the wall.
Not a picture of a duck either. An actual duck. A Mallard. Stuffed.
It looks like it went to a taxidermist from hell. Its beak is off-center, the mouth partially open, and don’t get me started on the beady eyes. They look like those stick on eyeballs we used to use as kids, slapped on a dead bird. So much white of the eye is showing that makes him horrifyingly unrealistic. Those things aside, the most peculiar is the grotesque way the dead animal is wearing a tiny black sombrero. Did I forget to mention the harmonica glued to the side of the beak? This deceased animal is now a part of some sort of Gothic Mariachi band.
I realize I’m studying the bird, making a pained face, and I feel her eyes on me.
“His name is Norbert,” she says in a bland tone behind me.
Of course, she named him.
“That’s what I’d assumed. Glad you clarified, though. Don’t want any confusion.”
“I killed him. Then I kept him, as a reminder.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about, but nothing surprises me anymore. She must sense my confusion and need for more to this story because she openly continues.
“He was choking on something down by the water, some plastic I think. He was in pain. I tried to get him to breathe, but he was too far gone already, just slowly dying before me.” She gazes directly at him, remembering. “I held his chest down. Suffocated him. It killed me to do it, but I couldn’t watch him suffer anymore.”
We stand there side by side, staring at him.
“Damn, Norbert,” I comment, feeling bad.
“I had him stuffed shortly after by this cheap taxidermist down the road who specializes in these sorts of things.”
The way she flips from something being so emotionally sad and disturbing to talking so easily about stuffing his dead body throws me through a loop. And a cheap taxidermist who specializes in what? Creating morbid mariachi bands? I’m reminded of our discussion about her fear of dying while we were sitting by the water. She said she keeps him as a reminder. But a reminder of what?
“Some water for you,” she says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
She got us some water, said we’d probably need it before we trip, and yet all I can think about is how angry her plants probably are at me. They have to be jealous.
I sit down next to her on her couch. The place smells good, like really good. Something tranquil, if tranquil could even describe a smell. Essential oils or something earthy that has me feeling comfortable. I don’t know what girls do to make their places smell good.
The walls are painted green. Green like the color her plants should be. This woman has nothing but dead and decaying plants all around her apartment, as if we are in the Sahara desert. Ferns, flowers, more things I couldn’t name if my life depended on it, all droopy and crusted, leaves falling off onto the floor beneath in some sort of sad release.
The walls seem to try to breathe life into the plants with the stark contrast of bright green. It’s the same exact color as one of the flecks in her right eye. This color would be too much for anyone else to tolerate, but to me it’s soothing, while simultaneously stimulating. The soft lighting keeps the space pretty dark. There’s a real cozy comfort here despite being surrounded by death.
“Anyone expecting you anytime soon?” she asks, standing before me, sipping her water as she tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
Her body is to die for. I can’t stop looking at the fact that her nipples are pressing against the soft fabric of her dragon shirt, attempting to pierce themselves free with their erect stance. Fuck, her tits are fantastic. I realize I’m gazing again, so I clear my throat and rub my eye as a distraction.
“Hawke and Cole know not to expect me,” I reply, kicking back and slouching into her couch.
She frowns a bit and I need to know what it means.
“That’s kinda sad,” she answers, curling up next to me on the couch.
Her eyes fall upon my shirt where her hand brushes something off of my shoulder. It’s a touch meant for nothing, but I feel it everywhere.
“Why is that sad?” I ask, our faces close enough for me to count the little freckles on her little upturned nose.
She slowly drags her teeth against her bottom lip, still looking down at my shoulder, almost contemplating if this is even worth sharing.
“It means you don’t have anyone waiting for you,” she says, her lips turned down in disappointment as her eyes finding mine again. “You deserve to have someone waiting for you.”
Her words make my chest ache. She thinks I’m worthy of having someone waiting for me? What does that tell me about how she feels about me? I’ve never felt worthy of that. I need to chill before I read too deep into this.
She smiles, then continues, “Well, anyway…you should probably just stay the night.”
It’s blunt, it’s straightforward, it’s to the point, yet it doesn’t hit the way I wished it did. She’s so nonchalant with it, not realizing asking me to stay the night with her sounds like fucking heaven to my ears. Why doesn’t it mean more to her? It bothers me that I want it to.
“I don’t know if I fit on this couch, might need to make room on the bed,” I smile suggestively.
“Duh, of course you’re sleeping with me,” she replies. “I wouldn’t make you sleep on the couch.” She scoffs and laughs like it’s the most ridiculous thought that I wouldn’t be in her bed by the end of the night.
Why can’t these words mean more than they do?! I ache for her to feel them the way my dick does.
She grabs her little tin, pulling the Pokemon tabs out before she straddles my lap on the couch, her legs surrounding mine, her center sitting directly on my cock.
Woah.
“Ready Kid?” she asks softly, her sexy smirk radiating above me.
I take a deep breath, swallowing before adjusting myself beneath her. Fuck, she feels so good in my lap. I can’t help but to slide my hands up her exposed thighs. I’ve been restless, wanting to touch that snake that gets to live on one of the sexiest parts of her.
“Open your mouth, baby,” she whispers, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.
She called me baby, and she’s feeding me drugs. I’m fucked in so many ways, shapes, and forms.
Placing one on my tongue and the other on hers, she grins, then slips off of me and cuddles up onto the space to my right while we wait for it to kick in. I miss the intimate contact already, but pull my phone out of my back pocket, glancing at it.
Hawke: Use the code if you’re coming in late, gonna lock up.
Diego: Dude, pussy on fire at the party. Get back here.
Tarah: Where did you go? Come back, mysterious wanderer. I wanna ride your lap again.
I chuckle at the last one and Han catches on.
“What is it?” she says, all cutesy.
“Nothin’.” I smile, turning my phone off, setting it down on the wooden stump that’s serving a dual purpose as a coffee table before me.
I know she’s not the jealous type, but I still feel like sharing that bit of information would be rude.
“I didn’t take you for such an earthy chick,” I say, changing the subject. “I mean, you have metal in your tongue.”
“The plants? The green walls? Yeah, I get it.” She chuckles a bit, looking around the place. “But I need my cave to bring me back to life if the world around me doesn’t.”
I feel that. I feel that deeply. It’s why I thrive in the dark. I’ve found many caves of my own. Although my caves are places that numb me rather than revive me.
“You’ve seen some dark places, haven’t you?” I ask, unfiltered.
I want to know what’s beneath her surface. The surface that everyone else stops at. I want to dive into her and fucking drown in her darkness, because I’m crazy enough to.
She giggles, looking down between us, then back up at me. “These aren’t the types of conversations you wanna jump off while on acid.”
“Alright, let’s talk sex.”
She gets seemingly more comfortable, crossing her legs beneath her and turning to face me.
“Let’s.” She wiggles her body.
“Craziest place you’ve had sex?” I ask.
“Car Wash,” she answers quickly, then fires back with a question. “Weirdest thing that’s happened to you during sex?”
“Car Wash!? All that tells me is your dude was quick.”
“Quick can be fun,” she says confidently, licking the corner of her luscious lips with that tongue.
I swallow, wishing my dick could feel something quick.
“Go.”
“Uh,” I say, pausing to think. “The family dog licked my ass.”
She breaks out into laughter and I feel that strange validation again, my smile matching hers.
“It wasn’t planned, obviously. He came out of nowhere. I was on top, smashing this chick and the dog snuck up, licked my ass. It was fucked up.”
I think about my words for a minute, and hope I didn’t sound like the douchebag that I am for saying I was smashing a chick. It doesn’t appear to have slowed down her laughter at all. She’s on her back now, her legs over mine as she holds her stomach while cackling.
“That’s messed up,” she says. “I like you, Kid. You’re funny as fuck.”
Yep. Felt that everywhere.
“And you are unequaled,” I reply honestly.
She scrunches her nose playfully at me, but right as her face drops, I see sadness in her eyes. It’s only a brief second before it changes. Most people never would never have noticed, but most people aren’t me. I can be perceptive when it matters, and when it comes to Han, I can’t seem to not pay attention to detail.
About an hour later, I’m standing facing the wall, staring at the duck.
Why? Why did she do this? Norbert had no idea his body would be hung up in a room on display with fake eyeballs, a sombrero, and a harmonica. A daily reminder of death and lack of life, sort of like her plants. Imagine if we lived in a world when, after we died, the people who knew us stuffed and stood us up around the house, passing by our meat shells that hold nothing in them but lies of a life that once was. What kind of fake fucked up shit is this?
“Kid, stop staring at the duck,” Han comments from the couch. “It won’t bring him back.”
I turn to face her, fully feeling every bit of this acid trip kicking in. The ferns surrounding the couch that are clinging to life are dancing happily, swaying to the song of their own album, almost tormenting the duck on the wall. “We’re still alive, motherfucker! Alive and holding on while you’re a DEAD DUCK CARCASS!” they sing out happily in their sweet, Disney-like voices.
“Commmme here, babe,” she says in her velvet voice. Only this time I can see it. I see her voice as it reaches me. It’s golden like the sun, and warm as it penetrates through my guts and chest. “Let’s chillllllll.”
I blink wildly, trying to correct my vision, and sit back down on the couch next to her. She lays down in my lap; her face up to the ceiling, black shiny hair spread all over my lap, as I run my fingers through the softness. It’s so smooth.
She smiles up at me before she hums. It’s then I notice her hum is in line with a sound being emitted from the apartment. I’m suddenly aware of the music that must’ve been playing in the background.
“Is this alternative punk rock from the 2000s?”
“It’s calming, isn’t it?” she says softly, closing her eyes as SUM41 rages on about nonconformity.
Not the word I would’ve used to describe the screaming. I sit and listen to the lyrics of the song. It’s like the first time I’ve heard it all over again. I’m awakened to it, listening to the meaning behind the sound.
“It’s fucking genius!” I yell in approval, causing her to jump slightly. “The way he discusses the societal impact of conforming to remove us from our own individual identity. We can’t be mindless victims of our own demise by fitting into the indiscriminate mold given to us at a young age. The world is so much bigger than these expectations they have of us.”
Han smiles at me. “Who knew there was a fucking philosopher underneath that great head of hair?” she says before playfully reaching up and ruffling my hair.
“And who is they? Who owns us? No one owns us. We are all one big moving cluster of particles. Plus, we wouldn’t be hearing or receiving this message if he listened to those people telling him to conform, and then where would we all be?”
“Word.” She throws a fist into the air. “Fuck the establishment.”
How can a chick be so fucking hot and cool at the same time? She’s too dope. I don’t like it.
Twenty minutes or two hours later and we’re both on the floor on our stomachs. Han is coloring from these random coloring books she found with Norah Jones playing in the background. Her music is like a direct representation of her. Totally fucking random and all over the place.
She’s using every available color marker she has while I stare at the rotating image. It’s a visual fantasy like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Her creation becomes lifted from the paper before me, rotating slowly in the air as she softly adds color to it.
She sighs faintly while she strokes the color on the paper, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to make her as happy as these colors seem to. Will I ever make her feel?
She turns to face me, her head now lying on the book as her eyes connect with mine.
“You already make me feel,” she responds with a frown. A frown like it makes her unhappy.
She can read my fucking mind!
Ten minutes or maybe ten years later, I can’t tell anymore, Han found the tiniest spider crawling on one of the dancing ferns.
“Oh my God, Kid, look,” her sweet voice sends gold heat waves to me.
We stare as the spider crawls to the tip of her finger, pausing to face us. It stares at us as we stare back at it, like it recognizes it’s not alone anymore.
We watch it silently as she lets the spider climb back on the fern. She’s so incredibly gentle to this tiny little soul.
I remember how last week I stepped on a spider that was running across the floor in my room. Like the dickbag that I am, I was pissed that his guts were smeared on the bottom of my new vintage Nike Blazers. I think about that spider and how easy it was for me to end its life with no regard. What if he was me? A time traveling reincarnation where I face off with myself and see if I’m worth the new life waiting for me. But no, I’m mad because my guts are messy. I fucking suck as a human.
“Such a beautiful little part of life,” Han hums beside me, bringing me back from my spider-killing, self-destructive mayhem.
“It’s so small and unaware of the world around it,” I comment.
“It can’t understand the magnitude of it all, just takes in what it can,” Hans says softly, turning to face me. “Just like us.”
It’s a goddamn revelation.
I turn to look at her. Our faces are inches apart and I’m melting in her golden warmth. My eyes become heavy as I close them, falling forward onto her pillowy lips. The kiss is in color as “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin plays in the background, yet another random song that seems fitting for the moment.
I’m bathing in greens, reds, yellows, and blues, as our tongues touch again and again. She moans and the sounds cross my synapses. I lean down over her on the couch as she lays back, opening her thighs to accommodate me.
“I want to fuck you,” I whisper against her neck, trailing my mouth up to her ear, the softness against my lips feeling like heaven. “I want to paint this fucking room with your screams.”
“Kid.” She sighs softly, grabbing my face between her hands, turning me to her.
Her green eyes are swallowing me whole as I sink in towards her, licking her sweet lips before she opens her mouth to me. We kiss, our bodies already moving in sync as the music feels like gasoline to the fire she’s ignited.
“I want you to fuck me,” she moans between kisses, clawing at my shirt, pulling me into her so she can lick the side of my neck.
“It’s not enough just to be inside you. I want to fuck your mind. Reach every corner of that black hole of wonder and live to tell about it.” I groan in delight, pressing my erection into her as her lips suck the skin near my ear.
She falls still at the mention of her mind. Fucking her is fine, but the mention of getting deeper than that, and suddenly, it’s all off.
“Han, what’s wrong?” I ask gently, pulling back to face her.
She smiles at me, and it feels like a pity smile, or maybe I’m just crazy perceptive to this anxiety I’ve been feeling deep within me.
“Black holes and minds aren’t meant for wandering,” she says, before grabbing me by the back of my neck and pulling me close to her lips. “You’ll never escape.”
At this rate, I don’t think I’ll want to.
