Joe Trohman. Love or Loss? She was either with him or without him.
His shirtless back bent a little and he dug into the pocket of his jeans. Pulling out a tiny packet of cigarettes and a lighter, and lit the white lollipop with careful hands. My eyes narrowed as he brought it to his lips, closing his eyes as he did so. Leaning back, he placed it between his lips, the angle so perfect, yet so effortless. I could see his lungs expand as he breathed in his escape. Convinced that his lungs couldn't hold anymore smoke, he gave in, his lips forming a delicious 'O', and as a sign of his contentment, flopped back on the pillow.
He was less then 5 inches away from me. His eyelashes rested so gently on the tip of this cheeks. I lay back down on the bed and turned towards him, tracing the outline of his face with my eyes. Now and then a cloud of grey obscured my vision, but I found comfort in the fact that they would float away. A one way ticket away from conformity. To where, I wish I knew. He hid himself behind those thin, grey wisps, shielding himself from pain. He was alone in this world and nothing would protect him. He would trust no one, and no one would trust him. He would be safe. Safe behind grey walls...
I simply watched him. I watched him crawl out of closed windows. I watched him sip from unopened bottles. I watched him melt along with his cigarette, evaporating into the sea of sky, outward and onward to nowhere.
When it had melted almost all the way to the stub, he looked at me and then back at his baby, looking almost possessive. Of which, I couldn't tell. Unable to stand this abuse of possibility, I made a slight humming noise in my throat and placed my hand on his thigh.
"What?", he croaked.
I answered by looking at the bullet in his hand, and then looking back up into his eyes, losing myself momentarily as he searched mine. Still keeping eye contact, I moved my hand up to his lips, embracing the shades of purple with my fingertips. I soon felt his hand over mine, pulling it away from his face and over his neck. I pushed myself up, cradling myself in his arms, and he stroked my hair with his free hand. I stared at the glowing bullet, my mind blank with metaphors.
Fingers tingling from the cramped position, I reached for the hand holding our last glowing bit of hope and brought it to my lips, closing the door of our getaway car.