Thursday, August 22, 2013

The opening of my latest WIP

I've been working at this untitled short story all week, and I thought I'd share the opening today. It's an m/m erotic contemporary for a train-themed collection, and I'm shocked at how quickly it's going, considering how little actual writing time I've been able to commit to it.

And I really need to figure out what to call it.


I don't sleep.

Okay, that's obviously a lie. Everybody sleeps, or else we'd be a planet full of psychopaths. I can already hear Dr.Willoughby scolding me. "Stop exaggerating, Sean. You're not doing yourself any favors."

She was a bitch, but she was right most of the time so I guess I should probably listen to her when she decides to poke her nose into my psyche these days.

I don't sleep much.

That's more accurate.

I go two, maybe three hours tops. That's my last parting gift from Dr. Willoughby and the staff at Bronx Lebanon. It's not their fault. Fuck, they were great, everything considered. It's just that after spending so many weeks sedated and stuck in bed when that hospital was the last place I wanted to be, I think my body has revolted. It's like it thinks that if I go to sleep again, really asleep, I'll end up back there, and that's the last thing I want. I've worked too hard to move past it all.

So after work, I get on the train and I just ride until my head feels like a cannonball and my brain is tripping over itself trying to remember where my stop is. That usually happens around four, five in the morning. I don't leave Manhattan. I'm not that fucking nuts. Plus, it helps that I look the way I do. People don't mess with a guy who's six-two and packing a hard two-twenty. They take one look at the shaved head and tatts and assume the worst.

If Dr. Willoughby saw me now, she'd probably have a field day telling me how I'm trying to live down to people's expectations, but that's not it. It's about putting on armor. It makes me feel stronger if I think people see me that way. Trust me, I need that boost. When you get broken bad enough, and then fix yourself up again, you never want to end up in that place again.

The thing about the train is how easy it makes it for me to shut off. It's quiet. Sometimes, there'll be pockets of people coming from a late night party or show, but I've gotten better about avoiding the parts of the city where that could happen. I like that I can sit there, and the rhythms of the train, the rocking, the hum, the hollow roars, all of it works to erase the effects of my day. Nothing to distract me. Nothing to do. Just be.

That's why I wasn't prepared the first time it happened.