Where Anyone is Possible
fucking job and reap souls for Eddie to ferry. These two and their professions sound far more powerful than they actually are -- the brothers O'Connor are nothing more than Union workers from Hell taking out the trash for a paycheck cashed in Abraxas Coins and Forbidden Fruits.Because Kurt is, quite possibly, the worst demon of all time, screwing everything up, always. Likely, the entire reason that Eddie has found his way to the surface to breathe fresh air and feel the chill of a spring night on his face is because Kurt refuses to just do his
Off on a tangent or a tirade he doesn't watch Angie storm down the hallway, leaving him holding his gut where her stabbing elbow caught him right in the solar-plexis. Deliberately he begins to rub a hard pressed circle to light up the pain further and remind himself he fucking deserves it.
The walls of the one bedroom shit hole on Martin Luther King Boulevard begin to shake.
The heavy bone of his Cro Magnon forehead rests that thick skull of his hard against the wall in front of him where she once was. He swears he can still feel the heat of her body in the phantom relief, continuing to conduct through his roving hands on the wallpaper. He stays there feeling the walls vibrate and rattle with her ongoing temper tantrum in their bathroom. Meanwhile, he is trying to check himself back to the room at the Hotel Sober with some deep cleansing breaths which do very little to clear his killer buzz.
Plaster dust falls from the ceiling into his hair.
His eyes close because he wants to thank whatever spirit guide saved him from fucking her to death right there in the kitchenette, but the truth is there is no one, not even a figment of his imagination, who would save the likes of him. Not only was he born into a life of eternal damnation, he just keeps perpetuating it by not letting her ascend to heaven.
The kitchen light flickers angrily.
Eddie is still ( unfortunately ) drunk. The level of intoxication that makes you do really stupid shit and almost give in to the seduction you can just barely resist. Saturninally he pushes off the wall and slumps over to the cabinet over the kitchen sink. From the very back of it he pulls a bottle of rum and uncorks with his teeth. It's Old, awesome, and it burns like a mother-fucker going down in two gullet choking swallows.
"Uuuuuwhhhaaa," emitting a base, guttural sound. Pining for the one thing you should never have. He pours her a half-glass putting it on the counter should she deign to present herself again.
A strip of wallpaper peels itself from the wall.
The rawness in his throat from the heavy breathing of unrepentant desire is similar to thousand shiv's scratching all the way down to his guts, just the way he likes it. The final big gulp fights all the way down until it passes his voice box and he can put sound to the quake of anger management continuing to resonate. That pain is secondary to the guilt making his blood like syrup. A well of alcohol and emotional high is exactly what the malediction from eating poisonous fruit picked from the tree of knowledge should feel like; because he has tasted the meat of that condemnation on more than one occasion ( loving her more than he loves himself ) and, that for a vainglorious bastard like Eddie that is really saying something -- even if he will never admit it.
A montage of flashbacks both very recent and from the past flicker in his mind. The older they get, the more they lack color and clarity, their haze making them somehow even more beautiful than they were when they were actually happening:
Angie creeping into his room late at night and her cool limbs tangling around the blistering heat of this perdition. Her face. Her supernal mouth parting around the tips of his fingers and the gentle blink of her eyelashes when he strokes their pads against her tongue. Her laugh, once buoyant and delightful becoming a hideous soundtrack to all the times he said No. The nights he lay awake with her sleep- sprawled across him, counting down the minutes until she woke up in time to sneak back into her own goddamned bed.
And of course, all the times he said Yes.
Chairs from under the kitchen table shake, rattle, and roll over.
This would fry a less grounded man. Thankfully, Eddie has many improperly wired outlets to electrocute himself on.
On that very subject, there is that unmistakable smell of ions and the whisper of her voice from the bathroom. "Say I love you, Eddie and this can all go away...," Angie solicits in a restored sweetness he doesn't readily trust.
A real smile happens under closed red hazed eyes and he licks the liquor and spit from his mouth slowly before whispering back, "I love you Eddie..."