[Featured in FreetheLGBT: Diverse Literature reading list and Humor: Young. Dumb. Full of Fun list]
Colin Mitchell, a photographer at a well-known store, Snapshot, is openly gay--mostly. His ideal experiences are sexcapades that are always subtle, n...
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Colin had a hard time getting out of bed this morning. He had spent the previous night at the skate park with his friends, who had managed to bag a ridiculous amount of weed. He couldn't actually remember doing anything that made his head pound this bad in the morning but here he was, dealing with invisible gremlins that took turns hammering away at his head.
It was after took he some Tylenol and had breakfast that he felt a little better. But he swore the headache was coming back after looking through the number of shoots he had to do this week.
He loved his job, no questioning that fact, but taking gigs where he had to travel long distances to get to was a bore. It was tiring and almost always drained him, but the scenery of the shooting locations seemed to make up for it. Lately though, more work was piling up on him and he wished he could take a break, especially from the teenage girls who tried to bribe him to give them free shoots in exchange for pics of their barely-there boobs.
That part, he could do without.
He was putting away the plates and mug he had used when he heard it.
The beautiful singing-- even though the tone accompanying it was high and rather aggressive. The words were emphasised and punctuated with what sounded like irritation with a side-dressing of hate. Colin had first heard it while he was taking a shower. He hadn't been sure of whether was was actually hearing the singing or if it was just a hallucination from his previously exhausted body.
"We. Are. Never. Ever. Ever. Getting back together!"
As he listened on, Colin realised the hate was more than a side-dressing. It's the main damn course.
Hard strumming came, then a couple of cuss words that followed a yell, and then more of an annoying buzzing sound before more loud singing.
"You go talk to your friends. Talk to my friends. Talk to me. But we! Are never ever ever! Getting back together..."
Colin had no intention of interrupting Peter's pity-party-or-whatever-it's-supposed-to-be-called session, but the boy was making the windows rattle and Colin was sure he heard someone groan from downstairs. He and Peter were sort of a talking-but-not-quite-talking level now so he decided to take his chances with him.
Against his better judgement, he went to Peter's door, knocked once, and pushed it open. Peter was on his bed, facing the window while his fingers alternated from delicately plucking at the strings to maddeningly twanging the cords.
The singing took an even brasher and louder turn.
"We clawed, we chained, our fucking hearts in vain.We jumped, never asking why the fuck we did it! We kissed, I fell, under your spell 'cause you were like a fucking siren with your little mermaid hair!"
