Heaven's Nightmare

The crack in the windowpane only let in the smallest amount of the summer breeze, but it was enough to feel refreshing on their overheated bodies. The strip light overhead flickered, casting the room into peaceful darkness, then bringing it back to harsh reality. The light was too bright.

Empty bottles littered the floor, some cracked in a pool of spilt clear liquid, others in pieces for someone to step on with bare feet. The room smelled of stale smoke, the rich tang of alcohol and the sharp-sweet scent of cannabis.

The younger man lay facedown on the mattress, naked, head turned away and dirty blonde hair thrown back over his shoulder. The cut on his wrist had only recently stopped bleeding; the bandage was soaked in day-old dried blood. His forearms were badly scarred from numerous penetrations. Away to the right, just out of arm’s reach, a syringe lay smashed in a pile of white powder.

Looking closer, his eyes were open and blank, staring into some inner world, perhaps lost in memory. His fingernails were broken and bloodied, bruised knuckles telling the gruesome story of the morning’s debate.

Over by the window, the older man stood looking out into the night, clouded in smoke, a lit cigarette in one limp hand. Dark purple stained his cheekbone: his only injury. He remembered watching the man he loved drag himself to his feet, blood and tears running freely, only to collapse on their bed – the stained, lumpy mattress on the grimy floor – to inject himself with the white powdery substance for the third time today. He hated to see the younger man in pain, as he was in the few moments before the pleasure hit him,

He crushed out his cigarette on the window frame, and walked to the door.

“I’m leaving for a while.”

Silence.

“Will you be alright for a few hours?”

No sound, no movement. He sighed, turned, and the door banged shut behind him.

If anyone were really to look closely, they would see a single tear run down the side of the boy’s face into the too-long hair, and a flicker of emotion deep within the deadened eyes.

Outside, a car engine started, and he listened in despair as the battered Volvo sped away into the night. Using the last of his energy, he reached for the hypodermic he had used earlier, clumsily filling it with the drug – how much, he had no idea.

He wouldn’t remember the return of the older man, wouldn’t see the expression on his face, wouldn’t hear the hysterical shouting, or witness the tears that would be shed for him.

Just before dawn, hours later, the Volvo would once again park outside, footsteps would be heard ascending the broken metal staircase, the door would open and the man would return once again.

“Darling? Are you awake?”