Nirvana Ch. 08

"Noel, you really don't have to do this. If it's about Jay, if you want to sleep with other men--"

Noel grabbed his forearm to make him stop, "No, baby. Look, you're a wonderful guy. You're an amazing guy--"

"Then it's not me you're running away from."

"I'm not running away," he tightened his grip for emphasis, "you're great, and one day you'll make some lucky guy or girl really happy but not me. Maybe in a perfect world, but in this one, we want different things. You're an old soul, I'm a wanderer. It won't work, we're simply incompatible."

Owen snatched his arm back and stood up in fury, "You mean I want a relationship while you see me as a cheap and easy fuck."

"You know that's not true. Owen, I don't want to fight, I just want to say goodbye. Please, let's make this civil."

With that, he walked away, tending to his kitchen. He'd already said goodbye, the only thing that was left was for Owen to go home, but he couldn't. It didn't feel right. And the longer he stayed, the more agitated Noel became.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered, "You don't have to run away, you can't keep living like this."

Noel slammed his fist against a cupboard, making Owen jump at the noise. "And what the hell do you suggest I do instead? Marry you? Live together? Have a weekly, biweekly, unsatisfying fuck and roll away from each other, watch our spark turn to ashes and wonder how in the living hell we fell into this trap?"

"Trap?" Owen shot back, "well, if you think this is a trap, why do you keep coming after me, huh?"

"Yeah? I won't anymore, I'm going. Actually, I want you to go now. Don't come back today or tomorrow or ever because you won't find me."

He hurried out, and stopped at the door. If this was the last time he'd ever get to speak to him, he wanted to let everything out. It didn't matter, for a second, how Noel would feel, so he took that chance and turned around. His back against the door and hand still on the handle, he took a deep breath and just allowed himself to let the words flow.

"You're a fucking coward, Noel. You think you're not, because you're spontaneous, whoring around Europe, living to the fullest, all that bullshit you want to believe but you're the biggest coward I know. You smell a hint of responsibility anywhere and," he snapped his fingers, "gone, like fucking smoke. And you know what? All this hippie Buddhist feng shui crap, underneath all that you're nothing but an empty shell of a human inside your own echo chamber."

"Calm down."

"No, fuck you! You know what? I've always known that you could hurt me. Always... I just never thought that you would." His voice started breaking and he hated that. Fighting the urge to cry caused a suffocating spasm in his throat. "I never thought that you would hurt a fly."

"Calm down, baby."

The term of endearment pushed him right to the edge. The heat of tears rolling down his cheeks, compromising his dignity was unbearable. He wiped his face quickly and turned the handle, but he wasn't quick enough. Noel shouted for him to stop and rushed towards him.

"Don't come near me! Don't follow me or I swear to god I'll hit you. You don't think I have it in me? Don't think I can hurt you right back?"

Tears were streaming down but he had reached a point of humiliation beyond which caring would be unnecessary. When Noel got close enough, Owen extended his arm as far as it could go and cracked his open palm onto Noel's cheek. Fire caught in his hand and Noel's face, partially covered by his hair from the impact.

Noel was proud of him. He thought about how he'd seen him grow from being a timid kid trembling like a leaf, to a brave man not afraid to strike back. He also found it funny how typical of him to resort to a slap and not a punch, but all of this happened in one fraction of a second because Owen's fingers felt like four riding crops soaked in boiling hot oil. Being physically assaulted resurrected memories inside of him which he'd thought were long dead and buried. He was red with anger, and all he could do was watch as the hideousness unfurled. It was unsightly. He forced Owen against the wall hard enough to make his head rebound, and his fist was in the air.

Owen flinched. The word 'no' escaped his mouth despite him, causing Noel to snap out of his state and look down upon his frightened face, his eyes still welling up with tears –tears and terror that he caused. He was not proud of himself.

He counted up to ten, and proceeded to hurt Owen the only way he physically could by seizing his neck and savaging his mouth. Owen was reluctant at first, resisting, fighting. His body had definitely gone weaker as he stopped going to the gym. He bit him hard, Noel bit harder. It was a losing battle.

In the midst of their heated, searing, ravaging kiss, Owen started getting indefatigably hard. It was the grief and anguish, Noel's body draped over his, the inexorable rough handling or the bulge he felt against his abdomen. He craved him, needed him, with no regard to anything else.

Noel broke away and gave him a look that lasted too long –a look asking for consent– and Owen tried so hard to deny him, to finally for once not give him what he wanted. It just so happened that whatever Noel wanted, he wanted it as well.

His hands went to free his erection, and Noel was immediately off to take out a condom and lube from his rucksack, he threw off his t-shirt and pulled down his jeans. They were face to face, thinking of nothing but the fervour with which they needed each other, unable to see through the blindfold of love and lust. Owen tugged at his hair. His body ached for him, unashamed of his own helplessness. He nodded to make his confirmation more apparent, and Noel hooked one arm under his knee and pulled it up to his waist, opening him up. His cock was solid against Owen's delicate bits, and he chewed on his lips as he plunged inside.

The pain was juxtaposed with the torturous wrench of his soul, and he screamed loudly in Noel's mouth. Noel drew his knee forward, angling him to thrust deeper, and the sounds they both made were of gritty, raw desperation. The notion of this being the last time they get to feel each other in that way was being drilled into them with every in and out motion, and all they could do was go harder, devour each other in all possible and impossible ways.

When he wasn't sighing and screaming, Owen bit his shoulders. His nails latched to his back and dug curves and tracks until they were red with his blood. Noel's sweat mixed with his open wounds and stung, only to further inflame his lustful anger. He pinned him to the wall and fucked him to climax, with his hand narrowing around his neck as he spilled inside him.

They leaned on each other, heaving and sighing, Owen's seed sprayed on his shirt and Noel's torso, Noel still inside him, both savouring the moment. They stood at a point outside of time and space and circumstance, a point where the universe wasn't so cruel and fate didn't hurt so much, where words didn't matter as long as they kissed the sweat off of each other's skin.

Noel murmured some apology and Owen hummed back that he was fine. Their eyes met and, for a second, Noel thought about saying it –the word Owen was dying to hear– but it couldn't have done either of them any good. He pecked him on the forehead and went to clean up.

Owen removed his semen-stained shirt and picked up Noel's from the floor –a green and white tie-dye shirt which Owen hated but he was out of options. He sat and held it to his face and took a deep breath. The last piece of Noel he would ever possess. After all they'd been through, Noel's scent and taste, his laughter and his smile, his existence, all were going to be reduced to a memory. He curled his fingers in the shirt and let out a pitiful grunt.

Noel walked over and handed him a drink. Owen was hesitant to take it.

"It's only juice, don't worry."

He bent on both knees to face him, took hold of his hand and put the glass in it. He sighed and bit his own lips, contemplating.

"I want you to tell me that you're gonna be okay."

Owen shuddered and husked, "I won't."

"I want you to take care of yourself." he took the little butterfly between his fingers, "Promise me you won't take this off. Please?"

Owen was shaking to a point that he almost spilled his drink, like he was on the verge of tears but couldn't let them out. Noel rubbed his shoulders and arms. He said, "stay the night?" and Owen nodded.

Time seemed to go by really fast that night. Noel made sure he finished his drink. He gave him something to eat and massaged his back. They didn't talk much until they fell asleep with Owen's arm around him to make sure he didn't go anywhere. Even when his muscles started to burn, he wasn't letting go. He thought about staying up all night holding him, he thought about stealing his passport and setting it on fire, he thought about crying and screaming please don't go, please, please, please stay.

It was only then that he remembered all the time he'd wasted when they were together, crippled by the past or dreading the future. He wished he could go back and revel in Noel's every tiny gesture.

Noel rubbed his scalp and told him he was going to be okay. "There's nothing in this world that you can't do," he said, "you can have anything you want, you just have to want it," and Owen was thinking he'd already found what he wanted. His sanctuary. His nirvana. His one and only. A warm tear fell from his eye right on Noel's chest, and Noel's pillow caught a couple of drops that Owen didn't get the chance to see.

Soon enough, Owen's muscles became weaker, his thoughts made less and less sense, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to stay awake. It hadn't occurred to him until he woke up, but he knew Noel had slipped him something in that drink, because he didn't usually sleep when he was upset, and because there was no way he could have slept through Noel sneaking out. He peeled his eyelids off his eyes to find himself in an empty bed, bruised and broken more than he'd been before having met Noel. The rucksack and his dirty shirt were gone, and there was a folded note on Noel's side of the bed.

He unfolded it with trembling fingers to reveal a sketch of his butterfly over a background of circles within circles within polygons, some tiny leaves, dots, petals, and even smaller butterflies surrounding his own right at the centre of Noel's mandala. At the bottom of the page, in Noel's familiar, poignant, neat handwriting, he wrote:

Never stop smiling.

Love, Noel.

***

[Thank you once again for the taking the time to read this and give your feedback. There is going to be a sequel, already all planned out just waiting to be written. Until then, leave your comments, rate if you enjoyed it. It won't take long!

Let me know if you enjoyed this, and let me know what expectations you have for the characters in the sequel.]