I break off a tiny piece of styrofoam from my coffee cup. I look at it, study it, scrutinize it - judge it. It’s jagged and crooked at its tears, smooth and straight at the edge from the part of the cup it was removed from. I examine its every trait and find myself mostly interested in its frailty. Held gently between my forefinger and my thumb, the thought of how easy it would be to crush it floods my mind. How easy this fragment can be obliterated almost completely by next to no effort on my end. How I could end its existence as I currently know it. Not because I particularly want to, but simply because I can.
So I crush it.
I feel its minimal resistance against my fingers, a futile resistance. I feel it weaken, and I feel it crumble from my strength. However, once its destruction is complete, once it is an ugly, mere remnant of its previous [and to some maybe even graceful] form, I realize how my interest in it has ceased to be. And as is common with us humans, we have a habit of discarding what we have no use or interest for. I release it from my grasp, from my demonstration of superiority over it, and apathetically watch it fall to the ground. I am done with it.
Still, recalling how it involuntarily bent and contracted into its new form of my design, having folded under my power over it, I remember the feeling of joy I experienced in doing so. It was only a small joy, for it was a small, inanimate object after all. But I begin to wonder as to what else my superiority extends to. As to who else… Then a new thought overtakes my mind: After all these years, I have failed to change one bit.

Warning: Mature content.

———————————————————————————————————————

Her scent.
It was the smell of beauty itself, if beauty itself had a smell.
So strong, but also a hint of something else,
something enticing, something that made me unable to stop breathing her in or inhaling her
exhaled breath.
Her scent is what I’ll remember most.

Wait, scratch that.

Her smile.
So genuine, so flawless. Present both when she looked at me from across the table at a coffee shop, as well as when she would come in my arms. But on both occasions, 
a sensation
I found to make the first part more difficult to do as her smile was absolutely breath taking.
Her smile is what I’ll remember most.

Wait, scratch that too.

Her voice.
A sweet, feminine voice, yet strong and full of inspirational fervor. It perfectly accentuated the words of kindness she is so obviously made of,
and filled me with peace of mind as she moaned
my name.
Her voice is what I’ll remember most.

Wait, scratch that again.

Her taste.
Thoroughly irresistible, thoroughly paralyzing. An acquired flavor that I would never let go
to waste.
From the sweetness of her lips,
a mixture of black coffee and cigarettes,
to the intoxicatingly unique taste that literally dripped from between her legs onto me.
Her taste is what I’ll…

No wait, scratch that already.

Her skin.
The color of milk,
a soft texture like silk,
but simultaneously having provided enough friction when I held onto her
for dear life as I  pushed into her,
feeling the moist and slippery ecstasy of what was truly underneath her
skin.
Her skin is…

Actually, unscratch them all. For how could I possibly forget anything about love?
Sensations I’ll never experience again,
the memories of which will flood my mind after whenever we meet each other once more,
laughing like somber friends.

The end.

Excerpt from “The Honorable Heart of Henry Holloway”.

Criticism welcome.

+++++++++++++

“Oh, by the way,” she said, breaking the silence, “I found one of your short stories that you forgot at my place before I left for Paris. The one titled ‘Hello, My Name Is Hollow’.”

“Ugh, please tell me you didn’t read that one.”

“I did, and I thought it was really good! Depressing, like most of your stuff, but I always told you you’re quite talented.”

Henry scoffed. “D’you smell that? I think I smell smoke from your pants catching fire.”

“I’m serious, Henry” Alice exclaimed. She paused and took a deep breath. “… and Cameron thinks so too.”

“Who the fuck is ‘Cameron’,” he asked.

“Cameron Swanson, my Fictional Literature professor from last semester.”

“Wait, you showed it to your professor at UIC,” Henry asked suspiciously. “… Why?”

Alice continued, ignoring his question. “He pretty much had the same conclusion as me, that it was dark, but brilliant. He even asked me to ask you if he could meet you sometime. He was really impressed.”

Henry noticed how Alice was dabbing at his wounds nervously now, trying to act like nothing was wrong. He gently took her slightly shaking hand and looked at her sternly.

“Alice, why are you telling me this?”

Alice swallowed, and pulled out the book from her back pocket. “Because he decided to publish it in the university’s annual creative writing magazine.”

Henry remained still as he stared at the book in Alice’s hand, but she could see his jaw line tighten and how he started breathing faster. He got off the counter, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What the fuck, Alice,” he asked furiously.

“I know what you’re thinking-“ she began to explain, but he cut her off.

“No, you fucking don’t know what I’m thinking! Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“Because you’re talented, Henry! You have all these amazing stories at your place, just waiting to be published. But instead, they’re just lying around catching dust!”

“So you go and publish one behind my back?! How did you even do that? Don’t you need my consent or some shit,” he asked in disbelief.

Alice looked down at the floor. “… I may or may not have forged your signature.”

Henry threw his hands up again and turned away from Alice, shouting a long line of German swear words into the room.

“Look,” she said, thrusting the book into his hand, “your story is the first one in the book. I’m not lying when I said that my professor was impressed with it, and his number is written in the front. This could be a really good thing for you, Henry.”

Henry leaned against the counter with the book rolled up in his fist, letting his head drop. He stopped swearing and closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself down. When his breathing returned back to normal, Alice went over to him and turned him towards her, his eyes remaining shut.

“You had no right to do that, Alice,” he said, almost inaudible to her.

Alice closed her eyes as well and took his face into her hands, leaning her forehead against his.

“I know,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you first. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t know what this would do to you; I know how personal your writing is to you. But Henry, I’m not sorry for finally getting your work published like it’s meant to be. I truly believe that you are talented, and you have no idea just how much. Your writing is so beautiful and inspiring; I couldn’t just stand idly by and let your talent go to waste.”

Alice leaned her head back and Henry opened his eyes to look at her, finding that she was already looking at him with that expression that usually made him feel uncomfortable. But something was different this time. Despite that their bodies were already pressed against each other’s, her expression made him want to draw her even closer. Her face was so close to his already that he could feel her soft breathing on his face, making him feel intoxicated from the scent of rum and coke in her breath. The party in the next room faded away and the rest of the world dissolved around them as she closed her eyes again, slowly closing the distance between her slightly parted lips and his. He remained still, incapable of deciding if he should pull away, or lean into it.

Sometimes you ask someone to embark on an adventure with you and their eagerness is overwhelming. You travel the great beyond for a while, but then you reach the harbor and the person starts to realize that the sea is vast and unpredictable, full of dangers unimaginable.
You may be disappointed, but you must not be upset with them, for everyone has their limits of how far they’re willing to go. So when that time comes, you say your farewells, thank them for the time you shared, and watch them as they turn around to walk back home. Then you get on the ship, and continue your adventure.

From The Honorable Heart Of Henry Holloway

*  *  *

“So Jenny, I’ve been meaning to ask, but what’s with the conservative fashion these days? Did you turn Amish or something?”

Jennifer turned to Nathan, a sarcastic hint to the questioning expression in his face as he looked her up and down. She glared at him, unnerved in having to put up with her co-worker’s arrogant remarks before she had even fully walked through the door. But she was already late for her shift and relied on his mercy to not rat her out to Karen, so she decided to be nice. Or at least, as nice as she could.

“Exactly, so lucky for you I can’t touch a gun or anything and shoot you.”

“Actually, the Amish can’t touch anything electrical, so traditional firearms are still okay.”

“Shut up,” she snapped back, focusing on tying the apron around her waist.

Nathan mockingly held his hands up in defense. “Touchy! I’m just saying, ya know? You won’t be getting tipped as much as when you had cleavage and a flirty attitude. But your boyfriend’s back; maybe he’ll oblige you.”

Jennifer paused, still fixing her hair band. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, table three.”

She turned to the direction Nathan nodded to and her heart fell when she saw who he meant.

“Anyways,” Nathan continued without noticing, his eyes fixed on a middle aged lady gesturing that she wanted the check, “Professor Cougar over there has been tipping me like crazy all week and it’s about time I make some moves! Wish me luck!”

Nathan did not wait for a response as he walked off, and Jennifer was not listening. She took a deep breath, grabbed one of the coffee pots, and started walking over to the table where Henry sat alone, simply staring at his empty mug. He was like a ghost; transparent and unnoticed by everyone, even by her when she walked in. And yet, he was still there, emitting a chill down anyone’s spine once they finally did set their eyes on him.

Jennifer had not spoken to him since that fateful night, making sure she was working in the back when she knew he was coming, or switching sections with Nathan when he was already there. But she knew she had to face him sometime, and now was as good a time as any. She felt nervous, her hands sweating, and she feared the pot would slip out of her hands as she closed the distance between them.

“Want a refill on that? On the house.”

Henry looked up at Jennifer. His eyes with their deep bags underneath seemed surprised and confused to see Jennifer suddenly standing next to him. Not a confusion out of some form of dislike or grudge towards why she of all people would dare to approach him, but out of the honest belief that he would never see her again. Still, she could feel her heart pounding faster, threatening to break through her chest, as he remained staring at her with a blank expression. He remembered that she worked here at the Pick Me Up Cafe now and, noticing the panicked look in her eyes, changed his demeanor, forcing himself to appear lighter to make her feel less uneasy.

“I didn’t know you guys converted into a diner with free refills?” he asked jokingly.

“We didn’t, it just seemed like you could really use it.”

He smiled, genuinely this time. That beautiful half smile of his that Jennifer loved so much since the first time she saw the beat up version of it by her front yard at the party. Completely asymmetrical, but not crooked; it was a half smile that likely every girl fell in love with, and that he was so unaware of even having at all.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I s’pose I could. Thanks, Jenny.”

She poured the coffee into his mug and returned the smile. A cold breeze moved through the coffee shop as the front entrance swung open. Henry’s head immediately jerked up with anticipation, but was quickly overcome with disappointment when he saw the unknown girl walk in. Jennifer knew who he was hoping to see come through the door, and she was immediately filled with guilt. She knew that, to some degree, it was her fault for his misery.

“She’s not coming, Henry. She hasn’t come back here in several weeks,” she told him in a soft voice. “I miss her too.”

He did not say anything, his weary eyes still fixed on the door. Jennifer wanted to leave him be, beginning to think that this encounter might not have been the best idea after all, not in his current state. She wanted to walk back towards the register, but knew she had to finish what she started. She took a deep breath once more and felt her own eyes suddenly feeling hot and teary.

“Henry, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! That night… I-I didn’t mean for this to… I…” Her voice trailed off. She wanted to say so much more, apologize for so much more, yet she could neither seem to find the words nor the courage. Yet Henry did not need more, he understood. He looked at her as kind as any person could in his situation and nodded.

“I know.”

Their moment continued for another second or two when she noticed the girl who walked in raise her hand to order. She wiped away the tear that had forced its way out, and returned Henry’s nod.

“Thanks for the refill,” he said. Then his eyes grew empty again as Jennifer walked away, and he returned to staring at the cup in his hands, the black liquid left unmoved.

*  *  *

My soul’s as black as night,
My heart’s as cold as stone.
I’m sorry, love,
but god, I like it.
Dear god, oh god, I like it. 

My mind’s all filled with dirt,
My hand’s are stained with blood.
I’m sorry, love,
but god, I like it.
Dear god, oh god, I like it.

The thing is,
I wasn’t always like this.
I thought good once,
I did good once -
I was good once.
I’ll have you know
that’s something I don’t miss. 

‘Cause I’m tired of hiding forever,
let’s start howling together!
I’m tired of hiding forever,
let’s start howling together!
It’s now, love, or never!
Let’s start howling together!

Part I
Him: Leave

“I need her heart ‘cause mine is broken.”
- The Subways

“Where the fuck is my lighter?” I curse to myself with my cigarette clenched between my teeth. I keep thinking I should probably just stop under one of the street lamps, that I might be able to be more successful if I had more than just the moonlight, but I know it wouldn’t help anything. I’m pretty sure I left the damn thing in my jacket pocket and if I had any doubts before, then I surely didn’t after I searched my jeans pockets for the hundredth time. But as dumb as I am, I search them one more time.

Fuck, I really want to light this cigarette right now. So much, I almost decide to turn around and go back to Bianca’s just to get it. Not the jacket, I couldn’t give two shits about that old leather rag. I bought it in a thrift store a couple years ago when walking home in what seemed like the coldest winter Chicago had to offer. I smile when I think about how I was able to flirt with the girl at the register and barter the price down to seven bucks and eighteen cents, which was all I had in my pockets at the time. Then again, maybe I’m just full of myself and she did it out of pity since I’ve been walking for six blocks and had god knows how many more to go. And tonight isn’t as cold as it was that day, but I hate myself all the same for being in the exact same situation again. This skinny zip up hoodie is simply nowhere near warm enough. Whatever. Fuck the jacket and fuck going back to Bianca’s.
I stop at a crossing, waiting for the light to turn green, and as if on cue, my back pocket starts vibrating. I take my phone out and the screen says I just got a text from the bitch. Im sooo sry hun, i didn’t want it 2 end like that!! u kno i still love u! i just cant c a future with us anymore, not the way i c 1 w/ Rick. u understand rite? B. Yeah, I understand. I understand that you’re a fucking cunt who never learned grammar and cheated on me with some yuppie douchebag living off of his daddy’s money. I at least have a fucking job! And despite how much I hated working as a barista at the Kickstand Café , serving hipsters and yuppies all day, I at least know how to support my own college degree. I don’t even earn a whole lot for myself and it doesn’t help that I happily, but foolishly, spent every spare dime on you. But of course, that’s not what you wanted. It isn’t what any of them wanted. It’s true what they say about the girl always dating the bad boy, but always marrying the nice guy. Or at least, that’s what her slutty best friend Samantha kept telling me, trying to scare me away. I suppose I should take is a compliment, though, being the dangerous type and all. But how is it I always attract that type of girls? Then again, it’s my own fault for going with it.
The light turns green and I almost decide to reply all of that to her when I cross the street and hear the furious honking of a car. I look up and manage to jump aside just in time before I got run over by the fucking Mercedes.
 “Watch where you’re fucking going, punk!” The driver [drunk as fuck] gives me the finger, and although I can’t make out what his three fellow buddies [just as drunk] yell at me, I’m sure it’s just as kind as their very responsible friend’s previous remarks. As they turn the corner and speed away in the direction I’m heading, I feel the strong urge to swear back and even throw my phone after them. But realizing how this area was always full of cops and they were driving the wrong direction on a one way street, I decided to just let it go.I hated the fucking Addison area with all its yuppie bars and its overrated Wrigley Field, home of the loser Cubs. I may have been raised on the north side, but any fan of significant ball playing and a mind of his own would choose the southside White Sox any day of the week. Bianca was a Cubs fan, which reminds me of her text message from before the near-death experience. I take it as an omen and instead of replying, decide to change her name in my contact list and smirk at the one I chose.
An arctic breeze from the east blows in and I look down in an attempt to shield my face from it. I dig my hands deeper into the pockets of my hoodie, clenching my fist around my phone as if crushing it would magically release some hidden warmth inside. In the distance up ahead, I hear the screeching of tires and painfully look up to see the drunk-mobile that nearly run me over a few minutes ago speed off, leaving a girl coughing in its smoke. Fucking douchebag. I look over to the girl and nearly stop in my fast pace as I realize how beautiful she was. Not hot or sexy – genuinely beautiful. Her shoulder-long blonde, straight hair was parted on her right with bangs barely reaching her deep blue eyes. She wore blue skinny jeans and a tight, black blouse with short sleeves, perfectly accentuating both her figure as well as her pale white skin. But judging from how she was shivering and tightly gripping her bare arms, it seemed to be giving her less warmth as my hoodie gave me. She just stood there underneath the elevated train tracks, leaning against one of the pillars, with a stern, yet blank expression on her face. And even as I get closer, noticing the single tear running down her cheek, I couldn’t help but think again just how beautiful she looked under the street light.
She turns her head towards me and notices me staring at her, and I immediately look away in fear of seeming like some kind of rapist or some shit. Whatever crap she was going through, I didn’t want to add the fear of being attacked to it. I try to walk an arch around her, feeling her stare on me.
“Excuse me, but d’you happen to have another cigarette?” she asks.
I stop and look at her blankly and for a split second, I’m lost for words after seeing her face again. “Who says I have one at all?”
She raises an eyebrow and looks at the cigarette I totally forgot I still had in my mouth.
 “Oh. Right.” I say. “Well, d’you have a lighter?”
 “I do. One of your cigarettes for a click of my lighter?”
“That’s a rather unfair deal, don’t you agree?”
She thinks about it for a second. “Ok… Then a click of my lighter and I also tell you the time. Deal?”
I laugh lightly and she joins in. I agree to the deal by giving her a fresh cigarette as she lights up mine. I sigh in relief as I finally feel the overdue smoke pollute my lungs and she giggles at the sight.
“It’s exactly 1am, by the way.” She says, fulfilling her second half of the deal, and continues in a sarcastic tone. “And apparently, that’s about the time when cabs here stop operating.”
“Yeah,” I tell her, “that’s the one thing Chicago cabs and police have in common; there’s never one when you need one the most.”
And although I’m aware of how horrible a joke that was, she laughs out loud and I imagine it’s how angels sound. I realize how cheesy that thought was and briefly shake my head.
She slowly calms down from her laughter and there’s a short moment of silence between us as we both just take a drag from our cigarettes. When I look at her again, I notice her staring at me with a peculiar look on her face. I want to ask her if there was something on my face, but notice instead that she was still shaking violently from the cold. I unzip my hoodie and before she can object, place it on her back around her shoulders. She opens her mouth as to say something, but I beat her to the punch.
“Before you say anything, I’m not hitting on you. Indeed, I’m cold myself, but it seemed like you need it a whole lot more than me. So don’t worry about it and thank me instead.”
Surprised and with a look of disbelief, it seemed as if she was going to object anyways, but changes her mind after all.
“Thank you.” Then, her eyes look down at my shirt and grow big. “Oh my fucking god, I love your shirt!”
I look down at my band shirt from The Subways. “Thanks. You know them?”
“Oh Yeah!” she replies. “Which, coincidentally, is also my favorite song by them!”
“Mine too!”
Her smile widens with mine I have to fight the growing urge to kiss this beautiful stranger. Nobody knew of The Subways besides me, not even Bianca after I tried to get her to like them. I start looking away in an attempt to distract myself from the urge and spot an unoccupied taxi cab drive around the corner towards us.
“That’s awesome!” she says. “You’re the first person I know who…”, but I don’t hear the rest as I hail the cab for her. The cab stops next to me and I notice her annoyed expression from me cutting her off mid-sentence as she steps on her cigarette butt. Damn, that girl smokes fast. I turn back to cabbie and give him a ten [thank god I’m getting paid tomorrow] and tell him to bring her home safe.
“You really didn’t have to do that, you know?” she says in a concerned voice.
I shrug and simply smile at her. She smiles in return and I understand why some guys become such suckers for girls. I want to ask her for her number, but remember how I said I wouldn’t hit on her.
I notice how my teeth are starting to chatter due to the cold and I decide not to prolong this goodbye any longer. I nod to her and tell her to take care. She thanks me again, then I turn around and I head back onto my original course. I hear her open the cab door  and think how any second now, she’ll drive off and I’ll have lost the last chance to talk to the most stunning girl I’ve met in some time. I know I’ll hate myself if I let this chance pass me by like this.
I turn around to ask her for her number after all and notice how she’s still looking at me. She tries to tell me something. But right then, the brown line train passes on the tracks above us and her words are lost in the incredible noise it makes. Not being able to make out a word she’s saying, I give her a look of confusion. She attempts to say something again and I try to pay attention to her lips, unsuccessful again. I ponder about what she tried to say and figure she was asking me if I wanted my hoodie back. So I simply smile at her and shake my head, conveying that she can keep it. Another forceful breeze lashes the cold in my face like a slave driver flogging his whip at me and I figure I should just go home empty handed.She was out of my league anyways. I look at her one last time, taking a mental picture to remember her by, then turn around again and continue my long walk home. Of course, it was much colder now without the hoodie, but I didn’t mind it anymore. The idea of who was wearing it now sufficed to keep me from swearing. Instead, I just dig my hands into my jeans pockets and smile as I hear the cab drive away.
Up ahead, I notice siren lights from a cop and curiously try to see what’s going on. As I walk by, I realize it’s the drunk guys from before and I smile when I see the expression of “fuck me!” on the driver’s face when the cop tells him he the results of the breathalyzer and handcuffing him behind his back. One of his other friends was being interrogated or something by the cop’s partner, who kept holding up some kind of paper bag. The other two were still in the back seat of the drunk-mobile and one was talking on the phone in an aggravated demeanor.
As the drunk-douchebag-driver is put in the back seat of the government issued vehicle, he recognizes me and I grin back at him before I start laughing, mentally apologizing about my remark on about the CPD a while ago. I keep laughing until the end of the block and remain in a good mood for the rest of the way home, lighting a few more cigarettes with her lighter.
Then I remember that I forgot my phone in my hoodie and swear again.