What Is Love?

I can’t stand to see so many people gathered around my house. It is only one of many instances there are over twenty youngsters here, and it seems I haven’t lost any friends by the time I had been locked in prison. I’m not sorry for what I did; I took a puff from that bloody cigarette and checked my watch. This seems to be a very brief and useful socialising exercise—kind of forgot how it is to just talk. I scoff at the time, it's pointing to 23:45. Close to midnight, but it’s reading my mind perfectly. It hates the idea of passing by faster, but contradicts itself from time to time. This sucks. I roll my eyes, tap the ash into the tray, and cross my legs. My neck feels moist as I spot a guy approaching me.

Is he drunk? I think so; I cannot tell by his movements alone. I tap my foot against the pavement. I’m sitting on a pool bench, completely sunk into its depths. He almost trips. Yes, he’s drunk. I hold back a giggle, watching him walk makes it funny. He looks like a “The Last of Us” zombie; a clicker that wanders. He watches me, I wave. His smile turns unsettling; I return the gesture in a normal manner. He hiccups and he plops down next to me. Fuck this guy, who’s he? I bite my inner lip and puff again. He’s so awful at this. He scratches the back of his head; my smile fades.

“Hi!… Roan?” I nod as he inevitably starts to ramble, and I tilt my head.

Listening to him makes me sick. Lighting out the cigarette, the scent of tobacco invades the space. I try to look at him, yet I can’t. He’s talking about his ex like she’s the dirtiest slut there ever is; I hate this guy already. Holding my horses from strangling this donkey, I light myself another cig. I want to kill him. I scoot away, sliding my butt across the bench.

“And you are?” I raise the question.

He hiccups again. Darn it, can’t he just go sleep at his house? Did Livy really have to invite this guy? I wince at his actions, but he giggles. But slowly he’s becoming frustrated seeing I suddenly take interest in him. Would you tell me or nah? I ask myself, the question echoing in my mind and my palms wet. It’s life or death.

“Ed… Eddie from… high school? Was it?”

I smile at him, a reassuring smile. Just Eddie. The asshole I always knew and the asshole he always is. He made my life hell; why not make his too? But that’d be way too much to plan. He raises an eyebrow, yawns… then plants his face onto his shoulder and slowly falls asleep. Well screw him then.

I put the cigarette in the tray and shove my hands in my pockets again. This is painful. I grunt. No one can hear me anyways, the music is too loud and the voices are yelling to one another, trying to make themselves clear. I grab a bottle of whiskey. I lie to myself again as I open it. Just one sip…

The one sip turns into a dance with an equally drunk lady, two bottles down the drain. What was in my mind? I scoff upon entering the bedroom with the lady. I somehow ended here, but I don’t mind that. We start kissing; we are the hottie and the delinquent. I pin her against the cheap door of my bedroom. Our breaths tremble, exchange. We both try to keep each other steady, we both know this is only a drunk mistake we’re having.

Someone knocks the door with their fist. For crying out loud… I apologise to her, and we both move out of the way. I harshly open the door, spitting a tall guy. He’s wearing a biker’s helmet, a jacket and has a lady at his arm. I look closer at her; it’s Livy so it surely is her boyfriend, right?

“Thought this was an empty room, sorry,” he says suddenly and walks away.

Livy winks at me as they both walk to the other room. They hastily enter, so I close the door to my bedroom. The fuck was that? I grimace, but shake my head. Two hands gently lurk on my shoulders. I smile, turning around to her.

Shall we? I ask myself. It’s clear we both wanted it. Her arms snake around my neck and we both walk to the bed. She lays on the mattress. This is it. I’m finally getting heated up at this stupid party!

My hands lurk in her shirt. Her back arches as she softly laughs. I lean in, kissing her neck. One of my hands lowered to her crotch, gently massaging her through the material of her jeans. Her legs spread, she drags herself closer to my hand. Fucking he’ll… I’m a virgin. I gently bite into her skin, she flinches. I linger towards her jaw, then climb to her lips.

I flick her jeans, unbuttoning them. My hand slips in her laced panties.

“Missy, you’re so wet,” I whisper into her ear.

Her breath accelerates when I rub around her clit. She starts to moan. One of her hands tugs on my hair and she stares deep into my eyes. Jesus, she’s so pretty. I gulp, parting my lips.

“Wonder why… You’re skilled, Roan,” she giggles and speaks interrupted by her gasps.

Thanks to the sites, I bet.

I smirk, sliding one finger. She throws her head back, her chest pulsating rapidly. I unbutton her shirt. And shit, how hot she is… The clasps of her bra are in the front; I reveal her firm breasts. I lower my face, sucking on her tit. She starts playing with the other, moaning my name. I gently bite down.

She’s out of my league, but allows herself to go down for not even seven minutes of pleasure. I never think myself capable of pleasuring women, but this feels like my night.

I slide another finger in. I rub, scissor, anything to make her feel good.

My memory turns hazy from this point; I can’t remember what happens, but I must’ve fucked her good. Then I took care of her, gave her a sip of orange juice and some cookies I had left from earlier today. I vaguely remember that we smoked a cigarette on the balcony of my house. I called her pretty—because she is, then we kissed for the millionth time.

We both returned to the party, parting ways after we left the room. I want it to seem like I didn’t touch her at all. Her dad would kill me, my sister… The whole family. Missy’s dad is the one who wrote my file for armed robbery. I wish I could love without anything reminding me of my late wife, Lucille. She strangled herself at the news of my conviction, she was two months pregnant and I can’t even forgive myself.

Maybe, if I knew, I would’ve struggled more and got a second job. But sometimes the past is the past. I have to let go.

I stare at one picture of her; it’s kept in the drawer of a corner table in the living room. The picture shakes in my hand. Must be the sadness. I have to empower myself, I can’t go on like this forever. Driving me nuts, aren’t you? But I scoff soon, throwing the picture back on the wooden table. I hastily leave and I slam the door of the room. It’s starting to get cold here. The only solution I find is lighting another cigarette.

I’ve been smoking too much lately. Feels like I’m acting like a bloody fool, a man who only wants to get sick and act as if it’s not his fault. A victim at my finest. In the hall, I spot the helmet of the guy from earlier. He’s next to it, as if he takes notes of the surroundings. Arms crossed, a slim and long cigarette in his mouth which he gnaws on and taps his foot against the wall. He looked at me briefly, his eyes hollow and had a burn mark running across half his face. What happened to this guy? Surprisingly he still has hair on that side… hella hair, I love it.

“Hi,” I greet him and he looks back towards the pool setting. He stays silent. I get why.

Dang… not communicative, huh? He gulps, staring at his expensive watch. Who’s this guy? I lean next to him on the wall and drag a puff from the cigarette. He wets his lips and glances at me again.

“I’m Maxwell,” he suddenly says. Oh so now we’re talking… “Might not know me, I’m your sister’s best friend.”

His sight darts back again. Is he waiting for something? A bulb lights in my head and I smile at him, nodding. Yeah, that Maxwell. She briefly tells me about him once in a while, they’re sex partners as she relates. I think Livy invited him here, but I still have a “stranger-danger” feeling around him. I think I have had my last straw when Drunk Eddie sat down next to me.

“Roan,,” I tap the ash on the floor as I say my name. I hope I won’t have to scrub too much. “Nice meeting you, Maxwell.”

Maxwell scoffs, shaking his head. My smile fades. He’s really weird, and that scar makes him weirder. But in a way, I’m more than intrigued by him. If my sister has sex with him, surely he’s potent enough. And I can maybe… No, what am I thinking!? I put my head over my forehead, sweating.

“You okay down there, buddy?” He asks; he’s slightly taller than me.

His hair is long to his waist, black like a charcoal. The soul patch beard on his face is cut properly; if he does it on his own he’s surely a professional. Wide ribcage, wasp waist and baggy pants that make his butt seem bigger than it might be. I am feeling awkward just by staring at him. He’s out of my league too.

“Yes, sorry,” I smile at him.

He nods and excuses himself. He slips away like a rattling snake, grabbing his helmet as he puts it on.