You haven’t been careful and I don’t want to have to remind you about the correct procedure. There is only one rule for what we do.
Stay unattached. When you get attached, you get sloppy.
I’m not bailing you out again and we both know Jarred is not in the picture for now. Let’s meet at the club on 42nd tomorrow night. I’ll show you the chase and feed again.
Asthma is not your friend, Jared. She will kill you, if you let her. She’ll take your mind first… maybe you want that…to be with Libby or whatever.
Right now I’m all you have. Let’s figure this out before I change my mind and head to Seattle early.
I like writing you. You don’t give me a hard time for who I am or what I have to say. We get each other. We understand I can’t help myself and unlike Jared we’re strong enough to face Asthma. We’re smart enough to ache with her until she’s over. I am patient with myself, so I fed all day yesterday. The flavor was everything. It filled the black for the first time in a while. We’re getting close. When we’re free…we’ll finally find a new Libby. The warmth hits my throat and reminds me of her. I’m glad she’s dead but I still miss her.
Asthma is a good wife to me. She takes me places no woman has dared to go beyond. She makes me want and helps me remember to forget.
Jarred. Auntie. Mr. Ashley. Libby.
All of them are ashes in the dirt and dust in the air. I don’t walk or breath with Asthma.
We live. Tonight we’re going to drip again. I will fill her until the burning fades and I become numb from the cold.
To My Truest Self,
We did well. Asthma has her sweet relief, when the warmth pulses on us. A warmth so hot it chokes the burn in my chest and numbs my emotions.
“Show me where you want it,” the whisper tickled my cheek. My finger traced along her jaw and across her collarbone. Each button fell apart at every press until the fabric slid off her shoulders. The skin over her rib cage sank deep like lines etched on a wall for the minutes not lived. Scars were painted tallies for attempted escapes.
“I prefer surprises,” I said. Our fingers intertwined then locked as rough and smooth rubbed together. From back to belly and gripping to slamming her nails clawed the paint. My sweat rolled down the nape of her neck. It ran cool on her chest and leaped from her skin upon thrust. We convulsed.
The hot air in her throat turned cold beneath my knuckles. I kept pushing in the cold rawness as she bled on my numbness. I wanted it to hurt but it wouldn’t feel. I sucked her juices from my cuticles but I couldn’t taste. The empty is too deep. Asthma… needs more.
We’ll always have each other. Jarred is hiding from Asthma hoping she won’t snatch and drag him into the Garden.
Myself knows better than to run from me. I was taught to chase. We are driven to eat.
Cheers to another pretty young babe dripping down my neck.
Growth…that’s what you’re calling it? I slave over these letters to remind you of your roots…and you insult me with growth! The only thing different about you is you’ve gotten better at pretending.
I’m real because I feel with my eyes open. I smell with my nostrils flared and grab with both hands. You do hate yourself. That’s why you coined yourself a “mannequin”, remember?
Only you can dress the New Jarred. The old one could move on his own and didn’t need clothes. He was unattached to this world.
My Brother knew Asthma; its grip and how it makes you starve until you become another man. The Old Jarred knew Asthma’s empty.
Right now you’re pretending, because somewhere along the line you got guilty. I’ not worried about you, though. I tried for you. Asthma’s attack will rip you, I’ll be there with the stitches, and you’ll remember. You’ll get it.
Until then…this is a real farewell to the fakest version of you yet.
You are relentless trying to fool with me. It doesn’t matter. You had run out of blows when you mentioned my unborn child. Taunting me with the former love of my life was only for your pleasure.
You’re right, Jared. Don’t get too smug yet, read the rest of the letter.
You’re right; we are alike in a lot of ways.
- Food-driven animal
- Emotional addict
You’re still wrong to think I hate myself for who I am. Unlike you I’ve grown through my pain far enough to accept myself. You pretend to cherish all of our ugly moments as the highlights of our brotherhood. Feeding on your own misery is a suicide recipe. I finally left the kitchen.
Whatever you want, Jared…I don’t have it. Libby didn’t have it either.
I don’t want to hurt like you or suffer like her. Be a hero for yourself, Jared. Please set yourself free.
I’m going to tell you about my new inhaler. Last time my wanting you to know, scared you away from ever wanting to learn. Now you need to know. I am merely a lover, Jarred. You can hardly call me a brother, but I am anything for you. I can’t stay away, especially knowing your hatred. You still read my letters. You’re addicted to me. I love it.
Rofus’s flavor, the latest air I breathed, was very unique. He wasn’t sweet like you, or spicy like Libby. He had less tang than Chuck, yet more zest than Mr. Ashley. Rofus’s flavor was unique in the way oatmeal is bland. I loved it.
The way his smooth lumps slid down my throat was what laid me down at night. His aroma fused well with rope burns and rubbed leather. My finger, the same one I give the suck for you, is twirling in my belly button as I write. Rofus was a palate worthy of sacrifice. Make him thicker. Add some cinnamon, metal, whip cream, or butter. I’m a collector, Jarred. As a particular man who has tastes for interesting flavors, Rofus made me lick my lips all over. The way his ass smashed down on that bar stool was how he smashed down on my face. I breathed him in, Jarred. I ate the air from his ass. I will always love it.
P. S. My lungs don’t ache today.
To Whom It May Concern:
I don’t have to explain myself to you. As people there comes a time in life when we are given the opportunity to tell our story.
“How are you?”
“What is your name?”
“Where do you work?”
“Where did you go to school?”
“What did you study?”
All of these questions are small dosages intended to piece together the necessary frame another must form for you in their mind. They are the bare essentials to compare their life to yours. It’s all they need to decide your value to them. Hardly ever has someone ever said, “What’s your story?” No one cares.
I don’t have to explain myself to you. I want to tell my story. I want to share all of the details you don’t care to even hear simply because they’re important to me. They make me who I am. This is for me. I want to remember. I want you to remember me. How badly we want to be remembered…how hard we try to remember correctly…
I don’t have to explain myself to you. I just want you to know me. Dissect my loves and feel the beats. Understand why my hair is so long. Taste Libby’s cherry tongue and smell Mr. Ashley’s burning hide. Feel Jarred feeling me.
P. S. I had an asthma attack today.
To Whom It May Concern:
The fire built a wall against her face. It melted each layer of Libby’s smooth skin and charred her bones as I pelvic thrusted her further into the heat. Mr. Ashley’s blood ran cool down her ass crack as she did her final clench. Red smeared along the base of my wet penis to mix with Libby’s clear juices. The flame’s smoke put its thick tentacles around my neck, forced my head back, and slipped its tip down my throat. The black in my lungs twisted and stole my air. It made my chest tight until I could not breathe. Although I could easily blink the burning pain aside to focus on the pleasure, tears washed down my cheeks because Libby no longer had any to dry a single spark, while I had enough to flow a river.
The pressure was finally at ease. For the first time in fourteen days there was no irritation. The sensation of her warm walls around me was a kind dessert that was made better by a savory dinner.
Before the night’s blaze, the sun was the day’s fire. Jarred and I were fighting on Auntie’s front porch about how I’d been acting like a fool for too long. He was right. I carried on as if he were so wrong, but sir or madam he was so correct. I was a fraud. I was wearing a mask that bore a sticker of an asthma inhaler on the side next to my right ear. Soon after we turned blue from screaming, he punched me in that sticker. It was the shocking crunch of Jarred’s hairy knuckles on that sticker made me realize…I must teach him what he thinks he already knows. I must rip my own saran wrap covering.
I remember the shoulder impact when I tackled Jarred down the porch steps. We landed in the honeysuckle that tangled in the fence aligned with cinderblocks. He was afraid of how I leered down at his face. Despite the many times we fought, I never hit Jarred. He struggled and failed to unpin himself while, his eyes evaded my face.
“What are you doing, Jared?” I held his wrists up and undid his pants.
“Stop.” A belt, a single zipper, and one snap all fell apart.
“Get off of me.” His body wretched.
I said all of these things to him once. He never failed to do his own will; I returned the favor. After I broke his wrists by smashing the cinderblocks on them, I tied his wrists with his belt then turned him over.
“Now you must feel the real me too,” I breathed in his ear.
I put my dick in him as he screamed. I kept pumping and growing inside his anus. He kept screaming. He sounded like a pop song overplayed on the radio. “Hello…from the butt side AHHHH…”
When I pulled out, shit poured out seconds later. There was some blood around his torn hole too. Auntie left her apron on the hook because she as having a post-bible study fuck session with Mr. Ashley. I grabbed it and wiped Jarred up.
“I love you, brother,” I said after kissing him on the mouth.
If you’re wondering, Jarred left and Auntie still wears that apron.
P. S. No one in my life wants to be bothered by my asthma.
Stop writing me these letters. I don’t care about your fucking asthma and I don’t want to remember anything about you or know anything more about what you did. Knowing of it is already too much. I knew Mr. Ashley and Auntie were fucking; the rest of the town knew too. It was nothing to know. Stop calling me your brother, because we haven’t been brothers in a long time, maybe not ever. I want to FORGET you, Libby, Mr. Ashley, and even Auntie.
You don’t have to write me another fucking letter to tell me about that midnight. I know what happened, Jared. I was there. Don’t put it on paper. Don’t write me again. And leave Libby the fuck alone too, she was always going to leave your ass anyway. Just like me she was damn tired of hearing you bitch and whine about you and your problems.
P. S. ASTHMA DOES NOT MEAN SHIT.