Chapter Five
Young and dumb.
Stoked on cheap alcohol, I feel like a cokehead while she looks like a crackhead and there is no possible way she can get drunk anymore because she is on the floor searching for rapture in the midst of fiends.
Call me when the government actually gives a damn, but for now I am going to drive a truck and do tricks on an invincible skateboard. Score horse, sunsets shore; don’t do drugs kids just because you’re bored.
This is my body, this isn’t my soul.
Go out and dance if you have the chance, because life is too meaningless and short to stand around. We can never know how far we are going to go anyway, so might as well move, move your hips, your legs, your belly, your hands. If you want to drink, then drink because it’s your mouth, and if you want to die, then rethink to make sure, but if you want to dance then go ahead its hell a lot better than being dead.
“Hey,” she holds me as we are dancing on the dance floor with little people around, and the song playing right now is just pure horrendous cow muck. There is a fire burning, oh yeah, a fire on the bed of our souls, if we hit another beer we might open up a black hole. “Hey, hey, hey,” she laughs, wet from her own sweat. “It’s cool isn’t it, baby. I mean, you know how it is. You got the looks, rocking and rolling and whatnot like a rockstar.”
What is she talking about? Does she want salvation? Then see a holy man, not a lost Kid.
Kid.
Let’s go home. I can’t stand this.
I bring her light and fragile body to a seat on the corner of this room, the lights blinking frantically. The music is way too loud; it’s hard to talk in this kind of place. This place isn’t meant for conversations. She feels like she wants to die young, so she can be young every day.
The poor and homeless are not humans but things, so are the lost and the youth.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, yeah. I’m A-O-Kay,” she blinks at me with smiles, and I don’t trust her the slightest. She is not okay in a sober kind of sense.
I really like her, I like Sybilla. I like the way she smiles is like how the way the universe is forming the consternation of the brightest stars. I like the fact she doesn’t use big words when she talks, I like how she just blurts out random things out of the blue. I like her, oh God. I like her.
Everybody believes in God when they like someone.
I have to go to the toilet, the drinks got the best of my bladder, “Wait here, and please don’t move. I’m going to the toilet and when I come back, we are heading home. Okay?”
“Okay, boss.”
I find my way to the toilet easy enough, it smells surprisingly fine. I go into a toilet stall, unzip and let the load out to the last drip. The best advice I can give when urinating is think about your fears and get done with it. Wash your hands after, because even as poor as I am, I am no savage. I still wash my hands after doing something nasty, always.
She is gorgeous, something out of a fairytale princess story, lovely face that marks paradise fall, a killer smile, unimaginable twinkling Disney character like eyes. We all have that someone, and mine is her.
Sybilla.
Sybilla, oh, you are the blessing that creeps on the cracks of my bones, please fill me up and wedge yourself into these holes. Give me the pleasure, some kind of sanctification so that I can call a person my home.
I go out from the toilet and the beats are falling down and the feet are crowding, filling the ground like someone is about to be wed. The music drop bass, such a dread sound, my ears want to tear off straight from my head. What time is it now? Because it’s darker than it should, the world is losing its light, and then I turn to her and its not right. She is the only thing that is bright, but there are three men cowering and touching her vulgarly like vultures picking on a prey.
Don’t touch her. Please don’t.
Please don’t touch her if you don’t love her. Please don’t touch her if you don’t mean to. Please don’t.
She looks dead and tired, she pushes them with the little strength she has. Nothing is right.
I go to her, she sees me now, and I hope she does because I’m falling like crazy. Does she need me right now? Of course she does, she needs me like how a fish needs a body of water.
“Kid, hey, take me away please,” she push a guy and offers me her hand as I stand in front of them.
I take her hand and pull her, but then one guy pulls her back and I get angry. I turn to him, it is dark, I can’t quite make up how does he look like, but his hair is full with hair product and he is wearing a button down shirt like a typical party-goer. “Let her go boy,” he says to me, half-drunk probably, and the two other guys laugh.
I lean in closer to the man swiftly, and elbow the wax out of his hair so hard he is knock out instantly, the other one is going to hit me next, I know, so I react quickly. He is half way standing up and I take a bottle of beer on the table and smack his cranium with it, he bleeds, but he is still awake, so I kick his face.
With that being settle I turn to the last guy, he is quivering there like a scared cat. Cats are weak and fragile, they are not worth the trouble of torturing. “Don’t touch her,” I say to the last one, and pull Sybilla away out from the nightclub before the manger or any of the bouncers find the damage I done.
Her arms around my shoulders, I drag her to the car, and she says to me half-awake and half dead, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put a burden on you.”
I catch her on her stomach as she is slipping again, and say, “Oh, no, it’s fine.” I smile but she didn’t see, she is looking at the ground as we are reaching for the car.
After a few steps, we finally get to the car, I place her on the passenger seat, she is still awake but she wants to sleep, I can see. I enter the car as well, on the driver’s seat, I kick start the car, the engine is running.
In the car, all we are is a mess. She wants to end the night, I want to prolong it.
Using the fingers of her hands, she is having an epic adventure on my body. Her eyes lock in the windows of my soul as if it that it is her center, having me groggy. She reaches my neck, she wraps it with her palms, and I turn down to see her in those little shorts.
I read between the lines, so I touch her too.
She knows what I’m thinking about, we are alone in this box, I want to bandage my lips on hers and have a voyage. I wanted to do this since a long time, can’t believe in another second she will be mine.
It’s hot in this Malaysian weather, it’s too hot for the both of us, right here, right now. So let me take that shirt off, and let both my hands embrace the warmth of your breasts. And if that just might take her breath away, she shouldn’t mine because I lost mine the moment she started talking to me.
I didn’t do anything so vulgar as what I am thinking though, I just touch her legs and look at her, and then in another moment the silence guides our minds, so we move close to each other, and goose bumps start to raise as she goes in for the kiss. Boom, it is as if the universe had just created another world when our lips touch. The second my mouth taste her breath, my tongue swordfights with hers, cause I got to have her on my taste buds.
And then I stop, I don’t know why. But I stop our make out session. This is not what a guy should do when making out with a sweet lovely girl like this, but it isn’t right if she doesn’t remember this the next morning. So I can’t. I can’t go on. There is no further explanation, you don’t take advantage of girls, even though you think they are tough and I know she is tough, but it doesn’t excuse her gender, she is still a girl, and I, a boy. And as such, I should uphold some degree of respect.
“Why?” she says with dead innocence. “Did I do something wrong?”
Oh no, even doing the greatest sin known to man, she would never do anything wrong.
“No,” I say my hands on the steering wheel, backing up away from the parking and start our journey back to our crappy apartment, Block F, far away from down town Kuala Lumpur. “We just have to go back. It’s getting late.”
She turns away from me, and stares at the window, it is silent. No music playing. Just silence. For a moment she turns to me and look afraid, or concern, or anxious, it is hard to tell the full extent of her expression.
What it is that you feel my darling? It is sorrow with the home you live in, or is it because nobody has touch the part of you that you yourself haven’t seen? I don’t know how to heal you, I can’t be your grace or the blessings of hallelujah, if I, myself is broken and in need of such. I am lacking darling, so maybe it’s like this; I need you and you need me. We need each other, we can heal each other, we can mean something if we let it.
Don’t mean nothing to me darling. Oh, baby.
She is half sober now, she gazes at the front and she looks like the girl I talked to in the afternoon. This magical girl with illusion power, which promise love and glory and wants me to be her hero. I can’t take my eyes out of you. I can’t. And if this continues we will die.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes for unknown reasons. I know by now she is stable enough to counteract the influence of the alcohol, and I wonder why she possibly needs to apologize to a trash like me. She could stab me in the back for all I care and then apologize, and I still would wonder why.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Everybody loses it sometimes, sometimes most times, you don’t have to say sorry. Really, don’t.”
We get home easy enough, not uttering anymore words. She can walk by herself on the stairs, I am behind her just to make sure she doesn’t fall off from the dirty floor of Block F. We reach the third floor, she is by her door and I by mine. We both turn to each other, and how could I end the night without kissing yet again, this time I will make sure she remembers it. I walk up to her, she is holding her door knob, I grab her and then like the climax of an orchestra play, the kiss we share is like majestic and iridescently blooming. She smiles, I smile too.
After that, I walk back to my door and turn to her, “Goodnight,” I say this as if a sword had been pulled out from my heart.
“So, let’s hang out again,” she says immediately. “And thanks, and sorry, I mean yeah, goodnight,” she enters her house and I enter mine.
Pabil is still on the couch with my mom, I place his keys on the coffee table. I go to bed shirtless, and put some shorts on. I didn’t brush my teeth or take shower, I would do it tomorrow though because I’m no savage. And as I lay on my bed, I think about Sybilla of course, feeling probably for the first time in this sad miserable life of mine, alive and happy. Excited for the next day.
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