He shouldn’t have been in the hallway, but he had nowhere else to go. And Crotalus maybe should not have been there, but he could go anywhere he wanted, anyway, if he owned the place. Ursur stared at the ground, and he stopped a few feet away from him. Ursur continued to stare at the ground because he had not thought it through, and for all he should have, he did not know what came next.
Crotalus was probably looking at him, probably amused, probably not, as he walked away. And Ursur continued to stare at his boots.
“wait.”
He continued to walk away.
“wait.”
“What was that?”
Ursur rolled his eyes, because that absolved it, sputtered, but “I said wait.”
And he finally stopped and crossed his arms, faintly drumming his fingers, then put a hand on his rifle.
“What.”
Not a question he could answer.
Ursur sighed close to himself and looked back at his boots, probably a bad idea, holding his notebook tight to his chest, but he didn’t know how else to do it anymore. He could have tried. He wouldn’t look at his face.
“Nevermind, leave me alone. . . . Forget it.” Ursur shrunk back against the wall and looked down to his notebook, clutching it even tighter to himself. Crotalus was walking up to him, just like he wanted, just like he knew that he knew. Just like he would, Ursur shutting his eyes and he made him flinch as he got closer, sunk back to the wall. Shoulders up, just like it would happen. “I said leave me alone, okay?” He opened his eyes and stared at their boots pointed there together, in opposition. Stared back up at his pages, holding them white-knuckled in his fake red hands.
He was supposed to say something that made it worse by either making it worse or made it worse by making it better. Getting very, very close to him.
“I said leave me the fuck alone–” Ursur tried to duck away still pressed flush to the wall, then tried to push him back, then tried to shield himself, but it hurt and it was all his fault. He made an attempt to run. Crotalus saying nothing, he was just there, and he was just . . . Only a foot or two, Crotalus pushed him hard in the chest and backed him back up against the wall, pinning him with a palm to each wing. Hard against the corrugated concrete. And he winced and stared at the ceiling, then down to their boots, in opposition.
“Well, in that case, just for that, I guess I have oh, no other choice. . . . Right?” He was grinning so soft and sweet, and so, so satisfied.
Ursur squirmed, but the thought of feathers rubbing out was worse, so he stopped.
“Since you want nothing. I guess I will just have to give you everything.” Blatantly theatrical on a double-edged blade. Just like him. “Now say it, my dear: ‘fuck my brains out. Again. . . . Please.’.”
And what else could he do. Right. He was backed up against a wall. He stared at the ground for a few seconds for good measure.
It was futile. He gave up. He had no way out–kept staring at the glowing EXIT sign down the hall.
“fuck my brains out. . . . again. . . . please,” he whispered, he shut his eyes. Theatrical. Entirely performative. It was a few seconds, but then Crotalus was getting closer and he forgot what he had said, but he desperately tried to convince him to go inside and out of the hallway.
“No one else goes to this floor.”
Why did it matter so much, it began to blur, and he was being dragged by an arm back to that penthouse, tight enough that it hurt with those metal nail points digging in.
He ended up on the floor, Crotalus kicking him down by the back of his knees and he didn’t get up. And he was trying very, very hard, all just for him. And it was even convincing.
Eventually fussing around, losing his boots, struggled as Crotalus was pulling at his shorts. And he dug in his nails hard, for good measure, make it look the part. And so Crotalus just did it worse, escalated it worse, made it better. He probably deserved it, probably the both of them.
“. . . aren’t you?” Crotalus was leaning against him. Something. He hadn’t been listening.
“yes,” he whispered. Whatever it was, “i am.”
He smiled as he leaned in and kissed him over the pulse in his neck. He was doing him a favor, really.
“why’d you do it this time.”
Crotalus made a sort of amused huff, and smiled as he got up off the bed and thumped down in his fancy chair by his fancy desk. He put his feet up, crossing them right over whatever was on it. “What? You? Fill in the blank yourself. Whatever you’d like. Whatever makes . . . sense . . . to you. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway.” He reached for a cigarette from that box, held it between his fingers, and put it back down.
“I guess I know,” Ursur watched him and could throw up, but then he would have to taste it all again.
“Of course. I don’t keep secrets from you, my dear. Why do we keep forgetting that?”
“There’s a lot you don’t tell me.”
“There’s a lot you don’t listen to.”
Ursur pretended not to hear him, and he laid back down and turned the other way.
It was probably too much to stand, couldn’t anymore, so he stood and he would walk out of that room, out of that penthouse, down the hall. He grabbed his notebook from the floor where he had dropped it, earlier. And he tried not to look that way–the bed was the most comfortable place to sit, so he walked back and sat back down, leaning up against the wall. At least for a little while.
“You’re writing in the dark.” He hadn’t turned the light on, no one had bothered to turn the lights on, but Crotalus never blew out his candles, and he saw it all anyway, so. It was bright enough.
“You talk too much,” Ursur tried to ignore him as he scribbled on the folded-in pages in that red ink, tried to keep it all together, notebook propped up on his thighs in the most conducive way to think.
“Just talking enough for the both of us,” it seemed like he was almost going to fall asleep sitting at his desk staring at a book, but he knew him far better than that. “So. What’s this song about?” Crotalus was still sitting there, looking at him, acting like it had been fun, and that it was good. After a while of no reply, he sat up promptly, walked up to the bed and tried to read over Ursur’s shoulder–he ducked away and held the notebook tight to his chest.
“Leave me alone.”
“Is it about . . . me?”
“What? Why would it be about you?”
Crotalus was smiling, and he leaned away like he was no longer interested in knowing. He took it all back.
“It’s about you, isn’t it. It’s about this. Isn’t it. And so, by extension: me.”
He rolled his eyes and tried to scoot away, settle himself on the farthest end of the bed. But he looked at the set of mirrors propped next to that side. All those reflections of himself, and Crotalus watching with an eyebrow raised, mouth smirking behind him. Again.
“You’re welcome.” Acting like it was the plan all along, and no one would be the wiser. He took it.
Ursur stared at the doorway that spilled out into the hall, still notebook and pen in hand, gut wrenching, and far better yet, he was so close to home. Running distance, even.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out.”
“Didn’t you–”
“Aww, what, you don’t want to leave? Don’t worry,” he leaned in and held up a hand, he flinched, but he just stroked his cheek, “I’m always just down the hall, remember? I’m sure you haven’t forgotten. I’m sure you think about it. A lot. And maybe, if I can’t sleep, I’ll pay you a visit. Who knows.”
Ursur looked at him, Crotalus getting up and going back to his desk. He picked up a book and put his feet back up. But Crotalus didn’t look up again, just ignored him–he was already gone to him.
“You’ll play it for me, won’t you. When you’re done.” Ursur stopped at the doorway, snagged in again.
“of course,” he whispered, and he shut the door.
Ursur walked down the hall, slower than he’d like, but he clutched the notebook to his beating heart. Everything looping in his head. The cuts, the scrapes had been cleaned, but the bruises were left untouched and dirty under spit, after all that, just like he wanted. He carried them home. What could he do for that. He walked inside and looked at the blank pages in his hands, and that song had to be somewhere underneath it all.
[05.15.2023]
SELF-INDULGENT AND SYMBOLIC?!
This was fun to work on–and me from a few years ago would have been so happy to know that this is where things have ended up, for a multitude of reasons. Not too much else to say, I’ll just let this speak for itself and run wild down the hall.
I do have a few other vignettes in progress, and one already finished with Caius and Julius that I’m hoping to share quite soon.
Until that disaster (it’s not actually a disaster) drops,
Koel out.
MONSTER < MONSTER < MONSTER 
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