disciple (ch. 21)

by Tom Stuckey

21

The play wasn’t a success. Humani took her role with a professional stature only she could deliver, and I’m sure she could of made a great actress if things had been different, but inevitably it had closed down the curtains on our little play with an obscene air of disgrace. I consoled myself by remembering we were all sick, and that it would inevitably show in our efforts from script to delivery. If only there was a freedom to be ourselves, we could of been a hit. Who knows maybe one day Netflix will extend their reach into our inner sanctum.

It was time for what I knew to be my last session with Victoria, on a day when the sun was higher in the sky, already tempting the dormant seeds in the ground to rupture themselves anew. In Rome the people would be doing the same, legs would appear, shedding their fake skins.

“I’m almost a bit sad to have to see you go.” She did seem sad but also that she wanted to say more.

“Yes, I quite like it here too, safer.”

“Maybe, but there has been things I have found online that I find confusing, that I have to consider.”

“What things?”

“Well I looked for St Thomas or news related to him, and after the riots had calmed down there was a few posts about a new member of the Vatican.”

“Thomas.” I said.

“Yes, it seems that he has been admitted into the fold and there are rumours that he will replace the Pope as a true saint.”

“I see.” I looked out at the big blue sky that reminded me of the ocean.

“What will you do after here? Will you go back to Rome?” I looked at her and for the first time as she looked at me as an equal.

“I Don’t know.”

“Because you know if you did, I’d like to come with you.” She smiled.

“You want to leave here?”

“Yes, it just doesn’t seem right anymore.”

The paperwork didn’t take long and by lunchtime Victoria was in the door way of my room with her belongings, which all fit into a small box. “Shall we go?” She was wearing a summers dress and smelt like warm salty skin. “yes let me just say my goodbyes first.”

I had become fond of these people, as I had gotten to know them. Clive was talking with Billy who had calmed down somewhat, but there was always the possibility with Billy, and I believed one day he would have his freedom. Clive had had a brutal upbringing at the hand of his father, as had Billy, and this similarity came through in their friendship, and they loved each other as much as they could, given their circumstances. “See you guys, all the best.” They looked at me in a strange light now, because as soon as you leave here you are no longer one of them, but they said good bye anyway. I gave Sandra all of my cigarettes and gave her a hug, she seemed pleased. At the end of the day we all just wanted to be loved, it was that simple and that extreme at the same time.

The fresh air and sun combined was like landing on a different planet. My body could almost not handle its atmosphere, and the wide view of the mars like moors. The atmosphere in Victoria’s old Fiesta was more akin to the stuffy indoors, but as we pulled out of the car park I un-wound my window and let in some of the fresh air. My imagination had failed me again and was corrected at every breathtaking turn. We passed fish filled lakes, that the fish left mini wake patterns on the surface of the water, birds of prey circled the skies, and I think I even spotted a wild boar; but no wolves as I thought to myself, when would I stop believing my imagination? And it answered, until after nightfall.

I turned to Victoria and looked at her profile; she was really very beautiful as a free bird. “Can I ask, do you think I’m crazy?” I asked. She looked at me before looking back at the windy road. She began to tell me about herself, like all self-aware people do, having realised that no-one ever is really in a position to truly know another, but can relate only by their own experiences. She told me how she had doubts about reality, how since her father had died at a young age in a traumatic event, leaving her with an over bearing mother, how she was scared a lot. She was scared of things that may be considered unreal, how sometimes in the middle of the night she would wake up in a cold sweat and begin to clean herself ferociously until she had forgotten her nightmares. Was she looking for her father in me, it was too early to tell, so I leaned my head back on the cars head rest and watched the sun dance on the windscreen, that hit the cracks and small scratches and broke up into a millions of beautiful colours, so that it was hard to see what was coming out in front.

Victoria’s home was also different from what I had imagined, it was messy, almost disorganised to high levels of derangement, that it took on its own persona, one of a grumpy and lost giant that was so depressed it had decided to give up and have this as its final resting place, letting the wind and rain take it.

“Nice place.” I said to break the tension that was rising up in me. It was amazing how the fear of natural emotions generally formed the subjects of what was talked about.

“Don’t lie, I know you better than that, if we are going to do whatever this is, I want you to be honest. What do you really think?” I took a breath.

“It’s a shit hole that reminds me of a dead and decaying giant.” She looked a little hurt but took it on the chin.

“I know, it is the real me too, all of this decay and disorganisation, I think it’s more me than any of the doctor in me. I have strangely come to like it in its artistic liveliness, it is a living piece that I gradually meld and form on these hills, a kind of manifestation of my psychological nature.”

“Yes I can see that and I think shit hole was my prejudice, I was not allowed to be messy as a child, and this scares me.”

“Me too, this is my rebellion.”

That night we continued in an air of honesty that lit up something in both of us that had been dormant for a long time; too obscure to be found alone, something only found in sharing truth with another. I fell asleep in the old belly of the beast that was Victorias home, and dreamt of making love to her on shiny white lemon bleached tiles.

On waking the first thing to hit me was hunger, the second was the thought of sex. It was hard to tell which was more important, for sure if I were to lick Victorias pussy and taste her I would forget all about food, but if this went on for too long, the lack of food would render my cock useless and decayed. I went into her room and on seeing me she raised her bum off the bed and pulled up her cotton pyjamas to reveal a thin smooth pussy, she embraced her knees and I forgot all about my hunger.

Photo of Tom Stuckey

BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England.  His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.