets were filling up with cars that cut through the thick fog and people who hurried to the tube station. The sun still hadn’t shown itself, but the city was slowly coming to life; it meant sleeping time to Avery.
He felt his stomach grumble long and loud, so he dodged into a Seven Eleven and bought two chocolate bars and a sandwich to go and took a big bite off the sandwich as he made his way to Ceane’s apartment.
The apartment was located kind of in the middle, in the middle of everything and nowhere. Just in the middle. Avery walked past it every time after the turn around the street corner and had to back a few steps. It was as if the house was invisible if you looked at it directly, it was only seen over your shoulder; grey, high, old and ugly.
Avery bumped into a woman rushing out of the door and her curly brown hair whipped into his face. She mumbled sorry without even as much as a glance and continued on her way. Avery pursed his lips and climbed up all five storeys.
The door was open. Avery headed right into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, drinking in deep gulps to wash down the chicken and curry sandwich. He took a deep breath and licked his lips, drying his chin with his arm.
“Thirsty?” Ceane huffed a short laugh, one long dark eyebrow crooked and the other raised.
“Hi,” said Avery and leaned back against the cupboards, a drunken smile plastered on his face. “Mind me going to bed?” He made his way into the bedroom with the drawing props on the floor and paint blobs on the low table. He stepped on a brush which made the sole of his foot hurt.
“Bitch!” he exclaimed and dropped on the bed, holding his foot tight. The pain lost the battle to fatigue, so he crawled under the naked duvet and turned his back against Ceane.
“Can I join?” Ceane smiled brightly and hopped onto the bed with excitement.
“In hell.” Avery shot out a hand and kept Ceane’s face from coming closer.
“Please?”
“If you as much as touch my hair, I’ll fry your brain with my super laser eyes.”
“You wouldn’t!” Ceane gasped over dramatically.
“Seriously, Ceane, I’m so tired I could die.” Avery felt the room spin, or rather his brain spin in his skull. It was strange how tired he was; being in a bed felt too good. He heard his own breath calm down.
Ceane rustled some papers on the other side of the room, where an easel stood. The noise of the swift movements of charcoal on thin paper was familiar, soothing.
The clock tick-tacked. Its rhythmic clicks made him sway deeper into unconsciousness, where the sound became louder, louder and louder, until it almost hurt. The tap in the shower was leaking, its minute beat filling out the gaps between the tick-tacking.
A mother was scolding her child in the kitchen above. A frying pan hit the floor. Ta-dump, said the veins in Avery’s brain.
Avery pulled in a sharp breath when an ambulance with shrieking sirens drove by too close to the house. He fell back on the pillow, shaken. Ta-dump, ta-dump, ta-dump.
He could hear Ceane turning his head; whisper of fabric against fabric, the air that left and then filled his lungs.
“Did you really believe I love you?” said a voice, the words dripping with mockery and disgust.
Avery’s eyes snapped open wide. The ceiling was white, with intricate yellow and brownish patterns of moisture. Bleak light shone in from the window. His hands clutched the sweat embedded sheets. His breath came in slow, quivering starts.
A throbbing pain spread out in his chest. It felt as if his ribcage would crack open and his intestines would jump out soon. Whose voice was that? It sounded so familiar, yet it didn’t sound like anybody he knew. He was sure Ceane hadn’t said anything.
“Are you all right? Your eyes are red.” Ceane seated himself beside Avery. “You’re sweating.” He pulled Avery’s moist shirt off his limp body.
Avery gave in to Ceane’s cold, ticklish fingers. “Hold me,” said Avery, hoping the pain would go away if he felt intimate touch. He looked at the hands that were gathering his silk black, ruffled hair behind his back. The fingers became blurred, blackened like tar, enveloped his bony white shoulders, sank into the skin, into the aching place in his chest and squeezed at his essence. Avery felt his breath hitch, stop. His eyes widened.
“You are wretched, vile, distorted!” echoed a voice in his head. He wanted to say it out loud to Ceane, but his body wasn’t obeying.
The darkness was taking over his mind and body, he felt consciousness slip away again, and clutched at it with his remaining strength. His knuckles became white around Ceane’s arms. He knew he couldn’t take this anymore. A shiver shook his spine and he flinched.
“Avery?” Ceane put his head to the side like a curious, but oblivious dog.
And then it was gone, just as quickly as it had come. He would’ve blamed it on fatigue if it wasn’t that he had felt it before. With all the circumstances brought about in the past five years, he was more than ever inclined to believe what his instincts told him, although he still had no solid proof.
The pain was still there, beating hard behind his ribcage. “Why do you care so much?” he asked in a whisper, more to himself than to Ceane. His eyes narrowed.
Ceane was taken aback. His eyebrows rose comically. It took a while for him to respond. “Because…because you’re the most interesting.”
“You’re in love with me.” It wasn’t a question, but more of an observation. Avery’s voice was void of feeling. “Kiss me.”
Ceane’s lips parted slightly in confusion. He had never been so bluntly asked to kiss someone, not that he remembered at least. He couldn’t remember Avery ever act this way either. Not with this much…confidence. There was nothing he could do but obey Avery’s imperious command. Ceane leaned forward.
Avery wasn’t exactly helping; he sat with his back against the cool wall, his usually soft features expressionless. Ceane’s soft lips pressed against Avery’s before he backed and searched in the placid pair of dark blue, almost violet eyes for an explanation, or at least a reaction. He let their lips meet again when Avery didn’t say anything. He kissed Avery’s bottom lip, embraced it between his own, felt it softly yield, melt. Still no response. He licked Avery’s lips tenderly, let his tongue slide in between the lush pair of slightly parted lips and allowed the kiss to deepen.
Avery turned away, pulling in air through his nose. “I hate you,” he hissed and got off the bed, put his shirt on and went out.
Ceane sat staring at the place Avery had sat just a moment ago. It was still warm from the heat of his body. The sensation of his lips still remained. Ceane let out a trembling breath, his hand clutching the sheets, jaw clenched.
Failure wasn’t a sensation he much enjoyed. After all, this was his game, and the puppeteer cannot lose.
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 01:02 pm (UTC)Your characters are very dramatic, and I like some of your descriptive bits, the part where Avery fell into shallow sleep where every sounds seemed magnified was something I could relate to :).
I'd just take care not to go over-the-top with some of the characterizations. Other than that, I think you've got a good story brewing here. Interesting idea, I enjoyed reading it.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 01:26 pm (UTC)Well, it's not as bad as writers who hardly develop their characters at all. I mean, at least in your case, you can just polish it down, a little, so as not to overwhelm the readers. Is this a work in progress? Have you written many chapters? Is Ceane pronounced Cee-ann?
Anyway, you've got a good start of a story, I think. Keep it up! :)
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Date: 2009-08-13 01:52 pm (UTC)Thank you very much <3
no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 01:55 pm (UTC)I like Avery too, but Ceane's very intriguing, for some reasons :)
Awww, lazy and busy. Two deadly combo D: You should always put some time aside to write, though! Here's looking to its continuation :)