it don't work like that. i don't usually remember where i go when i go somewhere else. but
( but he hadn't gone completely somewhere else that time, had he? it was some frankenstein half-and-half nightmare, too much in his body and too much out of it, his panicked hindbrain trying desperately to evacuate out of his own skin and never come back. embry should have asked: are you really in my hallway? the answer's yes. he's two booted feet beneath the sliver of embry's door, eclipsing his outside light. danny puts his mouth on the cold wood paneling and thinks about his mouth on embry's fly, embry's mouth on his mouth, embry's red mouth, embry's red dick, his daddy's red rage, his daddy's red everything.
what do they have in common? they're both hot and mean. danny's breath fogs the over-polished door when he sighs, rolling his forehead across it. put it back. put it to bed. bury it in pieces in the mojave. once, during a particularly bad session with an impossible fifteen-year-old danny, his therapist told him, you're more than your trauma, gray.
even an impossible fifteen-year-old danny knew she was full of shit, and he knows that still at an impossible twenty-five. no, he's not. he's the sum of it. )
my daddy. i was thinking about the last time i saw him.
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( but he hadn't gone completely somewhere else that time, had he? it was some frankenstein half-and-half nightmare, too much in his body and too much out of it, his panicked hindbrain trying desperately to evacuate out of his own skin and never come back. embry should have asked: are you really in my hallway? the answer's yes. he's two booted feet beneath the sliver of embry's door, eclipsing his outside light. danny puts his mouth on the cold wood paneling and thinks about his mouth on embry's fly, embry's mouth on his mouth, embry's red mouth, embry's red dick, his daddy's red rage, his daddy's red everything.
what do they have in common? they're both hot and mean. danny's breath fogs the over-polished door when he sighs, rolling his forehead across it. put it back. put it to bed. bury it in pieces in the mojave. once, during a particularly bad session with an impossible fifteen-year-old danny, his therapist told him, you're more than your trauma, gray.
even an impossible fifteen-year-old danny knew she was full of shit, and he knows that still at an impossible twenty-five. no, he's not. he's the sum of it. )
my daddy. i was thinking about the last time i saw him.