Thursday, 4 December 2014

Flash Fiction Holiday Blog Hop

Welcome to my stop in this wonderful hop
I'm sure you all know why your here, and how it all works, but if not, it’s quite simple, we all had a picture and 3 points that must be in the short. There was a word count set, and that’s it. they wanted to see what we all came up with, because it’s simply wonderful how we all have something different to say, have a different story to tell from the same picture.

This is what came when I started writing and by the end a full-blown novel has plotted itself out from it (or at least a long novella). I love the idea, and I hope that, even though this is very chapter like, that you’ll fall in love with it as much as I have.

C'mon and Love Me
Bronwyn Heeley

The beer he held against his thigh had long since reached room temperature, which made it undrinkable, in Brent’s opinion and yet he wasn’t ready to get up. Therefore, it sat there with him, a companion he didn’t want like most of the other people petering around the room.
He didn’t like this big a crowd, hell, he’d be happy never to be in a ‘crowd’ again, but that wasn’t anything he’d be getting anytime soon. His own fault for having dreams and ambitions that went with a guitar and piano lessons.
Which was the reason he was here, at a fucking wake’s after-party, and there seemed to be more fucking people here then at the bloody wake, which was telling in a way Brent didn’t want to think about, not when it came to a woman that he admired so much.
 Music rocked around him, twisting, and turning, making the smoke off his cigarette dance an erotic twist as he watched. Hypnotic in a way that made it difficult for Brent to want to pull in another drag but the craving was riding him hard and the smell, taste, on his tongue had him needing more. His hand lazily swooped to his mouth and his lungs pull on the cylinder, this noise breathed out the good stuff so he could pull in more of the toxic, which he held, tightly in his chest, letting his lungs stretch, allowing the tobacco to sink into his bones, relaxing him a tad more. God, he wished it were laced.
Commotion entered the room in the way of Kale, the bastard who’d up and ran away after telling Brent he loved him.
Brent scoffed, smoke bellowing out of his mouth and noise unchecked as he made sure he stay looking the same, all stretched out on the one-seater, making sure no one saw that this one being in this one room actually meant anything to him. Actually held his attention.
He did, but Kale had run, which had been less confusing to Brent than he wanted to admit. He was use to people giving him words of love as they made their way out the front door never to be seen again. It had seemed so normal that Brent didn’t even understand the anger and pain inside him was from the loss of Kale, and his supposed love until the guy had come back, grown and looking like the king of normal and perfection, as he told Brent how sorry he was, and how big a mistake he’d made.
Brent had brushed most of it off. Yeah, he was outwardly pissed, but he always was, so nothing had really changed. Except that pit of ache he’d never noticed before started making noise. Started to make him realise just how fucked up he was to think anyone had ever really loved him. Kale had said it wasn’t right, that running away when he said he’d loved Brent had been unforgivable. He spoke of all this, words of apology, while declaring to sweat away in hell for what he’d done to Brent.
But everyone in Brent’s life had done the same, which meant, no one had loved him. How fucking sad was that. How pathetic a person he must be to think people had. To think they’d cared when apparently he’d not been worthy. That nothing in his life, none of his memories or thoughts from the moment his eyes opened at birth until Brent came back had been true. Had been real.
He had been a joke. He was a fucking joke, and that more than anything had made him angrier, because how was he meant to argue with them? He’d never seen it. He’d never realised that loving someone meant staying, meant not doing whatever the fuck you wanted.
How had he grown up not knowing that everyone had been right about him, that he didn’t know jack shit about love and responsibilities and most of all love? How could he, no one ever taught him what he was meant to know, and the only person that could have, that should have, hadn’t been able to stand looking at him.
Then there was Kale, that first person who’d said he’d loved Brent for who he was, not because he was meant to, not because he had to, but because he chose to and look how that turned out, with him packing his bags and leaving without a word, just like everyone else had done. 
Mostly though, seeing Kale, hearing the words that came out of his mouth, the apology for running, had made Brent realise how deeply pathetic he was as he sat there month after month, year after year, being in love with someone who apparently never deserved that in the first place. At least that’s what Kale’s words had meant. That’s what Brent was hearing, that Kale hadn’t really been in love with Brent, all those years ago, while Brent had truly been in love with Kale. In love with him in a way that made it hard for him to find connection anywhere else in his life, because in his head he was already completely, forever committed. It was a shame those feeling hadn’t gone both ways.
Pulling himself up off the lounge, Brent grunted to anyone who bothered to ask him where he was going, he was sure he said something crass about pissing, but he didn’t really care, not enough to register the speaker. Not enough to care that he may have offended anyone.
They were all a bunch of no name flunkies anyway, there because they thought fucking a band gave them something, but it didn’t, just a label of cheap and a kiss at the door, if they they’d been worth it. They were all the same kind of person, from the same type of place, that Brent didn’t even bother remembering them, or trying to see past their shirts and breast, cocks and arse, to something that was uniquely them, that separated them from those who came before, and the one surely to come after.
When he’d reached the hallway he’d realised he needed to make a decision, and the one that led him to a bedroom had no appeal, hadn’t since Kale had shown back up. But then he’s cock had always liked that one man over all other, it was just easier to convince himself otherwise when said male wasn’t in the room.
Grabbing a jumper (sweatshirt) off a chair he passed, Brent pulled in on before shoving his feet into thick boots and tugging a jacket off a hook. He’d put it on just before he opened the back door and stepped out into the back yard, and quite frankly a different world.
Brick-like paving stretched out in front of him, a patio off to one side, the other a walkway, a wooden archway held green twine of a weed that would have been sprouting beautiful flowers had it not been winter. Snow softly floated down from the sky, magical and heart-warming it would make the ground slippery as it melted were it landed.
Music from nowhere sung in his ears, played a sympathy of sounds and tones that Brent would keep to himself as they seemed way to much like wisps from a Disney Movie than what he’s band would touch. However, he liked it; it reminded him of his music teacher, the one that taught him the art to go with his love, and the facts of the business. She’d been ruthless and unforgiving, not only to him as he learnt, but later to the men in a weird looking suit who’d come and made Brent a star.
She’d been a great lady right up to the moment she’d died, which, funny enough was why he was back in this town, and why Kale was there too, as that lady had been his mother.
“I do mean it, you know,” Kale’s voice came from behind Brent. It was the type of voice that came from nowhere, neither deep, nor light, unremarkable really, until the man sung, and it became a wet dream. A deep flow of words that danced through your heart before it penetrated your head. However, Kale wasn’t a singer, barely like the industry to begin with, mostly Brent knew, because it was his mother’s one true love.
“How can I believe that?” Brent replied, not looking behind him, not wanting Kale to see the truth in his face as he heard it in his voice.
There was a sigh. “You can’t, I guess.”
Brent shrugged, and nodded—generally did something that mean, ‘well that’s that then’. Then heat pressed at his back, and an arm came up around him, not pulling him back, but seeming to be bringing Kale closer to him.
A face pushed against his head; making Brent tilt his chin, creating more room, and hot breath fanned across his jaw. “But I’m willing to do anything and everything I need to, to show you, you can. Anything to show you it’s true.”
What was true? The truth wasn’t anything he understood anymore. The truth, from Kale’s perception, or what he’d said when he’d first came back, was that he did in fact love Brent and that he wanted to show him, for the rest of their lives, what that truly meant, but what did it mean? What was he meant to ask for when he didn’t even know which way was fucking up? What was Kale meant to do to prove himself, if Brent had thought he’d been showing him love since those words had been spoken?
Brent didn’t say anything, mostly because that would mean showing way too much emotion and that wasn’t him. Not now, not growing up. The world didn’t see a facade, they saw him, and he wasn’t nice, or pleasant. Or, apparently, loveable. Brent had realised that before, just because he was forgetting the reasons he left now, didn’t mean he wouldn’t remember them later. What scared Brent the most was that he wasn’t sure, when that moment came, if he could let Kale go. Not know that he knew you weren’t meant to.
“Here,” Kale said after a long while of them standing there, doing nothing, but hugging Brent. He’d reached around Brent holding an envelope. “Happy Christmas.”
Brent swallowed hard as his eyes flicked down at Kale’s hand, before turning around to look up into Kale’s eyes. Something mushy and soft exchanged places with his head, making it difficult to breath for a long moment.
“What is it?”
“Donno, mate, Mum left this for ya.” Kale tried hard to keep the bitterness out of his tone, Brent could tell, and there were many reasons for it. Brent wondered if he knew what was in there, or had a strong idea of what his mum had left Brent.
With a trembling hand Brent reached out, his fingers brushed the letter but couldn’t seem to hold on.
Kale took a step forward wrapped his fingers around Brent’s and closed them up, helping him deal with the loss, even if he didn’t realise what he was doing.
Because unknowns to them both, she’d given Brent the one thing he needed in the world, Kale, even if both boys hadn’t quite worked that out yet.

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