the games I play
Whizzer scrunched his forehead, wincing as he felt the harsh sunlight stream into the room. He put a hand up to his face, trying to block out the light, but failed miserably, eventually cracking his eyes open the tiniest amount. His Hangover finally hit, and he groaned, deep rooted, from the pit of his stomach and he quickly sat up, vomiting all over the thin bed sheet. The scent was enough to make him want to throw up again. He held his breath, head pounding, body shaking, and stripped the bedsheets, trying to figure out what had happened. He felt delicate. He had felt delicate ever since he broke up with Marvin, or rather Marvin broke up with him.
He couldn’t really remember what happened, A blur of rage, his vision clouded red and bloody, then the motel. The Motel. He forced himself into the nearest one, trying to find the cheapest room and folded up his clothes, what little Marvin shoved into the suitcase as they fought. He had scoffed that first night, his messy life spewing out of the suitcase with his clothes, and for the first time he felt delicate, not different or independent, delicate.
Whizzer pulled on his silk dressing gown from the foot of his bed, elegant, delicate and limped out of the bedroom, bedsheets bundled in his arms and he dropped them by the door. He reached upwards in a stretch, yawning and wincing simultaneously before letting his limbs relax again, and began to start his routine, shuffling over to the kitchen.
He stood on his tiptoes, letting the robe flutter open to expose his naked body as he reached for a pot, hands fumbling and stretching until he clasped the cold, metal handle. He put it down on the counter, closing his eyes as the loud noise it made echoed through his skull, vibrating in his bones. He pressed his cold fingers into his eye sockets, the compression making him feel slightly better before he removed them, leaving the world spinning and bright, as though he was on a hallucinogenic, as though he had forgotten what colour looked like.
He filled the pot with water, watching it bubble and froth, before placing it over the hob, turning on the gas as it failed to light. Like usual. He took the cigarette lighter from the counter and sparked It a couple of times before it lit, watching the fire intensely for a moment. It always reminded him of Marvin, the passion, the exhaust, the bright scalding light, before he drew it to the gas ring. The ring suddenly lit in a spectacular illusion of warmth, Whizzer pulling back his hand as the flames licked and grabbed at his thumb. He couldn’t care anymore, the pain being the only thing he could feel.
Beautiful. That was how Whizzer Brown would describe pain. One single stab that could reduce even the strongest Man to tears. Powerful.
How he wished to be.
He placed the pot on top of the flames, leaning against the cupboards. The countertop dug into his thighs, but he didn’t mind, eyes catching a glimpse of something he couldn’t remember from yesterday, which on the contrary was almost everything. Except for a name, which was odd. He never usually remembered names. Jason. He probably just associated it with the one child he loved, Marvin’s son, his son.
He slowly walked across the room to the table beside the door and almost threw up again. A note. He hated it when they left notes. A person’s handwriting could tell a lot about them, Whizzer’s neat and scripted, flouncy and more often than not, feminine. This man’s was all block capitals, trying to be aggressive and on top as Whizzer read the words.
call me.
Followed by a number.
Next to it, forty dollars in twenties.
Whizzer hated it when they left money, it made him feel as though he was a common whore, and in some ways he was. He didn’t enjoy sex anymore, it wasn’t even sex, it was a fuck. A fuck was emotionless, aggressive, they were gone before sunrise the next morning. But sex… sex could be anything and everything, sex was when he couldn’t tear himself away from his partner the next morning for fear they’d vanish. Sex was being able to stare into their eyes and feel the silent ‘I love you’. Sex with Marvin was the best thing in the world.
I don't look for trouble
I do not accept blame
I've a good and a bad side
But they're one and the same
Ask me to arouse you
I will rise and obey
These are the games I play
If only the world could see. See how he could have sex with anyone, but all he cared about was attention. His payment in kind was the attention, that’s why he hated when they left him money, because they knew it too.
He slipped the bills into the gowns pocket, letting it flap and trail behind him as he went back to the stove, seeing the water simmer and bubble in the pot. From the shelf above, he reached for a strainer, placing it down lightly on the counter before reaching up higher for a mug.
All he could remember was the shattered pieces on the ground, blinking slowly as he couldn’t think how they got there. He didn’t bother to pick them up, getting a new piece of china, thin and perfect, a matching saucer to go with it. He gently filled the strainer with green tea leaves.
He preferred green tea; it was healthier, more delicate.
Like him.
He didn’t bother to step over the shattered china, walking straight over it as it dug into the bottom of his feet, not even wincing as he took his cup and saucer into the dingy room beside the bedroom.
Even though it was a bright day, the windowless bathroom made him feel as though it was late at night, as he precariously balanced the saucer on the side of the bath, pulling back the curtain.
He half expected to see someone behind it every time, not even afraid if death were to jump out at him. But no one did jump out.
‘Alone as usual’ he thought to himself, leaning over the tub to turn on the water.
He used the time whilst he was drawing the bath the same way each morning. Tying his dressing gown tight and walking hastily out of the rooms, collecting any washing as he did. This morning the footprints he left were bloody outlines, as he paced down the long open balcony to the stairs. He felt his skin crawl, knowing that people would watch from behind closed doors, through peepholes as though it was a sport, but he held his ground, refusing them the satisfaction. He hopped down the stairs, hangover still pressing into his skull, but the cool stone on his bare, swollen feet seemed to relax him as he walked down to the car park, holding the bundle tightly to his chest.
He tensed his jaw as he walked into the room the man would be in. He hated him, didn’t even know his name, all he knew was that if he couldn’t pay rent, the man wouldn’t mind a blowjob or two to postpone it.
“hey there doll.” Whizzer would usually wave and continue to the laundry room, but he kicked himself, realising that he only had the twenties to hand. So, he approached the desk. “wanna give daddy a little sugar?”
Whizzer almost shuddered and bolted, but he knew he needed to wash his only sheets. “sorry sir, d’you have change for a twenty?”
The man looked Whizzer up and down like a slab of meat. “you know your rent was due a week ago.”
Pristine. Whizzer looked innocent because he knew that was what the man would always want. Delicate. Like a woman. “I know and I’m sorry but- “He hated them thinking he was a woman.
“well doll- “The man took Whizzer’s chin and the twenty, “-a blowjob won’t cut it this time.”
His heart dropped to his stomach as he plastered on an innocent smile. Pristine, he had to stay as perfect and put together as people thought he was. “I’m sorry sir, what would cut it?”
“I’ll drop by your rooms tonight. You’d better be there doll.” He changed the twenty for three fives and five ones, placing them gently into Whizzer palm as he felt his stomach turn, quickly escaping the man, but he called out after him, “You know I can see through the robe!”
Whizzer sped up, quickly throwing his sheets and clothes into the washing machine and slotting in a dollar, closing the door as he ran out the long way, feeling disgusted about what he knew he would have to do later.
He only let himself breath once he made it back to his room. Going straight away to the bathroom to wash off the man’s touch.
I screw every morning
Then bathe and drink tea
I've been playing canasta
Disastrously
All my recreation seems to suit me okay
These are the games I play
He slid into the bathtub, head out as he picked up the green tea, the hot bitter liquid gliding down his throat as he tried to relax, picking at the grout with his free hand. He took his time in the bath, taking a bar of soap and softly washing every part of him as different memories came back.
How cold the bar was last night.
He washed his forearms.
The last time he called his mother.
He washed his chest.
Marvin pushing into him with the suitcase as he slammed the door in his face.
Whizzer sighed, putting down the soap and took a deep breath, submerging his head under the water. It was cold, so cold then suddenly it burned and tingled with how hot it was, but Whizzer stayed under. Sometimes he wondered if anyone in the world would care if he didn’t come up, if anyone would come to his funeral, if anyone would even realise if he was dead in the bathtub and his corpse would rot, alone, how long until someone would come to find him.
He spluttered as he came up for air, trying to catch his breath, sighing as he reminisced his relationship, a single tear falling down his face.
It's tough with love
Love's tough to show
Let me face the music
It's a song that I was waiting to hear so long
So long ago
A boy-toy, that’s all he is, used and abused, thrown around for anyone. He thought he liked it that way, he found it hard expressing love, his parents cold, never in the same room, never ever showing him any love. That’s why he had it confused with lust for years until… until Marvin. Until the tingling in between his legs became a pain in his heart, and it scared him. Until he was mean. Marvin was mean, but so was Whizzer, he didn’t want to be a housewife, he was probably worse at cooking than Marvin.
He had begun to accept it being his fault, but he had never been treated fairly. He kept trying to justify it.
He laughed cynically to himself. An almost middle age man still trying to find himself.
For a second, he felt his brain move and warp, He had never wanted monogamy before, then he met Marvin. Suddenly he realized, monogamy was all he really wanted for a long time, and he was so close until he sabotaged it, acting out. He tried to keep up his guarded walls for as long as he could, keeping up his reputation as he slept around, even while he was with Marvin, and towards the end, he stopped. He didn’t tell Marvin, but he had stopped. Now all the commitment had crumbled and broken, thrown away in a second like it meant nothing, when, to Whizzer and the longest relationship he had ever had, it meant everything.
He closed his eyes for a second before they snapped open. Checking his watch that was on the bathmat. He cursed, reaching out of the bathtub to the shelf above him, turning on the radio, changing the channel delicately until he reached the right one, the static between channels hurting his head.
I bet on the horses
I die by degree
I am sure his divorce is
A tribute to me
Ask me if I love him
It depends on the day
These are the games I play
Turbulent. That was how he would describe their relationship, he missed the fast pace, love hate side of it. So, he turned to gambling for the thrill, but he didn’t even feel that anymore, blowing his money on the Pony’s like his father did. He would always remember what he said.
“Have you ever had a better two minutes in the last three years?”
Whizzer had always agreed, and then came Marvin, not suiting his aesthetic, frumpy, not stylish, an older man not many found attractive. And somehow, he thrilled Whizzer. But he got scared, using his pretty boy persona, pretending only to care about materialistic things that Marvin bought, when just being with him was enough.
He stayed in that mindset all through the breakup, finally letting himself be himself. The pretty boy persona was the only way he was able to walk away.
Whizzer sighed as he lost the next month’s rent. He stood up, his body red from the hot water and steam surrounded him, shielding him in a hot layer. He bent over, pulling out the plug, the water whirling and streaming down the drain and got out. Whizzer wiped the condensation off of the mirror with a towel and caught his first glimpse of himself.
Delicate.
His carved eyes were dark and senseless, as if he had seen too many horrors, skin drooping into his cheekbones, hollow. He didn’t recognise himself, the alcohol being the only thing in and out of his system in days. He couldn’t afford food, and the drinks were just what people would send over to him.
He wasn’t a pretty boy anymore; he didn’t know why people bought him drinks.
Maybe because they’d see him go home with a new man each night, an easy fuck.
It’s tough, my friend
Love’s looking strong
Play again the music
It’s a song that I’ve been waiting to hear
For much too long
Years, years too long
And for the first time since they broke up, he cried, gripping the basin tight to stop himself from sliding to the ground. Raw sobs, not caring who heard through the paper-thin walls that the neighbours would bang on each night. He hated who he had become. Forcing himself to try and keep up the emotionally distant and nonchalant persona, when it hurt so badly.
Just a one-night stand that turned into a weekly thing, that turned into living together as Marvin manipulated him.
Just sex, then he caught feelings but could never be sure how Marvin would react.
Just sex, but the urge to tell Marvin he loved him, plagued his daydreams.
Just sex, but those three tiny words could break his ice cold exterior.
So instead he sabotaged it.
He took a closer look in the mirror, everything going blurry, frowning at his bruised neck and collarbone, people trying to mark him as theirs. That was one of the reasons he kept going back to Marvin, he didn’t need to bite or leave marks on him, because he knew Whizzer was his.
Whizzer wiped his eyes, and bent over, delicately clipping his watch back on his thin wrist, carefully making sure he avoided the cuts that plagued his birdlike structure. He was fragile now, easily broken.
He didn’t bother to replace the robe, airdrying instead. He checked the time, seven am, he couldn’t be sure how long he slept, one, maybe two hours, so he decided to go back to bed. He stumbled out of the bathroom to the next room, slowly crawling onto the bed, curling up into a tiny ball, a chill catching him without any clothes or covers.
It hurts not to love him
It hurts when love fades
It’s hard when part of him
Is off playing family charades
He closed his eyes, shivering, and replayed the ‘happy family’ he was once a part of. Cooking with Trina by the stove, sometimes her not hating him. Jason coming home, beating Whizzer at chess because he never got to win against his dad, then it all uprooting when Marvin arrived. Always having something to complain about, always mad, always leaving Trina crying as she would refuse Whizzer’s help.
All a game to Marvin.
All a sick fantasy where he was in charge.
Slowly around him the world faded to black as he finally relaxed, not wanting to wake up again, letting himself tumble into the darkness that was always there.
Ask me if I need him
Get him out of my way
These are
These are the games
These are the games
These are the only games I play.