A Simple Story Fourth Verse (standard:romance, 4097 words) [5/5] show all parts
Author: sickboy	Added: Oct 22 2002	Views/Reads: 2504/2377	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
2 hearts crossed, one was taken...

Fourth verse 

Sleep, one of the greatest enjoyments of life. It's always the simple
things that give us the greatest satisfaction, and sleeping in the 
morning after a very, very long night had always been the most 
gratifying pleasure of all times. I had always believed that weekends 
were meant for long, extended sleep-ins. After spending 25 minutes of 
empty conversation with you, which was completely screwed-up by my own 
stupidity, I dragged myself back to my place and totally crashed into 
my bed, wasting away the rest of the morning and half the afternoon. 

I would be lying if I said I didn't think about that morning, it was at
the back of my mind flashing like an SOS beacon of a boat stranded on 
an open sea all the while when I was dragging myself back to my room. 
Of course, physical tiredness and mental overactive-ness had nothing to 
do with each other, and so I crashed into semi-hibernation anyway. I 
suppose it's true that one's daylight activities would render one's 
dream in sleep and manifest themselves into scenarios that were 
completely insane and other-worldly ironical. I dreamed, 
uncontrollably, with Lynn, your b- I mean, ex-boyfriend and you popping 
up like I was in some crappy interactive mind game and all of you were 
the characters. The worst part about crazy dreams (or is it the best?) 
is when you remember them when you wake up, and it's especially worse 
(or better?) when your brain decides to go on replay mode even before 
you get your senses straight. 

“Ring, ring... Ring, ring...” 

It was 1600 hours when my physical and mental self were in sync with
reality again, thanks to the great Alexander Graham Belle. 

“Ye...ah?” 

“Hey, it's Jacque, what doing?” 

“Sleeping, aren't you supposed to be upstairs?” 

“I'm out, half an hour to 34, you wanna eat?” 

At first glance, Jacque was your regular hunk, well-built, tall and with
a face that looks like a combination of Kurt Cobain and Takashi 
Kaneshiro (minus the wasted-ness of Cobain and the girlishness of 
Kaneshiro). Standing with him on the streets makes a guy like me feel 
pathetic, while he towers at a height of 176cm, I was 3 quarters of a 
head shorter, that's with my hair spiked up and wearing caterpillar 
boots, and to talk about he's face and mine, well... let's not even go 
there. In short, he's every girl's dream guy and every guy's murder 
target for all the right reasons, except... one tiny detail: he's gay. 

Jacque (pronounced as ‘Jake') was my housemate, or rather, my landlord.
The filthy rich kid with a filthy rich dad bought the entire house and 
was kind enough to rent me the room downstairs. Of course, his father 
had absolutely no idea of Jacque's sexual identity, so to speak. Jacque 
and I were kinda semi-close. I said “semi-close” because more than half 
the time he wasn't in the house and even if he was, we seldom spoke. 
However, when we do speak it would seemed like we've known each other 
for ages; we could talk about all sorts of subjects, personal or 
non-personal, maybe it's the fact that he just talks a lot, next to 
Lynn, I guess you can say he was my other friend. 

I spent 2 hours with Jacque and his boyfriend El for lunch that late
afternoon, half the time I was still thinking vaguely about you, 
especially of... 

“Are you er... you okay?” 

“You heard.” 

“Kind of.” 

“I'm fine, I'll see you around.” 

I tried to remind myself that I was a mere acquaintance and the fact
that I was in no place to... care about you and whatever happens to you 
but I suppose, I couldn't. There's just this weird... need thing going 


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