Lovers who Uncover

“They say that life ain't easy They'll say your life's a crime Destroy up all good reason How I'm alive” The Smashing Pumpkins - That´s the way my love is Antonio woke up another day and once he lifted the blanket from his body and looked out of the window, he felt an overwhelming desire to bury himself into his bed again and stay there until the end of the world. Or at least until someone would invent a medicine to suppress feelings, something to remove these useless parts of his brain that made him feel so shitty. He observed the old tree whose branches sometimes got into the window, but as soon as he noticed that neither of his wishes would come true that morning, he forced himself to get up, headed to the bathroom and placed his hands on the sink in front of the mirror, putting on a big smile and even showing his straight teeth... but after barely a few seconds, he already got tired of it and let it vanish again. "What a pain," he muttered and went to take a shower or, more precisely, get wet in the shower cubicle, since he was just standing there under the running water and not thinking about anything at all. Staying there until he saw that his fingers had gotten pruney. His mother was already calling for him, since he had been spending too much time in the bath. He snorted, feeling the hot water pleasantly run down his entire body, this time wishing that everything apart from his bed would disappear together with the water steam. But that didn't happen either, so he had no other choice than to continue the routine he had taken up just three weeks ago. Yes, three weeks had passed since his decision to stay clean, rebuild his life and forget that there was once a person who could have become his entire universe. Little by little, he was getting used again to something that used to be so natural for him in the past, however, in moments like these, said integration into his routine required superhuman efforts. He left the bathroom and started to dress himself so listlessly and reluctantly that anyone would have become exasperated with him, and, after having tied his shoelaces, took one pack of cigarettes from the ones that had piled up in his drawer, most of them empty and crumpled. There were still at least five cigarettes inside, and he put the pack into his pocket, after having run his hands over his humid hair, trying to arrange it. While doing that, he saw his reflection and felt a bit anxious. "It's for your own good, Antonio," he said to himself. The anxiety was accompanying him once again, which was happening frequently and also the reason why the nicotine levels inside him had increased so much. He took everything he needed for university, since he had started to assist as a guest auditor in some classes in order to pass the make-up exams and save a few subjects, and went downstairs to have breakfast. Well, in reality he just took an apple, drank some coffee, gave his mother a kiss, greeted his father and left the house. Meeting Francis at the front door. "You're early," Antonio said, infecting his friend with his smile, even though the other was doubting from time to time whether it was sincere. "As always, mon ami," Francis replied and waited for Antonio to reach him. The two of them started to walk. After their argument and the Spaniard's decision to break up with Lovino, Antonio didn't waste any time and immediately went to apologize to Francis, even calling Gilbert as well, since he had wanted to make things right. That was the day he had told them everything. Francis and Gilbert listened with great attention, while Antonio was telling them about his meetings with Lovino, the people he had gotten to know, the drugs he had tried and even confessed that that "assault" he had lied to them about had just been a fight he had participated in under the effect of methamphetamine. He spoke to them about everything happening in his life and in his head, answered every question they asked him with complete seriousness and worry, and after that very long conversation and the apologies, his friends had promised him to help him get out of all that. Antonio believed himself to be very lucky to have friends, who, instead of turning his back at him after all the lies and things he had done, had decided to support him and grant him another chance... and then he thought of Lovino, wishing with all his might that the latter was also having someone like Gilbert and Francis by his side, because he obviously couldn't be there for him... he couldn't save him. In order to get him out of that little world he had gotten in, Francis and Gilbert basically became Antonio's shadow, being with him all the time to make sure he wouldn’t succumb to the temptation of returning to the drugs or to Lovino. They accompanied him home, to university and everywhere the Spaniard might want to go, even interceding for him so that some professors would allow him to participate in their classes as a guest auditor. While trying to distract him by doing the things they used to do before Lovino had appeared in his life, and it seemed to work... well... only seemed. "Stop that, you'll ruin your lungs before we manage to get the drugs out of your system," Gilbert commented when they met up with him at the bus stop and Antonio was already smoking his second cigarette. "Yeah, you're right. Then it’s useless, eh? Does someone have a joint for me, then?" Antonio replied, and the three of them laughed, since they sometimes preferred to bear through the situation with a few jokes to get rid of the tension and distract the Spaniard at least a bit from his evident anxiety that was showing itself with the way his hands and fingers trembled while holding the cigarette. They walked the usual way, continuing to make jokes and starting a trivial chat and things like that, while Antonio was bringing the cigarette various times to his mouth, sometimes leaving it between his lips. Without his friends noticing it, he briefly looked through the smoke screen of the tobacco and slightly weakened his smile, thinking of Lovino and wondering whether he would eventually stop seeing the world around him as if he was in a low budget movie. Everyone was overacting, and the scenery surrounding him looked like it was painted in sepia tones... with people following the established script and smiling as if they were in a toothpaste commercial. Hence, when the gray cigarette smoke was taken away by the wind, when he exhaled and forced himself to keep walking together with his friends, having his life's libretto memorized, Antonio was asking himself once more whether he was really completely clean. Would he become part of the actors with the prefabricated smiles and prescribed actions again? Would he act so naturally that he'd even manage to deceive himself and start to think that he was truly happy? Yes, perhaps he would, because everyone else looked satisfied with it, his overacting seemed to convince them; Francis, Gilbert, his parents and one day, it would surely be like that for Antonio himself as well, just like it had been before he had known Lovino. He would once more become a member of the cast of that horrible movie falsely named life. "Antonio!" he heard Francis call him and snapped out of his thoughts. His friend reacted just in time before Antonio could cross the street and be run over by a truck. If Francis hadn't called him and grabbed his arm, the Spaniard would have ended up as a bloody mess on the ground. "That was close," Gilbert said, seeing the truck honk as a sign of complaint and drive away at full velocity, until the traffic light turned red again. "Yeah... close," Antonio agreed, giggling nervously and walking a few steps behind his friends, looking at the spot on the pavement where he had nearly been run over. Briefly regretting the fact that he had been stopped... he would have liked to check whether his blood was still red and not as gray as everything else. They resumed their way to university, greeted a few fellow students, teachers, and people Antonio didn't really care about but tried to look as if he did, and entered the room of their first lesson. As soon as classes started, the professor's voice and words lost their meaning. He was writing things on the blackboard, and Antonio copied them without understanding even half of it, but pretending to listen carefully to these supposedly important details while his mind kept wandering off towards thoughts he knew he shouldn't have. Thoughts about Lovino. The Spaniard narrowed his eyes, attempting to suppress that faint pain he felt in the center of his chest every time he thought of the Italian. It was as if someone was slowly burying a needle into his skin and piercing his muscles and bones until reaching some vital organ that was producing that pain, sometimes making him want to break out in tears. Antonio could endure the anxiety, the shivers, the need to put something into his body in order to bear through everyday life, of course he could, but what was really requiring him to use all his power of resistance was that damn pain. His entire energy was spent on struggling not to cry in the middle of classes, because there were moments where it seemed as if that invisible needle was stabbing right through him, ripping his heart walls and his spine open and writhing like a constant reminder of the person he had left behind. "Antoine, are you alright?" Francis asked, waving his hand in front of the Spaniard's face to bring him back to reality. The latter blinked a few times in order to come to himself and smiled openly. "Yes, I was just bored." And with these words, he solved everything, seeing Francis relieved and smiling back, not knowing how many connotations the word "bored" could have. Finally, after six unbearable hours of classes and with a mountain of homework and a few books they had to study for the exams, the three young men decided to reward themselves and grab something not very nutritious to eat, something like a huge pizza, oozing with all kinds of unhealthy stuff. Thus, they headed to a pizzeria where they stuffed themselves with pepperoni as if they hadn't eaten for days. Even though Francis complained more than once that it would be harmful to his diet, since he was very picky regarding food. Gilbert, for his part, was devouring the pizza, however not as fast as he was drinking his beer he had ordered instead of a soft drink, not giving a damn about his friends' comments that it was still too early to drink alcohol. And Antonio was just eating and laughing, hoping he wouldn't spit out anything, since the others didn't stop annoying him. In the end, there was only one slice left of the pizza. Antonio and Gilbert were about to fight over it, but then the Spaniard looked up and out of the window, spotting someone he didn't want to face right now at all. He bent down, covering himself with his arm, until his friends noticed his strange behavior. "What's the matter?" Gilbert asked with his mouth full. "Could we leave, please? Quick, I don't want him to see me," Antonio said quietly, hiding from the green eyes of Feliks, who was walking to and fro in front of the pizzeria. Without really getting what was going on, Francis and Gilbert obeyed, left the money on the table and hurried outside. However, they weren't careful enough and were spotted immediately as soon as they crossed the doorstep. Especially the Spaniard. “Tony?” Feliks asked quietly, seeing the three walk away at a swift pace. Then he looked closer and smiled upon realizing that he was right. “Tony!” he yelled. “Don’t turn around, let’s go, let’s go!” Antonio commanded, since he knew it would be impossible to not ask about Lovino if he spoke to Feliks. It was like pulling the trigger of a loaded weapon, and that weapon was Feliks. “Who is that guy?” Gilbert inquired, as indiscreet as ever, shooting sideways glances at the one who had started following them. But before Antonio could answer, the persistent Feliks had already caught up to them and grabbed him by the clothes. “I knew it was you, Tony. Didn't you hear me?” he asked. The three guys finally faced him. “Ah… hello, Feliks,” Antonio gave up, feeling a bit safe because his friends were there, eyeing Feliks with not really friendly gazes, but the latter didn't seem to care. “Like, long time no see. Say, is it true that you broke up with Lovi?” he asked with a delighted smile when he saw the pain in Antonio's eyes at the mention of the Italian. Hearing Lovino's name from the lips of someone else felt to the Spaniard as if he was being hit with a ton of concrete in the face and instantly passing out from the blow. “Oh, sorry for asking, like, I get that it’s super uncomfortable to talk about your ex, but Lovi never tells me anything. You know, he’s always acting like an old grouch and since he’s going through horrible times right now, it has gotten only worse… Ah, sorry! I mentioned him again, I’m such a bitch, forgive me,” Feliks pretended to be sorry, even rubbing Antonio's arm from time to time, as if trying to comfort him. “Antonio has nothing to do with that guy anymore nor with anything related to him,” Francis intervened, stepping in front of the dejected Spaniard. Feliks put on that strange smile once again and crossed his arms, bringing one of his hands to his chin. “I see, so you’re clean, Tony…” he drawled, without even looking at the Frenchman or at the German. Then he let out a feminine laugh and clapped cheerfully. “It may sound weird coming from me, but this is super great news.” He briefly hugged Antonio, keeping his hands on the latter's shoulders. “Ever since the first time I met you, I knew that you're different from us, that you're a good one. I’m happy for you, Tony, after all, you’ve never been part of Lovino's world.” There was a hint of cruelty in his last comment that made the Spaniard widen his eyes a bit more, while the pain in his chest spread to his stomach. “I’d love to chat for a bit longer, but Ivan’s waiting for me. I wish you all the best for your recovery, Tony,” Feliks said and ran towards a black car with no number plate that had stopped at the corner of the street. He waved them goodbye again and got into the vehicle, dedicating a last look at Antonio's pale face. “What took you so long?” Ivan asked, indicating to his driver to start the engine the moment Feliks closed the door. “I was doing business, meeting an old customer,” the other replied, calmly crossing his legs. “Selling medicine and/or your body in broad daylight?” Ivan had his childish smile on his lips. “Nope, Ivan-baby, like, I am no common whore nor one of your teenage neighborhood dealers. I’m doing things with class.” Feliks arrogantly moved his hair behind his ear. “You? Class? That I’d like to see,” the Russian mocked him, taking a cigar out of his coat's inner pocket. “You will when Tony comes knocking on my door looking for something to consume together with Lovi without me having to offer him even one pill. The art of it, Ivan-baby, is to give the customer what he really needs: self-esteem, love, relief, a place to escape, company… a person… drugs and sex are only a pretext,” Feliks explained, while Ivan lit his cigar and took it out of his mouth to check whether it was burning properly. “Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, but before he could smoke, Feliks gently took the cigar out of his gloved hand and took a drag himself, holding in the smoke that was unpleasantly scratching his throat. “Not really. It’s rather that someone taught me that you can get a lot out of pleasure and people’s weaknesses.” He exhaled the smoke and returned the cigar to Ivan, shooting him a knowing glance. “And you know what they say: sex and money make the world go round,” he added with a strange shine in his cat-like eyes. Ivan laughed out loud, still with his typical childish undertone. "When you're talking like that, I get the wish to invite you to become part of the family," the Russian said, smoking his cigar. "These black suits and killings are, like, not for me at all," Feliks refused the invitation, tying his hair up into a ponytail and taking off his leather jacket. Suddenly, Ivan grabbed him tightly by the arm. Too tightly. "Just look at your arm. How many injections do you do per day?" he asked, looking at the bruises on Feliks' arm. They were much too visible on his pale skin, as if someone had punched him multiple times on the same spot. "Hey, that's not your business," Feliks protested and wanted to free himself, but Ivan didn't allow it, about to object. But instead decided to stay silent for a while. "You're walking on a tightrope, Feliks, just don't get too confident and inject more than you can take," he warned, letting go of him. "If I killed myself, you wouldn't have anyone to play with anymore. What a shame. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't even need two days to find some other entertainment," Feliks commented and as soon as these words left his mouth, Ivan grabbed him with one single hand by the face and took out his beloved gun with the other, pointing it at the spot between Feliks' eyebrows. "The day I'd get tired of you, I'm going to finish you off myself. Until then, try to not anger me with these comments of yours if you don't want to be thrown out into the trash ahead of time," Ivan threatened him, smiling as always and with an innocent tone in his voice. "And? Did you have to put that thing against my head to feel more sure of yourself or did you just want to impress the driver?" Feliks replied, still showing that mocking and arrogant grin that was making the other mad despite everything. Obviously not letting him see his fury, Ivan just ended that peculiar conversation by letting go of him. And while Ivan and Feliks were driving away, Antonio and his two friends were also on their way. Antonio however, was walking too fast, leaving the others behind, who had to catch up to him. "Hey, don't listen to that guy, it was clear that he just wanted to get on your nerves," Gilbert said, patting Antonio on the back when he managed to walk at his speed, but it was as if the Spaniard wasn't even listening to him, just moving as fast as possible and looking straight ahead. "Don't fall into his trap, Antoine," Francis commented as well, shooting him a worried gaze while Antonio was continuing to immerse himself in his thoughts that, judging by the expression on his face, weren't any good ones, ignoring his friends. "I'm going home," was everything he said after ten minutes, but before he could deviate from the way, Francis managed to grab his wrist. "Don't do anything stupid, Antonio, or that Feliks will have you just where he wanted you. Promise me you won't do anything foolish when you reach home, and this includes looking for... well... you know who," the Frenchman warned his friend, who looked more and more desperate. Antonio nodded several times and freed himself from the other's grip. "I promise," he said, looking his friend and also Gilbert directly into the eyes. "I promise it to you two." Feeling calmer after having heard these words, they let him go. The Spaniard hurried home, the only place he was feeling completely safe. He entered, murmured a greeting to his mother, announcing that he was home, and headed upstairs to his room. There, he sat down on the bed, picked up his pillow and pressed it against his face, breathing heavily and burying his fingers into it, muffling a few words he was saying to himself in order to calm down. "Lovino, Lovino..." he repeated, rocking back and forth and grabbing the pillow with even more force, squeezing his eyes shut. Until he finally got up. And what if he called him? Not meeting up with him, just calling him to ask how he was. Feliks had said that the Italian was going through horrible times, so maybe it was his fault... if that was true, he should apologize. That didn't mean he would go back together with him, no... he just... had to make things right. A call wouldn't kill anyone, and he wouldn't break his promise to his friends neither, since he would just call to say sorry for having broken up with him without giving him a reason. Yes, he would tell Lovino that he was clean now, that he had gone back to his old life and wish him the best. Just that, just these words. Exactly. A call. A call would be enough. He took out his phone and dialed the number, not having any problems with having deleted it, since he knew it from memory. Feeling as if his heart would jump out of his throat, he then proceeded to wait, but no one answered, making him call over and over again. In vain. Antonio guessed that it was only normal not to want to answer the calls of someone who had just left you out of the blue, and knowing Lovino, such a behavior would be more than predictable. And thus, the now frustrated Antonio sat back down on the bed and started writing a bunch of text messages to that number, but there was no answer, either. He even tried to call from his home's landline, since he knew that Lovino didn't have that number registered, but not even that worked. What was going on with Lovino? Why didn't he answer? The Spaniard grew more and more desperate and walked towards the door, but then stopped and returned to his bed, being angry with himself. Next, he repeated the act, until he finally opened the door, determined to find the Italian. “If Fran or Gilbo should call, tell them that I’m in the shower or sleeping! It won’t take long!” he asked his mother, sincerely hoping that he would be able to keep his word. Yes, he really would, he would find Lovino, and it would be his trial by fire: he would tell him his reasons for breaking up with him, say goodbye and return home, to his life… to his world. He pondered where the Italian could be and also thought about Feliks’ house, but decided to not go there, since he didn't want to be near a double temptation. And then, the memory of that abandoned building crossed his mind, the one where they had spent so many nights, evenings, and mornings together, so he opted to go there. The way had never seemed so long to him and never in his life had he felt so nervous before, to such a point he felt he would start to vomit any moment. His knees were trembling when he arrived at the scorched building and climbed up the blackened stairs, and with every step, a new memory came to his mind of all the times they had stumbled upstairs kissing, laughing and doing all kinds of silly things. It was getting painful to walk these steps once more. Finally, he reached the abandoned little apartment, and was promptly hit by a wave of nostalgia in his chest, to such a point that the lump in his throat didn't let him emit even one sound. He could almost see himself and Lovino on that old mattress, devouring each other with kisses and caressing one another like crazy. He ran his hands over the sooty walls, the silent witnesses of all the confessions that had been made lying there, the promises to never let go of each other, and of all the stuff consumed there, inside these ruins. If only that apartment could talk… “What are you doing here?” Antonio could have sworn that his soul had left his body when Lovino's voice echoed through the room. He was afraid to turn around, but still forced himself to do it. And when he saw him… he felt that the battle was already lost: Lovino had just disarmed him with his eyes alone. The Spaniard tried to say something, but couldn't. And the Italian, for his part, was looking at him with sadness disguised as contempt. Antonio was standing in front of him, speechless, with his mouth slightly open and his hands tightly clenched into fists. Lovino was really glad to be under the effect of oxycodone pills, otherwise he would have probably collapsed then and there from the pain of seeing the Spaniard. Drugs that could numb emotions were truly a blessing. He didn't receive any answer, and it wasn't as if he was really insisting on getting one. “I don't want to see you here when I return,” he warned, walked past the Spaniard, bent down to lift the old mattress a bit and took out something that looked like a couple of banknotes from under it. Putting them into his pocket, he passed the other again, who felt Lovino's arm brush against his own… and that was the final blow that made him grab Lovino's hand, stopping him. The latter turned around, frowning. “Lovino… I…” Antonio tried to speak, holding Lovino by the hand and feeling his cold fingers, while that endless nostalgia seemed to rip him apart up to his throat. Suddenly he was barely able to breathe, squeezing the Italian’s hand, who looked as if he was waiting for him to say more… and that was the moment Antonio managed to decipher Lovino’s gaze: under that facade of anger, the other one seemed to be begging him to not let go of him again. The Spaniard let out a gasp, squeezed his eyes shut, pulled Lovino towards himself, and kissed him on the lips. Squeezing his hand and taking him by the face at the same time, he then started to cry, not knowing whether it was out of joy or out of anger at himself, but he was crying while desperately kissing Lovino, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight without freeing his mouth. What a weak, dumb idiot he was, but a happy one. Yes, he was. He was happy to have returned to his drug, not giving a damn about broken promises or disappointing people… Oh!... To hell with all of them! He was back with Lovino and felt so good, so fucking good that his skin seemed to boil. “Forgive me, Lovino, forgive me,” he uttered during the brief moments between kisses, kisses that were so desperate as if his life depended on them. And Lovino was weak, accepting the kisses that were taking his breath away, while trying to keep his eyes open in order to make sure that green color of Antonio’s eyes was real. He lifted the other’s hair, ran his hands over his eyelids and cheeks and there it was, that emerald color that looked even purer under the Spaniard’s tears. “You lied to me, you idiot, you told me you wouldn’t let go!” Lovino complained, while they were hugging and kissing each other’s necks. “Forgive me,” Antonio apologized again, sticking his hands under Lovino’s clothes and caressing his body while listening to the latter’s heavy breathing. “You’re a dumbass and an idiot,” Lovino insulted him with his hands under Antonio’s shirt and scratched his back, making him arch his spine. “Forgive me.” Antonio was fumbling with the Italian’s belt. “Idiot, asshole, stupid!” The latter started to caress him as well, feeling his partner’s touches. In between insults and apologies, the two of them got rid of their clothes and collapsed onto the mattress, where their moans drowned every other sound they produced. The tears shed from pain mixed themselves with the sweat, and Lovino’s cries were muffled by the groans Antonio let out from time to time when his skin got bitten or scratched. It was painful, but at the same time pleasant, and they hated each other, one for having been abandoned, the other for being destroyed, but their love was stronger and even stronger than their love was their addiction. “Tell me, Antonio, tell me that this time, you won’t let me go for real,” Lovino commanded while the Spaniard was completely dominating him and entering his body. “I won’t let go, I swear,” the other replied, grabbing Lovino’s thighs. “Tell me that you’re going to fall together with me, that you’ll continue to be by my side even if I go to hell!” Lovino threw his head back and screamed out of pleasure. “I’ll stay with you… we’ll be together, Lovino… even if we should go to hell, we’ll do it together,” Antonio promised, still penetrating Lovino, who raised his arms above his head that was still thrown back and saw the light that was entering through the thick curtains, the rainbow moving through the room and enveloping them both, wrapping them into colorful bands, tying them to each other forever. Perfect… these words, these sensations, these promises, this moment… everything was perfect. And thus, the rest of the day passed, the night as well, and the next morning arrived. Watching Lovino wake up next to him, Antonio confirmed that this was life, that Lovino was his life. He kissed him, showered him with affection despite the Italian’s protests, and observed him closely and without any shame while the other was getting dressed, immediately wishing to undress him once again. “I’m going to ask you one last time,” the now-dressed Italian announced and sat down on the mattress, where Antonio was still lying and stretching out his hand in order to play with Lovino’s curl. “Are you sure you want to stay with me?” Lovino’s voice was so serious it was even a bit scary, but Antonio smiled as always, this time with sincere joy. “Yes,” he replied quickly, and Lovino stood up, extending his hand. “Then let’s go.” Antonio took his hand, and they left together. They reached the place they usually went to and as soon as they opened the door, it was as if they were received by the cheshire cat itself, because Feliks was wearing a big, odd smile on his lips when he saw them knocking on his door. “I was waiting for you,” he almost purred, letting them enter. Ah… Soberness was such a farce!.. It is painting everything gray and turning you into a stupid mime that was acting without a scene, performing a clumsy pantomime that’s an imitation of life, exaggerating happiness and sadness in order to make them seem a bit more real. But it is just a farce! Nothing but that. While truth, reality, real life itself were now flowing through Antonio’s bloodstream, dripping from the thin needle that had pierced his tanned skin. Life. There it was. It had the shape of a syringe, and brown eyes and hair. There was life… in Lovino’s love and a dose of heroin.