Almost done

I got home from work today and still needed to do a 30 minute recovery run and then I watched "So You Think You Can Dance" and forgot about my Wednesday post. Therefore, I'll add a little bit to the short story I've got going on....

“That’s the worst written shit I’ve ever read.”
His voice sings like a choir of eunuchs. It rises loftily between us like an aria rising in Carnegie Hall. God it makes me melt.
“And I can’t stand your fucking singing.” I stared coldly into his eyes.
A lopsided grin split James’ face. His cheeks dimpled and his crooked front teeth glinted in the afternoon daylight.
“You know you love me.” James stood up on the table. He kicked our lunch onto the ground. He spread his arms like an angel ascending and lifted his face to the sun. Then he smiled at me and started singing. “Some enchanted evening...”
“Get off the table you stupid queer.”
But it was heavenly. He climbed down regally. His nose was pointed upwards and his scruffy hair curled cutely against his cheek bones. People across the street were pointing and laughing.
“Fucking knobs,” James muttered.
“Yeah.”
I looked nervously across the street. I couldn’t help it but my toe was dancing on the pavement. I scratched my arm self-consciously and sniffed softly. James caught my guilty eye. His gaze dug into my skin. It felt like he was reading my confession off the inside of my skull. I stilled my foot. I chewed my bottom lip and James looked away. I stood up.
“We should get going then.”
“Yeah.”
James stood up and walked around the table to stand beside me. He looked at me carefully.
“You’d tell me if something was up. Right?”
I nodded. We started walking down our side of the street. My arms hung dejectedly at my side. Toothpicks compared to James’. I watched the pavement roll under our feet. Cracks burrowed deep within the sidewalk tearing the concrete apart. I sniffed. Scratched my arm. James’ even stride fumbled beside me. I looked up.
A man stood up the street. His face was hidden in the cowl of his coat. His arms jerked clumsily into the pockets of his jacket. His head was bowed, praying for our redemption. Praying for his. James stepped out in front of me. His burly frame hiding my wilted form. The man looked up. Dead eyes stared from beneath his hood. He caught me looking. Recognized me.
“No money, no stuff.”
James looked at him. “Fuck off,” he spat.
The man shrugged. “Later this week, then.”
He looked at me. His eyes, vacant pits in his skull. Then he bowed his head and shuffled markedly away. A faint chant muttered under his breath.
“Nothing you want to tell me.”
It wasn’t a question. James stood facing me, his frame casting me in shadow. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

James’ voice sings in my head. I sit on my couch and untangle my limbs. I scratch my arm, an unconscious tick. I’m clean thanks to James. The wind rattles my door again. Footsteps now in the hall. The dark presses in on me. Filling my lungs with ink. I gasp and scuttle to the bed. My feet catch in a pile of clothes. Lights burst in front of my eyes. Stars illuminate all at once. I rub my forehead and close my eyes. They are pressed tightly shut as I crawl to the mattress. My hands sweep the floor in front of me like a man searching for his glasses. They scratch over the coarse carpet tickling my palms. Clothes to my right. Shoes to my left.
I slide forward on my knees. I make it to the bed, the sharp corner of the box spring digging into my shoulder as I grind my way onto the mattress. My hands find purchase in the lumpy mattress and I’m able to pull myself up by a tumorous growth. I lay panting on the bed, my face moist with sweat. My breath whispers against the cool plastic fabric of the mattress. I clutch my hands together and they jerkily placate themselves with the twisted hem of my comforter. A rosary.

There is still more to the story (yet to be written). But so far I've been keeping up with the posts. YAY!